Eighty-One
Dara fell back against her front door and gratefully inhaled the slightly stale air. Perhaps it was a bit underhanded, and it was definitely a bit cowardly, but when Florence Taggert defied her son in order to visit Sonny Corinthos in jail, Dara took that same opportunity to return to her own home. She could only hope that Marcus would be so engaged with his mother's actions that Dara would slip by just under her ex-lover's radar for a while.
In a familiar movement that developed out of her daily routine, Dara dropped her keys into a wooden African bowl and then thumbed the ‘play' button of her digital answering machine. ‘ You have forty-two messages ,' the nasal voice announced.
Dara felt her heart sink as the first few messages played. William O'Reilly, the sleazy reporter from the Port Charles Inquisitor, asked the same question in each subsequent call. With a voice dripping smugness, O'Reilly wondered if Dara's boyfriend Marcus Taggert would like the opportunity to add his side of the story to tomorrow's article revealing Taggert's brotherly connection to mob boss Michael ‘Sonny' Corinthos.
Legal solutions to O'Reilly's threat were thoroughly considered before being quickly discarded. No legal injunction or court order would be enough to halt the Inquisitor's rush to publish the sensational story. The court order would be ignored, the story published, and when threatened by the courts, the Inquisitor would simply issue a most insincere apology.
Poor Marcus already had so much on his plate to deal with. And now this. Dara quickly dialed PCPD headquarters.
“Am I reading this caller i.d. correctly? You're at home?”
Dara winced. “It is a long story, Mac. And I don't have time to discuss it now. Is Marcus still at the station?”
Commissioner Mac Scorpio nodded, then realized that the gesture could not be seen by Dara. “Yes. Marcus and Mrs. Taggert are still downstairs. What is going on?”
“I checked my messages just a few minutes ago,” Dara began. “The Inquisitor is going to break the story about Marcus and Sonny.”
Mac cursed softly. “Damn! When?”
“Tomorrow.”
