Present

Alexander Sykes sat with his legs crossed, dressed in a dark suit, listening to the man drone on about the current company project. He leaned his head onto the chair back, and tried to look as bored and uninterested as the rest of the company advisers. It was important that the project succeed, due to the fact that multiple livelihoods were involved. Glancing over at the head of the table, William Sykes still looked as intimidating as ever, and the man giving the presentation was scared silly of the corporate CEO.

Alex almost smiled and ruined the whole thing. If there was one thing that Will Sykes was ever good it, it was looking scary as hell.

Recently, Alex Sykes had been given the associate position as the company's lawyer. He had no interest in the ruining the family business, that was something he would leave to one of his other brothers, and loved the challenge of being a lawyer. The problem solving, the issues that needed to be dissected, it was like some sort of run-on adventure-

His cell phone vibrated. Looking down, it took all of his will power not to sigh in resignation when he saw Samuel Tomkin's name on the ID. When Sam called, it only meant one thing, and Alex didn't even need to answer his phone to know what the call was about.

When the presentation ended, he excused himself, and dialed the number.

"What?"

The distracted sound in Sam's voice meant that he was currently on the main floor, and probably in the middle of something. Most likely, his abrupt response was due to the source of his frustration.

"Sam, it's me."

"Bloody hell," Sam gritted, his accent grew more thick in his annoyance, "I called twenty minutes ago."

"I was in a board meeting."

"It's a matter of life and death."

"It's always a matter of life and death," Alex's blond eyebrows raised in the hair. His hair was still as pale as it was when he was younger, "What is it this time?"

"Apparently some old lady saw him outside of the building and thought he was a mugger. She's ninety-five and completely nutters. He was trying to help her up the stairs when she started screaming and beating him with her purse," the Englishman explained, "He wore street clothes today and the guards didn't recognize him."

Alex felt like laughing, but he dragged his hand over his face instead, "Sam, this is the third time in four months. Tell him to stop wearing suits once in a while, or wear them all the time. At least the damn guards will recognize him."

"Yeah, well, you know the boss."

Nodding in agreement, Alex got the name of the jail and the place to pick up the paperwork. Once it come be established that Sam's boss was the owner of the Red Lily Casino and not some common criminal, the police would be gracious. Hanging up the phone, Alex turned to see his father standing behind him.

"I've gotta go. There's a problem," Alex said.

Will smiled, "Too each their own."

Will watched his eldest son pack up his things, and sighed. He knew exactly what was going on. Something had happened at Red Lily Casino, or more specifically to the owner, and Alex was going to use his lawyer skills to bail his friend out. Travis was like a brother to Alex, it was difficult to tell him no.

Alex already had four younger brothers, and normally the Sykes family was very welcoming to everyone. Will liked to think he was a flexible individual, and always took pride in his children and their skills to establish good relationships with their peers. But Travis Jamison was a different story. William Sykes wariness of Travis had nothing to do with the young man's past, or the fact that he had once been in witness protection, or even that he grew up on the streets.

It had nothing to do with his past, and everything to do with the fact that Travis had set his sights on Emily.

With a sigh, Will knew the time on the deal he made was almost up. Now, all he waiting for was Travis to gather up the courage to purpose to his daughter. A smile spread across Will's face, and he realized that he was looking forward to it.

---

Alex had the taxi drop him off in front of the Los Angeles Police Department. They were starting to recognize him, as he was there almost as often as the criminal lawyers. The guards waved him through, and Alex sighed as he checked his belongings at the door. He knew where to go, and knew exactly which cell Travis was being kept in.

He walked down the corridor, waving off the comments from some of the other inmates, stopping at the third cell on the left.

The man in it was sitting lazily against the wall, arms folded behind his head. His hair was ruffled from the wind, his blue eyes were too old for his actual age. Travis Jamison smiled at Alex, who had a glare on his face.

"Hey sugar," Travis smiled, "We can't keep meeting this way."

"Ha ha," Alex snapped his fingers, and the guard grumbled as he unlocked the cell, "You try explaining this to Jack next time you see him."

"Old lady was completely bonkers," Travis walked out of the cell, "I've got a goose egg on my head. It's not my fault she thought I was a mugger."

They stopped at the check-out as Alex cleared up the paperwork. When it was finally established that it wasn't Travis' fault, the police released him without complaint. They didn't necessarily want the press of having one of the most successful businessman in the city in their cells.

As Alex stopped to pick up his briefcase and keys, he saw the bin open with Travis' stuff, and his mouth dropped open.

"What the hell is that?"

Travis scooped up his wallet, stuffed it in his pocket, and grabbed the black velvet box before Alex could get a hold of it. He tossed it between his hands as he walked down the street.

Alex waved his hands, finally catching the box.

"Give it back!" Travis scrambled to catch it before his friend figured out what it was. It didn't help, and for the next thirty seconds, Alex stared open-mouthed at the box and then at Travis.

"Travis, this is an engagement ring."

It was silver gold, the metal swirled around the large diamond in the middle. Three pearls were in-set on the bottom of the diamond, worked into the metal swirl. Travis turned red, and closed the box before shoving it back in his pocket.

"When?" Alex asked.

Travis stopped, "I've had it for three years now."

It was like a second blow after seeing the ring.

"You bought a ring to propose to Emily and you haven't done it yet," Alex replied, it wasn't a question, "You haven't done it for three years."

"I have my reasons," Travis said, "There are things I need to take care of first."

The look of determination was the only thing that kept Alex from questioning him.

Travis walked back into the Red Lily that night, his hands shoved in his pockets, with a grimace on his face. In a way, he looked at his deal with Sykes as a curse as a reprieve. He could think of the perfect way to propose to Emily, but on the other hand, he had to suffer chronic nerves until then.

He was greeted at the main floor by the host. Sam Tomkin had been the one to call Alex, and Travis was grateful. He was the right-hand-man of Red Lily, and the one who was currently keeping Travis sane. With as many diversions as Travis had, it paid well to have someone who was his eyes and ears.

"Anything new?" Travis asked.

"Not much," Sam shrugged, "A little D and D over at the bar, but Ed took care of it."

Ed Specks was a very large, very tall, burly man in his late fifties. He had been a friend of Travis back in his gang days, and had been a bouncer for many of the clubs in the area. When Travis had first started his work at the casino, there was no one else that he could think of to manage security.

Next in the line of Travis' workers was Lyle Esmond. Esmond was the head chef and caterer of the establishment. He liked to think of himself as an artist, and was known for his fiery temper. People knew to do what he asked and not ask questions. It frequently pissed off Dierdre, the tall, red-headed, Irish woman at the bar. She was the head bartender, and when Sam was out of commission, she was usually the person to take over.

Ed, Sam, Dierdre, and Esmond were the eyes and ears of the casino. Travis couldn't have made the Red Lily the third ranked casino in the nation without their help.

"What about the new secretary?"

Travis was almost afraid to go to the office. He knew there was a big pile of paperwork waiting for him. Paperwork that the secretary would have been doing if he hadn't caught her in the office closet boinking one of the casino patrons.

With a grin, Sam seemed pleased, "We got a call this morning. She'll be happy to work for you. Dierdre interviewed her and loved her, and apparently the woman has a long list of credentials."

"Excellent," Travis wouldn't lie and say he wasn't relieved.

It wasn't long before he excused himself and went to the office. He unlocked the door, a scowl on his face as he spotted the stack of papers on the receptionist's desk, before heading into his own office.

The room was large, a window that overlooked the main floor of the casino, with a desk and a sofa. There were two leather chairs in front of his desk, and a small bar built into one of the walls. The door to the right was a private bathroom.

His office, however, was not empty.

Sitting on his desk was a blond-haired goddess. She was wearing her usual dark business suit, her blue eyes teasing him with a look. He didn't know how long Emily Sykes had been in his office alone, but he found that he didn't care. She was back from her month-long stint in Paris. There were only a few days before she had to go off to another job, but she always spent her down time with Travis.

Emily was an interior decorator. She was very highly in demand, and spent most of her time decorating large estates and office buildings. She had even helped in the design of the Red Lily.

But Travis didn't really care a whole lot about much at that moment, other than he hadn't seen her in a month.

He locked the door and marched across the room. Stopping in front of her, he gripped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the desk. Stepping in between her legs, he kissed her. His hands dove into her thick hair, pulling her head back Travis knew he was being a little more rough than normal, but when a groan vibrated in her throat, he knew she didn't mind.

Scooping her up into his arms, he marched through the bathroom, towards another door into the master bedroom. There was a small penthouse attached to the office that Travis lived in. He dumped her on the bed, and they began to tear at each other's clothes. Her skirt was around her waist, her blouse open, when he decided he couldn't take it any more.

Shoving his jeans down to his knees he buried himself in her, letting out a long breath. It felt amazing every single time. Her hands gently touched his face as his hips rocked, Emily brushed her lips over his mouth, "I missed you."

"I missed you too," he whispered, kissing her back, "God, you feel so good."

He felt the wave rip through her, and he heard his own shout, letting himself be lost in the feeling.

It always felt like a part of himself was tied to her. Even when he went days or weeks without seeing her, a part of her was with him, and he was always thinking about her. Travis had found out long ago that he couldn't escape her presence in his mind, and the only time he felt truly calm was when Emily was with him.

Sinking down onto her, his face buried into her shoulder. Emily wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the feel of him.

"Travis?"

"Hm?" he murmured. Was he still alive? He wasn't quite sure yet.

"Why haven't you asked me to marry you yet?"

His head slowly raised and looked down at her. Travis found the words on the edge of his tongue. The time on the deal was up, and the only thing holding him back was that he was afraid. Afraid that somehow he would screw it up and she would say no.

It was close to the evening, and the sun was setting. It cast a glow over her, and Travis was transfixed.

"Em," he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "Will you-"

The phone rang.

He groaned, and Emily couldn't help but giggle. She knew that he was trying to work up the courage, and she was patient enough to wait. After everything they had been through, she was confident that he would ask her sometime.

Travis grabbed the phone. She suddenly watched the content look in his eyes disappear. Dierdre was on the other side of the phone, and when he hung up, there was trouble in his eyes.

"What?" Emily asked.

"There's a problem," he said, buttoning up her blouse.

---

Dillon Austin was thirty-four years old. He had moved to Los Angeles to get away from New York, hoping that it would help. Unfortunately, it hadn't.

He sat at Dierdre Arundel's bar, drowning himself in a scotch. She was giving him a look that said she was about to cut him off, but that was nonsense. So what if the hospital decided to put him on extended administrative leave? So what if he was all alone, forced to live in one of Jack Bartlett's summer homes with his thirteen-month old daughter?

So what if his wife had been killed almost a year ago?

Susan had been his life. When Viviane was born, both girls had been his world. Dillon had known that there were risks working at the hospital, but he never figured that anything would happen. Suze was always strong-willed and so alive. Now her grave back in New York said otherwise.

All that was left for him was Viviane and the bottle of scotch that Dierdre was going take away soon.

"Hey, Doc."

Ed Specks was almost as pesky as Travis. Almost.

"Hi, Ed," Dillon took a swig of his drink, slamming the glass down on the counter.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"Probably," he squinted at Ed, "I only see two of you. Usually I stop at six."

His system told him that he needed sleep. He hadn't eaten a meal that didn't consist of coffee and burnt eggs in a while, and Dillon was spending so much time with the baby that he was sure he smelled perpetually like spit and baby powder.

God, he was so pathetic.

Bernice was taking care of Viviane that night. She was the head of staff in the Bartlett's summer home, and was more than happy to take care of Viv. Now that she was starting to notice Dillon's downward spiral, she tried to make him get out of the house more.

That didn't help either.

He took another drink.

"Seriously, Doc, you need to slow it down," Ed whispered.

"I'll tell you when I need to slow down, Specks. I know my own limits."

"It's not a request, Doc."

Dierdre watched the whole conversation while she whipped the counter, ready to help Ed should he need it. Even in his state, Dillon knew that Dierdre could kick his ass if she really wanted too.

"Look," Dillon waved a finger at the man. He was pointing one finger, but why was he seeing four? "You call Travis. I'm tired of putting up with this shit every time I come down here."

Ed sighed, Dierdre rolled her eyes.

There was a shout and a shatter of glass.

All three heads turned to see the man collapse in the corner of the bar. It was followed by another scream, one of great alarm.

"He's having a heart attack!"

Everyone turned their attention to the man that had fallen in the doorway of the bar. The man's wife was frantically pushing at him trying to get him to wake, which Dillon knew was impossible. Ed was already on the phone with 911, and Deirdre was calling Travis.

He had been put on extended leave, but even that and the bottle of scotch in his system didn't stop him from going into work mode. Despite his career as a neurosurgeon, he was also certified in triage. Dillon slid off the stool, stumbling as he walked, pushing a chair aside as he half-fell at the man's side.

"Get out of the way!" he roared, shoving the crowd back. Measuring out the distance from the Cyphoid bone to the man's collarbone, he began the chest compressions. Dillon sunk his entire weight into his arms, since the alcohol was making his head spin and distracting him. It was enough to do the compressions, and keep himself from falling over.

He was a fucking idiot. Why the hell did he pick a day to get piss-drunk when someone choose to have a heart attack?

"Dillon!" Travis called from the entrance of the bar, "What the hell-

"How long until the EMS arrive?" Dillon, tilted the man's head back, opening his jaw, he took a deep breath and breathed into the mouth. Rearing backwards, he measured out his hands again, and resume compressions.

"They're here," Ed reported, "Just making their way in."

Travis frowned, trying to clear the crowd out of the bar. He had been called to try and get Dillon out of the bar without a fight, he hadn't expected to see his semi-uncle trying to save a man's life.

The EMS arrived and took over. Dillon took the man's pulse, reading out the stats as the fallen man was loaded onto a stretcher and wheeled from the bar. Travis gave his card to the EMS asked for a report as soon as possible.

It was starting to clear out, and Deirdre was cleaning up the broken glass. Dillon looked at his hand, and realized that he had cut himself when he fell to the floor. His eyes were closed and he rest his head on the back of a chair.

Travis knelt on the floor, and frowned, "You probably saved that guy's life."

"It's m' job."

A dark look passed over the younger man's face, "You're shit-faced drunk. You could have made him worse or killed him."

Dillon gritted his teeth, "Don't start with me, Jamison. You may be my sister's...whatever the fuck you are...but you don't have any right to order me around."

"Actually, I do. This is my casino."

Dillon cried out as Travis grabbed the man's shirt collar, and dragged him to his feet. He stopped in front of Ed, "Ed, can I borrow your cuffs?"

Ed looked a little confused, and shrugged as he pulled out his handcuffs. He exchanged a look with Deirdre as they watched their boss drag Dillon Austin out of the bar. After working for Travis, they had learned not to ask questions.

Travis ignored Dillon's struggles. The older man was stronger, even though he was shorter than Travis, but at the moment he couldn't free himself. When he was dragged out of the elevator, Dillon found his left wrist handcuffed.

"What the hell are you doing?" he roared, "You take this off right now!"

The door to the bathroom in the master office was pushed open, and Travis dumped Dillon on the floor. There was a metal bar that circled most of the bathroom wall, a few feet off the ground. When Travis snapped the cuff around it, it was enough room that Dillon could sit comfortably.

If he had the wits to sit up, anyway.

"You fucking bastard-"

"Yes, I am a bastard. I can be just as much of a bastard as you can be," Travis leaned forward, "I'm going to call Bernice, and tell her to send Viviane to Nora, and you are going to sit in here and not come out until you're sober."

Dillon gaped at him, "You can't-"

"I most certainly can, and I will. You're not the first drunk I've had to deal with," Travis grabbed his collar and hauled his face up, "Nora doesn't deserve this, Jack doesn't deserve this, neither does Chris, God knows Viviane doesn't, and I have better things to do than babysit you. I thank the heavens that at least Viviane is too young to remember this little chunk of your life."

"You think just because you used to be some street rat that my sister picked up, that it makes you some sort of wise-ass to the world? Without anyone's help, you would have ended up covered in french fry grease and pushing heroin."

It was the alcohol talking, and Travis knew that, but it still hurt. He cared about Dillon, the man was like his elder brother.

"You're probably right," Travis replied, "You had a better life than I did, and then your wife died. I'll tell you this, Dillon. I adored Susan, we all did. She was beautiful and lively and wonderful. We'll always miss her. But right now, I really glad that she's not here to see you like this."

Dillon said nothing. Travis shoved him into the floor and stood up.

"I'm locking the door. I'll have Ed or Deirdre bring you something to eat, but no one else will open this door," Travis turned, "No matter how much you beg them. Scream, curse, whatever. You're stuck here, buddy, until you're sober."

Sliding forward, his face pressed into the floor. Dillon felt the effects of the scotch starting to have a full impact on his system. His head spun and he felt his stomach lurch, "Fuck you."

With a disgusted sound, Travis slammed the door, and locked it.