You should have seen his face! - Briel’s recounting of the unexpected exchange between Amélie and Liam.

“…misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows.” – Shakespeare, The Tempest

Briel leaned dazedly against the concrete cylinder that constrained her, and she tried to shake off the remnants of her fitful slumber. Without warning, an unexpected memory crashed through her pleasant dream, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Though she had not yet fully awakened, she remembered her current surroundings, could feel the cold of the stone pressed against her back.

Still, she knew that the words she heard did not emanate from the room around her, but from some forgotten memory, a nebulous pocket of thoughts that hearkened to her recent past. Her mind's condition had felt alarmingly similar, a haze of thought that could not form a coherent idea, but managed vague impressions.

I'll take care of that, Briel remembered the cold tone of the words. By the time you get her, she won't be in any condition to cause you trouble.

The voice had drifted into Briel's consciousness as if from a great distance. It had caused her no overt concern; her life had taken a turn for the better. Earlier that day Briel had visited Jase's apartment, enjoying easy conversation with him and Nessa. When Briel had awakened, her body had ached with the remnants of a too deep sleep, and she felt pinned to her bed by a non-tactile weight.

No, the voice continued. I know better than to damage your material. Just make sure the money is ready. I expect to be compensated well considering how much you've been offered for her. No, I'll come to you.

At that point, Briel had awakened in Liam's apartment, unaware of the fire, unaware of the conversation she had just overheard, and instead pondering the difference between the two men who had so altered her existence.

How had she missed something so significant? How had she forgotten Liam's scheme? This abduction had seemed so completely unexpected, and yet, if she had followed her instincts, her life might have gone down a different path. Apparently, Liam had planned his little event for several weeks now. She could have kicked herself.

Pathetic, Briel reiterated, though whether to herself or to Liam she didn't know. Though she probably should have kicked herself for falling victim to Liam’s current scheme, she felt even dumber for falling for him in the first place. Here in the basement of a French bar, Briel couldn't miss the obvious superiority that Nick had always possessed, even before Liam had gone rogue.

Nick, always so gently persisted in forwarding her benefit. Liam, in contrast, always forcefully insisted on forwarding his own. With Briel helplessly entrapped in a tomb beneath ancient stone, the comparison brought on a wave of despondency at her blindness and a sense of loss at how very far from Nick she had run. How very far from herself.

The crashing ring of the telephone shattered Briel's stupor. She raised her head to assess the events that would follow, knowing they would likely concern her. As best she could guess, Briel had now spent two days strapped to a pillar in the basement of the bar in Revelles.

Despite his promise to break her, Liam had only touched her for the most basic purpose, carrying her on an occasional bathroom trip, unwilling to unbind her and so subjecting her to utter humiliation.

He had duct taped her mouth on each occasion lest she raise a scene, and had ripped the tape off unceremoniously as soon as he had bound her to the pole again. He said almost nothing to Briel during the entire period. Despite her circumstances, his silence was a respite. The emotional torture of talking to him was worse in many ways than physical deprivation.

Now the light seeping through the exterior door denoted early afternoon as Amélie reached into her exorbitantly-priced purse and pulled out her cell phone with an irritated huff. Just as quickly, however, the look of annoyance melted into a seductive smirk, and Briel found herself intrigued by the change.

“Bonjour,” Amélie purred. She continued in French. “I am surprised to hear from you. After our last liaison I assumed you had returned to that amante of yours. The Américaine?”

Amélie pursed her lips skeptically and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “A game? It did not look like a game. Because you beat Mr. Miller, yet the woman left you.”

At the name, Briel's pulse raced as she wondered desperately the identity of the person on the other end of the call. Had Henry somehow found the Millers?

““The fact remains: she rejected you,” Amélie was saying, “and only now you call me, when she has spurned your attentions, You have changed, Jase.” Amélie turned her head defiantly as if her conversant could see her display.

“I cannot help you now anyway. I have an assignment from Henry.”

As Briel listened, Amélie adopted an amused and haughty expression. “Do not tease me, Jase. You know that I do as I please. No one controls Amélie Laurent.”

The self-important Frenchwoman narrowed her eyes as she took in Jase's words. “I don't care how well you know him. I am surprised at how poorly you know me after everything we have shared...No, I will not. Whatever you need you must do without me. And you will have to find a new way to enthrall me. I do not accept men scorned by their other lovers.”

With this, Amélie removed the phone from her ear, depressed a button, and dropped the phone unceremoniously back into her purse. The irony of her ultimate statement and her air of superiority sent Briel into a round of laughter, amused by both Amélie's pride and her blindness.

While Jase had worked to redeem himself after Felicity's rejection, Liam had taken “scorned” and made it his identity. Because of Briel's rejection, Liam had abandoned his life's work and turned to crime.

“Why are you laughing at me?” Amélie queried, obviously vexed. Amélie had seated herself upright on one of the chairs, legs crossed and shoulders back, as if on display at the Louvre. When she asked the question, she turned only her head toward Briel, narrowing her eyes once again.

“Oh, I'm not technically laughing at you,” Briel hedged, not particularly caring to engage the snooty woman. “I was mostly laughing at Jase. I would have loved to watch his response to your rejection.”

Abruptly, Amélie's face took on a much more animated expression than Briel had ever seen on her. “You know Jase then?” Amélie obviously attempted to hide her enthusiasm, but Briel could perceive the transformation of the French woman's demeanor from one of distaste to one of pleasure.

Though Briel did not particularly care to discuss anything with this woman, she knew that any information she could gather would prove beneficial at some point, so Briel raised herself to the effort and affected interest.

“Yes, I know Jase quite well. He's an amazing person,” she asserted sardonically.

“Ha,” Amélie scoffed. “You do not know half.” Her eyes assumed a glittering excitement. “Of course, you only see the man he pretends to be.” Briel knew more than Amélie could have guessed. “I have known many men,” she smirked knowingly. “But I have never known someone who could defy understanding. One minute, he has stopped to usher a poor vielle through a busy intersection, the next, he has plunged a bullet into the heart of his enemy.”

Amélie's reason for ecstatic admiration turned Briel's stomach. Not that Briel held any delusions about Jase's true character, but Amélie seemed to paint him in the darkest possible light.

“You find this alluring?” Briel asked Amélie incredulously.

“Bien sur, do you not? Most men who are truly evil reveal themselves quite readily. With Jase, even I do not fully know. Is he heaven's angel or the devil himself?”

Amélie's description of Jase's subterfuge gave Briel pause. If Amélie did not know the state of Jase's loyalties, how could Briel know for sure? Perhaps the question wouldn't matter in a few days, considering that Briel couldn't count on even another few hours' existence. Instead of engaging Amélie, Briel merely answered with a mumbled, “Hmmm,” and closed her eyes as if trying again to sleep. She prayed that Amélie would not attempt to continue the conversation.

In accord with Briel's wish, Amélie seemed to turn inward, perhaps contemplating the many allures of Jase Hamilton. Liam, however, forestalled Briel's desire to think by bursting dramatically through the door from the bar. “We have to leave,” he commanded.

“What?” Amélie protested. “I don't want to go.”

Liam barreled across the middle of the room and threw his backpack on the table before stepping up into Amélie's face. “It doesn't really matter what you want,” he hissed coldly, causing Amélie to rear back with surprise. “There are more important things here than your manicure. They found me.”

“Who? What are you talking about?” Amélie answered confusedly. Briel watched with excited eyes the exchange that guaranteed her change of venue.

“I had been monitoring Briel's stupid boyfriend's computer, that's how I knew where to find her. But somehow, they found out. They know what I've heard. They might guess that I've come here for Briel. It's just a precaution, but we're leaving.”

Amélie stamped her foot temperamentally. “A precaution? Comme ridicule! You don't even know that they are coming.”

Briel had to agree. Even if Nick found Liam's trail, that did not mean that he would intervene on Briel's behalf, not after how she had treated him - again. Plus, though she had instructed him to contact Nessa for information, Briel had purposely failed to give Nick the means to find his liaison.

Still, Briel would not reveal her beliefs to Liam; she knew her best chance of escape would come when he and Amélie had to move her, and current circumstances told of Briel's imminent removal. Unless they knocked her out, they couldn't control her every limb, and Briel could utilize any kink in Liam's armor to obtain her release.

Eyes burning with indignation, Liam strode over to face Briel, glaring at her with as much ire as he could manage. Pulling out a ridiculously long blade, Liam sliced the duct tape that bound Briel to the pole and then that bound her feet. His empty hand shot like a cobra's strike to grasp Briel's hair, and he pulled her to him. “If you try anything, I will kill you in a heartbeat,” he growled in a voice possessed. Though her courage rose to challenges, for one moment she cringed away from him.

“Amélie, get my backpack,” he commanded angrily. Affronted, Amélie picked up the bag from the table, again holding it as if repulsed. Liam strode with purpose across to the mysterious door that had not opened once during Briel's days underground, and proceeded to break it open.

The sight that greeted Briel's eyes shocked her into stillness for one moment before Liam yanked her hair, which he had not released, once again. Blanketed by the afternoon sun, a stony staircase seemed built directly into the cliff face, and it descended at least fifty feet into a verdant, brushy valley.

With her high heeled shoes and tight skirt, Amélie appeared completely unprepared to traverse the open countryside, even with the gravel paths that some provincial authority kept clean. Irritated, she huffed like a child. “How am I supposed to keep up with you?” she complained.

“Take off those stupid shoes,” Liam leered, not looking back at her.

Irritated, Amélie began a tirade in French against Liam. Despite the discomfort of her position, a voluminous laugh broke out of Briel's lips when Amélie mentioned the six hundred Euro price tag of the shoes.

“What are you laughing at?” Liam growled at Briel, releasing her hair and grabbing her by her still-bound arm.

“Nothing, except that you sure found a winner with that woman,” Briel laughed again and motioned with her head, now freed from Liam's vice-grip, to the stumbling form of Amélie. The Frenchwoman had shed her shoes and now traipsed the path in bare feet. “How long do you think she'll stick around you? I think she's used to caviar and five-star resorts.”

Liam grinned at Briel, as always amused by her attitude, but then his smile closed into a tight-lipped smirk. “She'll stay as long as I want her. She's helpless without a man to protect her.”

For some reason, Briel could only guess hubris, Liam did not attempt to hush his voice as he insulted the French princess who struggled through the brush behind them. Before them, a country road stretched in a perpendicular path to their own, and Liam pointed the trio toward a lone silver car parked about another hundred yards away.

Briel knew that if she were to fight, this would not prove the best location. Though she might outrun Liam, he could predict her trajectory for miles, as only a lone row of trees provided any cover for an escape. With just the one escape route, he would easily locate her; better to wait until they arrived at their destination or for some opportunity along the way.

“Liam,” Amélie whined from behind where he held Briel, “if you do not treat me with respect, I will not stick around. You need me to contact Henry when it is time for the exchange; you do not want to offend me.”

“Wrong, Princess,” he hissed, turning back to face Amélie with Briel in tow. His hand shot out and ripped the purse that Amélie had slung over her shoulder from the strap that held it there. “I need your phone.”

For one moment, Liam stared wildly into Amélie's eyes, her own reflecting equal ire. Briel scoffed at the unlikelihood that she could ever feel compassion for the icy Frenchwoman beside her, but that is exactly what Briel felt. The sentiment fled swiftly.

Unexpectedly, Amélie slammed her hand back like a hammer against the side of Liam's face, shoving him from her and then leveling a kick to the center of his chest. Though he did not stumble far, the jarring from Amélie's blow rattled the grip that he held on Briel's arm, and Briel twisted her body to wrench herself free. Liam grasped for Briel, but Amélie sent him sprawling with a kick to his side.

Briel would not wait for another opportunity after all. Spinning toward Liam, she connected her right fist with his face, and he stumbled even further from her. Though he would recover almost immediately, both Briel and Amélie took the chance and began a flat-out sprint for the row of tall poplar trees that they had spied from the cliff's edge.

“I thought you said you couldn't fight,” Briel accused Amélie as they ran side by side toward the trees.

“I said I do not fight, not that I cannot fight,” Amélie corrected, still sprinting full tilt. “Jase warned me to watch out for Liam - and I will not be controlled.”

As they neared the trees, Amélie broke off of the path and headed toward a cluster of ancient stone stables set several feet into one of the fields bordering the trees. If Briel had held any doubt whom Liam would choose to pursue, it fled with Amélie, as Liam continued doggedly on Briel's trail.

Briel's mind whirled at Amélie's last statement: Jase had planted a seed in Amélie's mind, and as a result, Amélie had revolted against Liam. Did this mean that Jase had intentionally manipulated the Frenchwoman? If so, she owed him gratitude, if not her life. Either way, Briel knew her immediate purpose. She sped single-mindedly toward her freedom, unwilling to waste the opportunity Jase had provided.