"It's almost dark when they crawl up alongside the curb near Stefano's secondary house. It's on the outskirts of New Orleans, not close to the location of Maison Blanche, but not too far either.
They have stopped in the city for a meal and a little necessary shopping. They both now wear fitting black clothes and carry flashlights and a variety of useful weapons. If they encounter trouble, they are more than equipped to handle it.
The problem still seems to be, handling each other.
Things have gone from bad to worse since they arrived in the city and they are barely talking as Grace kills the motor and stares out across the gathering gloom.
"I still say this is a ridiculous plan," John says as he slips a cigarette between his lips and lights it.
"Do you *have* to do that in the car?" Grace replies irritably.
"We may as well be walking up the drive and knocking on the old man's door," John draws on the cigarette and lazily exhales in her direction. Grace gives a sigh of exasperation and rolls down her window. John drapes his arm over the back of her seat and leans back, taking another long drag of the cigarette. "You know, right? He'll have cameras sweeping every inch of that fucker. A fucking *mouse* won't be able to move in there without someone knowing about it and reporting it back to DiMera. And *you* think we're going to get in there without him finding out?"
"I didn't *say* that." She turns to him, her expression stony. "I'm fully aware that Stefano will know we're there. He'll probably be on a plane down here before we've even stepped through the door."
"If I know the old man," John raises an eyebrow, "he's probably on a plane down here already."
"Probably," Grace purses her lips and then shrugs with a small nod. "Probably, yes."
"Well then..." John reaches out and brushes her hair from her shoulder. The gesture makes Grace's stomach flip. It should be a tender gesture... before.... it would have been. Even when John couldn't stand her, he was still inexplicably tender with her. It seemed to be part of who he was, it was in his nature. And God help her, she misses that.
You can't miss him. He never really existed. You didn't want him and now he's gone. He belongs to Marlena. He belongs to a world that's dead and buried.
"But you see, don't you...?" She turns to him with determination flashing in her golden eyes. "We don't need to run now. It was *John* that wanted to escape Stefano. It was *John's* agenda. Is there any point in following it any longer?" She looks back at the house again, her gaze becoming distant. But there's a challenge in her voice as she speaks again. "So, are you scared of Stefano?"
"You know I'm not," he growls, but there's a sudden air of possessiveness about him as he leans towards her.
"Well, neither am I." She turns back to him, her eyes bright. "Stefano has been good to me."
"So you're going to go in there and wrap your arms around the old bastard's neck?" John asks cynically. "You're going to throw a welcome party?"
"Well.... No." She shakes her head. "I'm not sure *what* I'm going to do. I just know that there's some information in there I want. What happens next...?" She shrugs her shoulders. "I'll deal with that when it comes." A small smile curls her lips. "I rather like the unexpected."
John sighs heavily. He's not so keen on the unexpected. The unexpected has bitten him in the ass before, after all. The unexpected has stolen fifteen years of his life and it has brought him to a time and place he doesn't know. That he's not sure he cares to know.
But then....
"Look John," she turns to him, exasperation is evident in her voice. "If you don't want to come in with me, you don't have to. Just leave now. I know what I want and it's for me alone. There's really no reason for you to come along at all..."
He is silent as he looks at Grace, looks at her golden hair and the determined set of her jaw, and he feels his cock stir. Yes, the unexpected can be bad but shit, it can also be fucking miraculous....
"You trying to get rid of me Gracie?" There is wicked laughter in his voice as he reaches out and strokes her thigh. "You know, it's probably time the old man realized he's not the only one calling the shots."
He doesn't see her roll her eyes in the darkness. "Okay then, let's just get on with it. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we get..." she pauses, realizing she doesn't even have any idea what the outcome of this evening is likely to be. "Well, wherever we're going...."
~ * ~
It is late when Abe comes into the Brady pub. He is dog tired and it shows. There are nights where he doesn't sleep at all, nights where he leaves Lexie in bed and pads down to the living room. There he just sits and stares alternately at his cell phone and at the computer screen waiting for some kind of message. Something that will help him figure out where the hell John is. And where he has taken Marlena. Or the woman who used to be Marlena.
It's not a police matter any more. Thanks to the DA's office and their dodgy orders, the investigation into Roman's death is dead and buried. Which doesn't sit well with Abraham Carver. But he has no control. And maybe, if Marlena is involved... He hates to think it as an honest police officer... but maybe it is best for all those that he loves.
The thought of arresting Marlena and what it would do to Sami and Eric and well, the rest of the Brady family... Abe can't even imagine it.
The honest truth is he can't imagine what on this earth would drive Marlena to hurt Roman, let alone kill him. Marlena simply wouldn't do it. She has been one of his closest friends as long as he can remember. She doesn't have it in her to hurt another human being, let alone her ex-husband.
If Marlena is involved, it can't be his Marlena. It must be, as Hope claims, some kind of DiMera invention, some kind of implanted personality. It's the *only* thing that can explain everything that has happened, and all Marlena's bizarre behavior. It's the only reason that John would have done the things he has done. He must have been utterly desperate.
Despite all these suppositions, the bare fact is that John and Marlena are still missing. They can theorize all they like but until they can talk to John and Marlena and find the truth, they are only theories. And in the meantime Samantha is slowly losing the plot and the rest of the Brady family is unraveling. His friends have suffered so much, he just wants to do *something*, god, *anything* to help them. To make it better for them.
And now, he might have just the thing.
"Hey Caroline," he greets the Brady matriarch. "Are Bo and Hope around?"
"They're in the back," she gestures to the door that leads into the Brady living quarters. He follows her, noting how tired and stressed she looks. Of course, having just lost her son, it's not entirely surprising. But even so, he knows Caroline and he knows how she feels about John and Marlena. They might as well be her own children, she cares for them that deeply. And on top of Roman's death, this disappearance is wearing heavy on her.
In the living room, Hope is sitting on the sofa, leaning against her husband. She still looks wan, but at least there is a smile on her face. She is talking to Shawn-Douglas but the room falls silent as Abe enters.
"Hey Abraham," Bo manages a tight smile. "What's up?"
"Uh," Abe looks uncertainly at Shawn-D.
"It's okay Abe," Hope reaches out and pats Shawn-D on the knee. "Shawn knows what's going on."
"Can't help but when it's all that the whole family is talking about," Shawn shrugs. "I'm just glad Belle's not here to know what's going down."
"She doesn't know anything about what's going on with her Mom and Dad?" Abe asks as he sits on the sofa opposite Bo and Hope.
"No," Shawn shakes his head. "Unless Sami's blabbed in the past couple of days, she doesn't know. And I guess she would have called if she'd heard anything."
"Small mercies," Hope nods wanly as she sees the expression on Abe's face. "I don't know that we'll be able to keep it from Belle or Marlena's parents much longer though. Belle is sure to start asking questions soon."
"Yeah, and Sami's more than liable to give her the most outrageous answers she can come up with." Bo shakes his head. "That girl is a fucking liability."
"Well, hopefully we won't need to cross that bridge," Abe interjects. "That's what I came to tell you. Our contact called in. DiMera's jet is in the air. The pilot has filed a flight plan to New Orleans International."
"He's going to..." Bo's brow furrows. "Does he have property down there? He hasn't rebuilt Maison Blanche, has he?"
"No, that was the first thing I checked," Abe holds out a sheaf of paper and Bo takes it, leafing through briefly. "Maison Blanche is scheduled for redevelopment, but building hasn't started yet. But there are several," he indicates the papers, "other possibilities."
"And we think he's gone down there...?" Hope raises one eyebrow.
"Yeah," Abe's voice comes low and husky with suppressed emotion. "There's only one reason DiMera would leave Salem now."
"Because he knows where they are." Bo concludes with a nod.
"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Hope immediately swings her legs off of the sofa. "How soon can we get a flight?"
~ * ~
When they reach the perimeter of the mansion, John looks at Grace with a 'told you so' expression. She ignores the feeling of trepidation that is growing in the pit of her stomach and instead inspects the window in front of her.
"Where's the security?" John hisses. "The dogs? The guards? The fucking floodlights?! We're walking into a fucking trap, Grace."
"No *shit* Sherlock," she bites back. "And I've already told you, *I* don't care. I have no reason to fear Stefano." She turns her head and smiles slyly. The moonlight lays a frosting of silver over her hair and catches the glint in her eyes. For a moment John finds himself mesmerized by her beauty and he barely hears her words. "But if you're scared of Stefano, off you go. You can run off like the *coward* you are."
It takes him a moment before his brain catches up with her taunts, but when it does, his expression darkens.
"Go on," she takes a step towards him defiantly. She is right in his face when she speaks again, her lips thin and disdain in her eyes. "Run off with your tail between your legs."
"*You*," he takes her by surprise, slamming her up against the wall, his hand around her neck. The sudden impact leaves her gasping for breath as he leans in, "need to learn when to *shut* the *fuck* *up*." His hand tightens around her throat and she feels panic flaring in the pit of her stomach. "One day that pretty mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble that it can't get you out of." John snarls.
Grace glares at him with untamed rage and then spits in his face. He gives a guttural chuckle and presses in against her as she struggles. "Come to think of it Gracie," he whispers in her ear. His breath is hot and wet against her skin and she feels her body betray her in its reaction to his closeness. "How about you keep those gorgeous lips *shut* unless they're wrapped around my cock, hmmm?"
"You-" Her utterance of disgust is cut off as his mouth covers hers and she is shocked and furious to find herself kissing him back. She stops struggling as he deftly unbuttons his pants and then takes her hand and slides it down inside his boxers.
He groans loudly as she curls her fingers around him and he almost staggers backwards as she pulls away the hand from her throat and slides down the wall. And then she's on the ground in front of him, on her knees, looking up at him in the glittering moonlight.
"Oh *fuck*, yeah," he croaks as she frees his cock from his boxers and wraps her hand around his length. He swears he could almost come from just watching the way she parts her lips. He can see just a glimpse her tongue as-
"FUCK!!" He staggers away from her, and sinks to the ground, tears in his eyes as he cradles his balls. "You-." He gasps as another wave of pain hits him. "Bitch!"
He had been so busy watching her face, he had been unaware of the hand that grabbed his testicles in a vice-like grip until it was way, way too late.
"Don't," Grace climbs to her feet and dusts off her knees, "you *ever* talk to me like that again. Don't you *dare*." She rubs her throat and takes a deep breath, trying to steady her frayed nerves. She's starting to think that maybe she's made a momentous mistake by destroying John Black and bringing this misogynistic psychopath to the surface. It's not a feeling she likes, either the knowledge that she has made a mistake, or the fact that she can't undo it.
John says nothing, he just closes his eyes and tries to regain some kind of equilibrium. Finally, the waves of agony subside and he manages to lurch to his feet. "You're a fucking crazy bitch," he mutters as he pulls up his pants.
"No, I'm a strong bitch who doesn't take any *shit*," she pulls her hair behind her shoulder and then crosses her arms in front of her. She's utterly furious. She can't ever remember being this angry. "Let's get one thing straight John. You might not need me, but *newsflash* baby," she smiles, but there is no humor behind her expression. There's no warmth, just an iciness that even takes John by surprise. "I don't need *you*. It might be hard to believe but really, I think I can do just fine without you." Her eyes glitter in the frozen light. "And contrary to what you seem to believe, you are *not* God's gift, and I *can* resist you." She's not entirely sure that *that's* one hundred percent true, but she'll be damned if she's going to let him use sex, use the reactions of her own body, to control her.
"So if you plan to stick around, you'd better listen." Her voice drops to a sibilant whisper as she takes several steps towards him and raises her finger to point in his face. "If you ever, *ever* try a stunt like that again, I won't just crush your balls, I'll fucking remove them all together." Now she allows herself a small, satisfied smile and it grows when she sees the uncertainty flicker across John's face. "Got it stud?"
There is a long silence, as John seems to evaluate her words and then finally, his lips curl into an oily smile. "Sure. I got it, *Boss*." His tone of voice conveys nothing but sarcasm. "Hands off. Message received loud and clear."
"Is it?" she's disbelieving, with clear reason to be.
He raises an eyebrow suggestively and smirks again and Grace emits a tired sigh. Choosing to ignore him, she turns her back and goes back to the house. John's smile fades immediately and his expression grows dark and dangerous. No-one tells him what to do. Not even the old man. And especially not his bimbo.
Still, there will be plenty of time later to put the bitch straight.
He follows her to the window and watches silently as she feels around the edges of the sill and the sash. When she draws out a long slender piece of metal, he clears his throat to catch her attention.
"Won't the window be alarmed?" he asks.
"Not this one," she slides the piece of metal between the sill and the sash of the window and leans over to get a better view. She jiggles it slightly and then moves it carefully towards the center of the window. "Stefano has this particular window free from alarms because he generally has it open when he's in residence. With all the other security safeguards, it's safe enough, so it's easier for him to keep it off the circuits. Besides," she shrugs, "I don't think any of them are alarmed tonight. They've been expecting us."
"As you so eloquently put it," John places his hand on the window sill and takes a step that brings him right up behind Grace. With a malicious grin, he leans over the top of her and whispers in her ear, "no *shit* Sherlock."
Grace grimaces and then there is a click from the window and with a laugh, she quickly withdraws the metal implement. John is too quick though and he has taken a step back before her elbow makes contact with his midsection. "Nice try Gracie," he chuckles. "Better luck next time."
She doesn't even turn around. "Fuck off," she says with venom.
"Sorry, not yet sweetheart." He's definitely enjoying this now. She's something else and he's not ready to walk away from her yet. He knows every single one of her buttons and he's enjoying pushing them far too much. And then there's DiMera. When Stefano finds out his beloved Grace has been fucking the prodigal son, he's going to fucking lose the plot. And John wants to be there to see the old man go apoplectic. He's always enjoying putting one over on the old bastard, and it's been far too long.
And then there's the small matter of John Black's money. He wants it back. It's rightfully his and he wants it. It will free him from Stefano, it might well buy him Grace, and it will finance the kind of lifestyle he has always known he was destined for.
"Too bad," Grace snaps back as she quietly slides the window up. It scrapes slightly and she stops, listening intently. When she is satisfied, she continues to open the window. At the same time, her voice drops to a mere whisper. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you might reconsider if I added a please on the end?"
"'Fraid so Blondie." he whispers back. "You want to get rid of me too badly for me to want to leave."
"Great," she mutters as she places her hands on the window sill. "Fucking great."
There's no more talking as John places his hands around Grace's hips and helps boost her through the window. He follows a minute later and as his boots hit the floor with a muffled thud, he looks around him.
This is obviously Stefano's study, although this is more of a sitting area. There are a couple of comfortable sofas and a low table in here. Opposite the windows the wall consists of a floor to ceiling bookcase, aside from the large opening which leads through to what must be Stefano's desk.
Grace seems to ignore all of this and moves noiselessly out of the room and into the darkened anteroom. She has her flashlight in her hands, but there is enough ambient light that she doesn't need to use it. Yet.
"What are we looking for?" John comes up behind Grace and hisses the question. Surely any information will be in the study. That is, after all, the point of having a study. "Isn't all his paperwork in there?"
"Not the important stuff," Grace whispers back, shaking her head. "This *is* Stefano. Nothing is ever simple." She continues into the sitting room but she doesn't stop there. It's in the dining room that she stops and surveys the room.
It's more than clear by now that there are no alarms, no servants. They have a clear run of the place. Which means that either Stefano is about to arrive, or he's already here. Waiting for her.
Well, there's only one way to find out....
She switches on her flashlight and runs it over the paneling that lines the end wall of the room. She frowns for a moment and then steps forward and runs her hand over the sculpted edge of one of the lower panels. John realizes he's holding his breath as he watches her run her fingers along the curve of wood and he looks around furtively. The place seems to be deserted. But seems is definitely a different matter than is. Either the old man is losing his touch, or they are being followed by one, or probably several cameras on an advanced security system.
He hears a click and a quiet exhalation of breath and he turns back to where Grace is swinging open a portion of the paneling.
"A secret passage." He chuckles under his breath. "How DiMera."
"Shhhh!" Grace hushes him as she steps inside the wall. She lifts her head and surveys the darkness that greets her. The air is stale in here. Maybe Stefano has not yet reached the mansion. "Okay." Her voice is still little more than a whisper as her flashlight beam cuts the darkness. "Let's go."
The paneling door closes behind them as they make their way down the passageway. John is almost on top of Grace when she stops. He looks over her shoulder and down the steep stairway that disappears into the murk. It is cooler down here, now that they have left the oppressive summer night behind. Now that they are disappearing into the bowels of Stefano's lair.
Grace uses the light from her flashlight to carefully pick her way down the steps, while her hand caresses the chill stone walls.
John follows, growing increasingly curious about what the old man has locked away down here. Stefano's primary weapon has always been information. He has always had an unflinching ability to lay his hands on the most destructive facts about his enemies and he has used that unique knowledge, those secrets and truths to manipulate and destroy them.
John is fully aware that was Gina's primary function. She could cajole, seduce and outright steal secrets from a multitude of weak-willed men. Any other thievery she undertook for DiMera was merely a sideshow. And somehow he has no doubt that Grace was even better at it than Gina. He bets that between her thighs, even the most taciturn of Stefano's adversaries had spilt secrets they weren't even aware they had.
No wonder Stefano had been so furious when he had lost her. No wonder he was... no, *is* so obsessed with her.
And yet, according to her, the old man has never *had* her. Never sampled the sinfully abundant pleasures of that magnificent body...
He shakes his head with a grin. Man, Stefano is going to be pissed when he gets here. And John is going to rub his nose in every fucking horny minute that he has spent with Grace. The pawn takes the Queen, Steffy. Again and again and again...
He's feeling turned on again, just thinking about it. About her. She's like a fucking drug in his system. She's irritating and there are moments he could kill her. But damn, he's hot for her. Maybe later, when Stefano gets here, he'll take her again for the benefit of the cameras this time. That'll *really* chap Stefano's ass.
His train of thought is interrupted as they come to a large room. Off it, lie several more rooms. To the left, there is a steel door which, when John tries it, is very definitely locked.
Grace ignores him and heads for the doorway on the right. Inside, she flicks on the light-switch and waits for her eyes to adjust. It's just the way she remembers it. One wall lined with filing cabinets, numbered and labeled alphabetically. At the end of the room where she has entered, there is a large desk with a laptop computer and a comfortable leather chair. Against the brick wall opposite the cabinets, there is a long, leather couch which is dappled with large, comfortable cushions.
As John enters behind her, she goes to the desk and opens the laptop. He's surprised when she doesn't turn it on. Instead, she upends it and slides across the catch that releases the battery. Deftly she slides the battery out and then slides her slender fingers just inside the now-empty cavity.
She emerges with a small key and turns to John with a cocky smile. "Sometimes he's too predictable."
John says nothing as his eyes follow her across the room to the first in the bank of cabinets. God, she's so fucking hot, he could take her here, right now. He could.... but he won't. He wants to know what it is that's got her burning to slip into Stefano's own fortress. What the hell could be so important?
He strolls over to where she is riffling through the files in the bottom draw. The draw that bears the legend Be - Bu. John immediately recognizes the significance of what she's looking at but before he can catch a glimpse of the file she is fingering through, she gives a cry of triumph and snatches out several pieces of paper.
"What is it?" he demands. "What the hell is so important that you were willing to walk straight into DiMera's arms? Are you planning on telling me *now*?"
"Well, that depends, John," she pushes the drawer closed and straightens up. With a quick flick of her fingers, she has the papers folded and she slides them into the waistband of her pants. Smoothing her top over the papers, she continues. "The question is, do you really want to know?" She raises a finger and taps it against the side of her nose. "After all, too much knowledge is a dangerous thi-"
She stops short, feeling a prickling at the back of her neck. With her heart racing, she pastes a smile on her face and turns to the doorway.
"Hello my darling." It's an overly airy greeting, inspired by the impassive expression on Stefano's face. She knows, she's always known, the best way to handle him and her smile becomes immediately seductive as she saunters towards the spot where he stands, arms crossed. "What on earth took you so long?"