…when I'm gone
Don't forget to pray
‘Cause there'll be hard times
Oh, Lord…

Ray Charles' plaintive voice filled the empty club. The jukebox was turned up loud enough so that Luke Spencer, working in the back office, could hear the blues music without difficulty.

Barbara Jean Spencer shared a commiserating glance with Luke's longsuffering bartender. She knew all too well how full of idiosyncrasies her older brother was. Anyone working for Luke would have to possess the patience of Job. “I'll just go on back,” she informed the dreadlocked bartender.

“I certainly hope the music that's playing is not because of what I asked you to do,” Bobbie commented wryly.

Luke looked up from his books. “Nope,” he replied around the cigar planted firmly between his lips. “I'm just playing Ray ‘cause… hell, there's never a bad time to play some Ray Charles music.” He used his foot to push a rolling chair Bobbie's direction. “Take a load off, Barbara Jean.”

Bobbie rolled her eyes at her brother. “I only have an hour, Luke. Then I have to get back to the hospital. What did you find out?”

“It's not necessarily bad news, but you aren't gonna like it. I put my ear to the ground, used some of my sources. It seems that Sonny Corinthos is smack dab in the middle of a turf war with some heavy hitters.” Luke removed the cigar from his mouth. “I mean real heavy hitters,” he qualified, holding Bobbie's gaze.

“Carly and Michael are in danger.”

Though Bobbie's words were more a statement than a question, Luke answered anyway. “Not for the moment. Sonny has sent them away to a safe house.”

“Sent them away where?”

“The only one who probably knows that is Jason. He took them a couple of nights ago.”

Bobbie's voice rose several octaves. “You're telling me that Carly and my grandson are somewhere out there on their own and nobody but Jason Morgan knows where?”

“Get a grip, Barbara Jean!” Luke's tone was hard. “You've forgotten every single thing I ever taught you about being on the road or being on the run. The less people who know details, the better.” He stuck the smoldering cigar back between his lips. “Wherever Carly and the rug rat are right now, they are a helluva lot safer than anywhere near Sonny Corinthos.”


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