Anna was almost finished skimming through the file when she looked up. "Why am I alive, Robert? It's not because you agreed to work for the WSB again. They intended to kill me all along. Why am I not dead?"

Robert shook his head. "I don't know. They were waiting for something."

Anna flipped back in the file. "Were they using me as bait? Did they know that Faison had survived the explosion? Were they hoping he would try to get me back?"

"I don't know. They told me he was alive and that he was free. They promised me they'd give me the assignment to kill him. But I don't know if they actually believed any of what they said."

"They were waiting for delivery of something. Maybe they'd asked for some kind of ransom. Maybe they'd offered me to him in exchange for something. Once they got it, they were going to kill me."

Robert looked away.

"Did they receive the delivery? What happened after? If they didn't receive it – hell, even if they did – why not kill me? It's not like I was capable of offering resistance. How did I get away?"

Robert's voice was flat. "Later they told me you'd been taken by a doctor. They didn't know where." He hesitated. "Or why."

Anna knew Robert was holding something back but didn't press.

"Why the thirty pieces, Robert? How do you think you betrayed me?"

Robert's eyes were turned from hers; he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Initially I believed them. I didn't insist on being taken to you, on seeing you. They told me they would take care of you. Then, once I realized they were lying, I didn't leave. I didn't try to find you. I didn't try to save you."

Anna stood and moved from the chair to Robert's bed. She stooped, tried to force him to look at her. "Why didn't you, Robert? Why didn't you try to find me?"

Robert looked at her helplessly. "I don't know."

Anna's expression was hard. "Yes you do, Robert. Why didn't you try to find me? Tell me."

Robert's mouth twisted slightly. His eyes narrowed. "I don't know. I was a coward."

Anna moved her hands, cupped Robert's face. Her voice was soft. "Robert, I know why you didn't look for me. I can tell you." She smiled sadly. "You didn't look for me because you thought I was dead. You thought they'd lied to you when they told you I was alive. You believed I'd died in the explosion."

Robert's breath hitched. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "I didn't want to know. I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe that what they said was true."

Anna took his hands. "But on some level you didn't. You were afraid you'd find out I was gone. You thought it was better to believe I was alive somewhere."

Robert's face hardened again. "The thing is, you were. And because I was too afraid to find out the truth, you suffered. God knows who took you from the WSB and why. God knows what happened to you those first six months, that first year. I'm responsible for all of that."

Anna sat on the bed, put her hands in her lap. "Robert, when I regained my memories of you, and in particular when I remembered your death, I was devastated. Someone close to me pointed out that if I'd survived the explosion, you might have as well. I dismissed the possibility. I said I'd seen you die, that you were closer to the explosives, that you couldn't possibly be alive. But you were."

"I don't see the comparison."

Anna looked away. "When did you find out I was alive, Robert? When did you know? Can you remember?"

"I was in Rotterdam. I was on assignment, a follow-up consultation with researchers at Erasmus University, the year after the SARS outbreak. While I was there I met up with an old contact from the WSB. Carter. Do you remember him? The kid with the glasses? He's not a kid anymore. Anyway, he mentioned you, your remarkable resurrection, as though he expected I already knew. I kept it together, made it seem as if I wasn't surprised, as if I wasn't completely staggered. I spent the next few weeks finding out everything I could."

"What year was this? 2005?"

"2004. May 2, 2004."

Anna looked up and back into Robert's eyes. "I regained my memories in 2001. If I had looked for you in 2001, tried to confirm your death instead of doing everything I could not to confront it, I might have found you. I might have saved you three years of suffering. But I didn't. I was too much of a coward. I wanted to run away from the memories and from what I thought was the reality of your death. So you see I'm guilty of pretty much the same thing you feel you are. Back in Bay C all those years ago, we accepted a shared responsibility for the Swede's alleged death. Now, if there's any guilt to be acknowledged, any betrayal to be confessed, it's mutual again. We're both guilty of abandoning the other. But not because we didn't care. We let each other go because we couldn't face the other's loss. If that makes any sense at all."

Anna's phone rang. "Sorry, I have to take this," she told Robert and stood, walked away from the bed. "Devane."

Robert didn't hear any of the telephone conversation. He was staring at the bag of coins on the bed, at the file Anna had replaced on his tray table.

"I have to go, Robert." His attention drifted back from the past to the present. "I'm sorry, but Powell thinks he's found Elizabeth's contrail. I want to go speak with him, find out where our Ms. Beaty escaped to."

Robert nodded. "It's fine. I've confessed what I needed to."

Anna grabbed her bag and prepared to leave. Then she stopped. "Why did you confess this to me? Why now, after all these years? Why did you show me the file?"

Robert felt drained of energy. "Elizabeth was blackmailing me. She had my file, she threatened to tell you everything." And worse. Robert thought about Anna's file. Elizabeth still had that in her possession.

"Why was she blackmailing you, Robert? Did she want money?"

"No. She killed Carolyn Thompson. And she was complicit in the death of her husband."

Anna took a step toward Robert's bed. "Should I try to get a warrant for her arrest on more than aggravated assault? Should I go to Baldwin and try to get a murder charge against her?"

Robert shook his head. "I don't have evidence that would stand up in court. What little I have was gathered without a search warrant. We have nothing against her."

Anna looked torn. "Damn it, Robert, I have to go. We'll talk about this later, right? I want to know everything you know. No more secrets."

Robert nodded. Anna turned to leave, then stopped. She turned back, removed her gun from her holster, and handed it to him.

"This is completely against protocol, of course," she said. "Keep it well hidden. Don't let anyone know you have it."

"Don't you need it?" Robert asked.

"Powell's coming to pick me up. He has a firearm. Don't worry about me."

She walked out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Anna and Powell were pulling up to the Port Charles airport. Powell was describing how he'd discovered Elizabeth's means of escape. "Taking into consideration when Robert was attacked," he explained, "we identified four flights out of the city that she might have boarded. They were small commuter flights – all travelling to major centres, all with small manifests. We pulled up the government issued i.d. of all the female passengers born in the same year as Elizabeth Beaty – and those born up to fifteen years later, given the witness description. Then we looked at the photos. We didn't think we'd get a hit, thought most likely some hack had inserted her picture in a stolen document, but Beaty's photo came up in an actual passport issued to a 'Marion Wiles'. The passport's completely legit."

"Which means Ms. Beaty has friends in high places."

"Well," Powell qualified, "she at least has 'friends' in the passport office. Money can buy you that kind of thing, unfortunately. And you know, if she has one alias, she likely has others."

"Where did she fly?"

"New York. JFK."

"Shit," Anna exclaimed. "Hundreds of flights to check. She could be anywhere by now – New York, somewhere else in the States, anywhere in the world. What do we do next?"

Powell pulled into a space just outside the terminal. He put the car in park and turned it off. "What about asking the FBI for assistance? What about facial recognition software? Could they check their passport directory for Beaty's photograph? Can't they do that kind of thing nowadays?"

Anna scowled. "They can, but I'd bet money it wouldn't work. Beaty didn't pay off some poor clerical worker to make a false passport. She was issued one legitimately, and I suspect her photos have been altered just enough to fool the software. Her pictures will look enough like her to get her on the plane when she presents i.d. but won't code as identical or even similar to one another when analysed by a computer. The spy game would have been over a long time ago if software like that couldn't be fooled."

Powell started. "Elizabeth Beaty is a spy?"

"No. Not a spy. But as I said, she has friends in high places. It's better that you don't know everything." Anna removed her seatbelt. "Let's go ask a few questions, confirm that Elizabeth got on that plane. If she did, I haven't a clue what our next move should be."

She and Powell got out of the car and headed into the terminal.

There was a soft knock at the door of Robert's hospital room. It opened slightly and Robin peaked in. "You're awake."

Robert forced himself to smile. "Couldn't sleep if I wanted to – splitting headache."

Robin walked up to his bed. She had two cups of coffee in her hands. "Here you go," she said; "the good stuff from Kelly's. You'll probably have that headache for a few more days. When was the last time they gave you something for it?"

"I don't know," Robert shrugged, taking the coffee and popping open the lid. "I took some kind of pill first thing this morning."

Dr. Scorpio-Drake wasn't amused. "Good grief, Dad, they should be monitoring your pain a bit more closely. Let me go speak to the nurse."

Robert grabbed her hand to prevent her from leaving. "No – it's probably just a caffeine headache. The coffee will take care of it."

Robin cocked her head to the side. "Have you eaten anything today? I mean, really eaten anything?" She noticed the take-out bag at the end of the bed. "What's this?"

Robert suddenly remembered. "Oh. Your mother brought that about an hour ago. I guess we forgot about it."

Robin's face expressed surprise, but she thought better than to ask why the food sat untouched. Her parents had either argued or had sex; Robin wanted to know neither. She opened the bag, unpacked a few of the boxes. "It's all in styrofoam. It still feels pretty warm. Why don't you eat something?"

Robert felt his stomach rumble; the smell was making him hungry. He hadn't eaten anything really since lunch the previous day. "Sure. Maybe a bit."

Robin handed him a container and a broke apart a pair of chopsticks for him. "Here. Eat something. I'm going to go scare up a painkiller for you and see if I can get an update from your doctor."

Robin left and Robert ate.

Anna and Powell spoke to three airline workers who remembered Elizabeth – Marian – buying a ticket, checking her bag, and boarding the plane. Thank god that woman is so striking, Anna thought. Elizabeth had certainly left town. Anna hoped this meant Robert was out of immediate danger.

Where she'd gone once she'd reached New York was anyone's guess. It was easier to speculate who had helped her get away, who had supplied her with the false i.d. Anna determined to find out more about Elizabeth's mysterious father and his connection to the WSB.

When Robin returned, Robert had already finished off a box of fried rice and had started in on a container of beef with oyster sauce. Robin handed him a pill. "Don't be a hero, Dad. Take something for the pain. You'll be getting a bottle of these to take home."

"And when will that be?" Robert asked.

"Later today, apparently. The doctors agree you're out of danger. You managed to squeak out of this with nothing more than a mild-ish concussion."

"Lucky me."

Robin smiled. "I've been thinking, why don't you come to stay with Patrick, Emma, and me? Mom seems pretty busy right now – she can't spend all her time taking care of you. I'm not back at work yet so I can hang out. And you'll of course be really safe, living with two doctors. We can keep a careful eye on your condition."

Robert shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but no. I might be safe, but you wouldn't be."

Robin sat down in the chair next to Robert's bed. "What's going on, Dad? Who was this woman who attacked you?"

Robert sighed. "I've stumbled into something I'd rather you stayed clear of. I'll go back to my hotel room."

"Oh no you won't," Robin told him. "You can't be alone. Someone has to watch you. Just in case. We think you're out of the woods, but there's a slight chance you could still develop a bleed. Someone has to monitor you."

Neither of them had noticed Anna open the door. "That would be me, unfortunately." She sighed and walked toward the bed. "I'll monitor him. At least for the first twenty-four hours. After that, if he still needs to be watched, I'm paying for a home care nurse who's also an ex-navy seal."

By late afternoon, Robert was back at Anna's apartment and settled into her favourite chair by the window. Anna had already filled him in on her and Powell's discovery that Elizabeth had left town, which hadn't actually surprised him. A cup of tea steamed on the table; Anna, seated on the chesterfield, held her own cup. She'd reclaimed her gun from Robert; it was resting on the side table within easy reach.

Robert picked up his cup, took a tentative sip. "You know, I'd really rather have a glass of wine," he remarked.

"Not while you're on your pain meds," Anna answered. "We're both teetotallers until you're fit again."

An uneasy silence fell over the room. Robert put down his cup again. The sound of china clinking on china was somehow deafening in the quiet.

Anna cleared her throat. "Are you going to make me ask, Robert? Or are you going to talk to me about the case? How do you know Elizabeth killed Carolyn Thompson? What was her motive?"

Robert looked at her, hesitated. Then he began to tell her (almost) everything: the meaning of the alias Jerry Hallam, Robert's confrontation with Elizabeth the night of the club opening, her threats, the starburst jewelry, the photographs. Anna listened in silence. When Robert was finished, she was quiet, thoughtful.

"Elizabeth blackmailed you with your file," she noted. "Is that all? There's really not much in there, Robert. I wish you had trusted me, told me everything from the start. Does she have something more? Something I should know about?"

Robert hesitated again. He didn't want to tell her but decided he should. "She has your WSB file as well. She knows the truth about your missing months – the time you spent as Faison's prisoner, the time after the explosion when the WSB held you captive, and, I assume anyway, the time after that. Who took you and why."

"Did she let slip anything about the contents of the file?"

Robert shook his head. "No, nothing. All she said was that I wouldn't want you to know what you suffered on account of me. On account of me trusting you to the WSB. She suggested that something happened you might not forgive me for."

Anna pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest. "This woman knows far too much about us, Robert. How do we get out from under her thumb?"

Robert said nothing. He was at a loss. "I haven't quite worked that one out yet, Luv."

By 9:00, Robert was in bed and exhausted. Anna was tired too – makeup off, night clothes and dressing gown on, she emerged from the en suite, smiled, walked up to the bed and gave Robert a chaste kiss. She reached over to grab her pillow and hugged it to her chest.

"What are you doing?" Robert asked.

"It's a bit silly," she laughed wearily, "but I have trouble sleeping with a different pillow. Besides, this case is silk; it leaves fewer pillow scars. I like sleeping on my stomach now and then, but it's murder on the skin."

"No," Robert looked lost; "why are you taking your pillow? Why aren't you getting into bed?"

Anna cleared her throat. "I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight."

Robert made a pleading gesture with his hands. "Why? Stay with me. Are you upset about what I told you?"

Anna shook her head, smiled. "No, Robert; I'm not angry with you." She looked uncomfortable. "Remember, I gave Patrick a black eye only two nights ago. I don't want to hurt you. You need another blow to the head . . ."

". . . like I need a blow to the head," he finished for her. "Don't worry about me. I know how to handle you."

Anna smiled wider. "Yes you do, when you're in top form. But right now you're not, and I'm not taking any chances." She grew serious. "I promise you, Robert, it won't go on forever. I'm handling it. The dreams will end soon, I promise."

As she left the bedroom, she closed the door softly behind her.