A Million Girls

by DuWinter

Summary:

A million girls would kill to work for Runway. Some more literally than others.

Notes:

Author's Note: This was originally posted on my Live Journal page (DuWinter's Muse) between March and June of 2011. It was written for Supermandy13 who stepped up and kindly bid on and won a story by me in an auction which the proceeds of went to help those devastated by the Queensland Floods. This idea for this story was chosen by her from my story seed file.

Special thanks to my wonderful Beta Mxrolk. Without your input and encouragement I likely would have ground to a complete halt.

Prologue

 

At first it was called the Runway jinx. A series of bizarre accidents plaguing Runway staff members, those associated with Runway and the magazine's events and photo shoots over the course of the last several months. That was until the accident that felled James Holt. Apparently some incompetent maintenance person in the building where James lived had been applying an oil based wood cleaner to the stair landing on James' floor and left the slippery substance pooled at the very top of the stairs. James, conceited as he was and concerned about his fading boyish figure, always took the stairs as a means of cramming exercise into his incredibly busy schedule. Two broken legs and an estimated four months to be spent in traction later, the popular vernacular of the employees of Elias-Clarke had begun to call it the Runway curse.

James' accident was attributed to the Runway curse because it happened within hours of a private showing of James' newest line, including another disastrous attempt to provide Miranda's cloture for a major upcoming event. It had been ‘a pursed lips’ all the way sort of showing.

 

Chapter One

 

As was their want, the wealthy and glamorous had gathered for the social event of the season, the Black and White Ball. Everyone who was anyone in New York City politics, fashion, entertainment and sports were in attendance. As were most of the prominent citizens living within commuting distance of the city, everyone decked out in the best couture they could manage.

True to her place, Emily waited nervously near the doorway where Miranda would make her grand entrance. She kept going over things in her mind, assuring herself that she was as prepared as she could be. Having spent every free moment of the last two weeks going over the who's who material contained in the three two and a half inch binders that contained information on anyone on the guest list that Miranda might be the least bit inclined in allowing to speak with her.

She allowed her near exhausted mind to wander for a moment and she mused that things had not been as easy at work as they had once been. A year and a half ago it all went to hell. That was during Paris fashion week. She hadn't gotten to go that year because of a silly broken leg. It wasn’t like she couldn't do the job on crutches. She'd held the line at Runway while forced to use the silly things. If she could manage that, she sure as bloody hell could have managed Paris. But nooooo, 'she' got to go instead. 'She', who, very unprofessionally, and without notice, mind you, walked out on her job at Runway and left Miranda in the lurch while in Paris. Miranda was legitimately furious and absolutely impossible to deal with for the next several months.

After that things settled into something of a routine. Miranda calmed down and became almost...serene...most of the time. This wasn't to say that the icon wasn't as demanding of perfection as ever, just perhaps a tad less biting about her focused insistence on it. Serena had joked over drinks one evening that perhaps Miranda was getting laid more often. Emily thought to herself that might be a possibility, not that she'd ever breathe a word of that thought to anyone. Emily treasured her special place in Miranda's trust. No one else in the company knew as much about Miranda as Emily did. Emily, the keeper of the Snow Queen's schedule, was aware that Miranda was going to therapy twice a week. Once for a private session and once with her husband for marriage counseling. She and Stephen had come close to divorce around the time of fashion week and had decided to try and make a go of the marriage for the sake of the twins. Miranda had also cut several evenings each week out of her schedule for personal time with her family.

Emily glanced at her watch and dearly wished she had time to grab a drink before she appeared, but with her luck she'd turn to hunt down one of the waiters that were wandering around with trays of libations and Miranda would choose that exact moment to make her entrance. Thinking about a cool strong drink to settle her nerves lead her to thinking about a night four months ago. It had been a housewarming party at Nigel's to celebrate the purchase of his new condo. She'd started dancing with Serena to Nigel's collection of disco music and, having a good time, stayed longer and drank more than she'd intended. The next morning she woke in Serena's bed with a hangover and wrapped snugly in the arms of the beautiful Brazilian.

That morning had been awkward, Emily frantically dressing and apologizing over and over to her best friend as Serena sat up in bed looking like she was about to cry. “I have loved you for a long time,” Serena had said quietly, tears shaking her voice. “I can not and will not regret that we had a beautiful moment together.” That stopped Emily cold. She had been in love with Serena for more than a year and she was sure that there was no way someone so perfect as the Brazilian beauty could care for a fat cow like her. They talked after that and by mutual consent and desire began to date, taking it slowly with hopes of building a life together.

All was perfect on that front for little more than a month. The two began dating and learned more than they had already known about one another. Together they shared things that were hard for them to talk about, like Emily's confession of childhood abuse, both physical and sexual at the hands of her widowed father and Serena's story about a twin sister, who became ill as a teenager and had to go into a hospital. A hospital the twin had never left.

Then something changed; after more than a month of dating Serena suddenly wanted to keep their relationship on the down low. Their date destinations became dark little places that no one from Runway was likely to go. And she insisted that there be no public displays of affection at the office. This saddened Emily as the easy displays of affection that Serena had been giving her on a daily basis were something she had come to rely on.

Pulling herself from her reverie her eyes scanned the crowd and almost instantly saw something that made her heart nearly stop. The colossal nerve that 'she' would dare show her face at an event that 'she' should know perfectly well that Miranda would be attending was unbelievable! Heart pounding, knowing that Miranda was due to enter the party at any moment; Emily knew that she must act immediately. If Miranda should see 'her' here there would be hell to pay. Emily strode angrily across the intervening space and reached out touching the woman on her shoulder. The woman turned from the group of people she was speaking with and Emily looked into familiar doe brown eyes.

“Are you out of your little mind, Andrea?” Emily hissed between clenched teeth. “Miranda is due here any minute! You have to leave!”

Andy smiled at her former co-worker. “Sorry Em,” she replied, shaking her head. “No can do. I'm here to try and get a quote from the Police Commissioner for an investigative piece I'm doing for The Mirror. He's been dodging me for most of this week.”

Emily's eyes went wide with outrage. ““No, no, no. You don't understand Andrea. You know perfectly well that she hasn't forgiven you for what you did in Paris! Nor should she! You DO remember the last time you two spoke at the MoMA event, don't you?”

Andy smiled bitterly. “I remember,” she answered. “It's kinda hard to forget having your ass chewed so eloquently with that many people watching. You'd think that dressing down was a freaking spectator sport.”

“Miranda is due to arrive. At. Any. Moment,” Emily insisted urgently. “If she sees you here neither of our lives will be worth...”

Andrea looked beyond Emily's shoulder and her eyes went wide. “Too late Em,” she almost whispered.

“Oh bloody hell,” Emily squeaked, closing her eyes. She turned and opening her eyes she found Miranda standing directly behind her. She looked deeply into twin narrowed stormy blue orbs. Emily swallowed convulsively. Miranda Priestly, in all her magnificent cold glory, had arrived.

“Emily,” Miranda said, her tone deadly soft and her eyes hard on Andrea, “fetch me a drink. Single malt scotch on the rocks, at least twelve years old. That's all.”

Emily looked briefly into Miranda's eyes and was very, very, glad she was not in the hapless journalist's sensible shoes. She turned and fled.

Miranda's sparkling blue eyes raked over the woman standing before her and then her lips quirked up at the edges. “It's been a while Andrea. I see that someone still needs to teach you how to dress properly,” she said in her sing-song way.

Andy shrugged. “I wear what's appropriate to work in. Couture and crime scenes hardly go hand in hand.”

Miranda nodded once, brusquely, her eyes already scanning the crowd. “Seven-thirty, tomorrow.” she said quietly.

“It'll be closer to eight,” Andy replied. “I'm going to be bouncing around all over the city following up leads on my story tomorrow.”

Miranda nodded stiffly. “Just be there,” she demanded. Then, lips firmly pursed, she turned with a flourish and moved off into the crowd of people eager to bask for a time in the glory that was La Priestly.

 

****

 

It was close to midnight as she sat in Miranda Priestly's chair in the woman's darkened office. Her being at the office this time of night wouldn't raise any alarm. As demanding as the editor-in-chief of Runway was, Clackers came and went at all hours of the day and night trying to accomplish the tasks demanded of them, so as long as she wasn't discovered in Miranda's office, there would be no questions about her presence.

She closed her eyes enjoying the moment. She could smell Miranda's scent; almost feel the woman's presence and power. The darkness hid her smile. She was Miranda's angel. She would do what others would not for the fashion genius.

She reflected on her latest gambit.

She had eavesdropped on a conversation between Miranda and Nigel. James Holt had disappointed Miranda...again. His latest creation, one she was supposed to wear to an important fund raising event to support the building of new, more natural enclosures in the Central Park Zoo to house some of the animals. The Zoo and animals in general were near and dear to Miranda's daughter's hearts. Miranda had also told Nigel that she had promised the twins, who had heard about the fundraiser at school, that she would do her very best to assure it was a success. Later in the conversation she overheard Miranda telling Nigel about the promise James once held and how after his first two collections he lost his vision of fashion. He put too much emphasis on the pleasures of his fast lane lifestyle and not enough emphasis on his art. Miranda said she had suspected such a thing might happen and that was one of the reasons she did not allow Nigel's intended defection to James Holt International. With the track record of the past eighteen months Nigel admitted it was a good thing. If this season's collection was received as badly as last season, James Holt International would be nothing but a bankrupt memory.

James had disappointed Miranda...so she had punished him for that sin, just as she had been punishing others that disappointed the Snow Queen for the last several months. The Snow Queen, she liked that sobriquet for Miranda and she mused then that must make her Miranda's hand maiden. The fools here at Runway had called it the Runway Jinx in the beginning and where now calling it a curse. It was just her, fulfilling her place in Miranda's retinue. She would remove those things that offended Miranda and, given time, as a reward, Miranda would come to love her for her loyalty.

James had been so easy. She knew of his penchant for taking the stairs from being part of the party of Runway employees that went with Miranda to showings. The floor cleaning compound, made out of pine oil, had been left sitting outside a janitor's closet in James' building. She'd simply gone up to James' floor and smeared some of the oil at the lip of the stair and then called James, suggesting they meet for a drink. Ten minutes later James was hurrying out the door to meet her at a Runway employee favored club, likely planning that she'd be spending the night in his bed. James' building had tall cathedral ceilings, which made for long staircases between floors. He should count his good fortune that it wasn't his neck that was broken.

She glanced at the time on her wristwatch. A little after midnight, time to leave the comfort of Miranda's sanctum. But that was alright, soon enough she would be the one on Miranda's arm, living in Miranda's house, mothering Miranda's daughters and sharing Miranda's bed. Miranda would see her worth and know that no one was more loyal to the icon's interests. It was said that a million girls would kill to work for Miranda. Well, if it came to that, she had killed in the past and if it became necessary to achieve her goals could without conscience easily do so in future.

 

****

 

Early morning at Runway found Emily stewing at her desk. Miranda, whose mood had seemed to be steadily deteriorating since early last week, was even more waspish than Emily would have expected. She filed that causation under seeing 'her' at the Black and White Ball last evening. For some reason, Andrea Sachs still seemed to be a thorn in Miranda's side. Miranda's attitude coupled with the fact that Emily had to deal with the newest second assistant Naomi, was cause for Emily to be mentally chanting her mantra of “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job” within an hour of her arrival at work. Naomi was more competent than most second assistants that had come through the revolving door that was that position and had been with the company just over three months. She was also high strung, high maintenance, and down right creepy. There was something dark about the woman. Her couture was Gothic, not quite to the level of the goth subculture but definably what Emily would consider vampiresque. The girl had a raven's wing of luscious blue/black hair, exquisite, wild dark almond eyes and pale skin. She'd look good in bright colors, but she managed to somehow pull off the blacks and grays and the smoky eye make-up and pale concealer she seemed to prefer. She worked hard and learned quickly, but she was stand-offish preferring to keep to herself. For once Emily was not having her ear chattered off at work and she found that she sometimes even missed Andrea's easy banter. And whenever Miranda spoke harshly to the girl, Naomi would silently sulk for the remainder of the day making her nearly useless. Today looked to be one of those days.

At least she had the memory of last night to keep her going. After her duties to Miranda at the Black and White Ball were finished, she and Serena had gotten together. Emily smiled. Even with the recent stresses in their relationship, Serena was a tigress in bed; demanding in both the giving and receiving of pleasure. She was also very adventurous, often suggesting new things to try. It was amazing that Emily was getting any sleep at all these days. Emily shivered happily. Miranda had her private therapy appointment on her schedule this evening and these days, short of the apocalypse, Miranda didn't allow that to be changed. With any luck the printer's delivery of the Book wouldn't be very late this evening and she and Serena could get together and continue their sexual explorations.

 

****

 

Miranda, discontent, paced her office. The day to this point had been a disaster. Nothing was right. Nothing was good enough. She had been out of sorts since last week since she'd missed her session and the more evenings she went home and worked at her marriage to Stephen the more she wished that she'd had allowed the divorce or better yet had the foresight not to marry him in the first place.

Her reasons for the marriage were a strong conviction that her precious daughters needed a father figure and her belief that she and he were compatible. She had discovered after the wedding that she had bought a bill of goods. Stephen was not at all the man he had pretended to be while they were courting. He truly had no interest in being a father to her two precocious preteen girls and he had a drinking problem to boot.

Miranda felt trapped and she hated it. Her daughter's therapist had spoken to her at some length about her girl's need for stability. Two very public divorces at an impressionable age had left their marks. And her ex-husband, the girl's father, having never gotten over the humiliation of Miranda besting him in court during the divorce proceedings, often poked and prodded her by threatening to sue for full custody. If Miranda was to divorce again, he might have enough to convince a judge that Miranda was unfit as a mother.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. At least she had her escape time tonight. Nothing had been right since it had to be canceled at the last minute last week. At least tonight she'd be able to let some of the tension go and be soothed. It was a small thing and once a week wasn't near often enough, but at the moment it was all she had.

 

****

 

Andy had been bumped to the crime desk of the Mirror after six months of employment, which meant that she'd been working the crime beat more than a year already. Early on Andy had received a hot lead on a little girl that had been taken by a pedophile. It was a story that could make a reporter's career in one fell swoop. Andy ran with it, straight to the local police detectives. While other reporters beat her to the story, the police saved the little girl and apprehended the pedophile because of Andy's help. And so her reputation was born among the men and women in blue. That coupled with her easy manner and ready smile, her thoughtfulness to bring coffee to officers working crime scenes during inclement weather and the fact that she too loved donuts, had endeared her to the police force. As a result they tended to cooperate with her as far as they could without compromising their investigations. Now days Andy got first crack at most anything occurring police related all over Manhattan. Sometimes she'd receive cell phone tips from police officers on a crime scene before it even went out over police radio for other reporter's police scanners to pick up.

As she ended her work day riding across town in a taxi after following up another lead in the story she was working on she used the time to reread the police report on the events that caused James Holt's injuries. A friendly desk sergeant, who knew Andy had at one time worked in the fashion industry, had sent to her because he thought she might be interested. Unknown to most people, the police had determined the incident to be foul play rather than an accident. While the maintenance man of the building freely admitted having the oil floor cleaner out and using it that day, he was emphatic that he had not been on James' floor. Several witnesses testified that he had been working the whole day in the lobby and on the first floor of the building. Consequently, the investigators were now looking for person or persons unknown with a grudge towards James. Andy, however, knew about James' close connection to Runway and this was causing her to reevaluate some of the things she'd heard about what had been happening there over the last few months. Andy's nose for a story was itching, telling her that things needed a closer look.

 

****

 

Miranda entered the dead end cul-de-sac in a part of town that she would normally never visit and looked at ramshackle apartment building standing at its end. She smiled to herself. This part of the city not being a place she would frequent almost insured that neither would any in her social circle. The landlord of the building would never speak of her comings or goings; because she through a dummy corporation was the landlord. The tenants were happy because since Miranda's taking ownership the building had been receiving the attentions of skilled workmen repairing things that had gone too long untended. The tenant's apartments were being painted and re-carpeted. Rents had gone down rather than up. Miranda had no interest in profiting from this venture, only keeping them silent. She unlocked the front door with her key and mounted the stairs to one of the smaller apartments on the top floor and using another key allowed herself entry.

She smiled again once inside as she removed her coat. Glancing around, she chuckled softly. The sparse furnishing were an eclectic mix of expensive antiques and Ikea furniture. The rooms were certainly not solely to Miranda's tastes, but she found that she not only didn't mind, but took comfort in the fact. She moved from the small sitting room to the kitchen and drew a bottle of wine from the wine cooler. Opening the bottle she let it breathe and prepared a tray with glasses. Then she went into the bedroom. The bed was a huge ornate carved wooden piece that she had been told had taken six burly movers to get up the staircase. The best mattress money could buy was covered with a riot of rich Egyptian cotton linens and soft pillows. A suitable place, even if she had not been the one to win the coin toss about who got to choose the room's color scheme. She heard the front door of the apartment open and she hurried out of the bedroom in time to catch Andy before she got her coat off. She smiled wantonly and pushing Andy up against the closed door kissed her passionately. The kiss lasted until both women were out of breath. Miranda was finally forced to pull away and looked into the eyes of her lover. “I was desolate without you this last week,” she whispered.

Andy nodded. “I'm so sorry Miranda, you know I wanted to be here.” she said, finally getting her coat off and hung up.

Miranda held up a hand. “I, above all, understand the demands a career make on one. I know that you couldn't tell your editor no when they asked you to cover that triple homicide. The article you wrote was powerful.” Miranda stepped back and sighed, “I see I still need to instruct you on proper dress however.” she teased.

Andy, who was wearing a business like 'V' neck Ruched dress in an espresso colored print smiled wickedly and reached to her shoulders moved the material teasingly down her arms. The dress dropped to pool around her Kate Spade heels. Miranda's mouth went dry as Andy was revealed, clad in nothing but stockings and a garter-belt, lace La Perla panties and bra. “Oh no, Miranda,” she said, her voice becoming husky. “I dressed for you this morning. Only for you...”

 

****

 

She had known something was different tonight when she had observed Miranda leaving the Elias-Clarke building. The icon had hailed a taxi rather than being picked up by her town-car. She had hailed the next cab and followed. On arrival she had carefully shadowed Miranda down the dead end street and identified the building that the icon had entered. Now she sat in a booth in the front window of a sandwich shop from where she could watch the mouth of the blind street that the building sat at the end of. She was certain that Miranda hadn't left. She had also had made note of those few others that entered the street. She ordered another cup of coffee to give herself an excuse to stay and continue her surveillance.

 

****

 

After two hours of lovemaking Miranda lay momentarily content in Andrea's arms. One night a week wasn't enough by any stretch of the imagination and soon she'd have to leave to go home. Home to her girls. Home to Stephen. She sighed softly.

“What's wrong, Darling?” Andrea whispered, her eyes still closed and her arms tightening protectively around Miranda's body.

“I just wish we had more time together,” Miranda answered wistfully.

“I do too,” Andrea answered, “but we've had this discussion before. We both knew what we were getting into in Paris. You need to keep your marriage to Stephen for your girls. And that means that I have to stay your dirty little secret.”

Miranda sighed again and snuggled closer. “It's not fair to you Andrea,” she whispered close to the brown eyed woman's ear. “I know you never wanted to be anyone's mistress.”

Andrea chuckled. “Miranda, I would have stayed as your second assistant just to be close to you if we hadn't fallen into bed together in Paris,” she replied, her hands beginning to caress Miranda's naked breasts. “We admitted we have feelings for each other and both knew what we were getting into when we decided to do this. I understand why you're doing what you're doing. You're protecting your girls. I'm a big girl, I went into this with my eyes open. I made my decision, just as I made the decision to leave Runway so I could have you in my private life. All the public theatrics about you hating me are part and parcel of protecting what we have. I'm happy with what ever you can give me, Miranda. If that's only once a week when you tell people you're in a therapy session and those occasions we can steal time when Stephen goes out of town, I'll deal with it. I love you and I'm not going anywhere. I'll take what ever part of you I can get.”

Miranda suddenly rolled over on top of Andrea. “Let me taste you once more before I have to go,” she whispered urgently as she trailed hot feathery kisses down the length of the brunette's body. “Let me make you come again so I have something to remember to keep me going until next week.”

Andrea groaned as Miranda's tongue found her center and moments later Miranda felt her lover shutter with a building orgasm. She pulled her mouth away from Andrea's sex and thrust deep inside with two fingers. Raising herself up on one elbow she gazed up the length of Andrea's body and continued to thrust with her hand allowing herself her greatest joy by watching her lover's face as she reached her release. Andrea was never more beautiful than at that moment of abandon when she climaxed.

****

 

After several hours of waiting, she watched as Miranda came out of the cul-de-sac in the company of another woman. Jealousy flared in her breast as she watched the two share a brief kiss before Miranda slid into a waiting cab. The other woman watch the icon's taxi leave, then started down the street towards the subway entrance at the end of the block. Remaining some distance back and staying to the shadows, she stealthily followed this new interloper.

****

 

Emily was pleasantly surprised the next morning when Miranda's mood was as close to cordial as it ever got, even when Emily was almost late to work arriving in the office after Miranda was already in the building. She immediately sent a sulking Naomi for Miranda's coffee and she prepared Miranda's office with the icon sitting at her desk watching her with an amused expression.

On returning to her own desk Emily smiled to herself. She was pleasantly sore from Serena's attentions late last evening. Serena had introduced her to a new game. One involving handcuffs, handcuffing each of Emily's wrists to the brass headboard of her bed. Then Serena, who when they'd first started sleeping together had been the gentlest and most considerate of lovers, had teased her mercilessly for what seemed hours. Then Serena had used a large strap-on to roughly fuck Emily to where she thought she'd pass out. While Emily had enjoyed the early gentle attentions of her lover, this new side of her was very exciting.

Of course she worked for Miranda Priestly, so an easy day at work could change in a heartbeat. All it took was a call from Miranda's husband. Moments later Naomi fled from Miranda's office and Emily heard the dragon's quiet roar when the woman quietly said her name in summons. Emily responded immediately, of course, rushing into Miranda's office.

Miranda didn't look up from her desk as she said, “Keep her out of my sight. If I see that useless girl again today you will find yourself looking for yet another second assistant to train.” Emily hurried to obey. From there the day went quickly down hill.

****

 

At six in the evening Emily sat at her desk cursing her ill luck. Irv Ravits, the C.E.O. of Elias-Clarke had called Miranda into a meeting just before the end of the day. He had demanded that Miranda provide an exact accounting of a recent photo shoot that had to be redone. The cost was significant and Irv was on the warpath about it. Of course Irv had been on the warpath about everything ever since he had attempted to have Miranda removed as editor-in-chief in Paris eighteen months ago and been humiliated in the process. He was constantly trying to find things that the board of directors would find objectionable enough to get Miranda fired. So far nothing he had tried had worked, but by constantly calling everything Miranda did in to question he kept chipping away at the icon's armor.

Miranda had instructed that Emily was to personally prepare the report and have it on her desk first thing in the morning. She sighed. “Naomi, you might as well go home.” she said without looking up from the file she was crunching numbers from. “I'll be here anyway so I'll deliver the Book when I leave tonight.” Naomi quickly gathered her things. Emily watched her walk out the door and wondered where 'vampira' would spend her evening. She reached over and picked up the phone on her desk to call down to Serena to explain why their plans for the evening had to be canceled.

****

 

The Elias-Clarke executive floor was nearly deserted as she stood in the shadows near the elevators. She wore a black lace sheath mini dress that was meant to have a champagne colored layer worn under it. She wore it without the layer showing skin through the lace. On her leg she wore silk stockings and her on feet Prada multi-strap platform sandals in black, with four inch stiletto heels. She waited impatiently in silence.

Irv Ravits left his office at seven-thirty. It had been a good day. He'd managed to drive another nail into the coffin he was building for Miranda Priestly's career. He'd hated Miranda for years and the fact that Runway was the only consistently profitable publication Elias-Clarke had month after month no longer entered into his thinking. It was personal and he intended to see the bitch fall from power. He entered the elevator and just as the door was about to close she entered. Irv looked up. He was fairly certain that she was one of Runway's clackers and the way she was dressed made his mouth water. She was in expensive couture but the look screamed stripper. As the elevator began to descend her smoky eyes met his. “I adore a man of power and vision,” she said, her voice sultry, as she stepped into his personal space. “And I adore a man that can stand up to Miranda. It makes me wet.” Her fingers were warm on his neck. “I know this wonderful little hotel,” she breathed into his ear. “Very discreet, very private...”

****

Having finishing the last edit on her article for the morning edition, Andy spent some time at her desk making a couple of phone calls. The first was to a guy on the Elias-Clarke security force that she had been friendly with while she had worked at Runway. Elias-Clarke, being a large corporation, was very conscious of work-related accidents due to rising insurance costs. That translated to written reports concerning any work-related accidents that occurred on or off the Elias- Clarke premises. With a few minutes of schmoozing and the promise of coming by Elias-Clarke so they could have a cup of coffee together, she had a promise that he would fax over the accident reports for the last six months. The second call was to one of her police contacts, a ranking officer in the central police administration building. She asked the woman if there were any way to correlate reports from different precincts using accidents involving Runway employees as a search parameter. The woman laughed and told Andy that with the new computer system that the department had recently had installed such a search would be no problem and Andy could expect the results emailed to her in the immediate future. Andy settled in for a long night.

****

 

Near midnight Emily quietly let herself into Miranda's townhouse. She wasn't in the door before she heard the raised voice of Stephen, slurring his words. “You were never a proper wife! Always busy with Runway or those spoiled monsters you call daughters!” Emily wanted to intervene. To stop the outrageous lies the man was spouting but what went on in the Priestly house was nobody's business. The first rule of delivering the 'Book' was that the assistant responsible for it would be unseen and unheard and that most definitely included her delivering the 'Book'. As much as Emily wanted to step to Miranda's defense, she didn't dare.

****

 

At nearly three A.M. Andy was still sitting at her desk at The Mirror drinking her umpteenth cup of coffee. She had read the police reports and was making her way though the Elias-Clarke accident reports when her cell phone rang. Answering it she said “Andy Sachs”.

“Ms. Sachs?” and unfamiliar female voice on the other end of the call said. This is Officer Navas of the Midtown South Precinct? We met briefly at an armed robbery call several weeks ago?”

Andy smiled. A few years ago a federal court had shot down the five foot nine inch height requirement for hiring police officers as discriminatory. She vividly remembered the five foot four inch Hispanic woman with attitude that had taken on a six foot four inch armed perp with nothing but her courage and her nightstick. She'd laid him out on the street and had her handcuffs on him before her backup had arrived. “Yes Officer Navas. I remember you. What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Ms. Sachs,” the caller said, “There's a situation at the La Semana Hotel at 25 West 24th Street. I think you might want to get down here as quick as you can. My partner tells me that this is going to be big news tomorrow.”

“I'm on my way, Officer Navas,” Andy answered, grateful that she had the foresight to make the police her friends rather that the adversarial relationship that most of the press seemed to have with the NYPD. “How do you and your partner take your coffee?” she asked, smiling.

Twenty minutes later Andy stood outside a room on the second floor of the La Semana Hotel, a box lid holding twelve cups of coffee in hand. The officers on the door, including Officer Navas, smiled as she started handing out cups of the strong hot brew. A Duty Sergeant Andy recognized poked his head out the door “Navas!” he growled, what did I tell you about letting those vultures of the press up here? I said for them to be kept in the lobb...oh, it you, Sachs, Got one black with sugar?”

Andy laughed, “Would I forget you Sergeant O'Haleran?” she asked, offering a cup of coffee and then digging into her coat pocket and pulling out a packet of sugar and a stirring straw.

O'Haleran also laughed. “You do know how to kiss the blarney stone, don't you Sachs?” He asked. “Turn the coffee over to one of the officers at the door and put on a pair of those plastic booties,” he said, indicating a box of the plastic shoe covers by the door. “CSI is already here but the M.E. is tied up at a traffic accident and won't be here for a bit. And I know I don't have to tell you not to touch anything.”

Andy dutifully put on a pair of plastic shoe covers and carefully entered the room under the crime scene tape. As soon as she was inside her senses went into overdrive. It was like she was seeing, hearing and smelling everything at once. This was a normal experience for her when she was looking at a new crime scene. It was one of the things that made her such a powerful crime reporter. She had, at one time, wondered why the overload of information wasn't overwhelming, but she quickly realized it was because of the discipline she had formed while learning to multitask when Miranda's second assistant.

 O'Haleran introduced Andy to the detective in charge, a woman she knew by reputation but had never met. “Andy Sachs,” the duty sergeant said, “Detective Olivia Benson, Detective, Andy Sachs. She's a reporter for The Mirror.

The Detective looked Andy up and down a speculative look on her face. “I hear good things about you Sachs and I read the piece you wrote on the officer involved shooting in the lower east side. I think you were the only reporter to even suggest that the cops might not be completely at fault.”

“I reported what my investigation revealed,” Andy shrugged. “The Hispanic kid that was shot reached into his pocket. There was no way the cop that fired his weapon could have known he was reaching for a cell phone and not a gun. That's what I wrote.”

“Yeah, but you were the only journalist in the city that made any difference too. Everybody else is ready to hang that rookie patrolman out to dry,” Benson smiled.

Andy turned and looked speculatively into the depths of the hotel room. “So, Detective,” she asked, “what have we got here?”

“It's a suspicious death by drowning,” Benson replied, leading Andy back towards the in-room hot tub. “I have to wait for the M.E. for an official finding, but the victim is bound and face-down in the tub. No wallet and no I.D. So for the moment it's a John Doe. Considering that it happened in this sleaze bag hot sheet joint my guess is a kinky trick with a hooker gone bad. The John Doe buys it in some kind of S&M bathtub play and the hooker lifts any thing with any value and takes a powder.”

Andy's eyes raked over the fish belly white back and buttocks of the bound naked man floating facedown in the hot tub in the center of the room as Sergeant O'Haleran escorted the M.E., Dr. Melinda Warner, into the room. Andy and the Doctor were well acquainted from numerous interviews Andy had done with her over the last year and the two women shared a mutual respect.

The M.E nodded greetings to Detective Benson and, glancing over the situation asked, “Can I move the body?”

Detective Benson glanced to the crime scene people and one of them nodded. “We've got all the pictures we need Detective,” the C.S.I. tech said.

The Detective turned to the M.E. “Go ahead and do your thing Melinda,” she said softly.

With the help of one of the C.S.I. techs the M.E. turned the body in the hot tub and lifted it to the ground laying it on it's back.

Andy gasped.

Detective Benson looked up at her. “Haven't you ever seen a drowning before Sachs?” she asked.

Andy shook her head. “That's not a John Doe. That's Irv Ravits,” Andy managed, her mind quickly turning back to the suspicions she was developing about what had been going on at Runway the last several months.

“You know him?” the M.E. Asked.

Andy nodded, a chill spreading through her as she looked at the body on the floor. “He's C.E.O. and Chairman of the Board at Elias-Clarke Publishing.”

“You know him on sight?” Dr. Warner asked curiously.

Andy glanced up from the body and met the M.E.'s eyes. “I used to work as the one of the assistants to the Editor-in-Chief of Runway magazine. Runway is an Elias-Clarke publication. I must have taken notes in at least a dozen meetings between him and the woman that was my boss.”

Benson closed her eyes and sighed. “That means big money and big money usually means headaches for an investigation. There's going to be heat from the top on this one isn't there?”

Andy nodded, her mind now only half on the discussion and the scene before her. “I was at a party at this guys’ house when I worked as Miranda Priestly's assistant. The Mayor, two congressional representatives and a state senator were there,” she replied absently, “not to mention bigwigs from half the moneyed families in Manhattan”.

The M.E. looked up from where she knelt beside the body. “Preliminary observation indicates bruising either side of the spine and a ligature mark around the throat. It looks like your perp had a cord around his neck and knelt on his back, riding him to keep him down under the water” she offered. “There are also signs that he fought as much as he could considering he was face down and his wrists and ankles are bound. I'll know more when I get him on the autopsy table.”

Andy's reporter's instincts were screaming to her that this horrid scene was somehow tied into the seemingly disparate events surrounding Runway that she had recently begun to piece into a pattern. She glanced at the detective and asked, “could I please speak with you for a moment Detective Benson? I believe I may know something that's might be important to your investigation..."

****

Emily sat at her desk chatting with Serena. Even when alone in the office, as they were at the moment with Miranda out to a meeting, Emily was careful to keep the chat light and away from any significant mention of her and Serena's involvement. There wasn't any faster way to kill a conversation between them here in the office then to mention something about their feelings or what they might be doing later. If that happened Serena would leave immediately and give Emily the silent treatment for hours. Silence fell over Serena as Naomi entered the office returning from errands she'd been assigned. Placing the packages on her desk, she then dropped a copy of The New York Post, open to Page Six on Emily's.

Emily looked up, annoyed that her conversation with Serena had been interrupted. Then her eyes scanned the page laid on her desk. Her eyes widened and her breath caught. The headline on the page screamed 'Snow Queen's Affair!' Then in smaller text below the header 'Mr. Priestly Announces Divorce Action.' Emily shook her head. She was certain that Miranda didn't know about this, if she had Emily would have spent the morning coordinating with the P. R. people and relaying Miranda's instructions about how to control and spin the story. She shook her head, “Oh no, no, no,” she whispered. She glanced up at Serena. “I've got to call Miranda right away. I'm afraid I'm likely to be busy for quite a while. Maybe we can catch up later?”

Serena nodded and turned leaving the office. Emily looked at Naomi. “We have our work cut out for us. I'll call Miranda you call Leslie at the P. R. firm and tell her to clear her schedule, get hold of a copy of the Post and expect Miranda's call.” Trying to get her breathing under control Emily picked up the telephone receiver and began to dial. It wouldn't do to allow her panic to cause her to start hyperventilating. She couldn't afford to become light-headed now that Miranda was going to need her to be at her absolute best.

****

Miranda was livid. She had suspected that her husband was a coward, but to publicly announce a divorce action in the press before even discussing it with her was beyond the limit of tolerance. It wasn't like he wasn't having affairs. He slept with such a large number of women outside of marriage that she had refused to go to their wedding bed without him agreeing to use a condom in order to protect her against the possibility of her getting a sexually transmitted disease. Consequently they had not slept together in a considerable while. Now Emily had informed her that Page Six had announced her as an adulteress. She listened to the steps Emily reported taking as far as managing the crisis and her reassurances that the phones were competently manned and that the company line would be 'no comment'.

She stalked angrily from her interrupted meeting and slid into the back of her town-car. “Take me to the closest newsstand, Roy,” she said in an icy voice. “And get me a copy of today's Post.”

****

 

It had been a long night and morning. Andy sighed as she stood in line at a Starbucks. She yet again had an exclusive piece of information on a top notch front page story and she couldn't use it. Detective Benson had listened attentively to Andy's explanation of the investigation she had started on the freak accidents surrounding the people connected to Runway and said she was willing to consider the pattern that Andy believed had begun to emerge. She had agreed that the material Andy had gathered might very well have a bearing on the case of Irv Ravits' murder. Andy had agreed that, for the time being, she'd hold off on printing all the facts that she knew, especially the victim's name. The danger, of course, was that some other reporter might come across the fact that the murder victim was a C.E.O. of the publishing titan Elias-Clarke and run with the story. If that happened and her editor ever found out she had this jewel of information and didn't put it in her story she'd be looking for a new job. She was quietly cursing her lousy luck when she overheard the two teenage girls in line in front of her giggling. “Oh my god, did you read Page Six?” one girl demanded of the other. “Miranda Priestly's husband is suing her for divorce! He dishes all the dirt about the affair she's been having for the last several months!”

Andy paled, suddenly losing interest in coffee in her haste to make it to the nearest newsstand to get a copy of the competition's paper.

Before Andy could get to somewhere to get a paper her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display and saw Miranda was calling her. Holding her breath and expecting the worst she answered. “Yes Miranda?” she said breathlessly.

“Andrea,” Miranda said. “There is a disturbing article in today's New York Post...”

Andy stopped and stood still on the busy sidewalk forcing pedestrian traffic to move around her. Her heart dropped. She was sure that Miranda was about to tell her that they couldn't see each other anymore. “I've heard, Miranda,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice. “I was on my way to get a copy to read. Oh God! If I've cause you any problems...”

Miranda chuckled, “Don't concern yourself Andrea,” she replied. “And don't bother buying a copy of The Post. My idiot, soon to be ex-husband has named a pretty boy-toy model that I've used in several recent photo shoots as the one that I've supposedly been having an affair with. The fact is that I've only used him as set dressing because he is so pretty. If Stephen had done his homework he would have discovered that the boy in question, while definitely liking his lovers both older and rich, would be far more likely to have an affair with Nigel than he would with me. And I know half a dozen prominent rich old men that will testify to that fact under oath if I require it.” She sighed into the receiver, suddenly sounding tired to Andy. “I'm on my way to speak with Leslie about spin control and then I'm meeting with my lawyers to discuss enforcement of the prenuptial agreement Stephen and I signed. After I'm sure that Stephen has taken himself permanently out of my house and I've had a talk with my daughters about what's happening, I'd...I'd like to see you. I need you Andrea. Need to be with you,” she almost whispered, “especially today”.

A warmth suffused Andy as she stood there. Her answer was immediate and unwavering. “I'll call my boss and tell him I'm going to work on my article from home. I can be at the apartment in about half an hour. I'll wait there for you. Come when you can. There's something I need to tell you when you get there. Something I don't want to say over the phone...”

 

****

 

Stephen sat at the bar of The Lambs Club inside the lobby of the Chatwal Hotel. For the moment he could still afford the five-star lifestyle the hotel and bar offered and with any luck that would continue for the rest of his life when he took Miranda for all she was worth in divorce court.

The lawyer he had hired had the reputation of being both brilliant and a shark. The litigator had gone over the pre-nup that both he and Miranda had signed prior to being married and had discovered what he believed to be an exploitable flaw. While the document clearly defined the dire consequences if adultery was proved against Stephen, it was far less clear about what would happen should Miranda be proved an adulterer. His lawyer's strategy was to try Miranda in the press, hence the start of a negative media campaign that kicked off in this morning's Page Six article. Then, when they got to court, the lawyer would point out that, there being no defined penalties for Miranda, the document was inherently unbalanced and unfair and therefore the provisions of the document were unsupportable and invalid under the law. Once the pre-nup had been crushed they'd present the young man that they had hired to play the role of Miranda's boy-toy lover. The lawyer had assured Stephen that the boy wanted the publicity the trial would generate, thinking that being seen by the press in this high profile case was his ticket to fame and fortune.

Stephen smiled into his drink. He had been careful. He was no stranger to cheating on his partner, even before his wedding to the Ice Queen. When he had chosen those he bedded while Miranda's husband, he was careful that they were all women that had too much to lose if they ever told the truth in open court. While Miranda knew he had cheated on her, she would never be able to prove it, he mused, smiling.

From the corner of his eye he saw movement beside him. His breath caught. She was an erotic vision, dressed in a skintight black lace sheath mini dress showing naked skin beneath. Large sunglasses adding to the mystery and the hair of this amazing vision was wild and dark, at least what he could see of it, trapped as it was by an incongruous baseball cap. The tall, over the knee, stiletto heeled boots she wore simply oozed sex appeal as she pulled herself up on the next stool and motioned to the bartender.

The man behind the bar responded immediately when she spoke, her voice low and sultry. “Dirty Martini for me and another of what ever he's having,” she said, motioning to Stephen's glass with one well manicured fingernail. She turned and her painted lips smiled wantonly “I saw you in the paper today,” she said softly after their drinks had arrived. “I work for Miranda and a man that can stand up to her and publicly say what you've dared to say is something that turns me on.” She played with the short hem of her skirt. “Tell me your room number and I'll come up and show you just how much it turns me on,” she whispered.

Stephen considered for all of five seconds. With the divorce announced he no longer had to exercise the level of caution that he had been. This was one of Miranda's clackers. One who bowed and scraped to the bitch every day. To make it with her would be tantamount to spitting in Miranda's eye. The only thing that would make it better would be if she was the second assistant that had left Miranda in Paris; for some reason that young woman had shaken Miranda's resolve. It was the only time Stephen had ever seen Miranda's behavior change after a clacker had left her employ. She had been almost despondent that the junior 'Emily' was no longer at the office each day. The girl had even earned her name, although Stephen paid so little attention to Miranda's business that he couldn't remember it now if his life depended on it. “Five-thirteen,” he quietly replied.

“I'll be ten minutes behind you,” she smiled wickedly. “Order some champagne from room service.”

Stephen left the bar with a bounce in his step, the balance of the evening looked promising.

****

Captain Donald Cragen stood before a white board in the SVU squad room surrounded by his colleagues. He indicated a photo of the Irv Ravits murder scene. “So what Sachs brought to Olivia indicates that we should expand our investigation. It looks like there may be some bigger conspiracy going on. Someone after either somebody at Runway magazine or after the magazine itself.” He turned and pointed at John Munch, “Munch, you have the experience in conspiracy theories, try to get an angle on why this might be happening.”

“On it Captain,” answered the cynical detective

“Fin, you, Olivia and Elliott canvas the businesses around the hotel. Maybe we'll get lucky and somebody saw our suspect with the victim. If she's a pro, it's likely she works in her comfort zone and has used the hotel before to turn tricks,” the Captain continued.

Tutuola nodded.

“Tomorrow morning all of you get over to Elias-Clarke and dig into Runway and everybody that works there. Find out who might have reason to kill the victim. This Irv Ravits was connected, people. There are already questions from the Mayor's Office; the Brass wants results, so let’s get to it.” As the squad separated, off to their respective tasks, Cragen said "Olivia, a moment please?”

Olivia stopped and turned back to her commanding officer, “Yes Captain?” she asked.

“If it becomes necessary,” Cragen said, “get with Sachs again and see if she'll expand on what she told you. She obviously was looking at whatever this is before we were."

****

Sometime after nine O'clock in the evening Andy faced Miranda across the width of the small kitchen of their love nest apartment. “Murdered you say?” Miranda asked, her color going pale and her voice, for the first time in Andy's memory, uncertain.

“You can't say anything to anybody yet Miranda,” Andy insisted quietly. “I shouldn't even have told you, especially today when this thing with your husband is going on. The police and I are the only ones who know. Well us and who ever it was that killed Irv. The police wouldn't even know it was Irv if I hadn't been there to identify the body.”

Miranda nodded, turned and reached into a cabinet for a bottle of Scotch. “I think we could both stand a drink,” she said, steadying her hand as she poured four fingers of the amber liquid into each highball glass.

Andy watched her and offered, “The police detective in charge of the investigation initially thought that Irv had hired a prostitute for a kinky trick and it went bad somehow...”

Miranda smirked and then chastised herself at how inappropriate her first reaction was. “Poor Irv,” she said softly, “he always did think with his little head before his big head and now it may have gotten him killed.”

“I told the police that I think someone is targeting Runway,” Andy said, her worried eyes on Miranda. “There have been too many accidents, too many unexplained occurrences. And now this thing with Irv...I'm scared for you, Miranda. I'm afraid you might be the next target.”

Miranda tensely sipped her drink, wanting to deny what Andrea was suggesting as ridiculous, but the spate of accidents plaguing those working for her, coupled with James Holt's injuries and now Irv's murder, it seemed foolish not to at least listen to Andrea's suppositions. Coming to a decision she turned toward the kitchen table. “Show me what you have. Run me through this pattern you think you've found,” she said, the Snow Queen firmly in place and speaking to Andrea as if her lover was still a second assistant and the discussion was about some task at Runway.

Andy reached for her briefcase and opening it took out the folder of police reports and accident reports for the Elias-Clarke security along with the notes she had made during her initial perusal of the documents and set them before her formidable lover. For the next several hours they sat with their heads together trying to piece together a jumble of seemingly random events into some kind of rational order.

****

After five hours of unsuccessful canvassing the SVU squad called it a night and went home.

At close to midnight Detective Olivia Benson's cell phone rang interrupting her at a most inopportune moment. Her most recent sexual partner, who she was skillfully using her tongue on, was on the edge of orgasm. She had been meeting with this woman, who writhed under her talented ministrations, a couple of times a week for sex without strings for a little more than two months. Their first meeting had been random chance on a very bad day when Olivia had suffered a particularly frustrating case and the outcome had left a sexually abused child still in the custody of her suspected abuser. When Alexandria Cabot had been SVU's liaison for the District Attorney's office the squad would have found a way to bend the rules to save that child. But Alex was gone now; living in witness protection after she had apparently been shot and killed in a drive by shooting before Olivia's eyes by someone working for the Velez drug cartel that Alex had been zealously prosecuting a senior member of.

Olivia's and Alex's tenuous relationship had been difficult, even tempestuous. A police detective dating a prosecuting attorney was frowned upon by the powers that be in both the upper ranks of the police force and the District Attorney's office. Even more so when the prosecuting attorney was attached to the police unit the detective worked in. Consequently they had denied their feelings for each other for a long time. When Olivia finally realized the depth of her feelings for Alex it was too late. Olivia was lost, bereft, during hours she believed Alex murdered. It was a mixed blessing that Alex had told the Federal Marshals of the Witness Protection Service that she would not go quietly into the program unless they allowed her to see Olivia for a few minutes to let her know she was alive and to say goodbye. So Olivia knew that Alex was out there, somewhere, building a new life that Olivia was not allowed to be a part of. Olivia had responded by shutting down her heart, telling herself she'd never allow herself to be hurt so again. She'd accomplish this by not getting emotionally involved with anyone, hence her present situation with a woman she really knew little about beyond her preferred sexual acts.

Olivia reached for the phone as her partner moaned “Oh, oh please don't answer that. I'm so close...”

Glancing at the number Olivia sighed, “It's from my squad, I'm sorry, I have to answer.” she said softly rising from her place on the bed.

The woman on the bed panted and nodded, “You're a cop, you have answer when they call. You told me that the first time this happened.”

“Benson” Olivia answered tersely into the phone's mouthpiece. “Fin? I'm off the clock. This better be important.” She listened for a long moment and then unconsciously nodded. “Give me the address again?” she said, struggling to get her notebook and pen out of her jacket where it had been tossed carelessly on the floor beside the bed. “Chatwal Hotel, room five-thirteen,” she continued, “I'm leaving now.” Hanging up the phone she turned to her partner and touched her dark hair, “Can I maybe try to make it up to you tomorrow?”

The woman clasped Olivia's hand to her where it touched her hair, “Don't promise tomorrow Olivia,” she answered. “I know how crazy your days and nights get when you're on a case. In a way it's just like my job. Call me when you know you can get away.”

Olivia hurriedly dressed and made her way to the elevator of her sexual partner's apartment building. On the ride down to the lobby she took a moment to consider the odd confluence of events that brought her and the woman together the first time. She had needed a drink after that terrible day at work, burdened as she was with the knowledge that a child she desperately wanted to rescue was still at the mercy of her likely abuser. Not feeling she could face her coworker's usual after work barroom banter she avoided their usual 'cop shop' bar and selected a place a random.

It was not her usual kind of place. In fact none of the members of her squad would believe that Olivia Benson would ever even go into such a place, but the dark atmosphere inside and the pervading sense of gloom and despair permeating the environment suited her mood. The regular patrons immediately read her as someone that didn't belong there. They read 'cop' in her body language and drew away from her, avoiding her like the plague. All but one. Ten minutes after Olivia had sat down at the bar a drink she hadn't ordered was delivered by the heavily tattooed, piercing festooned bartender. Five minutes after that she approached Olivia and sat down beside her. Olivia desperately needed a distraction from her own dark thoughts that night and took the pale dark haired young woman home with her. Since then they had been seeing each other a couple of times a week. It was an arrangement that suited them both. Both of their schedules were insane due to their chosen professions. Neither wanted a relationship presently in their lives and the sex was good. They played together without demands on each other and both their lives were better for it. Olivia smiled. After she saw what had Fin so excited at the Chatwal she'd call her playmate back and make it up to her.

****

 

Miranda looked across the small kitchen bistro table at her lover in disbelief, “Andrea, surely you are joking.”

Andy shrugged, “all I'm saying is that they're going to want to talk to you. Your and Irv's relationship was...”

“If you are trying to say Irv and I hated each other with an unholy passion it would be an understatement,” Miranda responded sharply, “but the idea I'd kill him is ridiculous. With one exception perhaps; the board meeting immediately after his attempted coup in Paris. I had fantasies of tossing him out of the thirteenth floor board room window during that meeting.”

Andy rose from her seat and move close to Miranda, placing her hand on the white-haired woman's shoulder. “Miranda, with them looking into Runway, we...our affair is likely to come out.”

Miranda nodded. “If asked by the authorities we answer truthfully. I must assume that they know their business and should they question, it is because it is needful for them to know for the purposes of their investigation.”

Andy sighed, “If the police find out, there's no way we'll keep it from the press. It'll be all over Page Six,” she said, rubbing Miranda's back.

“And Stephen will use it against me in the divorce,” Miranda answered sourly.

It was then that Andy's cell phone rang.

“Who is it calling you after midnight?” Miranda asked, glancing at the telephone's display where it sat on the table. “Olivia Benson?” Should I be jealous?" She asked, semi-playfully.

****

Andy stood just inside the doorway of room five-thirteen of the Chatwal Hotel and tried to calm her pounding heart and to not hyperventilate. Inside the sitting room sat the naked body of man, gagged with a ball gag and tied to one of the modern reclining chairs. It was apparent from the marks on his body that he had been tortured. His neck was bloody and his eyes bulged unnaturally from his head. Detective Olivia Benson stood at Andy's side. “Some of my colleagues think this is another kinky trick gone bad. Munch, who can go a little bit overboard, thinks we have a serial killer on our hands.”

Andy swallowed hard and shook her head. “Your Detective Munch may not be as off as you think,” she said, fighting the urge to vomit. “Have you identified the victim?”

Olivia shook her head. “My partner Elliot Stabler is down at the front desk finding out who rented the room...”

Andy looked into Detective Benson's eyes, her own eyes conveying her panic. “His name is Stephen Thomlinson,” she whispered.

Olivia's eyes widened. “Do you also know him from your time at Runway?” she demanded. Did he also work there?”

Andy shook her head. “No, he didn't work there, he is...was... married to the Editor-in-Chief, Miranda Priestly....Oh my god! I have to call Miranda...then I need to talk to you Detective Benson, privately....Please...it's extremely urgent!”

****

 

Andrea Sachs sat in the SVU interrogation room at the precinct, her most recent cup of bad squad room coffee before her. Olivia Benson sat across from her. They had been in the small room since the sun had risen some few hours ago. Andy had tears in her eyes. “Eighteen months,” she whispered. “Miranda and I have been having an affair for eighteen months. It started when I travelled with her and the Runway delegation to Paris Fashion Week.” She looked down into the depth of her coffee. “Her husband called and told her he wanted a divorce. It started out by my wanting to comfort her...” she shook her head. “That's not completely true; I was in love with her before that...”

“And that is all that need to be said on that matter,” Miranda said from the doorway. “Detective Benson this is Walter Fitz-Simmons; mine and Andrea's lawyer.”

The litigator stepped into the room and spoke. “Ms. Sachs, I would strongly recommend that you refrain from saying anything else until we've had a chance to speak.”

Olivia looked up at Miranda, ignoring the lawyer. “There's no one behind the mirror, Mrs. Priestly,” she offered, admiring the power that radiated from the Iconic façade and envying Andy her relationship with the woman. “What's been said here has been said in confidence and off the record. Ms. Sachs has been very forthcoming and has told me that you have been with her all evening. Consequently you are not a person of interest in either of the murders we're investigating.” She smiled, “On a very personal level, I understand the need for discretion in the matters that have been discussed.” she said. “But we do need to talk to you and see if there is any light you can shed on what seems to be happening around your magazine.”

Miranda allowed a smile as she perceived the unspoken subtext of their conversation. “Thank you Detective,” she said softly. “I will, of course, cooperate fully.” She turned to Andy. “Andrea, the twins are outside with a curious little man named Munch. I'd like you to go and become reacquainted with them while I answer the detective's questions.” She looked down, her manner uncertain, almost shy. “When we're through here I've secured us all a suite at the Setai Fifth Avenue. I am uncomfortable with remaining predictable with all that's going on. So I and my family will not be returning to the town-house until this situation is resolved. I'd like you to come and stay at the hotel with us. I want...I need you to be safe too.”

Andy was touched by the gesture and nodded. “I'll do that Miranda, but I want you to know that I've promised Detective Benson that I'll help out on this case. Having worked at Runway and knowing how the police work from my time as a crime reporter she thinks my insights might be useful in helping to catch whoever is doing this.”

Miranda pursed her lips and glared and then turned to Detective Benson. “I do not know that I like that idea,” she said icily. “I require that Andrea be safe.”

Olivia smiled at the woman, realizing that the icon's involvement was no idle affair to the powerful woman. That Miranda Priestly genuinely cared for Andy. “She'll be working at a desk here in the station, surrounded by police officers. I can't think of a place she could be much safer,” she offered, motioning to the chair Andy had vacated. Miranda sat down with her lawyer hovering behind her and proceeded to answer Olivia's questions.

****

She sat in a rented car outside of Dalton Academy as the school day ended. She watched as the identical red-headed girls walked from the building laughing with their friends. Soon she would be the one picking them up each day. Soon she would be mothering them as Miranda worked each day. Dinner would be on the table and a drink would be waiting for when Miranda came in the door. Then, after the twins were tucked in and had their bedtime story she would see to Miranda needs. She would teach the woman the meaning of pleasure. It would be perfect as long as the girls learned not to come between her and their mother. And of course if that were to happen, well then, young girls often suffered fatal accidents. That would leave Miranda even more dependent on the one that loved her.

****

It was late, going on eleven P. M. as Andy sat a borrowed desk in the SVU squad room immersed in time sheets from Runway. Having Miranda on board with the investigation had opened all of the magazines records without the necessity of the District Attorney's office seeking a subpoena. Andy and several of the SVU detectives had spent the afternoon and evening ploughing through the thirty-one boxes full of records that Elias Clarke had provided. Andy was good as a crime reporter because she could often perceive patterns that others would miss on the first pass, connecting the dots as it were. She had opened an Excel file on her laptop and over the last six hours she had tracked and charted all of the Runway employees who were on the clock around the times that the accidents and murders had occurred. Miranda, hating inefficiency in the workplace and knowing in her bones that employee's are generally lazy and will get away with what ever they can, had checks and balances in place to make sure that a person at work was actually where they were supposed to be and doing what they were supposed to be doing. That left only two employee's unaccounted for, for the times surrounding all of the incidents. Andy stared at the chart for a long moment. She didn't really know anything about Miranda's new second assistant other than Miranda's complaints about her incompetence, sullen nature and out of date depressing Victorian inspired wardrobe. Serena she had worked with and knew peripherally. The blonde was the first other than Nigel to comment on Andy's makeover. She had said Andy looked good and suffered Emily's wrath for it. Andy left a quick note for Olivia who had stepped out to pick up some sandwiches for the squad and she hurriedly left the station.

Olivia arrived at the desk that Andy had been using with some dinner for the reporter. She glanced at the file on the laptop screen and then saw the note on the desk. Picking it up she read:

Olivia,

Miranda's second assistant, Naomi DuBois and Serena Tavares who works in the Accessories Department are the only two employee's who's whereabouts can not be accounted for at the times of both Murders. I don't know anything about Naomi but I worked with Serena. She's Miranda's first assistant's girlfriend and she's been with 'Runway' for years, so I don't see how it could be her. I'm going over to talk to Emily (Miranda's first assistant) at her apartment and see what I can find out about Naomi. Then I'll be going over to the hotel to stay close to Miranda. See you in the morning.

 

Andy

Olivia immediately took the note to the Captain, who, upon reading its content, immediately came out of his office and into the squad room. Addressing those gathered in the room, he spoke. “Okay we've identified two Runway employees with opportunity. Let’s see what we have on them. Naomi DuBois. That's D,u,B,o,i,s, the Editor-in-Chief's second assistant and Serena Tavares, T,a,v,a,r,e,s, who works in the Accessories Department. Munch, see what DMV has as far as a picture and general information. Elliot, check and see about previous criminal records.”

In moments Munch had DMV photographs of the two women on his computer screen and the squad gathered around to get their first look at their suspects.

“Oh my God!” Olivia gasped. “Somebody get a hold of Sachs! We've got our suspect pool narrowed down to one person!”

****

 

Andy glanced at her dead cell phone as stood outside the door to Emily's apartment in the East Village and knocked a second time. Well, she thought, that's what happens when you're up for thirty-six hours straight and use it as much as I do without charging it. She chuckled tiredly If Miranda has tried to call she's gonna kill me.

Andy was sure that someone was inside the apartment, she'd heard them moving around in there. She raised her hand to knock a third time when the door opened and she came face to face with Serena dressed in a long raw silk robe standing on the other side.

“Serena!” Andy smiled, “I didn't expect to find you here tonight. Is Emily at home? I really need to talk to her.” she asked, squeezing past the beautiful Brazilian and into Emily's place.

Serena returned the smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Emily is tied up at the moment,” she said, her tone curt. “Perhaps if you could come back tomorrow.”

Andy shook her head. “Can't wait. Too important. Life and death in fact, and I'm not exaggerating,” she babbled as she was prone to do when excited or stressed. “Where is she? In the shower?” She asked, crossing the living room and reaching for the bedroom doorknob.

 

****

 

Benson, Stabler and a number of ballistic vested, weapon festooned uniformed officers of the tactical squad stood at an apartment door Uptown. “Police, open up!” shouted a uniformed Sergeant as he banged on the door. When there was no response he nodded to the man next to him, who stepped back and used a battering ram to smash the door in. The tactical squad rushed in, weapons ready. In moments the call of “Clear” was repeated several times as the tactical officers did what they were trained to do with an elegance of precision making sure that they were in full control of the premises.

With the final call of 'clear' Benson and Stabler holstered their weapons and followed the team into the dwelling. They were in possession of a search warrant as well as an arrest warrant. Getting the documents had taken precious time and Benson was incredibly aware that no one had been able to contact Sachs.

“Padlocked door!” one of the tactical team called out to the others. Two of them took positions on either side of the door as a third approached the rudely installed hasp and padlock combination with a large pair of bolt cutters. It was a moments strain to cut the lock's shackle. The woman on the left went in first, her assault rifle held at the ready, the man on the right followed quickly. The call of “clear” followed almost immediately.

“In here!” One of the uniforms called excitedly, “Detectives, you're gonna want to see this!” Benson hurried toward the sound of the man's voice. Her eyes widened as she entered the room. It was a shrine; there couldn't be any other word for it. A black and white photograph of Miranda Priestly's face had been blown up to mural size and dominated one entire wall of the room. Two massive bouquets of fresh cut flowers stood in tall standing floor vases either side of the huge face framing it in a riot of color. Candles burned all around the room lighting the photograph so it almost seemed alive in the flicker of candlelight. Around the periphery of the mural, set almost as if in supplication to the huge image, numerous defaced photographs were taped to the wall. Two caught Benson's attention immediately. A photo of Irv Ravits, taken from some society page, its eyes stabbed out and a jagged tear though the face. The second was of Stephen Thomlinson. The photograph, apparently a grainy surveillance picture taken from a distance through a telephoto lens, had been defaced by having holes poked repeatedly through both the image's face and crotch.

A further look around the room revealed a locked secretary style desk. A moment's work with a pry bar and the furniture grade lock gave way allowing the closed work surface to fall open, revealing the numerous cubbyholes inside. Olivia stepped up and began a methodical search of the materials she found there. The first thing of interest that she encountered inside the desk was a photo of Andy Sachs with an ominous red 'X' drawn through it. The second thing was what might be a journal or a diary written in a language that Olivia didn't recognize. Looking at the defaced photograph she called out, “Elliot, has anyone gotten a hold of Sachs yet?”

“She's still not answering her phone. Everything is going to voicemail,” her partner of many years answered.

Olivia dialed information on her cell phone. “This is Detective Olivia Benson, shield number four, zero, one, five. Sixteenth Precinct. This is a police emergency. I need you to put me through to the Setai Fifth Avenue Hotel.” She listened for a moment as the operator efficiently put the call through. In a moment Olivia was talking to a snooty sounding desk clerk. Again she identified herself as a police detective and asked to be immediately put through to Miranda Priestly.

“I'm sorry, Ms. Priestly has asked not to be disturbed,” the man on the other end of the phone answered superciliously.

Olivia, her concern for Andy Sachs' safety growing by the moment, lost what little patience she had left. “Listen to me you jumped-up little toad,” she grated. “This is a police emergency. If you don't put me through to Miranda Priestly's room, and I mean right now, I'm going to come down there and arrest you for interfering in a homicide investigation! And I can guarantee you that you'll fall down a couple of flights of stairs on the way to the station!”

The phone to Miranda's room rang once before a young girl's voice answered “hello?”

“Hello, this is Detective Olivia Benson, may I speak to your mother please?” Olivia said into the phone.

“Mom!” the young girl's voice called out, obviously away from the telephone receiver. “It's a Detective Benson for you!”`

A moment later the voice that would likely follow Olivia into her dreams later tonight. “Detective Benson,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Ms. Priestly,” Olivia said, “is Andy there with you?”

“No, Detective,” Miranda replied, “Andrea has not arrived here as yet. Is there a problem?”

“I don't believe so Ms. Priestly,” Olivia said, although her gut was telling her she was lying. “Andy left the precinct to speak with your executive assistant Emily. She then intended to join you at the hotel. I've been trying to reach Andy but my calls go immediately to voice-mail.”

Miranda remained silent for a moment and then said “Hold on for a moment Detective and let me call Emily on my cell phone. I can find out immediately whether Andrea is with her or has been there and is now on her way here.”

A few moments of agonizing silence followed as Olivia counted the seconds. Then Miranda was back on the line. “Detective? It's most unusual. Emily is not answering her telephone. And Emily always takes my calls.”

Do you happen to know Emily's home address?” Olivia asked into the telephone receiver.

 

****

 

Andrea stepped into the candle lit bedroom and it took precious seconds for her brain to process what she was seeing. Emily was lying spread eagle on the large bed. She was handcuffed at wrist and ankle chaining her to the ornate brass head and foot board. She was wearing a matching La Perla bra and panties and a garter with silk stockings. A ball gag was tightly strapped into her mouth. A long red silk Hermes scarf was tied around her throat. She looked at Andy with panic in her eyes.

Andy blushed, “Geez, Serena, she said, obviously embarrassed, “You could have said that you and Emily were busy...” It was then she felt the barrel of the small pistol held to the back of her head. She froze. “Oh god, it's not Naomi. It's you, isn't it?” She swallowed.

Serena made a snarling sound, “I wasn't ready for you yet. You had a few more days you could have lived. But now that you are here I'll have to accelerate my plans. You will kill Emily tonight in an erotic asphyxia encounter gone wrong and then in an agony of despair over killing your lover you'll hang yourself,” she said smiling wickedly. “Now take the gag out of Emily's mouth and pick up the plastic bag you'll find laying beside her,” she motioned toward the red-head on the bed with the gun in her hand.

Andy moved to Emily and reaching out she carefully undid the strap holding the ball-gag in the red-head's mouth. Emily whimpered as the gag came away. “Andy,” she whispered, she's crazy. She thinks that she and Miranda are going to end up together. I've tried to tell her that Miranda is straight. For God's sake she's been married three times!”

"Sweet Emily doesn't know Miranda's dirty little secret does she An-dray-ha?” Serena laughed evilly, mocking the way Miranda pronounced Andy's name, the gun in her hand steadily pointed at the two women by the bed.

Andy looked at the beautiful Brazilian. “Nobody knows,” she said softly meeting the dark eyes of the woman with the gun.

“What's she talking about Andy?” Emily asked softly.

“Why that An-dray-ha is having an affair with Miranda,” Serena said cruelly. “They have a love nest on the west side. Those evenings that Miranda has been going to her therapy appointment? The 'therapy' has been 'hands on'. Andy's hands on Miranda. Or is it the other way around?” She mocked.

Emily's eyes went to Andy. “Is that true?” She asked.

Andy turned from Emily, ignoring the question. “Serena, you've worked at Runway for years,” she whispered. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” Serena said incredulously. “Because I will have Miranda. She will love me and I will live the lifestyle of the rich and famous! All the prestige and glamour, everything I've been cheated of all these years will be mine!”

 

****

 

Miranda Priestly was, like everything she put her mind too, a superior driver. A harrowing ten minutes and at least twenty broken traffic laws after she had hung up the phone with Detective Benson she was pulling her Mercedes SLS AMG up in front of Emily's building in Greenwich Village. Double parking, she jumped from the car and rushed to the door of the apartment building. A moment later she was hurrying up the stairs on her way to Emily's second floor apartment.

As she climbed the stairs two at a time fear plagued Miranda deep in her soul. Losing her husband had not affected her. In truth she was glad he was gone. Now she was free to pursue a relationship with the woman she loved. However, Detective Benson's call had tripped alarms deep inside her. Miranda read people like a book. It was part of what allowed her to rise to the titan of publishing she had become and the skill was a major factor in maintaining her position of power over the last two decades. Detective Benson was being less that truthful when she said that there was no cause for concern. Detective Benson was afraid; afraid for Andrea's safety. Miranda slowed her pace. If Andrea was in trouble and in Emily's apartment what exactly could she do? Being a fashion icon and powerful in the publishing industry didn't exactly translate to dealing with a situation like this one. Someone was willing to kill in the most gruesome manner and these killing were somehow connected to Runway. With the murder of Stephen, Andrea feared that Miranda herself might be a target. She stopped on the landing down the hall from Emily's apartment knowing that she dare not knock on Emily's door. But she could, she reasoned, quietly approach the door and see if she could hear anything going on inside.

 

****

 

“Andy,” Emily said, tears in her voice, as she strained against the shackles binding her to the bed. “She says she's not Serena, she says she's Serena's twin sister Pilar. But Serena told me that her twin went into the hospital when she was a teen and never came out...”

“Hospital,” Serena spat, gesturing wildly with the pistol in her hand, her eyes becoming maniacal. “It was an asylum! A madhouse! They put me in that place and wouldn't let me out. They said I was insane! Insane just because I killed Serena's and my tutor. I loved her. I waited for her in her bed, offered myself to her and she rejected me. She deserved what I did to her. I watched her choke, just as I'll watch both of you choke! Twelve years I was locked away, but I beat them. I escaped and made my way to the United States and my 'dear' sister. It was so easy to take her place.”

Emily's eyes went wide. She struggled against the handcuffs holding her to the bed. “What did you do to Serena?!” She shrieked.

Pilar laughed mockingly. “Don't worry Emily. My beloved sister will live longer than you will. I have her tucked away. I need her in case anything goes wrong. If anyone suspects anything I'll disappear and leave her to face the music.”

 

****

 

Miranda could hear muffled voices through the door. She could make out Andrea's voice and heard Emily's frantic tones. Something wasn't right. She turned, hurrying down the hall and down the stairs. She drew her cell phone from her purse and quickly dialed the police emergency number. When the emergency dispatcher answered Miranda said “I need to speak to Detective Olivia Benson of Manhattan SVU immediately. It is a matter of life and death.” She waited breathlessly at the bottom of the stairs as the dispatcher made the necessary telephone connections.

 

****

 

You killed Irv Ravits and Miranda's husband,” Andy said softly, watching the Brazilian woman where she stood, gun in hand.

“Yes,” the woman purred. “They had caused Miranda...inconvenience. They had to be punished.”

Andy nodded. “How did you manage it?” She asked. “I mean Irv wasn't a big guy, but Miranda's husband was over six feet and looked like he worked out. You managed to overcome them both.”

Pilar turned to Andy. “It was easy,” the Brazilian beauty answered smugly. “That little toad Ravits was into the idea of being dominated by a woman. He asked me to tie him up. Asked if he could call me Miranda. He even liked being threatened with the water in the hot tub. It turned him on. At least it did until I put the cord around his neck and pushed him in.” She closed her eyes and licked her lips. The gun in her hand never wavered. “I rode on his back as he struggled face down in the water,” she continued dreamily. “I pulled the cord tight around his neck as he drown. His struggling between my legs turned me on.”

 

****

 

The ride in the tactical van was frantic and uncomfortable. The benches either side of the back of the van was crowded with the body armored black suited tactical squad each holding his or her assault rifle or shotgun. Clinging to a hand strap Detective Olivia Benson braced herself and shifted her weight as the van accelerated and swerved. She felt as if she were riding to war. She only hoped and prayed that Andy Sachs did not become a casualty before they arrived.

The van screeched to a stop and Detective Benson marveled as the tactical squad jumped out deploying two by two. The Sergeant was the last out of the van hollering for his technical officer to bring up his computer and provide floor plans and technical blueprints of the target building.

Weapons at the ready the tactical squad entered their target building with Detective Benson following closely. Just inside the door she paused momentarily as her cell phone rang. She went to answer it only to hear the call disconnected. “Thank God you're here,” said the cool voice which Benson just knew was going to be haunting her erotic dreams.” She looked at the foot of the stair and there stood the legendary Dragon Lady, face worried.

Miranda drew herself up as armed men and women moved to circle the bottom of the stairs where she stood. The situation must be grave if the police had dispatched a paramilitary force to deal with it. Andrea, her Andrea, half her soul and her happiness was upstairs in an apartment with a murderer.

“Ms. Priestly,” Detective Benson said softly, “You need to come outside with me. We have reason to believe that you may not be safe here.”

Miranda shook her head and gazed up the stairs. “Andy and Emily are in Emily's apartment. Someone else is there too. I couldn't hear exactly what was going on but it didn't feel right.”

Detective Benson gently took Miranda by the arm. “We think we know who's up there. We'll handle it, but we need to get you somewhere safe.”

Dazed Miranda allowed the female Detective to take her by the arm and guide her out the front door of the building as the tactical squad quietly started making their way up the stairs.

 

****

 

Members of the tactical squad quietly lined up either side of the doorway to Emily's apartment. The Sergeant of the consulted the floor plans of the building on the tech's computer terminal screen. He pointed to an area. “Duct work there leads to the heating duct in the target bed room. Use the fiber optic lens, go up through the drop ceiling and get me a picture of what's going on in there.

The tech nodded and moved to obey the order. Two officers cupped their hands to provide a human stepladder. The tech removed the long fiber optic lens from its case and stepped up into his comrade’s aid and was lifted to where he could move a ceiling tile and begin to feed the snake of the lens into the heating ductwork.

The Sergeant stepped up and leaned close to the door, listening to what little that could be heard. He motioned to a member of his team. The officer he signaled stepped up close to the door carrying the battering ram. Ready to swing the heavy tool he closely watched the Sergeant for the go order.

 

****

 

“Time to move forward,” the madwoman stated, pointing the gun directly at Andy. “Pick up the plastic bag, Andy and put it over Emily's head.”

Emily stared horrified as tears began to trail down her face. “Oh God, please,” she begged softly, “I don't want to die, not like this. Please Serena....”

The woman with the gun snarled, “I am Pilar! Serena can not save you. Serena can not even save herself. She is drugged and chained up in a storage unit I rented for the purpose of imprisoning her. I'll pay close attention while you suffocate with the plastic bag over your head, sweet Emily. It will amuse me to describe your death to my sister... just before I do the same thing to her. Now Andy, pick up the bag,” Pilar demanded again gesturing with the pistol.

“You're not done with the story, yet, “Andy responded, her voice preternaturally calm. “If I'm going to die I want to know.”

“Why?!” The mad women demanded. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I'm a nosy bitch,” Andy replied. “It's why I became a reporter.”

Pilar laughed madly again. “I don't think you're going to write my story, Andy, because all the deaths are going to be blamed on you and sweet Emily. And neither of you will be able to contradict the evidence I plant. You two are going to be famous. Your newspaper will write stories about you.”

Andy shrugged, watching the gun in the woman's hand. “Humor me,” she said softly, you've got the gun. You're in control here. Who else are you going to be able to tell about your triumphs?”

Pilar's eyes glowed and she nodded. “You're right Andy and because you're being so considerate maybe I'll be merciful when you're dancing on air with a rope around your neck. Maybe I'll drag on your feet so you die more quickly.”

Again Pilar's voice took on an almost sing-song quality as she reminisced. “Miranda's husband wanted me to get down on my knees and use my mouth on him. I promised him I would make him scream if I could tie him to the chair.” She laughed evilly, “I kept my promise, he would have screamed if I hadn't put the ball gag in his mouth. Especially the third or forth time I loosened the garrote from around his neck and let him breathe again for a moment before I started slowly tightening it again.” She sighed softly. “I tortured him for as long as I could because he had the audacity to have Miranda and to cast her away. He could touch and love her and he had no appreciation for the gift he had been given. I made him suffer until the moment he died.”

The Brazilian beauty smiled a wicked smile. “I came as both of them died. Killing them was the ultimate orgasmic rush.” Her eyes roamed over Andy's body. “I'll probably come as I watch you dance on air with the noose around your neck. You'll kick your feet and struggle to breath, but you won't be able to. I'll know I'll fantasize about your death throws when I'm in bed with Miranda. It will make the sex so much hotter, knowing that I took both Miranda and your life from you.”

“You think that Miranda is just going to fall into bed with you? Andy asked her voice carefully controlled; her bearing steady and her eyes firmly on the woman with the gun.

“No, but when I'm done framing you and Emily she will believe that the two of you were lovers behind her back and everything that has happened has been a plot of yours' to destroy her. I'll be Emily's betrayed and brokenhearted lover. Shared betrayal will give us common ground to meet on. I will be so sympathetic and supportive, she won't be able to resist. In no time I'll be the one in her life. I will be hers and she will be mine! Mine and mine alone!” The woman ranted.

Andy shook her head. “What about her daughters?” She asked. “You have to know that they will always come first. Nobody gets between Miranda and her girls.”

Pilar stared at Andy for a long moment, as if considering her words. Then she answered. “As long as they don't come between Miranda and me I'll mother them as if they were my very own. If they do come between us, well, children have terrible accidents all the time. Often fatal ones.”

Andy shook her head and smiled sadly. “Being willing to kill for someone doesn't make you strong, Pilar” she said softly. “Now being willing to die for someone...” As the last word was said Andy snatched up a bedside lamp jerking the power cord out of the wall and threw it with all her might at the woman with the gun. Pilar tried to dodge the hurtling missile and before she could react, Andy, her face feral, had leapt across the intervening space assaulting the mad woman. They struggled across the width of the room as Emily screamed from where she lay tied to the bed.

 

****

 

The woman's scream from inside the apartment could be clearly heard in the hallway. Not ready and without the required intelligence the Sergeant made a split second decision. “Go! Go! Go! He shouted. The battering ram arced back and forward and with a loud crack the door jamb splintered and the door swung open. The tactical team, weapons ready, rushed through the portal.

 

****

 

Pilar fought to bring the gun to bear but Andy met her with a savagery she didn't know she'd possessed. She fought not only for her and Emily's life, but for Caroline and Cassidy's and in fighting for twins’ lives she fought for Miranda's life, for Andy knew without doubt that Miranda would die if anything happened to her children.

Pilar had the strength madness gave her on her side and Andy saw that she was going to lose this fight if she didn't do something extreme. Seeing the French doors leading out to the small balcony outside Emily's bedroom she shifted her body weight and twisted hard, dragging Pilar with her to crash through the glass. One moment they were grappling up against the cast iron railing. The next they were in free fall.

 

****

 

Miranda heard the glass breaking and gasped as she looked up to see two bodies hurtle to the ground. Her eyes immediately identified her Andrea as one of the two lying broken on the pavement. Detective Benson was already yelling into her radio demanding a 'bus' to the street address they were at. Miranda broke away from the detective and sobbing rushed to Andrea's side.

 

****

 

Andrea stirred, fighting her way up from unconsciousness. Her whole body hurt. She opened her eyes in a dimly lit room. Her mouth was bone dry and she discovered that she was too weak to sit up. She carefully turned her head and there, sitting in a chair beside what was evidently a hospital bed, was Miranda Priestly. Andy blinked and then groaned softly. Miranda's eyes snapped open and the white-haired woman was on her feet at the bedside. “Andrea,” she whispered, gently touching the young brunette's face.

“What happened?” was Andy's parched whisper.

Miranda moved quickly, pouring ice chips from a plastic pitcher into a plastic cup. She lifted the cup to Andrea's lips. “Apparently you chose to play hero. I must say Andrea, I object to you putting yourself at risk like that.”

Andy gratefully took in some of the ice chips and sucked on them enjoying the trickle of cold water down her dry throat. “She threatened your girls. I couldn't let anything happen to them,” she said softly.

Miranda smiled and again touched Andrea's face. “I know. Emily told us everything, Andrea.”

Andy swallowed again and moaned softly, “Serena, did you find Serena?”

“Yes, the police found her less than an hour after you fell from that window. Detective Munch apparently found a receipt for a storage unit while searching her apartment. With what that monster said to you and Emily the police put things together and moved immediately to obtain a warrant for the storage unit. They found Serena drugged and chained like an animal. She's in a room just down the hall. Other than being a bit dehydrated the Doctors say that she'll make a full recovery. Emily is with her now.”

Andy nodded and the motion made her head hurt. “How badly am I hurt?” she whispered.

Miranda's smile softened the tense moment. “Some broken ribs, cuts from the glass, a whole encyclopedia of bruises and contusions, a concussion,” she recited. “The doctors are going to keep you here for a few days for observation. But they assure me that you too will make a full recovery.

“Head hurts,” Andrea said softly.

“I'm not surprised,” Miranda replied. “You're fortunate that you weren't killed.” She leaned in and brushed her lips softly against Andrea's. “Don't EVER do anything like that again,” she whispered emphatically.

“What about Pilar?” Andy asked.

“She died, Andrea. She broke her neck in the fall. The EMTs told me that if you hadn't landed on her you too would most likely have been much more seriously injured...or worse.”

Andy nodded and sighed. “What happens now Miranda?” She asked. “Your girls need stability and now that Stephen is gone...”

Miranda nodded. “And now we start dating openly. In a year or so I'll propose marriage and you will accept. My girls will grow up with you as a fixture in our lives. They will come to love you as I do. In due course they will go off to college and forge their own destines. You and I will negotiate our professional lives and then retire together somewhere warm and beautiful. We will grow old together. Being the senior member of our pairing I claim the right to pass on first, for I can not imagine this world without you in it Andrea. It would be a dark and cold place devoid of any color or joy.”

Andy sighed again and nodding closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes?” Miranda asked.

“Yes, I'll marry you.” Andy said, her breathing almost immediately evening out showing she had fallen back to sleep.”

Miranda smiled. “You sleep now my sweet Andrea. Sleep and get well. I'll stop by Van Cleef tomorrow and pick up an appropriate engagement ring.” She leaned in and kissed the other half of her soul on the forehead. Then she settled back in the uncomfortable hospital chair and opened 'The Book' to make necessary changes while she waited for her fiance to awake.