Angie kept repeating the past day's events in her head and she went over the conversations she had with Rollie yesterday. She wasn't proud about some of them, as she went over them mentally and now with anguish. It wasn't until she saw Bill Casey standing at the gate, talking to reporters that Angie wondered about Michael. He had been looking for Rollie yesterday early. She had told Bill to get rid of him. That coincidence suddenly took center stage.

"John, I need to go into Yonkers and talk to a reporter that wanted to see Rollie yesterday. He may have some clues as to where Rollie is, okay?" Angie told the director who was crossing through several scenes that involved Tyler F/X that day.

"Angie, I will give you this day, okay? I have to have you back one hundred percent though, tomorrow. No matter what the marital squabbles are or who has left who, okay?" Latham informed her, seriously.

Angie's heart sank as she heard him say 'who has left who'. Was it really looking like that? Rollie would never leave her like this. Even before they were ever having a relationship, she had never known Rollie to be that inconsiderate, even when extremely angry. No, her money was on something to do with Michael Sanchez. She just nodded her head at Latham and took the F/X van into Yonkers.

By pulling up a location for the Daily, she found the newspaper building not far from the downtown district. She was angry and frantic as she took the elevator to the newsroom. As she started to walk into the large room filled with reporters, writers, and editors, security stopped her.

"Hey! I am looking for David Grant! He knows me and is expecting me!" Angie snapped back, after being questioned as to why she was there.

A guard went over to David Grant's desk. He asked several people as to his whereabouts but they all shrugged their heads. As he prepared to come back and tell Angie to leave, the Senior Editor walked up seeing the commotion and interceded.

"Miss, you looking for Grant? We don't have the public just come off the street angry about some article my people wrote stating the facts. We have an Editorial page for that!"

"Hey, it's not about an article. I know him personally. I just wanted to talk with him," Angie frowned, still looking around the room.

"Yeah, whatever. I suggest you see him off work time, you know. You can solve your problems with him then, okay?"

Angie looked at the man, his demeanor and attitude spelled out patronization.

"Well, maybe if you could tell me where to drop off his son? Then, I will do just that. Seeing as how he hasn't sent any child support in over a year and I have put him on the deadbeat dad list in New York, I guess waiting around here at a newspaper where people like to pick up on this kind of behavior…news is news, right?" Angie replied, folding her arms across her chest.

"Great, I knew he was hiding something. That's all we need, my reporters skipping town on wives, not paying the support. They print that list every quarter all over the state!" the editor remarked and sighed.

"Okay, hey, for you, honey- here's his address," the editor began writing down on a sheet a paper, David Grant's home address, "and look, tell him to pay up, okay or he won't have a job here for long, tell him that!"

"Thanks, it's so hard being a single mom!" Angie replied, smiling and retreated back to the elevator. She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, as she mumbled Michael's name, both names as she rode the elevator to the first floor. She found his apartment building easily enough once she put in the address on her computerized locator system. Parking the van around the corner, she walked up the flight of stairs and punched the button on the security panel for Grant's name.

There was no response and she continued to press it, then pressed others near it, hoping someone would just let her in. Finally, she just shouted out, loudly like a fishmonger on the docks;

"Hey, we got flowers here, wilting by now. Come on!" she yelled out and finally, the door popped open and she smiled, getting in. The apartment number was 220 and she took the stairs in a bounding climb until she reached the landing and walked rapidly down the hall to the door. She knocked but no one answered.

"Michael, I know you're in there! Open the door!" she said, loudly against the door.

No answer still, she pounded on it now and yelled his name again as several other doors opened down the hall, eyes peering out at the commotion.

"Hey, me and the baby, we need you! You haven't sent any checks in a year, Michael. We've been evicted. Your son is sick, I don't have the money to take him to the doctor!" Angie began, her ploy having gotten a quick response earlier.

The door opened slightly and she peered into David Grant's hazel eyes, as he met the steel blue eyes, having lost their sparkle in that moment. His hand reached through the door and he pulled her in by the arm in a jerking manner.

"Hey!" Angie cried out, as he slammed the door behind her.

"Not smart, Angie. You went to where I work and are what? Trying to blow my new life to smithereens? And now, here? After you denied me access at the gate yesterday morning? I think you owe me an apology!" Michael began but Angie didn't back down.

She advanced like a pitbull, pushing her finger into his chest;

"Where's Rollie? I know you got him into something! It would be just like you to leave him and run!" Angie said, demanding for him to answer.

He grabbed her finger, bending it backwards to the point of breaking as she winced and he let go, his eyes adverting her shocked ones as he sat down. She grasped her finger, the pain shooting through it as she stood in disbelief, looking down at this man, this ultimate stranger at all times.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly, "I'm not use to being around a civilian confrontation. It was instinctive, Angie. I'll get some ice…" and he got up and went to his refrigerator, grabbing a towel and wrapped some cubes inside it. As he walked back into the living room, bare as it was except for a couple of chairs and a table, he came toward her and she backed up immediately.

"Here," he said, handing her the ice, "I know I didn't break it but this will help with the sprain, okay?"

She took the ice and held it against her finger. She felt suddenly very vulnerable with him. She usually had Rollie with her when facing Michael Sanchez.

"Sit down, okay?" he said, motioning to the chair behind her.

She sat, her eyes showing her lack of sleep and her worry and Michael sat down again as well. He sat on the edge, putting his hands together as if in prayer as she waited. She knew now that Rollie had been with him and something had happened.

"Michael, where is Rollie?"

"I'm not sure but I can guess," he replied, solemnly.

Angie didn't say anything, she just sat there, waiting for the morsels of information he cared to share with her.

He told her about the Pollepel mission that they had done last night, and the narrow escape. He told her that Rollie must have been picked up by factions of the splinter group or the CIA, whoever had responded first.

Angie sat, her mind reeling as she held her arms tight to her body, her hands clenched together in her lap, tightened against her lower abdomen.

"Who do you contact, who will tell you where he is?" she asked, knowing that he had plenty of contacts and could find this out.

"Angie, I can't contact anyone at the moment. They think I am dead, and I won't blow all this into the four winds for that kind of information. We have to wait. If it is my operational group, he won't be killed. He will be programmed and debriefed, and then, maybe then, we can get him when he is reconditioned. If it was main CIA, well- I don't have any hope there."

Angie's mouth quivered slightly as she lowered her eyes, the tears welling and she pressed against her abdomen with her hands;

"I'm pregnant, Michael, three months along. You can't tell me I won't see Rollie again, you can't…" she said, her voice low and cracking up.

Michael looked at her, swallowing hard as the words were so familiar. He could almost see Mira in that chair, telling him the same words. He shook his head and leaned back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling.

"A little Tyler, well- that just completes it, doesn't it?" he remarked, almost in exasperation.

"I need Rollie, Michael. He is my life! He didn't ask for this, you pulled him into this. You have got to get him out, you must!" Angie said, pleading with him.

"You just don't understand, Angie. I just got out of there, it took five years of planning and waiting for the right moment. It cost me everything, everything!" he replied bitterly.

"Then don't make it happen to us, if you know how bad it was, don't let it happen to Rollie and me, please!"

"But it may be too late, I can't expose myself!"

"Not even when it was your fault!" Angie bristled as his unwillingness to help Rollie. It proved that Michael had not an ethical bone in his body.

"No, not even then…" he replied, softly as she got up out of her chair and started for the door.

"What will it take? I can expose you!" she told him, threatening.

"I'd have to kill you, Angie and I don't want to, so don't try me," he responded moving toward her as she clutched at the door handle.

"I don't understand you," Angie cried out, her tears running down her face as he pulled her arm away from the door and backed her up against the wall.

"Don't try!" His face was close to hers, his hand coming up against her cheeks, wiping the tears away. As his lips moved over hers suddenly, she pushed her hands against his chest but he crushed her against the wall, his hands moving around her hips and up, pinning her there.

"Rollie…" she whimpered, fighting his kiss and he suddenly backed away, releasing her.

What had he done? Angie stood there, putting the back of her hand up against her mouth and looking at him, with anger and disbelief.

"You're despicable! Don't ever touch me again!" she warned him and even though she knew he could and had the force and power to do so, she knew he wouldn't. The look in his eyes told her he had been taken back as well by his own actions.

"Angie?" he asked, but she rolled out from him and pulled open the door.

She turned back and taking a breath, told him; "You know where I am. You find him, Michael. You owe him so much. And you also owe Mira. Do you ever think of her?"

"Yes, just a moment ago, actually…" he said, taking a deep breath.

"I am not Mira, but I am Rollie Tyler's wife, remember him? You left him back in that God-forsaken place! Don't let what happened to you, happen to him!"

"I'm sorry, Angie." He looked at her as she stood in the hall, emotionally wrecked and shaking.

"Sorry for what just happened or sorry about what you let happen last night?" she asked back.

"Both…" and he then shut the door, leaving her outside, alone.

She made it back to the van where she shut the door and leaned against it, crying so hard, she ended up weak in the floor, exhausted.

She would never understand Michael's heart or mind. His kissing her inside his apartment was such a surprise and it wounded her to think how many women he had done this to and used Mira as the excuse. No, the man was just an immoral, dark soul who would never see the light of a good day. She would tell Mira. She would call her Uncle and tell him. Perhaps, through Interpol, he could help her somehow.

"I can't live without you, Rollie…" she said, out loud in the van, alone, wrapping her arms around her waist, as she tried to mentally connect to him. She knew he was still alive, she knew it!

"Angie…" Rollie said, breathlessly, blind and alone in his prison of light.