She stood silently, pulling the shawl tightly around her as she watched the door close firmly shut. The lock clicked with finality and she was cut off. Cut off from freedom. From her children. From John. Tears once again threatened as the anger she had felt turned to despair. She had handled the meeting with her captor so badly, letting her emotions get away from her. She knew better than that. Alamain had liked it when she lost her temper. She didn’t want to do anything that that man liked.

Where was Stefano? At the very least, he might have some idea of the reason for this vendetta against John. If only she had used her head instead of her heart, she might have discovered something useful from the horrid encounter with Mikovitch Alamain and his eccentric aunt. Frustrated with herself, Marlena moved to collapse onto the soft cushions of the bed.

Closing her eyes, she tried not to think about the way he had watched her. There was something very… possessive in the way he had followed her every move. That was the only way to describe it. As if she were some shiny item he wished to own. Marlena had no desire to be owned.

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic she moved to sit at the large window, staring out into the open country side and its promise of freedom. Somewhere out there, she knew he was searching for here. He was coming for her. She could sense it. Now was not the time for tears, it was time to plan. She had to be ready when he came. She would not lose him again.

“The first thing we have to do is meet with Jensen,” John said, walking stiffly toward the waiting limo. His movements were jerky, as if every step required a conscious act of will. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, though his face was deathly pale. Bo wondered how it was possible for the man to keep his feet.

“Dammit, Bo! Pay attention. This is serious,” John snapped, startling Bo back to the needs of the moment.

“Yea. I heard you. We meet with Jensen. No problem,” Bo muttered, sliding into the plush leather of the car and shooting the chauffeur a nasty look. “So who is this Jensen guy again?”

Reigning in his impatience, John forced himself to go slow. “Jensen is the defacto next in charge after me. He’s actually a brilliant tactician. Not much for field work, but he is Stefano’s closest adviser. He knows every facet of the organization. We need him if we are going to get Marlena and the kids back.”

“I thought you said he was the cook?” Bo said, watching as John leaned his head back against the seat and stared blankly at the ceiling.

“He’s a bit eccentric,” was the weary reply. “But he’s a good man. He knows his business.”

“So this is the guy you trust to get Marlena back?”

John chuckled, tilting his head to give Bo an ugly smile. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. In the end, his first loyalty will be to Dimera. He’d put a bullet in my back and leave Marlena and the kids to rot if that’s what it took to get Dimera. Hell, it’s one of the reasons I admire him.”

The big car hummed along the road, and for a moment the two men simply sat in silence. Finally, John said softly, “That’s why I need you Bo. I need someone I can trust to put Marlena first. You are it. If I go down, you’re in charge. You damn well better be there for her.”

Bo looked over at the slouched figure beside him. He was so cold, so empty inside. The only emotion he seemed to own was rage. God, how had the man who had been his brother turned into this? “What makes you think you can just tell these guys that I’m second in command and they’ll buy it?”

“Easy. They know I’ll kill them if they don’t.”

“Jensen, meet Bo Brady. After me, he’s in charge. Got that?” John said, walking through the office door without bothering to knock.

Unperturbed, Jensen looked up from the map draped across Dimera’s large desk. “Understood, sir.”

Giving the man behind the desk the once-over, Bo had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. This guy looked like an accountant. From the school tie around the neck of his stiffly starched shirt to the polished wingtips on his feet, the man exuded prissy English propriety. ‘No wonder John had to call me in,’ Bo thought smugly.

“So? We got any new leads,” John asked without preamble, moving to study the large map.

“No sir, not yet Mr. Black. Mikos Alamain has four separate residences in Europe alone and more holdings than I care to contemplate. Many of his properties are in hard to reach areas. So far, none of our contacts report any indication of Mr. Dimera’s presence.”

With a distracted nod, John rubbed at the back of his stiff neck and tried to decide on a course of action. Any action. If he didn’t find something productive to do, he was going to lose his freak’n mind.

“Um, sir?” Jensen interjected. “We did have another contact from the people holding Mr. Dimera. They called several hours ago, while you were still on the flight.”

“Well?” John fastened glittering eyes onto Jensen’s suddenly pale face.

“They think we are stalling, sir. The kidnappers ordered us to turn you over to them within 48 hours. If we don’t, they said they would start by sending the Brady children over in pieces. They said they would work their way up to Mr. Dimera.”

When John failed to make any reply, Jensen continued. “They want us to meet them here, in Europe. England, specifically. Guess they didn’t want to try and risk smuggling you through customs, which suggests they want to keep you alive. It bought us the extra time, sir. We still might find them before the meet.”

They would hurt his children. To get to him, they would hurt his children. He’d put a bullet in his brain rather than risk that. With a sigh of resignation, John looked down to the map once again, hoping its secrets would reveal themselves to him. There was nothing. “Are we going to find them in the next 48 hours, Jensen?”.

“No sir. I don’t think we will.”

With a slight shrug, John straightened his shoulders and looked Jensen in the eye. “Then what do you suggest we do?”

“We give them what they asked for, sir.”

Bo tread lightly down the darkened hallway, careful not to rouse the attention of any of the wandering guards. It was almost dawn and the big house was wrapped in silence. If he was going to try and call home, now was the time. Slipping quietly across the hardwood floors, he stopped at the doorway to the office where he had spent the evening going over the details of the Alamain holdings with John and Jensen. To Bo’s relief, the door was unlocked. The thick wooden door swung open without protest, and he quickly stepped into the shadowed room. Glowing embers from the brick fireplace bathed the room in a reddish light and his eyes slowly adjusted to the point he could make out the shape of the furnishings. With a sudden start, he realized he was not alone.

A pair of eyes studied him, the red of the flames dancing across their surface. For a moment it seemed as if he had entered a realm of demons, for there was nothing of humanity in gaze that held his own.

“Bo?”

The sound broke him from the spell and he recognized the dark void that was John. A crackle of sparks briefly dispelled the darkness, and in that instance Bo saw the cold shine of the chrome-plated pistol clutched in the big hand. The gun pointed toward the ceiling, cradled against the side of John’s head, and Bo had a moment to wonder who it was intended for. The sparks faded swiftly, and as the darkness once more enveloped them Bo could feel the tension radiating from the man behind the big desk. The hair on the back of his neck rose in response to a threat he did not yet understand. “What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked, his mundane question an unconscious effort to restore a sense of normalcy to the scene.

A harsh chuckle rippled through the darkness. “Waiting for my salvation.”

When no elaboration was forthcoming, Bo slowly moved to the fireplace. Careful not to initiate a confrontation, he kept his eyes fixed on the dying flames. Casually, he reached to toss another log on the embers, stoking the fire to produce enough light to see by.

“You figure you’ll find salvation in the barrel of a gun?” he asked, his tone low and gentle as he watched the leaping flames.

Again the laughter echoed through the room. “I always have before. Why should this time be any different?” John replied with words that slurred tiredly together.

Backing from the heat of the now roaring fire, Bo turned to face the man at the desk. He was not surprised to see an almost empty bottle perched beside John’s left hand. “And you needed a little liquid courage to help you on your way?”

John offered a cold smile in response. Bo was an idiot if he thought it took courage to die. He wasn’t afraid to use the gun, he was tempted to. Lowering the weapon, he clicked the safety on and lay the gun to rest on the desk before him, his fingers reluctant to relinquish the cool comforting feel of death from their touch. To give his hands something to do, he grabbed the bottle. Draining its contents in a single motion, he gave a long sigh that verged on a moan and tilted his head back to study the ceiling.

“Kills the pain. Makes it all go away. That’s what whiskey’s supposed to do, didn’t you know that, Bo? Hell, I thought you listened to country music.” His chuckle rasp out like sandpaper over glass, painful to hear.

Bo could feel the agony in the whispered words, and despite himself he searched for something to ease the man’s hurt. “You lost her before and got her back, John. Remember when she went down on the plane. We thought we lost her for good then. But she came back. She came back to you. To her family. We’ll get her back again.”

John simply stared at the heavens, his breath rasping out harshly in the silence of the room. Finally, as if losing the fight to his inner demons, he lurched to his feet and began pacing across the floor. He stalked the room, grinding his fists into tired eyes in an effort to drive away the assaulting waves of memories. “Yea, Bo. I remember that. I remember it all too well. Do you remember?”

Not knowing what the man was driving at, Bo simply stared at him mutely. Angrily, John stepped to him. “I remember every time I put her in danger. I remember every time she paid the price for being with me! And I remember being at Mom and Pops when you told me what I didn’t want to know! I remember everything! How’s your memory, little brother?!” John spat, sending Bo lurching backward with a sudden shove.

Bo stumbled, trying to keep his feet. His eyes narrowed, and he fought the urge to take a swing at the man before him. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“What? Did you forget? You’re the one who first knew the truth, Bo! You’re the one who told me Marlena’s ‘death’ was my fault the first time I lost her! I couldn’t deny it then and I can’t deny it now! Every fucking time she has needed me, I have failed her. Jesus, Bo! The woman taught me the meaning of love and I repay her by hurting her, over and over again!” Unwilling to face the disgust he knew Bo must feel for him, he turned away. Ever muscle in his body burned with the rage that surged through him, washing away the exhaustion of endless hours without sleep. His fists clenched until blood stained his palms, the need for violence so intense he could not see past it. Every conscious thought intensified the hurt and he ached to lose himself in the chaos of destruction. The light touch of a human hand was all the excuse he needed and he whirled around to smash a hard fist into the face that appeared before him.

The impact of the unexpected blow slammed Bo’s head back and he crumpled to his knees with the taste of blood in his mouth. Dazed, he gazed up at John’s looming form. The look in those black eyes was not entirely sane, and the muscles in the man’s shoulders seemed to knot with barely constrained fury. “Get the fuck out of here, Bo. Get out now,” John hissed almost incoherently.

There was murder in those eyes and Bo could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Crouching on his knees, he held very still. “No.”

John’s lips pulled back in an angry snarl and his arm snaked down to yank the younger man to his feet. As Bo’s hand came up to grab at his wrist, he stepped forward and slammed him hard against the wall. The air ‘whooshed’ from his lungs, and Bo sagged in John’s hand gasping for breath. With a low groan, he turned his head to spit out the foul taste of the blood from his split lip. “Is this what you want, John?” he coughed, grabbing on to John’s arm and struggling to keep his feet.

John’s eyes narrowed to slits, and for an instance Bo thought that he would be in a fight for his very life. With a growl of frustration, John abruptly dropped him and turned away.

Harsh breathing was the only sound that broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, shaking his head from side to side like a wounded bull. “Christ, Bo. I’m sorry.”

Leaning against the wall, Bo bent of to rest his palms on his knees. Trying to catch his breath, he dabbed at the still bleeding cut on his lip. “Yea, well you should be, man. Dammit, I can’t believe you split my lip like that!” he muttered indignantly.

“If you weren’t so damn stubborn, you wouldn’t be bleeding right now, would you?” John sniped in spite of himself.

Straightening slowly, Bo shot him an ugly look and moved to the wet bar. He reached for the tub of ice, muttering “Always such a hardass,” under his breath.

As intended, the remark drew a reluctant chuckle. Turning to face him, John ran a hand through his hair and shot Bo a rueful grin. “Hell, you usually deserve it.”

Wincing as his lips curved in a slight smile, Bo commented, “Nice apology. You better work on it before you try explaining to Hope why you kidnaped me and carried me off to Europe. She’s not nearly as understanding as I am.”

At that, John could not help an amused grunt. “No way I’m explaining this to Hope. She’s your woman, you deal with her.”

“Oh! I’m telling Marlena you said that. She is going to jerk a knot in you, boy,” Bo snapped back, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Jarred from the moment by the mention of her name, John glanced guiltily away. “Hope she gets the chance,” he said softly.

Stepping to him, Bo cautiously reached out to grip his shoulder. “We will get her back, John. We’ll get them all back and take them home. I promise you,” he said, giving the older man a firm shake.

Stepping back, John broke the contact. His face suddenly cold, he locked eyes with Bo. “We better,” he said, and Bo could not tell if it was a promise or a threat. His jaw clenched tightly shut and John walked back over to the bar. Absently, he ran his finger over the label of a bottle of 20 year old scotch.

“Hey, John. It’s been a long night. Why don’t you call it a day and get some sleep?” Bo broke in, trying to draw him back from his bleak thoughts.

Stiffly, the man shrugged and pulled the bottle to him. “I can’t sleep, Bo. I just lay there in bed and think of her. Think of what they might be doing to her.... No point in my even trying to sleep,” he said, his voice breaking.

“So, what? Your plan is to drink until you pass out?”

Nodding agreeably John grunted, “Basically, yea. That was the plan.”

“I’ve heard better plans in my day,” was Bo’s wry response. “Look, I don’t need a partner who is terminally hung over. What say we sit and chat. Hope says I’m the best bedtime story teller there is. If I can’t put you out, nothing can.”

“You want to tell me a bedtime story?” John shot Bo a disbelieving look.

“Well, I don’t exactly ‘want’ to do it, but it would beat sitting here and watching you drink till you puke,” Bo replied, moving to sit on the long couch.

“So who said you had to sit here and watch? And what are you doing in here, anyway?” Putting the bottle down, John stumbled to the wingback chair by the fireplace. Hunching down in the chair, he flopped one leg over the padded armrest and studied Bo’s face curiously.

Surprised by the question, Bo flushed and looked away. “Well… I was going to call Hope. Let her know where I am. You haven’t let me call her, and she’s got to be going out of her head by now. Hell, you know her, John....”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, John shook his head. “No calls, Bo. This is need-to-know only.”

“She is not going to be thrilled with me running off to Europe with you of all people as it is. John, she is literally going to kill me if I don’t call her,” Bo answered, hating to sound like he was begging but willing to do it if John would let him call Hope.

John merely snorted, amused by how well trained Hope had Bo. “How is that wife of yours anyway?”

“Beautiful as always, man. Her and Sean Douglas are doing fine.”

“You did Pops proud there, Bo,” John commented, glancing over. Suddenly uncomfortable with the topic, he dropped his eyes. “How are Ma… Um, Sean and Caroline. How are they?”

Bo gave a shrug. “What do you think? They’re worried. Everybody’s worried John. Marlena and the kids missing. Now me. Dammit, John! It’s only been a few months since we lost Roman! You got to let me call them. Tell them everything’s okay.”

“Everything is not ‘okay’, Bo. Nothing is okay. You know that.”

“They think you killed Roman. They think you took Marlena. John, that almost destroyed Pop! They need to know it wasn’t you. You owe them that much,” Bo argued, his voice tight at the memories of what his family had suffered.

“You all should have known that I would never do anything like that. Anything to hurt the family,” John replied irritably, hurt that they would doubt him. Saddened that they had good cause.

“Yea, well you didn’t give us much reason to believe in you, now did you? You just ran off and deserted everybody. You didn’t even try and stay, try and explain what happened. That didn’t exactly inspire anybody’s confidence,” Bo retorted, glad of the chance to say what he felt.

“It was for your own good, and you know it!”

“That wasn’t how it felt, John. It felt like you betrayed us. You betrayed us and turned to a man who has done everything in his power to destroy our family. That’s how it felt!” Bo accused, daring the man to deny the truth of his words.

Instead of answering, John turned his head to stare into the shifting flames. He wouldn’t argue the point. He couldn’t. Bo was right. “If you need to call, then do it,” he finally said, his tone detached.

For a moment, Bo studied the man’s features, seeking some sign of his thoughts. When no revelations were forthcoming, he gave a sigh and rose to retrieve the phone. As he dialed the number he shot an irritated look in John’s direction, wishing the man would give him some privacy. The tiny ring in his ear focused his mind on more important issues. “Alice?” he said into the phone.

John tried to submerge himself in the dance of the flames. Bo’s conversation was none of his business. None of his concern. It wasn’t his family.

“Alice, let Hope know I’m alright. I’m searching for Marlena. I got a lead. Look, I’ll call in the morning and fill her in. And Alice. Can you do me a favor? I need to get a message to Mom and Pops...”

It wasn’t any of his business, John repeated the mantra in his head, lulling himself away from his surroundings and losing himself in the twisting cinders of wood as they contorted under the heat of the flames. He had almost managed to make himself not think when Bo’s voice broke him out of his stupor.

“John! Hey, John. Come on. Mrs. H wants to talk to you!” Bo said, shoving the phone in John’s direction.

Out of it, John stumbled to his feet and brought the phone to his ear. Holding the phone almost gingerly, he hesitantly said, “Mrs. Horton?.... Yes ma’am. Alice.... No, ma’am. I didn’t have anything to do with that.... Yes ma’am. I won’t let anything happen to Bo… Yes, I know what Hope would do to me.... Yes ma’am, I’m really sorry we called and woke you up. It was very inconsiderate. I told Bo that.... Yes ma’am, sometimes he is pretty thoughtless. I’ll speak to him about it. I promise.... Yes, I’ll personally make sure he calls in the morning once Hope is home.... Yes ma’am. I will.... Goodnight, Mrs. Horton… Alice. Goodnight.”

Stunned, John pulled the phone away from his ear and gently sat it back in its cradle. He turned to fasten wide eyes on Bo. “Jesus, she is worse than Stefano! How on earth do you handle her?”

“Generally, I try and stay on her good side,” Bo answered with a wry smile, the relief he felt at hearing the familiar voice making him almost giddy.

“Hey. Um, thanks for letting me call,” he added, slightly uncomfortable with the mix of emotions he was feeling toward John. “They were worried. Hope was down at the station, helping set up a search for me. Alice is going to straighten it out. I don’t want the family worrying.”

Absently, John nodded. “No. Wouldn’t want the family worrying… Look, why don’t you get some sleep, Bo. You’ve done what you came to do. Go to bed.”

“I don’t follow your orders anymore John. I think I’m going to sit here just as long as you do,” Bo responded, resuming his perch on the couch. There was no way in hell he was going to leave that man in a room by himself.

Tearing his eyes from the fire, John glared at Bo. “I promise to neither shoot myself nor get drunk. I don’t need a nursemaid. Go to bed.”

Not deigning to respond, Bo snuggled down into the thick cushions and pulled a woolen throw across his body. With a happy sigh, he shot John a contented smile and closed his eyes. Briefly he wondered if John was relieved by his refusal to leave or whether he was actually pissed off. Bo kind of hoped it was a little of both. His thoughts turned to how he was going to explain this whole mess to Hope in the morning. Preferably it would be in a way that would not have him sleeping on the couch for the next month. Just before he drifted off into sleep, he decided to blame the whole thing on John.

John studied the peaceful man spread out over the long sofa and wondered at the cause of the slight grin he saw on his face. He watched without moving until Bo’s chest rose and fell in untroubled slumber. Grateful for his presence. Irritated with his intrusion. With a sigh of his own, he finally turned back to the waning fire, wondering if all little brothers were such a pain in the ass.

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