Previously...

Just before Michael was kidnapped, Brooke told Ethan that he was Michael's father. That night, Will was found murdered. Will's former caretaker told the police he saw Brooke shoot Will.  In the interogation room, Brooke confessed that she killed him in a heated moment after he admitted to her that he kidnapped Michael in retaliation for James keeping Ethan from him.  James revealed that he and Ethan covered up for Brooke, and Ethan acquired papers from Will's study that might indicate where Michael was.  Brett told Miranda that he wanted them to have a baby, but she put him off for fear that he planted the evidence to get Stomry arrested.    James threatened Janet and told her to leave town.  Renee caught Kenny in bed with another woman and left him.  Alex pleaded with James and Jordan not to go through with campaigning to get charges dropped against Nathan Blackthorne so he could return to the country. In Paris, Nathan made plans for his return, and cryptically clipped photographs of Alex and Renee from the newspaper.  After days of searching, Ethan finally wound up at Joel Armitage's house and saw his wife leaving with a baby who he believed belonged to him and Brooke.  

 Read the full season two recap here

Episode 48

"This is Who We Are"

He walked purposefully down the dark corridor, his shoes tapping softly on the concrete floor.  A single beam of light cut through the claustrophoebic darkness, illuminating a mass of cobwebs and chipped paint protruding from the low ceiling.

A few minutes later he arrived at an old wooden door and gently pushed it open. A small opening allowed him to step into the closet of the nursery, then into the dark room where the baby lay crying in his crib.  

As he reached down, a sliver of moonlight shined through the window and illuminated his face.   Will, dressed in black pants and a black jacket, cradled the baby in his arms and disappeared back into the tunnel as quickly as he'd came. He didn't see the straining eyes of the nanny struggling to see who was intruding the deserted mansion.  He bounded like a jugernaught, holding the crying baby all the way back down the tunnel, half a mile in the darkness and the cold, dusty passageway.  Minutes later he approached another door and crept through into the parlor room of his estate.  

He stoicly went to the garage and carefully strapped the baby into a waiting car seat in the back of his Bentley.  The door went up and he backed out, careening across town to the Valley and the home of Joel Armitage.

"How did you do it?" Joel asked, taking the baby from him and gazing down at the perfect baby boy.  

"Don't worry about how," Will replied.  "As far as you and your wife know, this adoption was completley legal."

Joel smiled apprehensively and produced a large yellow envelope.  "Here's your movie."

"Should make for some interesting late night viewing, I'm sure," Will said slyly before getting back into his car.  "One more thing, Joel.  No one must ever know where that baby came from."

The director nodded, still apprehensive, but thrilled that his wife was finally going to have the child she'd always wanted.  No more adoption agencies turning them down, no more money spent on worthless leads.  This was simple.  He did a favor, and he was paid for it.

No one would ever take their baby from them....................

The courtroom filled with spectators, each one clamoring for a glimpse of the arraignment hearing, one that would surely lead up to the trial of the century.  The newspapers were already boasting headlines about the producer’s beautiful wife who shot her husband’s nemesis in cold blood in retaliation for the kidnapping of their infant son.  Both sensational and heart-wrenching, every story had another take on the sordid scandal.

Just outside the courtroom in downtown Hollywood, Miranda Armstrong wrung her hands nervously together, anxious for the rest of her family to show up for the hearing that had been rushed in front of the judge.  She was a twenty-one year old raven-haired beauty with a petite figure and piercing blue eyes.  For the last twelve hours she’d seen her father reduced to a pile of nerves while they waited.  Brooke, charged with the murder of Will Thomerson, had spent the night in jail and it tore James apart.

“Stormy!  Over here!” Miranda called when her brother came into view.   She waved him down and frantically pulled him to the corner of the hallway.  “Where’s Daddy?”

Stormy Blackthorne, a twenty-four year old studio executive with tousled black hair and dark brooding eyes, flinched and gave his kid sister a nudge.  “He’s out in the parking lot collecting himself,” he said adamantly. “I don’t think he slept at all last night.”

“At least you’re out of jail,” Miranda claimed.  “Daddy should be happy about that.” 

“Dad is concerned about Brooke right now,” Stormy reminded her.  “After everything they’ve been through this is the last thing they need.  First Michael being kidnapped, then Ethan disappearing, and now this.  I just don’t believe that Brooke could have killed Will Thomerson.  I just don’t.”

“She confessed,” Miranda exclaimed.  “Don’t you think that she deserves whatever she gets?  I’m sorry, but I hope they throw the book at her.  You were sitting there in jail while she got off scott free.”

Stormy rolled his eyes, fully aware that his sister had a permanent hate-on for Brooke.  This was the perfect opportunity for her to flex her vindictive muscles yet again.

Finally James entered the courthouse and strode purposefully toward them.   “Is Brandon here yet?” he asked.   He was a tall, distinguished man of forty-five with clean cut dark hair and dark eyes. “Have you seen Brooke?”

Miranda shook her head just as Brandon Marksman, James’s faithful attorney darted toward them with a briefcase clutched tightly in his hand. 

“They’re bringing Brooke into the courtroom now,” he said.  “Are you ready?”

James ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh of exasperation.  “What do you think the judge is going to say in there?” he asked.

Brandon took a deep breath and decided it was no use in hiding the truth from his friend.  He had to level with him and tell him what he and Brooke were up against.  “James, the D.A. is going to push for a charge of murder in the first degree.”

“That’s insane!” James exploded into a rage.  “Ed Littleton is famous for hanging Hollywood types out to dry.  He’ll make an example of Brooke and she’ll wind up spending her life in jail.  Brandon, you can’t let this happen.  You just can’t.”

Brandon reached out and placed a hand on James’s shoulder.  “It won’t come to that.  I won’t let it.”

James shook his head in frustration and followed him into the courtroom.  He stopped in his tracks as they led Brooke in from the holding cell.  She was dressed in an orange jumpsuit and was bound with handcuffs behind her back.  Her long blond hair and ocean blue eyes were dull and listless.  The sight of his wife being treated like a criminal was too much for him to bear.  He hated Will Thomerson even more now for what he was putting them through.

“Be seated,” said Judge Anders, a bulky black man with close cropped curly black hair and pock-marked skin.  He hit his mallet and took his seat behind the bench.

Brooke looked over her shoulder and saw James and the concern deep in his eyes.   She felt a tear trickle down her cheek, horrified by the prospect of being arrested and taken into custody.  She’d never been more frightened in her life.  On top of everything else, she still had no hope that they’d ever find her precious son again now that Will was dead.

Across town, Ethan Blackthorne sat in his car outside Joel Armitage’s house in Burbank.  He was twenty-eight, had dirty blond hair and brown eyes.  A muscular, athletic body and killer looks completed the package.  Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he raked his fingers through his hair and turned on the car radio.  A newscast caught his attention and he quickly turned up the volume.

“And so begins the arraignment of Brooke Taylor-Blackthorne, accused murderer of famed Broadway and Hollywood film producer Will Thomerson, who was shot to death several nights ago in his home in the Hollywood hills.  Mrs. Blackthorne, wife of James Blackthorne, a personal and business rival of Thomerson’s, confessed to the murder yesterday after an eye-witness came forward and claimed he saw the woman shoot Thomerson in cold blood…”

Frustrated and helpless, Ethan turned off the radio and thought back to the night of Will’s murder.  Brooke had confessed to him that Michael was in fact his son and that Will had probably kidnapped him.  Beside himself with rage, Ethan had gone to Thomerson’s house intent on getting his son back.  But when he got there, Will was dead, James’s silver .38 revolver laying next to the body.    James walked in and announced that Brooke had killed him in a fit of rage.  The only thing he could remember next was realizing that he had to find something linking Will to Michael’s kidnapping.  He searched through everything, and then, taped to the back of a file drawer was a piece of paper with a list of names and addresses on it.  It was his only lead to go on, so for two days he drove to every house on the list and watched patiently to see if the inhabitants had a baby who would have been about Michael’s age.

Then just last night he hit paydirt with Joel Armitage.  His wife had taken the baby for a walk in its stroller and he watched patiently.  A police car showed up twice at the house looking for Joel and left without incident.  Finally he was able to get a clear path to the house without arousing suspicion.

Getting out of his car by the curb, he started up the driveway and paused when the front door opened and Missy Armitage emerged with a scowl on her face.

“Who are you?” she demanded.  Ethan could hear the sound of the baby crying from inside the house.  “You’ve been out here watching me since yesterday.  Are you here looking for my husband?  Because if you are you’d better get in line.  I don’t know where he is, now leave me alone.”

Ethan lunged forward and stopped her before she could go back inside the house.  “Wait, Mrs. Armitage, please.”  He looked at her with a sense of urgency, realizing this was his only opportunity to find out for sure.  “I’m not here about your husband.”

“Then who the hell are you and why are you watching me?” she asked.

“Your baby,” Ethan said and motioned to the house.  “I heard him crying.”

She shrugged indifferently and glanced at the door.  “He won’t take his bottle and I can’t get him to eat anything,” she said, her guard slightly weakening.  “I just don’t know what to do.”

“How old is he?” Ethan asked with wide eyes.

“Twelve weeks,” Missy Armitage replied.

Michael was twelve weeks.  Ethan pressed for more information.  “You’re not breastfeeding?”

She shook her head and walked up to the porch.  “No, we adopted him.  My husband and I.  He just won’t take a bottle and I…”

This was it.  He’d finally found him.  “Where did you adopt him from, Mrs. Armitage?” he asked, more certain than ever that it was Michael.  Joel Armitage must have worked out a deal with Will Thomerson and that’s how he wound up with the baby.

“My husband arranged it,” Missy said defensively.

“Mrs. Armitage, I think your baby may have been adopted illegally.”

Missy shook her head adamantly.  “No he wasn’t,” she said.  “You’re crazy.  We adopted him.  My husband set it up.  He wouldn’t do anything illegal.”

“Your baby was kidnapped, Mrs. Armitage,” Ethan said.  “His was taken from his mother over two months ago.”

Missy stopped and looked at him with hollow eyes.  “I think you’d better leave now,” she said and raced inside the house.

Ethan shot up the porch steps and stopped her from closing the door.  “Please, you have to listen to me.  That’s my son in there!”

Missy had picked the baby up and was cradling him gently in her arms.  Ethan could see through the screen door and his eyes locked onto the baby.  He knew at the moment that he was looking at his son.  His eyes were the spitting image of Ethan’s.

“I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave,” Missy said and closed the door, bolting it and chaining it tightly.

“Mrs. Armitage, open the door!” Ethan yelled, opening the screen door and banging fiercely.  “You have my son!”

Neighbors walking by stopped and looked at him curiously, then turned to confer quietly with one another about the spectacle.  Ethan ran his fingers through his hair and turned around, realizing that making a scene would do no one any good.  He had to think of a plan and he had to do it fast if he was going to get his and Brooke’s baby back.

Jordan Rydell slipped into the courtroom and spotted his daughter, Heather sitting a few rows up.  Moving quietly so as not to disturb the arraignment proceedings, he slid into the seat beside her and they exchanged bittersweet smiles.  He glanced across the aisle and spotted Alex Reynolds sitting in her trademark dramatic veiled pillbox hat.  He swallowed hard and tried to ignore the frustration he felt with her.  Mostly for her part in wrongly accusing him of the kidnapping and the murder.

Jordan was forty-four years old and a dashing Hollywood producer.  He had brownish-bond hair and penetrating hazel eyes that matched his daughter’s.  Heather, a thin, twenty-three year old waifish young woman, had a long, oval face and long brown hair that fell straight down her back.

They watched the proceedings with unblinking eyes.  Jordan, unaware that Alex was staring at him helplessly, listened to Ed Littleton’s remarks at the front of the courtroom.

“Not only will the state prove that Mrs. Blackthorne went to Will Thomerson’s house with the intent to kill him, but we will show you, your honor, that she had plenty of motive for doing so,” the prosecutor said as he stood at his post.  “The first and foremost being the alleged kidnapping of her infant son by Mr. Thomerson.”

“Stop grandstanding, Mr. Littleton.  This isn’t a trial,” Judge Anders said abruptly with a bored expression on his face.  “What’s your motion?”

Littleton paused dramatically and looked around the courtroom.  “Fist degree murder, your honor.  The prosecution would also like to ask that bail be denied due to the sheer calculated nature of the crime.”

James let out a deep breath and looked at Stormy and Miranda seated beside him.  He prayed that Brandon would be able to counter the prosecution’s claims.  He held his breath while Brandon stood and began delivering his statement to Judge Anders who listened carefully from behind his bench. 

“Your honor, the prosecution is asking us to believe that Brooke Blackthorne, a woman who believed Will Thomerson had kidnapped her son, went to his house with the specific intention of murdering him,” Brandon began.  “If this were the case, wouldn’t Mrs. Blackthorne be admittedly giving up any chances of finding her son?  I don’t believe that my client would be so calculating as to allow that to happen.  I move for the charges against Mrs. Blackthorne to be reduced to justifiable homicide and that she is remanded on bail.”

Brooke clasped her fingers together, wishing that none of this was necessary.  She acted out of impulse and that was all there was to it.  Shooting Will Thomerson was a split decision that she regretted.  Justifiable or not, she knew it meant that they would never find Michael again.

The judge paused and contemplated the issue.  A few moments later he leaned forward and addressed Brooke directly.  “Bail is denied.  The prisoner will remain in custody until a trial date is set.  The charge remains murder in the first degree.  Case dismissed.”

Brooke’s eyes flashed open in horror and she turned to look at James.  The guards pulled her up to her feet and led her out of the courtroom as James flew into a panic.

Ethan jumped out of his car when he heard the sirens coming down the Armitage’s street in Burbank.  Quickly, he intercepted the squad car by the curb and waited for Officer Fitzsimmons to emerge.

“Officer, I’m Ethan Blackthorne,” he started, speaking at a frantic rate and running his fingers through his dirty blond hair.  “I’m the one who called you.”

“What’s the problem, Mr. Blackthorne?” Fitzsimmons asked as his partner walked around the car to meet up with him

“The woman in that house,” Ethan began, struggling to calm himself down.  “She has my son.”

“Your son?” Fitzsimmons asked in confusion.  He looked up at the house and spotted Missy Armitage standing at the living room window watching them closely.  “That’s Joel and Missy Armitage.  She claims they adopted that boy.”

Ethan couldn’t speak fast enough.  He gathered his thoughts and tried his best to sound as coherent as possible.  “No, they adopted him illegally.  He was kidnapped.  You have to do something.”

Fitzsimmons glanced at his partner and held his hand up in frustration.  “Wait a minute,” he said.  “Ethan Blackthorne?  Isn’t your uncle James Blackthorne?  He and his wife had a baby who was kidnapped a few months ago?”

Realizing that he couldn’t get into the complicated paternity issues involved, Ethan decided to play along for the sake of argument.  “Yes, it’s my Uncle’s son,” he explained hurriedly.  “That woman has him.”

“What makes you think that’s the Blackthorne baby in there?”

Again, Ethan didn’t want to get into the whole story so he summarized enough details so that they’d take him seriously.  “Will Thomerson kidnapped him and gave him to the Armitage’s in exchange for some kind of favor.  Look, you have to believe me.  That’s Michael Blackthorne in there! “

“Wait a minute-“ Fitzsimmons exclaimed, an alarmed expression on his face.  “Will Thomerson?  The guy that Brooke Blackthorne confessed to murdering?”

Ethan raked his fingers through his hair and turned, looking at the house and spotting Missy dodge away from the window.  “Yes!  Please, you have to do something!  We don’t have time to stand here and debate this!”

“Maybe we should go talk to her,” said the other police officer.  “That baby is the same age as the Blackthorne baby.”

Fitzsimmons nodded reluctantly, offering Ethan a look of warning before starting up to the house.  “Stay here.”

Ethan sighed with relief and watched as they made their way up to the house and rang the doorbell.  He paced back and forth beside the police car, anxiously waiting for some kind of resolution.  They had to believe him, he thought to himself.  They had to know that it wasn’t just a huge coincidence.  Michael was in that house.  His son.

Fitzsimmons pounded on the door and called inside for Missy.  “Mrs. Armitage, it’s Officer Fitzsimmons again.  We just want to talk to you for a minute.”

No answer.

“Mrs. Armitage, I need you to open the door and talk to us,” he said.  “There have been some allegations that your husband might have adopted your baby illegally.”

Again no answer.  Ethan’s eyes darted toward the door and he prayed that the woman wasn’t going to make things any more difficult for them.

“We’re not here to make any trouble,” the police continued from outside on the porch.  “We just want to talk to you and clear some things up.  Please open the door.”

Panic coursed through Ethan’s veins.  He heard the loud screeching of tires in the distance and he snapped his head in the direction it was coming from.  A blue sedan made its way down the residential street, careening out of control as it neared the house and slowed to a languid pace.

Joel Armitage flew into panic mode, his gaze riveted to the police standing at his front door.  Desperate and intent on getting free, he slammed his fist on the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas, speeding up and passing the house completely.

“Wait!” Ethan screamed and ran after the car.

The police heard the commotion and came running down off of the porch. 

“That was Armitage!” Ethan yelled and climbed into his car.  “He’s getting away!”  He turned the ignition and did a sharp u-turn, speeding down the street after him. 

The two police officers jumped into their squad car and flew after him, sirens wailing and blue and red strobe lights flashing rapidly in the morning haze.

Joel Armitage frantically fumbled with his cell phone as he maneuvered his blue sedan along the busy residential street in the Valley.  He pressed the speed dial and hit send, impatiently waiting for his wife to answer at home.

“Hello?  Joel, thank God!  The police were here!”  Her tone was urgent and her speech wavered dramatically.  “They wanted to talk to me about the baby!  Joel, what’s going on?”

“Missy, listen to me!” Joel yelled into the phone as he steered around a car at a stop sign.  “Do not let them in!  Don’t even open that door until I can figure out what we’re going to do!”

“The pol