FOUR

Reagan slept through the afternoon and into the evening, waking long after the sun had settled behind the mountains that surrounded the woodland campus. The rain had turned to sleet and beat a steady rhythm on the windows of the infirmary. Mrs. Carson pulled the pale blue curtains closed and gently covered her restless patient with a heavier blanket. This bed, closest to this nurse's station, was always used for the patient most in need of care. The soft light from the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room. She checked the girl's breathing and made sure the bandage on her arm was not too tight, then turned all but that one small light off in the large ward. The forty-ish mother of five tucked the blanket under the girl's chin and frowned at the small figure in the bed before she turned and walked to the small desk in the alcove next to the room.  Something about this whole situation was not right, she knew that. "What aren't you telling me, Reagan McAllister?" She wondered out loud. "And what are you trying to hide?" She shook her head and turned back to the file she was updating. She had tried all afternoon to reach Payton McAllister, but her efforts were fruitless. She looked at her watch: 6:45 p.m. She'd try the Long Island number one last time.

Julia Carson remembered well the dark-haired, blue-eyed menace that had graced the halls of Brisbey more than a decade before. Payton Frances Montague McAllister: she remembered the name she had seen written in deep red across a file in her top drawer. She kept all of her 'repeat customers' in that drawer, and Payton was always good for either sending her a dozen patients or needing a dozen stitches on a regular basis. Payton was one tough cookie who never shed a tear or broke her stone cold gaze. She was a child without feelings; she needed no one and made no attempt to make it a secret. Despite her solitary existence she commanded a large following of peers. Payton had made plenty of trouble in her six years at Brisbey, but somehow it always seemed she came out clean. Mrs. Carson suspected Payton's father had a lot of influence in that area and noted that each time Payton came close to expulsion a new building was suddenly authorized or a sizable grant was donated to the institution. She had never really liked Payton, never trusted her. The girl was a thief and a liar. She could con, cheat and bully her way out of any situation and still fall back on her father's money to redeem her. Mrs. Carson shook off the thought that Payton was much more deserving of the Reagan's fate. Even in private she blushed with the guilt of it. She hated to leave her young patient but she needed to make that phone call before it got too late. Anyway, she was finished with the files she had brought to work on at the small desk. A short trip to the office would do her good; she needed to stretch and collect more files before she too drifted off to slumber-land. All those empty beds were starting to look very inviting, and the steady patter of rain was very relaxing. She stacked the files neatly and stood making a quick check on Reagan before crossing the long room and exiting on the opposite side. She was satisfied the girl would sleep at least another hour. The phone call would take fifteen minutes at the most, if she made a connection. A quick call to the cafeteria would also take a few moments. She and Reagan would need supper. Perhaps the girl would open up a bit after her rest and over a hot meal. Julia Carson could only hope.

A figure moved slowly and quietly across the ward. It had entered through a service door after using a passkey to open the security exit. It had listened at the door until the stocky nurse finally left the room. How long did that nurse have to watch the little brat sleep? It moved closer to the bed and looked down at the sleeping child from the hooded cloak that hid its face. For a moment the figure stood listening to the muffled sounds coming from the outer office, making sure the nurse was not on her way back into the room. A cold, white hand snaked out from the folds of the cloak and clamped hard over the child's mouth. Reagan's eyes snapped open wide with the shock of her rough awakening. The hand pressed hard against her face, pushing her head down into the pillow. It squashed her already sore lip into her own teeth and she could taste the blood pooling inside her mouth. 'It couldn't be a dream,' Reagan told herself, 'the pain is too real.' Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she struggled for breath.

"Not a sound," a chilly, familiar voice croaked. Reagan nodded quickly and the hand was removed. She gulped in a mouthful of fresh air and stifled the cough she knew would alert the nurse. "What did you tell them?" the voice demanded through its teeth.

Reagan shook her head. "Nothing," she whispered around the small pool of blood between her teeth and her cheek.

"Liar!" the voice accused as the hand rose to strike. Reagan cringed and prepared for the pending sting of Miss Thorne's hand. It did not come. The hand froze above the girl's head. It would be much too difficult to explain an injury to a sleeping patient, the headmistress had reminded herself. "I want the truth, brat!"

"I told them I fell." Reagan tried to hold back her tears and quell the fear that threatened to engulf her, but the battle was already lost. "That's all…."

The figure looming over her stared down and for just a moment Reagan almost thought the eyes within the dark cloak glowed red and evil. She shut her eyes tightly and opened them again. Miss Thorn's finger was pointing accusingly. "You had better make it believable, McAllister, or I will see to it that your little friend is expelled by the end of the week." She smiled at the look on the girl's face. "Yes, I know. I know she is just as guilty, probably more so. Her mother works day and night to keep her here and I can end that in one stroke of the pen. Would you like that, McAllister?" She leaned close to Reagan's face. Reagan shook her head slowly.

A noise from the outer office meant Mrs. Carson was on her way back. "Not one word, McAllister, or Morgan is history and you…you will be the last McAllister to set foot on this or any campus in this or any other league of schools!" Her voice was hoarse and quick as she pulled her cloak even closer around her and silently moved toward the exit. "Remember, not a word." With that she was gone.

Reagan desperately tried to control her breathing, to slow it down to normal. She used the edge of the sheet to wipe the tears from her cheeks and face. She sniffed, and used the back of her hand to quickly wipe her nose. The door opened and the bright light from the outer office spilled into the dim ward. Reagan turned on her side and closed her eyes hoping to feign sleep.

Mrs. Carson walked to her desk and deposited the new stack of files letting out an 'oopf' as she did. She moved to the side of Reagan's bed. It was only luck that kept her from stepping in the wet tracks left by Reagan's malicious visitor and only the dim light that prevented her from seeing them. She placed a hand on the girl's forehead, using a mother's old trick to satisfy herself that there was no fever to worry about. She straightened the blankets on the bed again, then returned to her desk. Reagan breathed a bit deeper, relieved that her ruse had fooled the woman. A loud knock on the back door caused her to jump. She used it as an excuse to come awake rolling over slowly to see Mrs. Carson looking back.

"It's okay, dear." She smiled. "Just someone from the kitchen bringing us a bite to eat. You'd like that now, wouldn't you?" She rose and moved to the door using the key that hung on a hook near the door to open it. Two students waited outside. One carried a tray covered with a large metal dome; the other held a large black umbrella that seemed to be wrestling with the student for control. Mrs. Carson thanked the girls and took the tray. She set it down on her desk then turned back, locked the door, and returned the key to its place on the wall. She lifted the dome and surveyed the contents under it. "Mmm, let's see. I think soup for you and meatloaf for me. But Cook sent a bit of chocolate pudding for both of us." She smiled broadly at Reagan.

Reagan thanked her lucky star for that small favor. She hated meatloaf. She wasn't very hungry anyway, but chocolate -- who could resist? Mrs. Carson brought a small table closer to the bed and then put the tray on top. She grabbed an extra pillow from the closest bed and propped Reagan up into a position more comfortable for eating. Then she brought a special tray with short legs and placed the bowl of soup and a spoon on it along with a clean napkin and a large glass of milk and placed it over the girl's lap. "How's that for service?" She smiled at her forlorn patient. "Looks like that lip is bleeding again, must be worse than I thought." She brought a cloth from one of her large pockets and dabbed the blood from Reagan's mouth. "Does it hurt?" she asked with genuine concern.

Reagan shook her head. If she answered 'no', it would have been a lie. Shaking her head seemed less of a fib.

"Now, you eat all that soup and drink your milk," Mrs. Carson instructed her in a motherly tone. "Maybe after you finish, you and I can have a game of checkers or hearts. Would you like that?"

"I have to stay here?" Reagan asked quietly.

"I want to keep an eye on you, at least for tonight," Mrs. Carson smiled back. "We usually do that with little girls who have very big bruises on their heads," she added.

"I'm not a little girl." Reagan corrected her politely, as she picked up her spoon and sampled the warm soup. It tasted fine, but its saltiness stung the cuts inside her mouth.

Mrs. Carson smiled, recognizing the tone. "I apologize. 'Young ladies' with bruises on their heads. Better?" she smiled.

Reagan returned a tiny smile. "I don't know how to play hearts. I know Gin Rummy. Can we play that?"

"That we can. But I must warn you, I am a champion, unbeaten in my family." Mrs. Carson challenged as she sampled her own meal.

The girl laughed a small laugh. "So am I…I mean…" her face clouded, "so was I."

"We'll see then, won't we?" Mrs. Carson smiled again. "But not too late. I have a bit more medicine for you and then you can get a good night's sleep."

"Alone?" Reagan asked quickly, stopping a spoonful of soup on its way to her mouth. "Here?"

Mrs. Carson understood the child's fear. "No dear, not alone. I will be here with you all night. And then tomorrow, if you feel better, and if the rain stops, you can show me that tree you fell from." Reagan swallowed the soup with a visible gulp and nodded slowly. "Good, now finish your supper or I will be having a lot of chocolate pudding for dessert." She smiled again and the girl smiled back.

After a chocolate feast, six hands of Gin Rummy (that ended in a tie score), a trip to the lavatory to freshen up a bit and two games of checkers Reagan yawned and rubbed her eyes. Mrs. Carson put an end to the evening, holding out two small white tablets and a glass of cold water to the young girl. Reagan took them with a bit of apprehension, but relaxed when the nurse assured her that they were only aspirin and would help with the aches and pains she was sure Reagan wasn't telling her about. It was just before midnight when Reagan closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep for the second time that day. Mrs. Carson checked all of the locks on all of the doors and settled down with a large cup of coffee and her stack of student files. She would work a bit, then use the bed closest to Reagan to rest for a few hours before dawn.

FIVE

Payton McAllister pulled open the heavy draperies that covered the picture window of her dining room. The day was damp and dreary. The rain that had begun late yesterday afternoon continued to teem down, soaking the estate. The small boats at the private dock bobbed up and down in the angry waters. She watched them from her vantage point high on the hill where almost 130 years ago her great-great --or was it great-great-great-grandfather -- had built what was now called Mac an Bhaird. Donal McAllister had one ship when he settled in the Long Island Sound. Some said his fortune was ill gotten. Some said he was a pirate and had used the island to hide the plunder stolen from merchant ships over the years. Some even went as far as to say he, Donal McAllister, was a direct descendent of the pirate queen, Grace O'Malley. Payton looked out across the dark rolling tide and imagined herself at the helm of a great ship using whatever force necessary to take what she wanted; to succeed above all costs, to be the best. The strong autumn wind blew wet leaves against the window, startling her back to reality. The tall, dark young woman crossed the large room with graceful stealth, the deep plush carpet muffling any sound her footsteps might have made. She sat in the only chair at the end of the long dining room table and picked up the newspaper that had been put there for her. Immediately she leafed through the pages pulling out the stock reports and quickly finding her own company there. 'Up 3 points,' she smiled to herself. 'Good, very good.' She smiled as she noted the condition of one of her competitors, "tsk, tsk, tsk." She clucked evilly. "Old Morgan is down another two and three quarters. How very sad for him." She said out loud.

"For whom, Miss Payton?" A chipper voice inquired as a middle-aged woman backed out of a swinging door behind the young executive. She turned and set a steaming plate in front of her employer, then took the delicate china cup from the place setting and filled it with coffee from the matching pot that had been on the table.

"Oh, just a former competitor." Payton replied flatly without putting down the paper. She reached around it taking a slice of toast from the large plate to her right. "Won't be long before he is completely out of his misery and I am watching them paint our logo on his fleet." She informed her employee between bites. She shook the paper straight and folded it neatly, placing it on the table, and picked up the cup the woman had just filled. She took a sip of the hot black beverage, then dabbed her mouth with the linen napkin she had previously put on her lap.

"Do you ever take a day off, Payton? It is Sunday, the day the Lord set aside for rest." The woman smiled sweetly.

"There's no rest for the wicked!" Payton mugged, winking at the woman at her side. She laughed at the woman's response.

Marjorie Wilkes had worked for the McAllisters since before Payton was born. She was one of the few people Payton was comfortable with, one of the few whose opinion she actually valued. But Payton McAllister took advice from no one. Marjorie wiped the edge of the table with the cloth she had brought into the room, then used it to swipe at the young woman grinning in front of her. It was early morning. Payton was relaxed (at least as relaxed as she could be). Her usually perfect hair was a bit disheveled from sleep and her eyes still held that puffy 'oh, my gosh is it morning already?' look. Her usually white cheeks were rosy, and instead of a starched business suit she had donned a thick white terry cloth robe that reached to the floor and was tied with a large matching belt. Marjorie was the only person who ever saw Payton McAllister without her working 'armor', the only one privy to this side of the Wall Street Warrior as she was known in the business circle. "You have a message from that school of yours." She reached into the pocket of her apron and brought out a small yellow paper. "I took it last night, right after you went out." She held the scrap out to Payton who stared at it as if it were written in some foreign language. Payton sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest. She shook her head. Marjorie shrugged, pushed her glasses up on her nose, and looked at her scrawl across the small bit of notepaper.

"The woman, a…Mrs. Carson…said she needs to speak to you as soon as possible. She said it was very important and that she tried to contact you all day long. Her number is 2…" Marjorie was cut short as Payton snatched the paper from her. She turned it around and looked at the note.

"You know Marge, you're right." She announced as she stood and placed a hand on the older woman's shoulder. Marjorie was clearly confused. "It is Sunday. A day of rest. A day when we don't think about business or schools or troubles or phone calls." She stuffed the small note into her own pocket and turned the woman back toward the kitchen. "I think it's about time I start taking your advice. You know Connie said almost the same thing yesterday. I think I'll relax in a nice hot tub, then get dressed and head out to the club for a nice lunch, maybe I'll even take in a movie." She smiled as she pushed the elderly maid toward the kitchen door. "Why don't you finish here and take the rest of the day yourself."

Marjorie allowed herself to be steered out of the room, turning as she went through the door. "She said it was important, Payton."

"I'll call tomorrow." Payton told her.

Marjorie shook her head.

"I promise." She assured her.

Marjorie sighed.

"REALLY!" Payton repeated.

Marjorie stared.

"Don't push it." Payton warned.

Marjorie let the door swing shut. Payton stuffed her hands into her pockets, squashing the small piece of paper as she did. "I am no one's mother," she growled to herself. Suddenly losing her appetite, she walked from the room, intent on salvaging the day. If there were trouble at Brisbey, she would delegate someone to iron it out. Perhaps Connie or that new lawyer Colin something-or-other would be helpful. After all, wasn't it that stiff-faced lawyer of her father's that came every time she had wreaked havoc at the old hallowed halls of learning? She thought back to the one and only time her father had actually come to solve the problem himself. She laughed as she climbed the wide curved staircase to the second floor of the McAllister mansion. Oh yes, Jack McAllister really solved his problem. She didn't even remember what she had done, but it ended in a shouting match between her and her father. Tempers flared and the tension escalated. She had been a senior and was in danger of not graduating. He lectured her in the importance of education and how she was a fool to throw it all away now, how something like this would ruin her chances at getting into a good college. She remembered that much at least. But she had been angry and was not used to paternal concern. She struck back, finding his weakness immediately. She had called his new wife names he had never expected to hear from anyone, let alone his 17-year-old daughter. She accused him of practically violating the much younger woman in order to produce a male heir only to be given another bitch for his stable. She remembered those words as well. She had a lot more to say, but he cut her short with a stinging slap across her jaw. It was the only time her father had raised a hand to her. She had staggered back shocked. He had stood in front of her, his arm poised for a second blow. Their eyes locked, their tempers matched. He dropped his arm and pointed in her face. "Never again, never." He had said between breaths. He turned and walked away. They never discussed it. They never apologized. She hated him for hating her. She hated him for loving them more. She hated him for making that little bastard her responsibility, and she would be damned if she had to take care of this herself.

Payton walked into her bedroom and slammed the door, causing a hollow echo to reverberate through the large empty house.

Two hours away, far from a clear view of the Atlantic, Reagan McAllister woke to the same storm. The wind whipped the leaves from the trees and tossed them like kites without strings across the wide campus. The cold gray sky dulled the bright fall colors and the world remained sodden and sullen. Reagan stretched and smiled at the miserable weather. Her prayers had been answered. There would be no trek to the glade today, no way she would have to show Mrs. Carson where her 'accident' had happened. The dull clang of a large bell reminded her of her Sunday obligation and she sat up, throwing off the blanket and sliding to the cold floor. She crinkled her toes as her feet touched the hard linoleum. She scanned the room in search of her clothing.

"And where'd you think you're going?" A voice startled her and she turned to see Mrs. Carson at the small desk in the corner. "You just get yourself right back into that bed, young lady." She pointed with her pencil.

"But, it's Sunday." Reagan protested as the nurse rose and approached her. "I can't miss chapel. Miss Thorne would be very angry. It’s a terrible sin not to go, you know." She looked up at the nurse.

"Well," Mrs. Carson began as she easily lifted the child back onto the bed. "I think the Lord will make an exception in this case. But if it will make you feel better, I'll talk to Father Kulick for you. Perhaps he'll pay you a special visit." She waited for the girl to lie back against the pillow, then pulled the blanket back over her. She put a hand to Reagan's forehead, then bent down to place her lips on the same spot. "Hmm, " she frowned, "I think we might just need a thermometer after all." She turned and headed for a tall glass cabinet across the room.

"But I'm fine!" Reagan protested, raising herself on both elbows.

Mrs. Carson opened the cabinet and reached inside. She turned back toward Reagan shaking the thin glass tube rapidly. "We'll see." She nodded. "Open."

Reagan took the instrument in her mouth. "I feel fine," she repeated around it.

"Shh!" Mrs. Carson cautioned as she held the girl's wrist with hand and observed the watch she wore on her own. A few minutes ticked by before she removed the thermometer and frowned at its reading.

"Well?" Reagan questioned, trying to sound as healthy as she could. "Didn't I tell you I was fine?"

"Oh, fine and dandy." Mrs. Carson agreed, shaking the thermometer for a second time. She placed it in a small glass on the table next to Reagan's bed. "And," she continued lightly tapping the child on the tip of her nose, "if you live to be as old as your temperature you will be a very old woman!" She smiled and walked back to the glass cabinet.

"No needles?" Reagan asked suddenly sounding very young.

"Well, for now I think we will try some aspirin, some liquids and a lot of rest." She smiled reassuringly as she locked the glass door on the cabinet. 'She endured all that pain and now she is worried over a little pin prick.' The nurse shook her head at the irony. She weighed the words of her next statement carefully. "I put in a call to your sister yesterday, perhaps a little visit with her will help as well."

"Payton? You called Payton? Why? Is she coming here? When?" Reagan once again rose from her nest of pillows.

Mrs. Carson hurried to her side and gently pushed her back against them. She hadn't counted on that reaction. She couldn't quite place what it was exactly. Shock? Fear? Surprise? Or was it perhaps, excitement? "Shh," she comforted the child. "I left a message for her to call me. I thought we should tell her about your 'accident'."

Reagan let out the breath she had been holding. Mrs. Carson hadn't talked to Payton at all, only left a message. Payton couldn't know she was shaming the McAllister name, creating a blemish on the impeccable record of the McAllisters at Brisbey. Payton couldn't know how angry she managed to make the headmistress in the short time she had been at the school. Payton wouldn't come. Payton never even spoke to her. Payton would stay in New York. Payton wasn't her mother. Payton was her sister, the sister she adored, the sister she emulated, the sister she wished would come to visit, to talk, to…help. But…she knew Payton wouldn't come. She stared at Mrs. Carson's concerned face, as she blinked twice and nodded.

"Okay, then…" Mrs. Carson squeezed her shoulders a lightly. "What would you like for breakfast? I think Sunday is hotcakes with syrup. How many can you eat? Cook and I are old friends; she can smuggle us some extra." The woman smiled as she rubbed her hands together.

Reagan couldn't help smiling, but she wasn't very hungry. Suddenly she didn't feel so fine; suddenly things began to feel much, much worse.

SIX  

At 1:30 on Monday afternoon, Nancy Feeney stood in the lobby of the Bhaird Building scanning the directory for the office number of its most prestigious tenant, McAllister Shipping. She found the company quickly and wasn't surprised to find that its chief executive's office was on the penthouse floor. After all, McAllister Shipping owned the Bhaird Building and almost every other building on this side of Battery Place. She pushed the large gold button and stepped back to wait for the elevator. It had been a long trip into the city on the train, then on the subway to the southern tip of Manhattan Island, but the young teacher was bound and determined to see Payton McAllister and make her aware of the situation at Brisbey.

Nancy had stopped to visit the younger McAllister at the school infirmary the previous day and was concerned to find her feverish. Mrs. Carson assured the woman it was nothing more than the start of a slight cold, just coincidental to her injuries from 'the fall'. Reagan herself seemed content enough. She had been asleep when Nancy stopped to inform the school nurse of her plan to visit the city today. Mrs. Carson was a bit hesitant to agree with the plan, but after waiting all day for her call to be returned she believed it to be the only way to get a message to the stubborn, stiff-backed alumna. She even agreed to call the administration building this morning and tell the secretary that Miss Feeney was suffering from a severe sore throat and was being sent into the city to see her own doctor. Mrs. Carson then called in a favor from a colleague and secured a written note from a doctor in Manhattan excusing Miss Feeney for the day. Yes it was underhanded and a bit dishonest, but it served the greater good, Nancy Feeney told herself over and over on her long journey this morning. The soft ping of the elevator door opening brought her back to the present. Nancy waited for the rather flustered-looking gentlemen to exit then stepped into the ornate car.

"Floor?" the tall, thin elevator operator requested.

"Penthouse," she answered, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

For a moment the young man stared at the young woman before him. She was a head shorter than he was with deep brown eyes and a mop of curly hair the color of winter wheat. Her smile was broad and her voice just a little deeper than the women he was used to shuttling between floors. She was not thin, but not heavy…all the bumps in the right places he thought to himself then quickly scratched his forehead to hide a sudden blush. "Penthouse?" he coughed.

"Yes," she answered, jutting out her chin with a bit more confidence.

"All the way to the top, then," he smiled as he pushed the button bearing a bright red 'P'. "And, no extra charge for it either!"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Just a joke." He laughed. "A bad one." He rocked back and forth on his heels and toes and began to whistle softly. "Pardon me for saying so, but you don't look like Penthouse material," he said without turning around.

"Oh?" She was a bit curious now.

"Nope, that type usually has her pointy nose stuck straight up in the air, and well, you…your nose is…well, it's…" he began floundering and she realized this guy was making a pass at her. She didn't know whether to be insulted or impressed.

"My Momma always said folks that go around with their noses in the air usually end up with a snoot full of something they weren't expecting or stepping in something they wished they'd seen first," she quipped.

He laughed a bit, glad that she didn't think he was a fool. The elevator slowed down as it reached the top floor. He opened the doors and stepped back to allow her egress. She turned toward him and began to ask for directions, but before she could speak he said, "All the way to the end of the corridor, big double doors, you can't miss it."

"How did you know what I was looking for?" It was her turn to blush.

"McAllister is the only office on this floor," he shrugged. "Hope you have some armor in that bag." He pointed to the large purse she had slung over her shoulder. "She was in a dark mood this morning. It usually gets worse as the day wears on. Not to mention, the last few trips I made down from this perch were with some rather defeated and deflated personages." He pursed his lips as he nodded. A sudden buzz alerted him that he was needed on a lower floor. He stepped back and closed the door. "Good luck!" he called as it silently closed.

Nancy stood in the long quiet hallway. She stared at the imposing office doors at the end. The large black letters, McAllister Shipping, Payton McAllister, Executive Owner, were clearly visible from where she stood. Above the title was the prominent gold circular logo of the company. It was decorated with angular silver markings at even intervals each marked with a round sea green spot, four marks she counted. It seemed an odd logo. 'Most likely a life preserver,' she thought to herself as she reached for the large brass handle and pushed the door open.

She stepped into a large office/waiting room. There were photos of various ships on all four walls and a ship's bell with the same circular emblem engraved on its side. Under it was an inscription in symbols Nancy could not decipher. A large painting of a Three-Mast Ship hung on the far wall. The ship was tipped to one side, apparently making way in rough seas. A gold marker under it bore the name 'Donal McAllister, 1821'. She admired the work on the painting as well as the beauty of the scene. She was totally absorbed in the painting and did not hear the door to the interior office open.

"May I help you?" Constance Sinclair inquired of the young woman standing in her office.

Nancy jumped a bit then remembered her mission. "Yes, I'm Nancy Feeney. I'd like to see Payton McAllister."

"Feeney…Feeney…" Connie sat down at her desk and scanned the calendar there. She turned the page back and forth, and then checked a small notebook as well. "I don't seem to have you scheduled, are you sure you have the right office?" She smiled at the plainly dressed young women. She certainly was not a salesperson or a client.

"I don't have an appointment. I …" she began to explain.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid Miss McAllister doesn't see anyone without an appointment." Connie frowned. "Would you like to make one?"

"No, no I wouldn't, " Nancy remained calm. "I don't have time to do that; I will only be here just today and…"

"I'm very sorry." Connie interrupted again. "We can't make exceptions for anyone. Perhaps you can leave a message then." She held out a pen to Nancy and reached for a small tablet.

"No, I need to SEE Payton McAllister and it must be today." She insisted. "I am …"

"I really can't..." Connie began.

"Would you PLEASE let me finish?" She insisted. Connie stopped and looked at the girl again. It wouldn't hurt her to listen, perhaps she could help and then send the girl on her way. She nodded for Nancy to continue.

"I am Nancy Feeney and I am from Brisbey School. I…we have been trying to reach Miss McAllister since Saturday afternoon." Nancy explained patiently, holding her temper. She could see she finally had the secretary's attention. "There has been an accident, we thought she should know."

"Accident?" Connie was on her feet. "Is Reagan all right?"

"She is, for now," Nancy assured her. "But I really do think that I should be explaining this to Payton McAllister. She is Reagan's guardian, isn't she?"

"Come with me," Connie had stepped around her desk and taken Nancy by the hand. She opened the door and marched into the main office, tugging the teacher behind.

"Payton!" Connie whirled into the room. "You have to listen to this woman!" Payton looked up from the documents spread across her desk. Her expression was apathetic. She made no comment, but waited patiently for Connie to continue. She gave no hint that she recognized the panic in her secretary's voice, nor did she acknowledge the young woman Connie had dragged into the room.

Connie took a breath, calming herself. "There's been an accident," she exhaled.

"Where? Which ship?" Payton was on her feet immediately, geared for action. She snatched a schedule of her fleet from the desk and noted which ships were in what waters and what cargo each transported. "It wasn't the Argas, was it? She's carrying a full load of oil, if that…"

"It wasn't a ship…the ships are fine, Payton. There's been an accident at Brisbey." Connie tried to keep the anger and the panic from her voice.

Payton froze, and turned toward her secretary. She slowly replaced the shipping schedule on its pedestal next to her desk and folded her arms across her chest. A dark calm settled over the young executive as she pulled all of her defenses into place. She locked her jaw, jutting her chin out, just a touch, and raised one eyebrow in a silent question.

Connie recognized the look and the pending fury behind it. She spoke as calmly as she could. "This is Nancy Feeney, she is from the school. Payton, they've been trying to reach you since Saturday!"

Payton stepped carefully around her desk and walked toward her secretary stopping briefly in front of her. The look she cast spoke loudly enough for Connie to momentarily fall silent. The CEO stepped lightly in front of the young teacher and glared at the girl. Payton McAllister was used to intimidating people. She enjoyed it. She hollowed her cheeks and pursed her lips, daring the girl to make a sound.

Nancy Feeney glared back. She was used to this type. Nancy had grown up the eldest of ten children on a farm outside of Ephrata, Pennsylvania. She had learned early in life never, never to back down, never to let your enemy get the upper hand. She mirrored Payton's movements and expressions, almost mocking the taller woman's threat. She had no reason to fear this woman and was not leaving this office until someone did something to help the child she had left in Connecticut. She held her ground, refusing to back up even an inch from the tall scowling form that faced her.

Payton smiled a catlike smile and placed her hands on her hips. "What makes you think I need to know about this accident?" She wondered what her father's pride and joy had done to send one of Brisbey's fine staff members all the way to her office on a Monday morning. 'So, the kid wasn't such an angel after all.' She was almost proud of the little brat. She arched an eyebrow and waited for the woman, who was probably a year or so younger than her, to answer.

Nancy took a deep breath, trying to control her temper. "Because your sister, Reagan, is involved." She began.

"Half-sister," Payton corrected her sarcastically, tossing her head to one side.

Nancy paused for a beat and continued, "yes…well, Reagan's been hurt. She says she fell from a tree, but…"

Payton's expression changed from one of sheer disgust to utter contempt. She shook her head and stifled a laugh with her hand. "You came all the way from Connecticut just to tell me the little fool fell out of tree?!" She turned to Connie, who had been waiting for an explanation from the Brisbey teacher. "They send her to my office in the middle of a business day to tell me my sis…father's daughter is a klutz!"

Nancy Feeney's face was beet red with anger. She knew she couldn't contain her temper much longer. "No one sent me! I came here on my own!" She shot back at the snickering woman.

Payton was immediately serious. "Then you can leave on your own, just as well." It was more of an order than a statement.

"NOT, until I tell you what I came here to say and NOT until YOU do something about it!" Nancy's tone matched Payton's evenly.

Connie watched the exchange in awe. This little country kid was standing up to Payton McAllister, when even the biggest names on the board backed away from the tall, slender hellion.

"I'm not interested." Payton began.

"Well, I am," Connie interjected, stepping around her boss in an effort to calm the waters and set this conversation back on track. "Was Reagan hurt badly? Shall we send the company's doctor?" She was genuine in her concern. Connie had met the strawberry blonde child when Jack McAllister had occupied this office. Reagan had always been cheerful and polite. She was a likeable kid with an infectious smile and a sparkle in her eye that never went unnoticed. Many times young Reagan had sprawled out on the floor in front of her father's desk, busy coloring pictures or reading storybooks while her father conducted the day's business. Father and daughter would leave the office hand in hand for lunch at some fancy restaurant. Reagan always returned with a special treat for Connie and never failed to thank the secretary for a wonderful time when she left for the day. Even if the thank you was from a sleepy head resting on her father's shoulder, as he quietly pulled his office door shut, long after dark. Connie knew that Payton had no feelings for the child, but she also knew Payton did not know Reagan as a person, only as competition. As far as Payton McAllister was concerned competition was to be eliminated at all costs. To become involved, to lose your objectivity was to lose your edge.

"She has some bad bruises and a sprained arm. Our nurse, Mrs. Carson, is looking after her in the school infirmary." Nancy turned her explanation toward Connie, as Payton turned her back on them both and stared out the large window across the harbor toward the horizon. "That isn't the problem. Mrs. Carson says nothing is serious, but we don't believe she fell from a tree." Connie was perplexed. "She has some…some marks that aren't consistent with that type of fall," Nancy explained further. "Mrs. Carson is sure someone caused the injuries and that Reagan is afraid to tell us. We thought…" She was quickly realizing that what they thought was absolutely not going to help. This apathetic, self-centered, pompous, ignorant bitch could not be related to the sweet child she had left at Brisbey that morning.

"You thought what?" Connie urged her to continue.

Nancy quickly shot a glance at Payton, who had not shown any further interest. "We thought she might be more open with someone she was closer t…who was more…familiar." She looked from Constance to Payton and then back, hoping someone had an answer.

"Is that all?" Payton asked without turning around.

"Are you just going to stand there? Aren't you going to do anything?" she demanded.

"What would you like me to do? If the kid says she fell, she fell. Don't you know that Reagan McAllister cannot tell a lie?" She turned slowly and sat back down at her desk. "Do you expect me to run out there and hold her hand because she has a few bumps? She'll get over it. I did." She picked up the document she had been reading and turned her attention back to her work. "Constance will show you out. "

"Maybe, you don't understand the gravity of this situation," Nancy barked, snatching the form from Payton and tossing it on the desk. "Someone beat your sister, someone intentionally brutalized that child!" Nancy couldn't hold her temper any longer. "You sit here in your penthouse and watch your ships and read your documents and…"

"AND, you_are_finished." Payton rose slowly, measuring each word. "Now, the door is there." She pointed over Nancy's shoulder. "You can find your way out of my building by yourself, or…" She picked up the telephone on her desk, "security can help you. " She paused for a beat. "I'm sure that will look wonderful on your Brisbey record, won't it?"

Nancy let out a long frustrated breath and backed away from the large desk. She turned and stormed toward the door, threw it open and stepped through, pausing for a moment with her hand on the knob. "She doesn't deserve you," she sneered and slammed the large wooden door with every bit of her anger. The sound echoed in the large hollow offices.

Payton stared at the door for a moment, picked up her work and shook her head. "Fool," she grumbled.

"You're right." Constance agreed. Payton looked up bewildered. Connie had kept quiet, respecting her boss' authority but now in private she was pulling no punches. "You ARE a fool!"

Payton glanced over the edge of the form she was reading. "Don't you have something to do?" She asked stoically, immediately returning to her work.

"NO, no I DON'T!" Constance shot back, disgusted and frustrated at her young boss' lack of emotion. "And apparently you don't intend to do anything either!"

Payton shook her head. "Do anything about what? That little pest in Connecticut? My father's last hurrah of manhood, proof he still had it?! No, Constance, I don't intend to do anything about it." She shook out the form in front of her, venting a small piece of her anger. "What? Do you think I should run up there to hold her hand and kiss her boo boos every time the kid gets into a scrape? Let her learn to lick her own wounds. I did and I'm a better person because of it!" Payton's voice took on an authoritative tone as she dropped the document into the file on her desk and slapped it closed.

"Did it?" Constance refused to be silenced. "Are you a better person Payton, or just a colder person? How long are you going to punish that child for the mistakes your father made with you? How long, Payton? She is innocent."

"And so was I!" Payton shot back, her blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Yes, you were, and you didn't deserve to be shut out of his life. He made a mistake, and by the time he realized it and tried to make amends you had become 'a better person because of it'." Connie argued, using Payton's words against her. "You are your father's daughter, Payton. You are doing the same thing to Reagan, treating her the same way. Is that what all those years alone taught you, Payton? That you needn't care about anyone, that you should shut everyone that means anything out of your life, cut yourself off from every chance at family you have. Then, you are a fool, Payton McAllister. And a much bigger fool than your father ever was. He didn't know any better. You're just malicious!"

Payton glared at the tall secretary, weighing the choices she had. Connie had been with the company for almost as long as Payton could remember. She knew more about the workings of McAllister Shipping than most of the junior executives. She would be hard to replace, but this was absolute insolence, total disregard for authority. She could not just stand there and take this from a secretary, even if she was her right hand, her lieutenant in the war of big business. "If you're so concerned, why don't you just go up there yourself?" 'The kid liked Connie. She'd probably pour her heart out to the secretary about how dreadful it was to be at such a strict institute and Connie would tell her everything would turn out fine. That might work, then everything would be back to normal.'

"Because it is not my job and I have no intention of covering your ass, Payton. This is your problem and you need to take care of it yourself. Are you so blind you can't see that?" Connie growled.

"Are you suicidal?" She sneered at the red-faced woman who had just finished a verbal act of treason.

"Ha!" Connie brushed her off, "go ahead Payton fire me, throw me out like you do everyone and everything that doesn't bend to your way of thinking! I'll just move on. Like I've told you before, I do have a life and there are a lot of jobs out there. As far as I am concerned' you can have this job and this company. You don't need anyone anyway, do you? You have that nice little wall built all around you and all that armor to protect you from anyone that ever tries to get close. You know what you are, Payton?" She pointed a finger toward her boss' chest. "YOU are a coward!! You are afraid to go up there, to get to know that child. You're afraid you just might feel something and you just wouldn't know how to deal with that, would you?" She stopped, taking a deep breath.

"Get out." Payton snarled through clenched teeth.

For a moment the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the steady tick-tock of the large clock on the opposite wall. Connie stared deep into Payton's eyes, trying to find some drop of maternal instinct in the young woman. All that stared back was defiance, born of a stone cold heart. She blew a hot breath through her own clenched teeth and marched toward the door. "I'll have my desk cleaned out and be gone by end of day. My letter of resignation will be on your desk in the morning. I'll be sure to date it today." For the second time that afternoon the door to Payton McAllister's office slammed like the iron bars of a mighty jail cell.

Payton dropped into her chair and let her head fall into her hands. She found it strange that she felt tears trying to form behind her eyes, she couldn't remember the last time she cried. Her head was throbbing. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly. She ran her hands along her cheeks and brought them together in front of her face, in almost prayer-like fashion, pinching her bottom lip between them. Again she exhaled a deep breath and dropped one hand to the desk, drumming her fingers as she rapidly ran through a mental list of options. 'Problems are to be solved, obstacles to be eliminated.' Her father's motto played like a mantra in her mind. "What would dear old daddy do?" she whispered to herself. Remembering her own troubles at Brisbey, she reached for the intercom button, then remembering Connie's exit, she snatched the phone from its cradle and dialed rapidly. Two rings later a woman answered. "Colin Walters, please." She stated firmly and smiled to herself. Daddy's lawyers had always managed to fix things for her and Reagan would deserve nothing less. A few minutes later Colin picked up his extension sounding surprised to hear from the CEO herself. "Colin," she began, "I have a job for you…in Connecticut."

Nancy Feeney arrived back at Brisbey close to midnight and headed directly for the infirmary. It was late, but Julia had to know how miserably she had failed in her attempt to find someone to help with the problem they faced. She was happy to see the lights in the small white building still lit as she hurried across the campus. The rain had refused to let up, but had wound down to a light drizzle as opposed to the afternoon's downpour. She lowered her large umbrella and pushed the door open. Immediately, her nose was filled with the familiar smells of alcohol and antiseptic. She shook the rain off of her coat as she removed it and hung it on the large coat rack in the small foyer. She opened the door to the waiting room and passed quietly across the carpet to the door that led to the ward. Julia Carson was seated at the small desk at the far end of the room, her head bobbed toward the desktop as she catnapped in her seat. Nancy smiled at the sight. Reagan was asleep in the bed near the window, just as she had been the last time Nancy had visited. The soft click of the door catching brought Mrs. Carson awake. She blinked several times and made an effort to focus on the form walking toward her.

"Mrs. Carson?" Nancy whispered, "it's me. Nancy."

"Shh." The nurse put a finger to her lips as she rose from behind the desk. She crossed to the bed to check her patient, then motioned for Nancy to return to the waiting room. Once there she left the door open enough to see the child but closed enough to keep their conversation private.

"I'm sorry, Julia," Nancy spoke in a hushed tone. "It didn't do any good at all. Payton McAllister is…not the person that child needs to comfort her or to help her. Perhaps she has an aunt or an uncle? A grandmother??"

Julia shook her head. "I'm afraid there is no one else. I didn't have much hope for Payton, but it was worth a try. Perhaps we can help a bit. We'll just have to keep an eye on her ourselves. "

"How is she?" Nancy was concerned with the fever Reagan had when she last saw the girl.

"She can return to class tomorrow. The fever is gone and she is a bit restless. Pamela's been in to visit several times. I do think that one knows a bit more than she is telling as well. " Julia updated the teacher on the situation. "Miss Thorne was here this afternoon also. It seems she feels that lying around in bed will only serve to make the girl lazy. I believe that is how she put it." Nancy shook her head. "I can't keep her here any longer, not without suspicion. Unfortunately, whoever did this is still out there. I hope she will be safe."

"Have you told Miss Thorne?" Nancy inquired, hoping the answer was no. It was no secret among the faculty that Miss Thorne had no love lost for the McAllister family, although no one knew why.

"Actually, I told her the tree story. Worked for the girls, figured it would work for me too. After all, who is going to tell her otherwise?" Julia smiled. "Anyway, I don't quite trust the old dragon lady myself."

Nancy smiled back. "It is very late, would you like me to sit with her a while? You can get some rest, I'm sure you need it."

"That's sweet of you dear," Julia thanked the girl, "but I am used to this and I probably wouldn't sleep anyway. You go along home. I'll see you tomorrow." She turned the girl toward the door. Julia Carson returned to her post intent on finishing the update on those last few files.

In her bed, Reagan watched the rain fall against the window. She listened quietly to the hushed conversation, amplified by the hollow room and still silence of night. A part of her had actually wished Payton would come and rescue her from this nightmare, although her better judgement told her not to get her hopes up too high. The small bit of light at the end of this dismal escapade flickered once then died as a tear streaked across her cheek and onto her pillow. The dark outside the window seemed to be all that was left of the child's world.