"You want to tell me what you're doing here?" 'Tom Hardy' demanded. "What's going down?"

"Lucy Coe," Angela answered. "She's got Stuart so confused that he can't keep his mind on business. "Consider this a preemptive strike. You can bet that otherwise, he's going to be coming out here-he's already planning to visit due to our connection with Sonny Corinthos-you heard about that fiasco?"

"I heard. Any idea what happened?"

The two headed down towards the docks talking as they walked.

"What happened is that somebody messed with the shipment. Everything was in perfect condition when Corinthos got it, but when it arrived, all the while under his protection, it was worthless. That means that Corinthos must have had something to do with it."

'Tom' nodded. "He's not your average crime boss-that's for sure. In fact, I can't understand why he's even in charge around here. I think that he took over by default, if you want my opinion."

Angela pursed her lips. "What do you know about Lucy Coe?"

"I know that she's a very canny businesswoman, that she's totally in love with Kevin Collins, and that she's very volatile. She's also a friend of Sonny Corinthos."

"Interesting. I wonder what she was doing out West."

"So far, nobody has managed to learn. Collins was seen going into WEB, but again, we don't know why. WEB does have a variety of legitimate business interests."

"You know, something tells me that Lucy Coe may well be our key to the problems with Corinthos," Angela mused. "It's possible that we can get her to tell us what we need to know."

'Tom' looked at the blonde who stood contemplating their situation, and asked, "Do you have authorization to do this?"

"I have authorization to do whatever will further our interests. Are you going to help me?" The look in her eyes let 'Tom' know that if he didn't, he shouldn't turn his back on her. He smiled, as Angela continued. "I need to know what she knows, and then, she'll have an accident. A fatal accident."

"You know, there might well be a better idea."

Angela looked at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What might that be?"

"Lucy could disappear like a few other Port Charles residents have lately."

"That might be a good idea. We can always use a bargaining chip to use against Stuart."

Their eyes met, and both smiled. "She'd approve," Tom suggested. "You know she would."

Both of them knew that the 'she' of whom he spoke wasn't Lucy Coe.

Gilbert Andrews left the winery with the strangest feeling that he'd made both good and bad choices. He'd done the right thing granting Rosemary an uncontested divorce. That was the only decent thing to do. But, had he done the right thing in deciding to investigate the D.B. Saxon link to Victoria? It was apparent that she'd known her killer-she'd said as much-and that Saxon knew her. It was Gil's best bet that the reference to an e-mail received from another writer was Victoria's last message, but why hadn't Saxon notified the police? Was it possible that Saxon had never received the e-mail? And, just who was D.B. Saxon? For some time, Gil had considered D.B. a man, but, now that he thought about it, he hadn't asked, nor had the information been offered. D.B. had simply been an electronic being, a faceless, sexless individual known to him only by a set of initials and a last name. Where could he start tracking down D.B. Saxon, especially if he planned to do it without Saxon knowing about it?

For the first time, Gil realized that his connections to Saxon had been extremely convenient, had been almost too good to be true. Feeling rather foolish, Gil recalled how he'd come into contact with Saxon. Gil had submitted a manuscript to a publishing company, who had promptly rejected it, telling him that he needed an agent, that they didn't accept unsolicited material. He'd begun hunting for an agent to represent him, deciding that while some companies were open to unagented writers, he had no real desire to deal with them. He was a vintner turned writer. It had taken a few tries until he'd come up with D. B. Saxon, but the agent had asked to read his manuscript, and soon afterward had agreed to represent him. Saxon had made suggestions concerning his work, and had arranged the sale.

But who was Saxon, and how did Victoria fit into the equation? Had Saxon arranged for Victoria to work with him? To encourage him? And, if so, why hadn't she just told him? Why all the secrecy? Gil scowled, wondering why he didn't just to the obvious thing and ask the questions outright. Why not just e-mail Saxon and demand answers? Maybe he was making entirely too much of this situation. On a whim, he picked up the telephone in his hotel room and called the police department in the village where he'd lived for the last several months. Moments later, he hung up, shaken.

He'd been urged to return to the village at once. His cabin, along with Victoria's had burned down during the night. Everything was lost. In shock, he'd asked about the computer, about Victoria's body, only to find out that it had already been cremated, and her personal belongings had been claimed by a representative of D. B. Saxon. It was as if Victoria had never existed.

"But what about the e-mail message?" Gil asked, finally.

"That?" the policeman had answered. "Saxon explained that she'd probably meant to say that Angela killed her with her sense of humor. Seems Angela is her younger sister."

Gil hung up the phone, and tossed his things into his suitcase, departing the hotel without a backward glance. None of this made sense to him. Victoria had told him that she was an only child, that she knew nothing of computers. He knew better, and knew that D.B. Saxon held the answers. So why not just ask?

It probably had something to do with that strange feeling he had, a wariness that told him to check out Saxon before asking any questions. It was what Travis Hope would do, Gil realized.

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