~ Paddle Without A Creek ~
by Sam Ruskin

July 13th -

Nineteen months after the Grand Jury Hearing...

"Alex!" Rhonnie called out. "There's a phone call for you."

"Coming!" Alex replied from the back porch, she was working out the shoulder that had not quite healed properly and still gave her trouble.

"She'll be right here. May I tell her who's calling?" Rhonnie asked.

The male voice on the other end hesitated. "Um. Well, I'm afraid this is for the Deputy's ears alone. Sorry Ma'am."

"No problem. Here she is now."

"Thanks, Babe." Alex kissed her partner and took the phone. "Stoner here." She waited to learn who was calling and why.

Rhonda had started to leave the room when she heard Alex sit down on the floor...abruptly. She turned to see all the color drain from her partner's face as she listened to the man on the phone.

"Alex?"

Alex looked up and patted the floor beside her. "He's out," she whispered with her hand over the mouthpiece.

"Who's ou.... oh my god." Rhonda joined Alex on the floor.

Alex nodded for the fifth or sixth time and pulled Rhonnie close.

"Yes. We understand. You will be relocating Wheaton then? How many did you say he killed during the escape? Yes. How many of those were law enforcement? Fuck! Yes. I understand that. When will the courier be here with the actual letter for us to view? Today. Before five. I'll be here. Is Chief Bartoni...? Yes. And am I to understand my status has changed back to active then? No? I see. Yes sir. I appreciate the heads up and I will call as soon as we get the package. Thank you, sir." Alex pressed end call and pulled Rhonda into a hug.

"Alex?"

"Fuck."

"That good?"

"Worse."

"Fuck."

"Exactly!"

"Fuck."

July 13th

Alexandra Stoner sat on the floor beside her partner, Rhonda Reynolds, the woman she had loved since childhood. Inside her head scenes played out; to Alex it seemed like a video running on fast forward. The last nineteen months had been so busy that the two women had barely thought of Mickey Lawton. The few times he had come up in conversation it had always been more about the three days during which Alex had been entrusted with the safety and security of Stanley P. Wheaton, the star witness for the prosecution, than Mickey. Stanley had, at that time, earned the unfortunate distinction of also being the only person alive who had actually seen Lawton commit murder. Alive was the key word and primary distinction, setting him apart, but also making him a target. This, of course, was not counting those employed by Mickey Lawton or some part of his ever-growing empire of evil. The video in her head skipped forward to the Grand Jury Hearing and the trial in which Lawton had been found guilty of not only the double murder Wheaton had witnessed, but of planning, hiring and even personally carrying out, the murder of a number of local, state and federal law enforcement officers. It had been a huge relief to everyone, but especially to Alex and Rhonda, when Mickey Lawton had been sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. The day they had taken him from Denver to the maximum-security prison in Florence, Alex had half held her breath until she got word he was safely and very securely behind bars. Now, here they were, sitting and waiting, once again, for word that this monster had been found.

Rhonnie listened to Alex's breathing and heart rate change. Her partner was remembering. She knew it without a word being spoken. Her own mind couldn't help going over the events that now seemed to be uprooted from their proper place in time and hell bent on becoming the present...again.

So many wonderful things had happened in the past year and a half. Alex had finally started to accept that it was not likely she would be returned to active duty. Rhonda had made a clean and (decisive?) unyielding break from the entertainment industry. They had moved in together and even exchanged vows in a quiet private ceremony with family and friends. Abigail Stoner and Chief Bartoni had finally admitted they had feelings for one another and were preparing to be married. Even Alex's shoulder seemed to be improving after a long and painful struggle that had far exceeded the tall woman's patience.

No! This wasn't fair. How dare that man come back into their lives now, or ever, for that matter?

Alex tried to get her mind to slow down, to recall what the officer on the telephone had told her. He must have said something about how Mickey had escaped but somehow the details had been lost in the moment. Too much information too quickly, Alex decided. She had allowed anger to move in like a shadow, making it hard to see any thing clearly. If Alex were honest with herself, fear had eased its way into her heart, and her mind as well. She knew better than most what this monster was capable of doing and there was little doubt in her mind what Lawton would be after. She pulled Rhonda closer, protectively, squared her jaw and sat up straight. Not this time, she quietly vowed. She knew what he was after, Stoners. She smiled at the knowledge that Rhonnie was a Stoner now, too. No, she quietly gritted. He was not going to get another Stoner. Not one more.

Rhonda felt the change in posture almost immediately. On duty or retired, whether they wanted it or not, Mickey Lawton was back and Alex was determined to stop him.

The blonde knew her partner too well not to understand. She sighed deeply and accepted that which she could not change.

"So," Rhonnie asked. "What now?"

Alex kissed the worried brow. "I love you too, ya know?"

"I know. So...what now?" Rhonda repeated, squeezing the large hand resting on her right shoulder.

"We wait." Alex whispered. "And thanks."

"You're welcome. I hate waiting."

Alex laughed. "Me too."

And so they waited. They waited for the package. They waited for word that Lawton had somehow been recaptured and returned to prison. They waited for the nightmare they both knew was only just beginning. They waited for the battle to begin. They waited, as they did everything now, together. When the doorbell rang, they were still sitting on the floor, side by side.

[July 13]

Somewhere in Colorado

Mickey wiped the sweat from his brow and checked the rear view mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. The vehicle was unfamiliar to him and felt a bit awkward but he had to smile to himself at how easy it had all been, really. As best as he could tell, so far, his men had followed his orders right down to the last detail. The vehicle had been ready and waiting for him at the assigned spot, as ordered. The keys had been carefully concealed in a magnetic metal box beneath the right rear door. Registration and insurance papers were in the glove compartment and matched the driver's license in the wallet; everything looked completely authentic. He had already been to the first of three rented storage units spread across the state, also according to his instructions. Having large amounts of cash safely tucked away in storage units he could access with simple codes eliminated the risky business of teller machines and bank withdrawals. Now he would not need to use credit cards either, which he had learned long ago , was a sure fire way to end up back where he started: in prison.

The blue jeans were more comfortable than he had expected, having just come from the racks at 'Wally World' along with several non-descript tee shirts. He had decided to pass on the baseball cap purchased and provided, along with the clothes, by his advisory team announcing to everyone that the wearer was likely to be drinking beer at every opportunity. Mickey Lawton did not wear hats. No matter what they looked like or said or how much wearing it might aid in his disguise. Mickey Lawton did not wear hats. Michael Lawton wore a hat. In fact, Mickey knew for a fact the bastard had been buried in the damned thing. No, he most certainly would not wear a hat. Besides, he thought, he didn't need one. He looked at the reflection in the mirror, shaking his head and grinning. His graying brown hair was now a golden blonde with a few brown streaks here and there, making it appear quite natural. The tinted glasses had been specially made with no prescription added and he marveled at how different he looked with little more than a few props and some minor cosmetics. The cowboy boots with the 2-inch heels and lifts had been the brainchild of one of his men but he had to admit it was a damn smart idea.

Yep, he thought confidently. Those damn fool cops can plaster my picture all over the place if they want to and it ain't gonna help one bit. They're gonna have everyone looking for a man in his 50's with graying hair and 5 feet seven or eight, not a much younger man who's nearly six feet tall with blonde hair and glasses. No one who knows me is gonna look for me in blue jeans and cowboy boots.

The last nineteen months had been hard on him. Mickey Lawton was used to a certain lifestyle. He was accustomed to being the one in control. People feared him. Even those who worked for him were loyal to him more out of fear than anything else. He liked it that way. Fear was a great motivator and, to his way of thinking, was far more dependable than some emotional attachment or misplaced sense of honor. His time in Florence had served not only to strengthen this conviction but had also afforded him time to plan and carefully orchestrate his revenge.

After the first few months, time meant little to him as one day merged into another, each one bringing him closer to his goal. Even as his desire for vengeance drove his days, the images burned into his memory from childhood haunted his nights.

July 15th, 1963

It started out to be a beautiful summer day. Mary Stoner had awakened early and carefully slipped out of bed. She had promised her sons a picnic that afternoon after their father left for work and knew this was the best time to prepare the potato salad and fried chicken. Once Michael Lawton awoke and had his breakfast of black coffee, two eggs over easy, two slices of whole-wheat toast, three strips of crispy bacon and a tumbler or three of whiskey, there would be no time for picnic preparations. In fact, she had made a point of not telling young James who, at two, was sure to repeat anything he heard. Mickey, on the other hand, seemed to understand the importance of keeping their little secrets. Mary knew it couldn't be good for a five year old to be burdened with such things but, truly, he was the only friend she had left. Michael had seen to that long ago. She reflected briefly on how wonderful he had seemed at first but that was a long time ago, before they married or had children. It was before the first broken rib or blackened eye. Sometimes she wondered how she could have been so blind as to not see how much he drank when they were dating but what difference did it make, she wondered. She had been an only child and her parents were both dead now, having died in a freak house fire only six months after she and Michael married. In fact, it was the insurance money and sale of the farm that had bought their home near Pueblo. Michael had handled everything for her; she had been so distraught over the loss of her parents. He had been so good to her back then, she recalled.

Michael had been in the Navy when they met but one of his superior officers had done something crooked and Michael had witnessed it. He had explained to her that this man had found a way to put Michael out of the service to cover up his crime. Sometimes she wasn't sure that was the whole story but, since there was nothing she could do about it , it seemed best to let it go. Besides, Michael made good money working at the steel mill and he seemed to have made a lot of friends judging from the nights he spent out with 'the boys'.

The potato salad was finished and chilling in the refrigerator and the last of the chicken was laid out on the brown paper bags, draining, when Michael growled from the doorway.

"Woman, what in hell are you doing frying chicken when you ought to be making my breakfast?"

Pasting the neutral expression on her face as she had learned to do, Mary turned to face her husband. Knowing he expected a response, she answered quietly, hoping not to wake the children.

"Oh it's nothing. I just promised the boys a picnic later today and wanted to finish up early so I wouldn't heat up the house. I didn't know you were up. I'll have your breakfast ready in a minute. Coffee is already made. I'll get you a cup."

"I'll get it myself," he snapped. "You ain't fooling me none, woman. You didn't care about heating up no damn fool house. You just wanted to do it before I woke up and saw how you waste our groceries on picnics and such. That there looks like pert near a whole chicken. For what? Two little boys and a slip of a woman like yourself? Probably made a whole big bowl of that potato salad I like too, didn't ya? You don't fool me. Off having picnics while I'm working in a damned hot ol' steel mill. Is that what you think I work all the time for? So you can go off playing with them boys of yours?"

Mary tried to determine in the few moments allotted her, what would be a safe response. Fearing there was nothing she could say that would be safe; she cracked two eggs into the sizzling bacon grease and prayed he was more hungry than angry. She figured she would be okay since he had not yet had his first tumbler full. What she didn't know was that Michael had started tucking a bottle beneath the mattress and grabbing sips during the night each time he woke. Michael often woke five or six times a night with nightmares, though he never remembered them once he was fully awake. The dreams had been getting worse lately so he had learned to start his day with a large swig or two from the caramel colored liquid. It seemed to make facing the morning easier for him.

Before she knew he had risen from his seat at the table, Michael Lawton had snatched the hot skillet from the stove and tossed the contents into the face of his startled wife. Mary didn't mean to scream and wake young Mickey or James. It just happened. The piercing sound erupted from her throat and lungs even as the searing bacon fat and bubbling eggs tore at her flesh and burned her eyes. Struggling to the sink, she swatted about with her hands until she found the knob and turned on the cool water. Mickey raced into the kitchen, barefoot and pajama-clad, at hearing his mother's cry. The scene before him was confusing to the five year old. His father sat calmly at the kitchen table sipping coffee while his mother stood at the sink, her screams now little more than stifled sobs. Knowing that, in this house, things were often not as they appeared; his gray eyes darted around the room, looking for any clue as to what had just happened. It wasn't long before his glance fell upon the heavy iron skillet melting the linoleum or the spatter of grease and bits of egg and bacon.

"Mommy!" he cried out as he ran to her side and tried to see her face.

"Go back to bed!" Michael boomed at the boy.

"No!" was the trembling reply. "What have you done to her?" he demanded.

"Mickey," Mary managed in a near whisper. "Please. I'm all right. Do as your father says, son. Go on back to bed. I will be in a little later. Please Mickey. Do this for Mommy."

Mickey thought about it. He always did what his mother asked. He loved his mother more than anything. It would be wrong to disobey her. Something nagged at the boy, making each step slower than the one before. Why wouldn't his mother lift her head from the sink and look at him? What had made her scream so horribly and why was the skillet in the middle of the floor? Still, he reasoned, she had asked him to go back to bed and how bad could it be if his father was just sitting there drinking coffee? It looked like coffee and it smelled like coffee. The room didn't smell anything like it did when his father drank the golden poison. Before his small hand reached the doorknob to the bedroom he shared with his younger brother, James, he heard the crash and shouting. Racing back to the kitchen, Mickey skidded to a stop in the doorway, stunned by what he saw.

"Turn around here, you bitch! Let me have a look at what you've done to yourself! Jesus, you're clumsy." Michael ranted at Mary as she continued to splash cool water on her face.

"Leave me alone," she mumbled. "Can't you see I'm hurt this time Michael?"

"No." He answered at the top of his lungs. "I can't see anything. You've got your whole fucking head in the goddamned sink, woman. How am I supposed to see anything? Come here!" He demanded as he grabbed her hair and jerked her upward until he could see the large red whelps and blisters that covered her face. Gasping, he stepped back."

"Is it that bad?" she asked fearfully. The look in his eyes told her it was and something inside her shut down. It was that part that always provided her with just the right thing to say to keep from upsetting this man she married. That little be safe voice had been burned into silence by pain and fear and something else...anger. "You!" she shouted as she lunged at him. "You did this to me, you drunken bastard!"

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up you clumsy bitch!" He saw her coming at him and, before he knew what he had done, he struck her full force in the face with his right fist. She went down hard, slamming into the edge of the counter with her head on the way down.

Mickey raced into the room, trying to get between them but Michael swiftly caught the boy with his left foot and sent him sailing into the dining room. Mickey picked himself up and ran from the house. He ran to his best friend Adam's house as fast as his legs would carry him. No one answered his cries or the pounding on the door. Adam was not home. His best friend was not there for him the one time he really needed him. After pounding until his hands hurt, he gave up and went home to do whatever he could to help his mother.

When Mickey ran through the yard he noticed his father's car was gone. He was relieved and happy that he was gone until he went inside. James was crying and trying to wake his mother. She was not moving. She didn't seem to Mickey to have moved since he left to get help because she was still in the same position on the floor. He tried shaking her shoulders a little but got no response. When he touched her cheeks and saw the stain spreading across the floor, surrounding her head, he had to fight the tears. He stood up and walked quickly across the room to where the phone hung on the wall. He dialed the operator and asked for the police, trying to sound grown up. The woman on the other end of the line assured him help was on the way.

Mickey took James by the hand and walked his little brother into their bedroom where he dressed the two of them. When James reached for his favorite cap, Mickey took it from him and tossed it into the trash. He explained in harsh tones that they didn't wear hats. Their father wore hats. They hated hats. He wanted to be sure his brother understood. It was important. They must never do anything like him. They were not like him. He was a bad man. He had killed their mother. Mickey looked down and noticed how frightened James looked. He took a deep breath as he peered into those worried eyes. He would take care of this, he promised. Never releasing the tiny hand, he kept telling James everything would be all right, hoping he was telling the truth but knowing, somehow, that things would never be all right again. It was a day he never forgot.

Florence, CO

Maximum Security Prison

Mickey learned he could be patient. In fact, he discovered that waiting was almost intoxicating when he used the time to form a plan of action. First he created a kind of mental blueprint, carefully pondering each possible avenue his revenge could take. Each idea or thought was savored like a rare wine. He wasn't sure any more whether he had spent days or weeks on them as he quietly imagined how each might play out in any one of several scenarios. The one thing that remained constant was the victor. Each mental play ended with Mickey alive and living on a planet with no surviving Stoners. He would kill them all; every last Stoner would be destroyed. There were three now, he figured. The mother, whom he considered would be easy pickings for someone with his skills and determination. The Marshal, whom he would save for last; he had plans for that one. He reminded himself he could not forget about the former movie star; now that she had hooked up with the Marshal she was a Stoner too. If those damn perverts wanted to be married it was okay with him. At least the Stoner line would end here, he smirked. Medical Science can do a lot of things but they ain't yet figured no way for two women to have a baby together, not for real anyway.

It had not been difficult to contact those working for him, even from within the walls of prison. Arrangements had been in place for some time, though no one ever thought they would become necessary. Still, Mickey was not one to leave things to chance and had drilled key people on a regular basis until he was satisfied they knew the code by heart and would follow his instructions to the letter. Once he had been put in prison he began sending letters to his Chief Executive Officer twice weekly, without fail. Naturally, he fully expected that his letters would be read and carefully dissected. He took no small satisfaction in his certainty that his seemingly and, no doubt, irritatingly trivial correspondences would create many long hours of work for someone. Knowing they would be going through everything in their unending search for a way to prove his money was directly connected to criminal activity, he was sure they would not leave any stone unturned nor any document unread, unscanned or unexamined.

When he began sending the messages to his offices, giving coded instructions and assignments, he had no idea when he would be able to carry out his plan. He only knew that somehow, some way, he would get out of prison and when he did he intended to rid the world of Stoners, once and for all. That his men might choose to not follow his orders never entered his mind. Though some did consider that their energy might be better spent elsewhere, none dared to say it out loud or hesitate even for a moment. The bodies of at least some of those who had been guilty of far lesser offenses were scattered across several states. If the boss wanted vehicles purchased and placed in rented storage buildings all over the state, then so be it. If he wanted some of his personal things packaged and placed in those same storage units for an undetermined amount of time, that was his call. The 'off the rack' clothes, cosmetics and cowboy boots caused more than a few lifted eyebrows but nary a word was spoken aloud as each and every demand was met down to the most intricate detail, however bizarre it seemed. For the first year or so, none of the requests were difficult to fulfill, strange perhaps, but not difficult.

During his seventeenth month in prison Mickey sent word that raised the stakes considerably. If there had been any doubt at Lawton Headquarters that the boss planned to leave his current residence, the shopping list received that month erased them completely. The code was deciphered six times with the same results each time. No one had the slightest clue how they were going to find some of these particular items without breaking into a military base or hijacking a damned convoy on its way to war, but failure was not an option. They didn't know how but when Mickey Lawton told you to do something, you just did it. As it turned out, the items were not as hard to obtain as they had imagined. Some internet surfing and online hacking, a few greased palms, four Armories and two dead guards later, the items had all been obtained and delivered according to instructions.

Somewhere in Colorado

July 13

Pulling into the drive of the Holiday Inn, Mickey thought what a funny thing the law could be, sometimes. He hadn't had a clue how he would ever manage to get out of that place when, low and behold, damned if the law didn't up and take care of that little problem for him. If he'd have known that killing those two punks in Utah would be his ticket out of prison, he might have killed a few more for good measure. How could he have known that when the Utah courts finally got enough evidence to try him for two murders he had all but forgotten, the law would demand he be given the right to face his accusers? His lawyer carefully explained to him, in great detail, that even if the Utah courts got a conviction he would still have to serve out his sentences in Colorado before serving any sentence given by another court. Since he already had several life sentences, it seemed to his attorney to be a moot point but, he had explained, it was out of his hands. Mickey Lawton would be required to appear and face the charges. It was not until the date of his trial in Utah was mentioned that Mickey's face began to almost glow with pleasure. July 15th. Utah courts had set the date of his trial at July 15th.

Perfect! Mickey remembered the puzzled look on his lawyer's face at the time. He must have expected some other reaction, Mickey reasoned. Lawyers. So smart and so dumb, all at the same time, Lawton thought. It all seemed so obvious to him.

July 12th...Moving Day

For the two Marshals sent to transport Mickey that day, this was no easy task. No one in law enforcement wanted to be asked to protect this guy. He was at risk of being bumped off by any number of people and organizations. In fact, the threat level had risen considerably since the recent news reports that he was going to have to stand trial in Utah. Rather than risk the high visibility of a standard police car, they were assigned an unmarked escort car. It hadn't been designed for prisoner transport but it had a reinforced body and a heavy duty engine. Some modifications had been made just for this assignment. Because there was no cage to separated the passenger compartment from the front, a special device had been bolted to the rear floor of the four-door sedan that secured the leg chains and wrist shackles. The inside door handles had been removed from the back seat to prevent any sudden and unplanned exits. Lawton was required to wear a bulletproof vest as well as a heavy leather belt through which the chain of his handcuffs was threaded, seriously limiting movement. Any lapse of time between scheduled check-in reports to be made by the Deputies would be met with an immediate and decidedly unfriendly response, probably en masse. Off duty police officers practically hovered over their scanners.

The recent murders of two armory guards had served to open old wounds, and no one was more anxious for this day to be over though than the two men in the gold Taurus. Mike MacDonald wasn't new to the tough assignments but with only months to go before retirement, he didn't plan on taking any unnecessary chances, either. His partner, Timothy Brumsfeld, was at least twenty years his junior. Already a decorated police officer, Tim was still relatively new to the Marshal Service. The two had been partners now for almost a year and worked well together. Both men agreed on one thing: this was a shit assignment any way you cut it.

About ten minutes outside the prison, Mickey had made his move. It had been so easy, he recalled with pride.

"I gotta go. Do you think we could find a gas station or something Officers?" He had asked as politely as he was able to pull off without puking.

"Hold it," snapped the driver.

"I can't. I'm telling you the truth Officer. I gotta go. I gotta go real bad."

"Shut up asshole!" Spat the Marshal in the passenger seat, receiving a stern look from the driver who shook his head but never completely took his eyes from the road.

"I'm warning you. I really gotta go, Officer."

"No. I'm warning you. I am NOT an Officer. I am a Deputy U S Marshal and we're not stupid. We are not pulling over at some gas station just so we can end up like the other people you murdered. We knew some of those people so sit back, shut up and hold your water. You can take a leak when we get where we're going and not before."

"Okay but I hope you don't plan on using this back seat for anything important any time soon." Mickey grinned as he quietly emptied his bladder, defecated and stretched his legs.

Several minutes later the smell reached the front seat, announcing the problem. Response was immediate.

"You sonofabitch! Pull over, Mac! That fucker wants us to stop. We can stop. Pull over, I said."

"What the hell is that smell?" He looked over at his partner and then in the rear view mirror to the grinning prisoner. Mac flashed on the warnings they'd been given but only for a moment before pulling off the road and screeching to a stop.

Before the wheels had even stopped smoking, Tim had thrown his door open, snatched the rear door and leaned in to unlock the chains. If this jackass wanted to act like an animal he could damn well drop his drawers and shit in the dirt. Let him wipe his ass with whatever he could find. With any luck there would be poison ivy growing nearby. The rattling of the shackles dulled the sound inside his head as two strong hands quickly snatched his chin and head, twisting sharply. His lifeless body was eased to the floor with one hand while the other slid into place, preparing for the next step.

Mac stretched his arm toward the radio to give their location and estimated time of arrival. His hand never reached the microphone. The last sound he heard was the expert snapping of his own neck just before he slumped over, his head landing on the still warm seat, where his partner had been only moments before.

After removing the handcuffs and leg chains, Mickey Lawton shoved Mac against the passenger door and calmly drove to storage unit number one. It was exactly what he had requested, a garage sized unit in the back. It was a simple matter to open the door, pull out the sports utility vehicle waiting for him and replace it with the unmarked police car. That had been several hours, a hot shower, two rare steaks and three Cokes ago. Phase one of his plan had worked perfectly. Now it was time for some shuteye. Tomorrow he would embark on phase two.

July 13th

"Shit." Alex lifted her brow. "You guys don't mess around, do you?"

Rhonda leaned around Alex to see four vehicles parked and still running in the horseshoe driveway. None of them were marked, at least not the way civilians were use to seeing, but each one sported four antennas, three of which were on the back. To Alex, this was a sure indication that they were law enforcement.

She sighed. "I guess this means the package has arrived."

The Deputy on the porch couldn't help smiling when the tall woman smacked the backside of the shorter one. At least someone could still joke, he thought, remembering what he'd heard about the two women. Well, he reasoned silently, best they laugh now because if his briefing had been even partially accurate they were all in for the mission from hell.

"Do they have to do that?" Alex asked the man standing in front of her who seemed to be in charge , knowing full well the answer to her own question.

The man glanced over his shoulder to see what Alex meant, shrugging his shoulders at what he saw. No one spoke as they all watched the team spread out like a human fan. Deputies and officers checked every possible entrance to the house and property including some that Rhonnie thought utterly impossible for anyone but a small child to pass through. Alex sighed audibly, rolled her eyes, took Rhonda's hand and stepped aside so they could enter.

Two men and a woman entered first. Weapons drawn, they quickly made a complete circuit of the interior, returned the weapons to their holsters and waited for the man in charge to speak.

"I suppose the rest of them are still outside, watching the house?" Alex asked, not needing a reply. "And how many more are in there? I hope you realize I'll probably never be able to get delivery again. Jesus, it's not even two o'clock yet. You must drive like I do."

Rhonda elbowed her partner but was grateful for something to focus on other than the nagging feeling bubbling into a liquid knot in her stomach. She looked around the room; everyone seemed to be waiting for something but before she had time to ask the answer made itself known.

A small black box strapped to the shoulder harness of the man who appeared to be the leader broke the silence.

"Team One reporting. Perimeter secure. Repeat. Perimeter secure."

"Team Two reporting. Building secure. Repeat. Building secure."

"Team Three reporting. Location Alpha secure. Repeat. Location Alpha secure."

"Home Base. Reports copied. All teams hold positions, Repeat. All teams hold positions. Out."

The dark haired man turned the sound down slightly before glancing at the chair and then at Alex. When she nodded, he lifted his chin and lowered it sharply before he sat down, letting out a deep breath. The others followed his lead and soon they were all sitting in the living room waiting for whatever might come next. Alex scooted slightly forward on the sofa she shared with Rhonnie and spoke first.

"Matt, can you guys at least tell us what the hell is going on? My understanding is that you have a delivery for me...um, for us. The call I got was somewhat cryptic and very brief as I'm sure you already know. Clearly, this little swat team of yours cannot be good news. All we know is that Lawton escaped. I heard he killed two deputies but I don't know who or how or anything else. I gather from the A Team impersonation that he's still on the loose. When did all this happen? Why isn't Bartoni answering the phone and what the fuck is Location Alpha if it's not our house? You should pardon my saying so but shouldn't Location Alpha be my ass?"

Rhonda smacked her on the leg and shook her head.

"Alex, I'll do my best to answer all your questions; at least the ones I know the answers to." He hesitated only for a moment before continuing. "Those that I am allowed to answer, of course. Do you think we could get some water first? It's been one hell of a day and it looks like we're headed for a long night."

Rhonnie jumped up, raced into the kitchen and back again. "I'm so sorry. How long have you guys been out there? I didn't even think about it being July. Have you even eaten today?" She handed each of them, including Alex, a bottle of cold water and returned to the kitchen where she began pulling things out of the refrigerator.

"You don't have to do that." The female deputy answered. "We can just order up some pizza."

She looked at Alex who smirked at her, remembering that they had probably spooked the shit out of the whole community by now. No matter how plain they tried to make themselves look, that many black sedans in one place, at the same time, was bound to be noticed. When strangers all start flashing badges and asking the same questions people get nervous, even people with nothing to hide. Shops close early. People go home to be with their families, just in case there is more going on than they are being told. No. Alex was right. It was not likely there would be any pizza delivery tonight.

"Okay. Well, at least let me help you then."

One of the men pitched in and soon everyone had a plate stacked high with sandwiches, chips, apples and bananas. They had even sent food out to the others, largely to get Rhonda to stop talking about how unfair it was not to send it.

"I believe you were about to fill us in on the details of this little nightmare." Alex commented. "And don't think I've forgotten that you have a package for us."

The man in the dark suit had removed his jacket, revealing a pale blue shirt with large darkened areas leading from just beneath his arms to just above his thin black belt. Alex didn't need him to turn his back to know that it would be similarly stained. This could not all be the result of the current heat wave either. No, he would have spent most of this day either in an office that often resembled a walk in cooler or in an air-conditioned vehicle. The brief but intense activity of a few minutes ago would have barely even winded Matt.

She remembered him from training. He had been one of her instructors when she was just starting out. Matthew Seaboldt had won the begrudging respect of nearly everyone with his hands on methods, not to mention the fact he often outlasted even the most gung-ho among his students. It would take more than heat and delivering a sensitive package to make this guy sweat. Now the question in her mind was what the fuck is really happening, why the hell isn't Bartoni answering the fucking phone and why is Matt putting off giving me the damned letter? It's not as if we don't all know what it says already?

Deputy Seaboldt shifted uncomfortably in the straight back chair he had selected earlier. He glanced around quickly as if making another mental circuit of the house. That was when Rhonda noticed how cleverly he had situated the chair he had chosen and brought over from the large dining table.

The house had a very open feel to it, especially downstairs where they spent most of their time. The kitchen was only separated from the dining room, living room and family room by a long breakfast bar and a swinging door that was nearly always propped open. The ceilings were high and the open staircase led to a huge loft area with a kind of balcony overlooking the main area. Aside from the more private area of the loft, the two bedrooms, the laundry room downstairs and the two-car attached garage, the whole house could be seen from where he sat, shifting nervously.

Rhonnie couldn't help the grin that found its way onto her face with this discovery. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it before but it did explain why Alex had been so taken with the house when the realtor had first showed it to them. Giving her head a brief shake, she brought herself back to the current situation.

"Would it be better if I left the room?" she asked. "I mean, if you're holding back because of me I can go to another room." Rhonnie offered.

"Absolutely not!" Alex demanded. "You're my wife and whatever the hell is going on, we are in this mess together. If anyone here has a problem with that you might as well just suck it up and drive on because that is just the way it's going to be." She looked around the room. "This may be your mission but it is my home. Anyone have a problem with that?"

Janice Robertson, the only female on the team as far as they could tell, spoke up first. Stepping away from her spot leaning against the breakfast bar, she sat her nearly empty water bottle down on the counter.

"Alex, Rhonda, you might as well know this right now."

She looked at Matt who shook his head slightly, then nodded and lifted his left hand and returned it to his lap as he shrugged his shoulders. He would not have revealed what Janice was about to but he didn't see any real harm in it either.

"Everyone here today volunteered for the job. In fact, we had to practically fight for it because you, Alex, have a LOT of friends in the Marshal Service. And you don't even want to know how many retired cops have called trying to find out where you were so they could set up some kind of neighborhood watch. I can see it now," she laughed. "You think this is bad. Some of these guys would pull up in fucking Sherman Tanks, given half the chance. Let Lawton just try to get at you then. I don't know about you but I am betting he would be begging for a ride back to Florence if he had any clue how many people he has pissed off. Jesus, Alex. You should have seen Mac and Brumsfeld...."

"Ahem. Yeah. Well I don't think Alex and Rhonnie need to know all the gruesome details, Jan." Matt interrupted his teammate.

Alex stood up. "Mac? He killed Mac? Shit. Mac was nearly home free. Damn it!! Damn it to hell! Who's Brumsfeld? Not Tim Brumsfeld, that kid Mac was telling me about?"

"He was no kid, Alex. Mac just called him that. Hell, Mac called us all kids. You know that. Yeah, it was Tim. Lawton took em both out. Busted their necks and then just calmly drove to one of those fucking rented garages. Looks like he just switched out the vehicle someone must have stashed a replacement for him and took off to who knows where.

We'll get him Alex. You know we will. But the bastard sent along one of his fucking notes so half the Service is in a panic thinking the crazy bastard might be just nuts enough to try something. Our job is to bring you the fucking note, make sure you are both safe, report back and stay here until further notice." He paused but quickly added, "Oh, and Bartoni is not answering his phone because he and your mother are in protective custody. And before you give birth to a Holstein, they're both fine. It is just a precaution and they will contact you soon. In about an hour, in fact." He looked at his watch as if to confirm the truth of his statement.

"Mac. I can't believe he got Mac. I tell ya, he was one of the best cops I ever knew. I still can't believe Mickey got him. All I can say is he must have taken him from behind because no fucking way could he have beaten him if Mac had seen him coming. That old guy was faster'n greased lightening on an August afternoon.

I hate this shit, ya know? They're not gonna call me back into service, are they?"

Matt and Janice looked at one another, neither speaking.

The other two Deputies had left the main area right after eating, silently taking up predetermined positions. Robert Morley sat on the carpet beneath the skylight, upstairs in the loft. Donald Jones leaned against the steel post next to the shiny Jaguar, not daring to touch it or even breathe his cigarette tainted breath too near, what everyone knew was, Alex's baby. Nothing Mickey Lawton could do to him would come close to the wrath of Alexandra Abigail Stoner if he so much as left a fingerprint on the tarp that covered Red Death, as Alex called the classic automobile. She had personally purchased and had it altered and fully restored after someone in the DEA tipped her off about its upcoming auction.

After a few minutes of drooling, Donald pulled in his wandering mind and set about the task at hand. No one would get past him, he mentally vowed, confident that even a tiny tree frog would have a hard time getting onto this property unnoticed tonight.

Donald knew one small piece of information that Alex did not. He knew that her house and property were under the watchful and protective eyes of no less than twelve Deputy United States Marshals. Each had fought for the privilege to be right where they were, too.

Mac's death had sent up a wave of renewed anger within the law enforcement community that bordered on white-hot rage. Mac adored Alex. He had let everyone think he was pissed about being asked to transport Lawton when, in reality, he had volunteered for the job. It was a shit job and everyone knew it but Mac said he didn't care. He and Donald were the same age. They had gone through training together and had even sat together in the hospital waiting room when Mac's youngest girl had been injured on duty. They planned to retire and buy a fishing camp together. Each had lost their wife to cancer only two years apart. It had been a long road they had traveled together and Donald would do his part to stop the son of a bitch who had fucked it all up and stolen his friend from him.

Donald could still hear the pain in Mac's voice the day he found out Alex would not be coming back into service. Everyone knew Alex's shoulder wasn't healing right and some wondered just how bad it was. Only a few remembered the bullet she had taken a few years back and fewer still knew how close she had come to having her ticket punched that day. She had survived, but not without permanent injury. The beating she had given herself on Hell Mountain nearly two years earlier had re-injured her lower back. Doctors were very concerned about the possibility of kidney damage and had warned her, in writing that any additional stress to the affected area would, almost certainly, be crippling. They had further explained that the injury to her shoulder had left in its wake, damage that was permanent and none repairable. The joint would now be susceptible to arthritis and re-injury, among other things. The best she could hope for was to increase mobility of the joint as much as possible and minimize the discomfort to the point of toleration. Alex had stubbornly insisted she would just stick with the physio; it would just take some time, she persisted.

In nearly nineteen months of twice weekly physical therapy, she had managed only to regain a portion of mobility and all her faking in the world didn't convince the doctors. The official report stated that she was, they suspected, in almost daily pain and "it would not be in the best interest of either the Marshal Service or of this particular Marshal, to allow her back into the field. A desk position might be considered but would likely aggravate her back injury. Early retirement is indicated."

Rhonnie had been sitting quietly, observing the interaction between Alex and the others. She had suspected for some time now that Alex would not be returning to her work in law enforcement. Alex worked out every day and went to the gun range several times a month. She was determined to stay in shape, claiming she wanted to be ready when they released her to return to work. It had not escaped Rhonda's notice that Alex never really looked directly at her during those conversations. During the previous winter her usually active partner had found lots of reasons to stay home and indoors. No amount of pretending fooled the watchful eyes of the blonde bombshell. Alex had been in pain and it wasn't just her shoulder either. Rhonda had caught her tall companion wincing and reaching for her lower back on more than a few occasions, always making sure that Alex did not know she had been seen.

She watched the inter-action taking place before her, as these three people seemed to be weighing alternatives. Finally, it all got to be too much and Rhonda spoke up.

"As I see it, there are only three possible answers to Alex's questions. One, she will be returned to service. Two, she will not be returned to service. Or three, you do not know whether she will be returned to service or not. Personally, I think you not only know the answer but also know that Alex knows the answer and that this silent exchange is a result of your surprise that the question has even been asked. Whatever it is, could one of you please answer the question so we can get on with this? I don't mean to be rude but you're scaring the hell out of me and I don't like it." Rhonnie looked at Alex who just sat next to her, smiling. "What? I'm not allowed to talk now?"

"You are so cute." Alex replied.

"Yeah. Well, you're scaring me too; so don't change the subject."

Janice laughed. "Oh Alex. I think you've found your match here, girl."

Alex chuckled softly. "Jan, you have no idea."

Matt cleared his throat before speaking. "Rhonda, I'm sorry. I guess we kind of stormed in here as though we were expecting a war and we were in charge of it. Sorry about that. We didn't mean to frighten you. I guess if we were honest, we would have to admit this frightens all of us. We have lost some good people, most of them friends, and we have no intention of losing another one. Lawton is like a fucking ghost or something. He seems to disappear into thin air. I can't figure it out but someone will. We will get this bastard, Rhonnie. Honest we will. Meanwhile, we are here and we won't be leaving until we are given orders to that effect."

Taking Rhonda's hands he smiled sadly. "No. Alex will not be returning to active service. He looked at Alex and took a deep breath. I'm sorry Alex. I know you don't want to hear this right now but it seems unavoidable. Your early retirement went into effect ten days ago. I was pretty sure you were expecting it and I'm sorry to announce it like this but we all thought you told Rhonda about the doctors' recommendation."

Rhonda narrowed her green eyes and looked at her wife.

"Shit." Alex muttered. "Um. Now Rhonnie, don't get mad. I meant to tell you. It just never seemed to be the right time. Besides, I've been doing much better lately. I figured that maybe the doc could..."

"No way, Alexandra. No fucking way. You're retired and you're mine. Get used to it." Rhonda leaned in and gave a stunned Alex a big kiss.

"You're not mad?"

"I haven't decided yet. Maybe you better treat me real good while I make up my mind," she teased.

Matt and Janice laughed, as did Rhonda. Alex Smiled but a little voice in the back of her head told her that she had not heard the last of this one. She had been less than honest with Rhonnie about something that concerned her health and well-being. Nope. She had definitely not heard the last of this one, not by a long shot. Reaching out, she took the small hand in her own and squeezed it.

Matt stood up, stretched and stepped behind his chair to where he had draped his jacket earlier. He lifted it up and reach into the inside breast pocket where he located and withdrew a large zip-lock baggie which appeared to hold an opened envelope and an unfolded letter.

"The package?" Rhonda asked.

"The package," Alex answered. Recognizing the evidence bag, she looked at the letter wondering what insanity this maniac had etched onto the page this time.

All eyes in the room fell upon the simple plastic bag. Almost like the enchanted amulet from a great old movie, it seemed imbued with some ancient power; in that moment, it held them hostage.

Chapter Three

Alex accepted the evidence bag carefully with more than a little dread as to its contents. Just as she was about to open it, Rhonda reached out to stop her hand in mid-air.

"Don't you have to wear gloves or something, Alex?" It was a serious question and Rhonnie was not prepared for the snickers from around the room. "Well," she insisted in a perturbed tone. "It is evidence, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sweetheart. You're right. It is evidence. However, in this case it's evidence that has already been processed. Actually, it was probably processed twice since the prison would have examined it first. The return address, date and postal stamping indicate it was mailed from Florence the day of his transfer and escape. I can't imagine they would have left anything undone. Otherwise Matt here would have been asked to deliver only a copy of the original. Most likely, they're hoping I'll see something they missed but I suspect that anything I notice is there intentionally. Mickey is such an anal bastard."

Rhonda sighed and nodded in understanding.

"Still, I'm proud of you for noticing." Alex smiled at Rhonnie before returning her attention to the contents of the zip lock bag in her hand.

It was a long, legal size envelope, white with no obvious markings other than the block style letters that looked to have been printed with fine point \ black magic marker.

Ms Alexandra A. Stoner and Ms. Rhonda R. Stoner

"Well, he can spell. I'll give him that." Alex remarked as she placed the envelope, with its contents still sealed inside, atop the coffee table in front of them.

She patted Rhonda's leg then turned her attention to the letter itself. It was hand-written on College Ruled Notebook Paper. The ink was black and the lines on the paper were blue. Alex studied the single sheet of paper to see if there were any unusual characteristics she could spot. She knew that others would have already done that but it was as automatic to her as breathing.

The paper was crisp, not wrinkled or overly worn. The ruled lines were clear and had not faded, indicating the paper was probably not especially old. The writer had stayed in the lines and the five holes along the left edge remained intact. The edges of the paper indicated it had not been torn from a spiral bound book but was probably taken from a package of filler paper. There was nothing particularly outstanding about the appearance of the ink. The writing had not been done with a thin or ultra thin pen like the ones Alex and Rhonda usually chose. The ink lines were thicker like a medium point and probably not a ball point since there were no ink blobs or smudges.

"Damn," she half mumbled. "I guess it would be too much to ask for the damn bastard to have used some odd ink or stationery from a hotel chain or something. Oh well. I knew they would have caught that already, anyway. Might as well read the fucking thing."

Rhonda laid her hand on Alex's leg and patted it softly; silently reminding her partner she was not alone. The slight smile barely visible to others was caught by concerned, blue eyes, they said more than words could have.

As Alex opened the baggie and removed the letter, she noticed a reaction from the woman at her side.

"What is it Rhonnie?" Alex asked when she saw her wife's face and nose crinkle up.

"Alex, what's that smell? Wait," Rhonda leaned over closer to the paper. "It's coming from the letter. Jesus! Can't you smell that? It reeks of smoke. It smells like my father's old pipe when he used that horrible black walnut stuff. I never could stand the smell of smoke." Rhonnie said, her voice slowly dying as she looked around the room at all the surprised faces. "What? You can't smell that? It's horrible. I can't believe you don't smell it."

Curiously, Alex pulled the sheet of paper closer to her face and sniffed it. "Well, I'll be damned. She's right. Smell this Matt." She reached over so that the team leader could get a good strong whiff for himself.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, finally detecting the faint odor of tobacco. "I never even thought to smell the damn thing. Are you sure about the kind of tobacco, Rhonda?"

"Actually, yes. I remember that smell very clearly. My father was not a particularly nice man. I avoided him as much as I could and that smell was always like a warning sign to me that he was nearby. It's not really a common pipe tobacco though so I think it should be easy to check out. I don't know how it can help us find him but yeah, that letter has been around a lot of it. My homework used to smell like that if I left it on the kitchen table at night when he was home. Do you think it means anything?" she asked.

"Everything has the potential of meaning something, Rhonda. We can't rule anything out. You just never know what small detail will help." Matt said turning the other Deputy Marshal in the room.

"Janice, notify headquarters right away, just in case they missed it before. It's time to check in and let them know the package has been delivered, too."

Janice quietly moved to the telephone and made the call while Alex turned her attention to the letter again. She turned it over in her hands a few times and then held it in front of her, staring at the words on the page, but not yet reading them.

Matt cleared his throat. "Alex. Would you rather one of us read it to you? Or maybe we could just give you the gist of it?" He offered even though they both knew it wasn't really an option.

Alex looked up from the paper in her hand, took a slow breath, straightened her shoulders and answered.

"Thanks but I can do it. I was just distracted for a minute. I keep thinking about Mac, ya know? That makes me think about my Dad and then Anna and all the others. So many people are dead because of one man." She returned her attention to the letter itself. "Okay you fucking psycho, what little love note did you send me this time?"

Rhonda squeezed the powerful thigh beneath her hand.

"Us," Alex corrected. "No point putting it off any longer. Let's see what the asshole has to say this time."

Hello Alexand Hi to you Rhonda. Though we have never actually been introduced, I feel as though I know you. I wanted to remember to thank you, Alex, for the lovely vacation you arranged for me. The private room is especially nice and it has allowed me the quiet needed to plan and prepare for our next meeting. I was uncertain as to when that would be since my vacation plans were under the control of the travel agent you arranged. Imagine my surprise when my attorney told me of the appointment on July 15th. I knew instantly it was the sign I had been waiting for and that you would expect me to act quickly. I hope I have not disappointed you.

I trust that by the time you read this the small gifts I have left for you will have been discovered. Sorry I didn't have time to gift wrap them but I was in a bit of a hurry.

You see, there are only three Stoners remaining and if I don't act quickly there will only be two. It seems one of you is about to become a Bartoni. We can't have that, now can we, Alex? Not after I have worked so hard making all these wonderful arrangements.

It was so nice of you to add Rhonda so that I would have three Stoners instead of two. Three is a far better number for me.

I hope you will excuse the brevity of this correspondence but I really must be on my way. We all have deadlines, it would seem.

Please give my regards to your mother if you should see her before I do.

Mickey

P.S. I hear the winters are cold in Minnesota.

.

"Minnisota? What the Hell does that mean Matt?" Alex asked.

"Shit!" Matt leaped to his feet. "Janice! Get headquarters back on the line. Tell them to move Wheaton. Immediately! Aw shit," Matt groaned. "Damn it to hell. Someone has to be tipping him. Okay. Jan, just tell them Wheaton is compromised and that we will handle it on this end. Site security and then hang up as if you lost the connection. Yeah, that will work. Got that?" Matt asked.

"Roger," Janice replied as she clicked the familiar keys on the phone pad.

Alex glared at Matt, her eyes narrowing to chips of blue ice. He didn't wait for her to speak.

"Now Alex. I had nothing to do with this. You know we don't make those decisions."

"Done." Janice announced and then resumed her silence.

"Damn it, Matt. We risked our fucking lives to get him to that hearing alive and on time."

"I know that, Alex. We'll move him. Just calm down." Matt pleaded.

"Fuck that!" Alex stormed. "Dial the goddamned phone number Matt. Let me talk to him. How many people knew where he was? And Minnesota? Who the fuck thought of Minne-fucking-sota? Never mind. Just dial the fucking phone. Minnesota. Who the hell sends a witness to Minnesota? Stanley probably froze his skinny ass off last year," she mumbled.

"Calm down, Alex. You know perfectly well I had nothing to do with this fuck-up. It's not like this is the first time Lawton has had someone on the inside. I hate this shit. That bastard Mickey Lawton, damn him to Hell, I hope he's hiding deep and his ass rots in the ground with nothing but his fuckin money to keep him company. Fucking asshole." Matt fumed.

He paced as the phone rang and he waited for someone to pick up. "Yeah? Wheaton? Right. Just listen. Don't talk except to tell me if you understand. Okay?"

Rhonda was stunned by what was happening. She watched the vein in Alex's neck pulse keeping beat with the angry drummer inside.

"Wheaton. We need a new mousetrap. The rat took the cheese and ran. Trap failed. All remaining bait must be relocated until a new mousetrap can be put in place. Do you have all that, Wheaton?" Matt listened before speaking into the mouthpiece again. "That is correct. All bait must be relocated immediately!" Pausing only for a moment, Matt quickly added a warning of his own before hanging up. "And Stanley...trust no one!"

"Oh good one, Matt. You probably just scared him half to death."

"Good. Now he will be suspicious of everyone. That and a fast car might keep him alive until we can put this monster back where he belongs." Janice commented.

"Just get him somewhere safe, please." Rhonda added.

Alex was back to studying the letter and mumbling to herself in the process.

"You said you have Mom and the Chief in protective custody. Who has them and do we really know we can trust them? He seems to indicate here that he is aware of the upcoming wedding and plans to kill her before that takes place. The wedding is tomorrow; so, who has them Matt?"

Matt touched the box on his shoulder. The static became louder, telling him the device was still functioning. "Team three, report."

"Team three reporting. Location Alpha secure and stationary. Repeat. Location Alpha secure. No movement. Over."

"Copy that, Team Three split up. Two remain on post. Two locate and secure family jewels."

"Say again Home Base."

Matt rolled his eyes. "You heard me, you idiot. Team Three, split up. Two remain on post. Two locate and secure family jewels. And open the throttle on this one. Target at risk. Repeat. Target at risk."

"Copy. Team three, splitting now. Location Alpha secure and out."

Alex lifted her left brow and looked at Matt, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. Rhonda, on the other hand, made no such attempt. Janice couldn't help herself and joined the blonde. Both women were holding their sides but couldn't seem to stop the laughter.

"Oh god," Rhonnie gasped through the giggles. "Let me guess who thought up that one. Abigail, right?"

"Mom?" Alex questioned, looking shocked. Slowly the smile spread across the tanned face. "Oh yeah. I can see that. Only mom would come up with something as evil as making a Deputy United States Marshal tell their team to locate and secure the family jewels. God but she is evil."

"I knew there was something I liked about her," Janice cracked.

"Yeah. That's only because you aren't the one who had to say it," Matt whined.

Stanley was trying hard to remember what the man on the phone had said. There had been something about a mousetrap not working and securing the bait. He was trying to recall the exact words the man had used but for some reason a song from his childhood kept drowning everything out.

The Farmer in the Dell

The Farmer in the Dell

Hi Ho the Dairy Oh

The Farmer in the Dell.

The rat takes the cheese

The rat takes the cheese

Hi Ho the Dairy Oh

The rat takes the cheese.

"Holy shit!" Stanley exclaimed into the empty room. "I'm the fucking cheese!! Lawton is the rat. Oh my god. Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. What was it the man said? Something about a new mouse trap. Right. Fuck that. Fuck the mouse trap. Where's Alex? Okay. Calm down, stupid. You're the one who was relocated. Alex is right where you left her."

Stanley continued to rant at himself even as he raced around the small apartment, tossing things into the dark green garbage bag with the handle ties, praying it lived up to the advertiser's promises and didn't break half way to the truck.

Stanley P. Wheaton was racing down the highway, heading south, before he realized he actually had no clue where the hell he was going. That was when his brain began to actually kick in and he realized he needed to think. Money. He was going to need money. He looked at the clock beneath the rear view mirror and saw it was not yet closing time at his bank. He left the highway and drove to the first branch he came to, went inside, and withdrew all but $50 from both his checking and his savings accounts. The bank manager checked his identification three times but gave him the funds exactly as he requested, mostly in twenties. He didn't want to draw attention to himself on the road and he knew large bills would do just that. Stanley smiled, thinking how proud Alex would be that he thought of that. He had learned a great deal from her during his few days with the Marshal.

By the time he returned to his car after an unfortunately lengthy trip to a local grocery store, he was trembling. The air conditioner chilled his flesh when the breeze brushed against his shirt, now damp with nervous perspiration.

Who am I kidding, he thought? I'm sweating like a cow on the way to slaughter.

Calming himself he studied the atlas he'd just purchased and he was soon on his way. He tried not to think too far ahead it only served to frighten him. Instead, he thought, he would keep driving until he got close to Denver. Then decide what to do and where to go next.

Frightened as he was, Stanley had to admit, if only to himself, that he was also excited. The truth was he had missed Rhonda and Alex. Believing he would never see them again had been just another personal loss for him, something else Mickey Lawton had cost him.

Stanley tried to stay focused on his driving without thinking too much about the nagging fear in his belly. The radio had only helped for an hour or so until it got to the point all the songs seemed to be repeating. It was then he found another way to distract himself.

Smiling, he pressed the cruise control button, and began to play a little game.

"We're going on a picnic..."

Chapter Five

Abigail Stoner was not amused. Had Anthony lost his mind, she wondered? It was bad enough that there were United States Marshals watching their every move. And why the Hell were they location Bravo?And who the devil was Alpha? If this many Marshal's were on parking on her stoop, so to speak, she was pretty sure that Alex in trouble. Now if that wasn't enough to convince her there was trouble brewing the man she had come to love seemed to have completely taken leave of his senses.

They were due to be married the next day. Everything had been arranged. Food had been ordered. Caterers had been paid. Flowers were being delivered. The invitations had gone out and everyone had already responded. Her dress had been selected, special ordered and altered. She had an appointment at the salon first thing in the morning. She couldn't just up and go off on some cruise. She picked up the telephone and began dialing.

"Abigail," he began calmly. "Sweetheart. Who are you calling?"

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Don't sweetheart me. I am telephoning your doctor. Surely he has changed your medication recently or some other nonsense. How else can you explain such a radical change in behavior? You are not an impulsive man, Anthony Bartoni. No offense, but you even plan your toenail clippings. Now, all of a sudden, out of the blue, with absolutely no provocation, you want to ELOPE? You decide, without even asking me, I might add, to book us on a three-week cruise! No. Something is definitely not right here. And why can't we go to the house? Do you think I haven't noticed that someone has been following us since yesterday morning? Give me a break. I've spent enough time around cops to know when I'm being followed by one. And since you haven't told me about any clandestine operations I am assuming you have lost your mind so I as I told you before, I am telephoning your doctor."

Retired Chief of Police Anthony Bartoni had met his match and he knew it. He even liked it...most of the time. This was not one of those times.

"Hang up the phone, Abigail. I'll tell you what's really going on but you have to promise to be reasonable."

"I'm always reasonable," she replied as she placed the phone back on the wall.

"You weren't even dialing the doctor, were you?"

"Don't change the subject or I will go and get the number." She warned.

"Abigail," he began. "Mickey Lawton has escaped and is making threats against the Stoners again. He has indicated his intention to harm you either before or during the wedding. We could save lives by not being here and before you get stubborn on me, think about Alex. If we go through with the wedding as planned you know she and Rhonda will be here. That would put the three people he has said he is going to kill all in the same location." Bartoni tried to explain everything in a calm and rational manner when, in truth, he wasn't particularly feeling a whole lot of either.

"Okay," she said.

"Huh?" Her response was completely unexpected.

"Okay," she repeated. "I agree. There is no point in making it easy for him. I think a cruise would be far more pleasant than a hospital room or a morgue. I don't like it but I'm not as young and foolish as I used to be, either. I've already lost one daughter. I don't want to lose another. I take it Alex and Rhonnie are up to their eyeballs with protection by now?"

"That would be my guess," he hedged.

"Hmph. Cut the crap Bartoni or I'll hide your candy bars."

This was a man who knew when he was beat.

"Yeah. They have a full house about now with more on the grounds and all over town. The Marshal Service have them about as surrounded as they can be without sticking them in a glass jar and poking holes in the lid."

"Good."

"Alex will hate it." He thought out loud.

"She'll live," was the dry response.

"Exactly!" They spoke in unison, smiling.

Chapter Six

Stanley winced as the hot coffee burned its way down his throat. It tasted as foul as the four cups he'd already had but he was beyond caring about such insignificant things as taste buds or a scalded throat. His eyes stung and his face hurt from the windburn he'd given himself by driving at 70 mph with the driver's side window down and his head stuck out in the breeze for the last two hours. He thought about calling Alex and Rhonnie but decided against it. He considered again whether he should telephone his contact number at the Witness Protection Services Office. His orders had been to keep a low profile, contact no one from his previous life and never ever leave the area without first contacting them. Stanley always obeyed the rules before. This time was different though. This time the man on the phone had told him to trust no one. Stanley was no fool. He had learned a hard lesson about trust in the last couple of years. Now he knew there was one person he could trust with his life. That person was Alex Stoner and he was half way there.

Even as Stanley pushed himself and his Jeep along the highway toward Denver, Mickey proceeded along his selected route.

"Sure boss, I understand. I'm there now. Everything is just as you ordered. No problem. I understand. Make sure they see me. Yeah I checked in using the card you told me to use. Used your new name too, just like you said. Don't worry boss. I won't panic. I know the drill. Just be you as long as possible and make sure to be seen and heard. Yes sir. Okay boss. See ya." Johnny Austerday didn't much like his boss but the pay was good and he did like living. So he did as he was told and kept his mouth shut. However, even he had his limits, he silently reminded himself as he adjusted his favorite baseball cap for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

"I'll pretend to be you, boss. I even had the damn face job and learned to wear these damned contacts, but I ain't leaving my hat behind. What you don't know won't hurt you, my Mama always said." He pulled back the heavy drapes in the main room of the rented cabin and grabbed a brew from the cooler. Snapping the top open, he located the remote control for the television and dragged the chair around in front of the window. He turned it so that he faced the television without having the back of the chair toward the window. He had to make sure he could be seen at all times. Those were his orders. It was only a matter of time until someone found him. That was when things would get interesting, he thought, smiling. For now, there was no rush. His orders were to dress like the boss, use the name and the false identification he'd been given at every opportunity and just wait for the cops to find him. With announcements on all over the place and a reward for the capture of one Mickey Lawton, escaped convict, he figured it wasn't likely he would have a long wait.

Mickey usually liked to set up a specialty hit on his own but this one was too important to risk personal exposure. Hitting a wedding was big enough but this particular wedding was very high profile. The church would be watched, he was certain of that much. He was fairly confident that the minister would insist on not closing the doors to her congregation. It wasn't difficult for the pro he hired to take care of business. Pretending to pray at the altar, he slipped the shoulder bag off and sat it beside him on the floor. No one else would be in the room when he slipped the small black bag inside the opening at the bottom of the altar. Once in place, it could be detonated from another room within the building or even from outside the building . The bomb wasn't particularly large, itwas only designed to take out anyone within a five to six foot radius. The explosion would be loud and very nasty but quite contained. Although overkill was usually standard for Mickey Lawton, this time he had opted for precision to make his point.

By late that evening Mickey had driven to Durango, where he visited the second of the storage units, picking up supplies and exchanging vehicles. He swapped out cell phones and picked up more cash as well. Pleased that his plan was working so well, he checked into a Holiday Inn, ordered a steak, flipped on the TV and waited for room service to deliver his meal.

The cabin on board the cruise ship was small but very nicely decorated with comfort a high priority in its design. Abigail and Anthony began to relax as soon as the large ship moved away from the shoreline. It really didn't even matter where they were headed. Alex and Rhonda were safe and surrounded by an armed wall of of blue as Anthony called it. When he got the ship to shore phone call from his contact in the Marshal Service explaining that they were following up on a strong lead, Anthony felt his shoulders relax for the first time in days.

"So, you think you've got him then?" He asked.

"Well, the woman at the hotel said he fits the description but she said it was the name on the credit card that made her phone us. She said she knew it was the wrong first name but the man looked just like the picture on the television so she thought he might have stolen a credit card from a relative.

We got two more calls in the last three hours, all on the same name with men matching the description. Looks like he's headed south if this is our man."

"What's the first name on the card?" Anthony asked.

"James."

"Shit."

"What?" The secretary asked.

"You've got him. James was his brother's name. He died when he was just a kid. I'd bet my Taz shorts that's him."

"I bought those," Abigail pointed out with an evil grin.

Anthony winked.

"Well, call us when you have him in custody, okay?" He nodded when the voice on the other end agreed to call. "Thanks, Nancy. We'll rest easier knowing. Talk with you soon. Bye for now." He turned to Abigail, "They have him. I'm sure of it. This is just the way Mickey thinks. He's taunting them. Cocky bastard thinks he's too smart to get caught. I'll tell you the truth, Abigail. I half-way hope he fights them. I am really sick of this asshole."

"You're not the Lone Ranger on that one. Just don't be betting those Taz shorts or I'll have to kick your butt."

"Really?" He asked, waggling his brows.

"You're incorrigible," she laughed.

"Complaining?"

"Not me, Chief. How about some dinner? You're gonna need your strength." She winked at his grinning face as they headed out to dinner, arm in arm.

Chapter Seven

July 15th. Just after sunrise.

Denver, Colorado

Startled, Alex sat up in bed when she heard the sound of someone in stocking feet coming up the stairs to the loft.

"Alex?" Rhonda stirred.

"It's okay Rhonnie. Go back to sleep. It's just Matt trying to be quiet.

Rhonnie snickered, rolled over and resumed her snoring.

"She always sound like that?" Matt asked, having reached the top of the stairs entering the bedroom loft where Alex and Rhonda slept.

"Only when she's sleeping," cracked Alex. "What brings you creeping into our bedroom this time of day?"

"Wheaton's missing," he whispered.

Leaping from the bed, clad only in a tee shirt and boxers, Alex was nose to nose with the very surprised Marshal in the blink of an eye...his.

"Can't you fuckers even keep track of one chicken shit little man?" she boomed.

"Alex? What's wrong?" Rhonda asked, sitting up.

"They fucking lost Stanley. These dumb fucks put him in fucking Minnesota and still fucking lost him. Fucking A!!"

"What do you mean, lost him?" Rhonnie ran fingers through her short blonde hair and shook her head in an effort to fully wake herself. "How the hell can you lose Stanley? Jesus. He never goes anywhere."

"Well, he's gone somewhere now," Matt sighed.

"Yeah?" Alex asked, straightening to her full height and towering over Matt by several inches.

"Yeah." He caught himself having his buttons pushed and paused, taking a slow, deep breath. "Alex," he spoke slowly and deliberately. "He probably just panicked when he found out Lawton escaped."

"Ya figure?" She taunted. "Now why would he go and do a crazy thing like that, do you suppose? Oh let's see. Oh yeah. He was the only living witness to murder and his testimony put the man in a maximum-security federal prison for the rest of his life. Now he knows that man has escaped, killing even more people, law enforcement people. The same people who are suppose to keep him safe. Gee Matt, why would that make a man panic? Oh but wait, this isn't just any man. This is Stanley P. Wheaton, chicken shit extraordinaire."

"Now Alex, there's no reason to assume..." Matt started.

"To assume what, Matt? That lily livered little Stanley is out there, alone somewhere, running for his life? A life Rhonnie and I risked ours to save, I might add? How the fuck did he get away without his tail knowing it? Oh come on, Matt. Don't tell me you guys didn't have him under surveillance as soon as you learned Mickey was out? Matt? Aw Jesus."

"Alex, you know that was not our jurisdiction. For all I know, he was being watched. My information only tells me that he did not report to work this morning and his apartment is empty. His place looks like a cyclone hit it and his Jeep is missing. They have the plate number and description on the radio now. I was only told so that I could ask you if there was some place in particular he might go. I guess they thought he might have told you something back when you were on the run together before."

"Well he didn't okay?" Alex began pacing, she was getting past being furious and was now edging over into seriously concerned. "Fuck. Stanley's idea of roughing it is a fully loaded Winnebago with its own on board generator parked in the woods." Alex plopped down on the bed chuckling at the picture in her minds eye.

Rhonnie couldn't help laughing at Alex's funny but accurate description. "With a bug zapper hanging from every door and window," she added."

Matt sat down on the floor near the bed where Rhonda and Alex sat. "I, for one, sincerely hope not." He commented. "I think that would be a lot higher profile than the witness handbook recommends."

"Witness handbook? Really?" Rhonnie asked.

Matt and Alex looked at one another and started laughing.

"Oh shut up," scolded the blonde punching Alex in the arm as she joined the others in laughter. Everyone jumped when the phone rang. Alex looked at the Caller ID. It read Unavailable. Shrugging, she picked it up.

"Hello."

"Um. Hello. Alex?" asked the trembling voice on the other end of the line.

"Stanley?" She asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. Alex, I can't stay on the phone. I remember what you said about it not being secure. I know I'm not supposed to contact you, but he's out Alex and I'm scared and there's no one else I trust but you and Rhonda. I don't know what to do, Alex. I've been driving...Oh, I shouldn't say that. I have to go, Alex. I'll call again soon. Don't be mad, Alex. I know it's against the rules but I don't know what to do. I'll call again. Don't be mad, okay?"

"Stanley, don't hang up. I'm not mad. Stanley? Stanley? Goddamn it!" She slammed the phone down. "That little weasel hung up on me. Can you believe that?"

Alex stomped across the room to the dresser and began pulling on her jeans, right over the boxers she had been sleeping in. When she started to lift her tee shirt, Rhonda interrupted.

"Matt, you might want to turn around now unless you want me to pull Alex's nine mil. out from under the mattress and shoot you."

Matt's eyes grew wide when he saw that Rhonda wasn't wearing even a hint of a smile. Quickly closing his eyes and turning to face the railing, he replied. "No problem. Nope, absolutely no problem at all."

Alex laughed as she walked back across the room, now fully clothed. "You can look now Matt. There's no nine mil under the mattress."

"Really?" He asked relieved.

"Really," she answered. "It's a thirty-eight." Alex replied as she walked from the room.

Chapter Eight

July 15th. Early afternoon.

Near Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado

Johnny Austerday was getting tired of his assignment. He was running out of beer, the ice in the cooler was melted and television sucked. His butt was getting numb from sitting in the same damned chair all the time and now he was out of cigarettes. Remembering that he had an unopened pack in the glove compartment, he pulled on his boots and went out to the truck. The hair on the back of his neck tickled and stood up as he started back into the cabin. He was being watched. Despite knowing this was exactly what was supposed to happen, shivers ran up and down his spine. This was one assignment he would be glad to see end. This was starting to really creep him out, he thought, as he pulled the cellophane from the Marlboro box. Flipping the lid up, he removed a smoke from the pack. After lighting it, he sucked in a deep draw of nicotine as he adjusted his baseball cap and took up his position in the chair again.

"Is that him?" the officer asked the Deputy lying on the ground, peering into binoculars.

"Yeah. He fits the description and he's using the credit card we have identified as belonging to Mickey Lawton's brother. We checked the register this morning and the signature looks to be Lawton's as well. He went to the truck a minute ago to get cigarettes. Other than that he hasn't moved much since about nine this morning. Truck is registered to Lawton's attorney. We've got him. Just been waiting for you guys to get here. We gotta do this one by the books."

The Deputy United States Marshal lifted to his knees and then stood, hunched over, careful to remain concealed. He brushed off his shirt and pants as he spoke softly to those nearby while touching a small device behind his left ear.

"Okay people. This is it. . No one fire unless he fires first. Take him out only as a last resort. Dying's too good for this bastard. He's gonna rot in prison. This one's for our brothers in blue. On my word. Move into position around the cabin. Report when ready and hold position."

"Team one in position and holding." As if by magic, the words were carried along some unseen wire and into the Deputy's ear.

"Roger that."

"Team two in position and holding. Team three in position and holding."

"Roger two and three. Remember, this one's by the book, guys. Here we go." Deputy Peterson lifted the microphone and turned on the speaker.

"Lawton. We know you're in there. The entire area is surrounded. Make it easy on yourself, Mickey. Come out with your hands up. You're late for court, Lawton."

Johnny felt his stomach lurch. He had to force himself to concentrate on what he had practiced. Every nerve in his body seemed to twitch with the desire to run but he had to stay focused. The boss said to just sit there and make them say it at least three times before giving up. They wouldn't believe it was the boss if he surrendered too quickly. His nerves were on edge, he had forgotten about the first cigarette and, lighting a second one, he slowly pulled on it.

"Lawton. We know you're in there. We can see you. Just put down the cigarette and come out with your hands above your head. No one will fire if you come out now, unarmed." Peterson reminded everyone to hold their positions. He waited another five minutes before calling out to Lawton again.

Johnny felt the perspiration slowly make its way down his face as he waited for the cops to call out for the third time. He mentally ran down the list to be certain he had taken care of all the things he had been told to do. Only three things remained. Destroy the cell phone on his way out the door, remember not to speak at all, and wait for the lawyer to bail him out. It did go through his mind that, once it was discovered that he was not Mickey Lawton, the cops were going to be mad as hell but he figured by then the lawyer would have him out of jail and on a plane to somewhere. Never once did it occur to Johnny that he was expendable or that they would probably take his fingerprints and his prints wouldn't match those on file.

"Lawton. This is your last chance. Come out with your hands up or we will be forced to come in and get you. No one need die here today, Mickey. Put down the cigarette and come on out."

Johnny snuffed the cigarette out, dropped the cell phone to the floor beside his right boot and stood up. Lifting both hands high above his head, he stepped down on the small device and twisted his heel, completely crushing it.

"He's coming out, guys. Keep your eyes open and move in."

Johnny stood on the inside of the closed door afraid to lower his hands to lift the latch. After several fearful moments he realized they couldn't see through the door and since he wasn't allowed to speak he couldn't ask for help. He had no choice but to lift the latch. Nervously, he lowered one hand to the latch, lifted it and jerked his hand back into the air beside its mate.

Suddenly, cops were everywhere. Two rushed in and threw him to the floor. One was patting him down while another took his boots and beloved baseball cap. He scowled but didn't dare speak. Yet another cop jerked his arms behind his back and snapped handcuffs, none to gently, on his writs and hauled him to his feet. He stood there while someone in a different uniform placed shackles around his ankles. They were heavier than he expected and fell loosely from his stocking feet.

Soon he was being walked to the vehicles while an angry red haired man shoved him into car, read him his rights and told him he was under arrest.

"Headed to Mexico, Mickey?" the man asked, climbing in to the seat next to him.

Johnny said nothing.

"What's this? The great Mickey Lawton has nothing to say?"

Johnny maintained his silence amazed that even at this distance they still believed he was the boss.

"Fine," snapped the officer. "You got nothing we wanna hear anyway."

"You ready, Mike?" asked the Deputy.

"Yeah. Let's get this asshole back where he belongs."

"Will do." Deputy Peterson waved his thanks to the others and started the long drive back to Denver where Mickey was to be processed and turned over to federal law enforcement while courts rescheduled his appointment in Utah. He still had to face trial there but it wouldn't make a lot of difference as far as the deputy could see. After all, how many life sentences could one man serve?

Peterson pressed the button on the side of the microphone attached to the radio. "Deputy Peterson here. Prisoner in custody. Repeat. Prisoner in custody and en route. Estimate transit time at 8 hours."

The radio crackled a moment. "We copy, Peterson. Prisoner Mickey Lawton is in custody and being transported now with estimated transit time at 8 hours. Is this correct?"

"Affirmative. Please contact Alexandra Stoner with update."

"Will do. Check in every hour. Over and out."

Johnny sat in the middle of the back seat of the vehicle with an armed officer on either side of him and two in the front. It was at that moment he began to realize just how bad his boss really was. This was one lousy job; he hoped he lived long enough to quit.

Alex had paced until her legs ached but still couldn't sit still. Rhonnie had cleaned the kitchen until it practically glowed before proceeding to disinfect and scrub every bathroom in the house. Matt had called headquarters so many times to check for updates the switchboard operator had threatened to block his phone number. It was nearing one hundred and two degrees and the air outside was still less stifling than the heavy atmosphere inside the Stoner house.

Stanley hadn't called back yet and everyone feared the worst. Every hour that passed brought on a new burst of obscenities from a very angry Alex. Rhonda knew her partner was worried sick but there was no consoling her at this point. It wasn't Matt's fault. It wasn't the fault of witness protection. It wasn't even Stanley's fault. How could anyone blame him for running? He had seen, first hand, what Mickey was capable of doing to people who crossed him. Stanley was running for his life. They all knew that. Matt had told him to run. He just hadn't expected him to contact Alex or come to Denver. If he were honest with himself, Matt had to admit that he hadn't believed Stanley would have the nerve to just get in a car and drive all the way to Denver from Minneapolis.

The telephone startled everyone back into the present.

"Hello." Rhonda answered. "No, this is Rhonnie. Just a moment and I'll get her for you."

"Alexander Stoner? Director Haynes office calling, he wants to speak with you."

Hearts slowed, and then began to pound, anticipating the worst even though no one was certain any more what that might be.

"This is Alex, Director Haynes. Do you have any news yet? Yes sir, I understand sir. Thank you for calling us personally. It means a great deal to me. Oh. Have they located Stanley yet? Right. That makes sense. Yes sir. We certainly will. I'll tell him. Thank you again, Director."

Everyone watched Alex for some clue but her facial expression never changed during the brief conversation.

"Alex?" Rhonda touched the hand that sat motionless on the telephone as it sat in its cradle. "Honey?" She queried, concerned etched upon her face.

"It's over. They've got him," she said quietly.

Rhonda tugged at her wife's hand, moving them to the sofa where they could sit down. It wasn't even five o'clock but it had already been a very long day.

Alex looked up at the two Marshal's that had spent the better part of the last 24 plus hours with them. "Matt, Janice, the Director said to tell you the mission is complete and you are both off duty for the next 72 hours but we will remain on call until things are all wrapped up. He said to tell you that the code word is Rumplestiltskin and I don't even want to know who came up with that one."

"Janice did." Matt answered.

"I said I didn't want to know, you jerk," Alex laughed before casting a questioning eye in Jan's direction.

"Don't ask," she warned.

"I didn't." Alex replied.

"What about Stanley?" Rhonnie asked.

"The Director said that with Mickey in custody Stanley was no longer in any immediate danger since all Lawton's people will be focused on him, at least for a while. He will have to be relocated most likely but not for a few days."

"Your mother and the chief?" Rhonnie asked.

"Director Haynes called them first. They're fine and send their love. They'll be back in about three weeks. They were married on the ship last night. Mom wants us to look after the house."

"We can do that," Rhonnie grinned.

"Oh yeah," Alex grinned back. "We can do that all right. I'd say we have some decorating to do before they get back, wouldn't you?"

Matt stood up and slipped on his jacket. "I can see you two have not changed a bit," he laughed. "Sorry we had to bust in on you like we did, Alex. When Wheaton calls tell him I didn't mean to frighten him."

"No problem. Thanks Matt. Janice, thanks for being here."

"You will tell the others we said thanks?" Rhonda asked.

"Sure thing." Jan answered.

"Okay," Matt said from the doorway. "We're outta here then."

As quickly as they had arrived, the cars were gone and the house was theirs again.

"Alex?" Rhonnie whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Will it ever really be over?" Rhonnie asked.

Alex thought about it and then answered honestly. "Sure it will, Baby. Sooner or later, everyone has to die, even Lawton."

"You are so not funny."

"Yeah but you love me." Alex winked.

"True," Rhonnie laughed. "Very true."

Stanley had intended to call Alex back as soon as he got closer to Denver. He knew he had cut her short earlier and hoped she wasn't too angry with him but he didn't know where else to go. It had been such a long drive that he decided to stop near Brighton and get a room. His eyes burned and his back ached from being in the same position for so many hours. It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time he locked his truck and went into room 203. He cranked the air conditioning up as far as it would go and went into the bathroom to grab a quick shower before crashing for a few hours.

It was ten o'clock when he was awakened by a backfire in the parking lot outside his door.

"Shit!" He yelled when he saw the time, having forgotten what had awakened him. He flipped on the television and felt around for his cell phone. It had Alex's phone number on the memory. He only kept two numbers there. The other one was the number given him for his contact in case of an emergency.

...In state news today, escaped convict Mickey Lawton was captured and taken back into custody. Lawton was convicted of murder and was serving a life sentence without possibility of parole in Florence. He is expected to appear before a court in Utah on additional murder charges at a later time. If convicted, he would have to serve out his time in Colorado before serving any sentence handed down by the Utah court.

"Holy shit!" Stanley rubbed his eyes and slapped his face as if to see if he was awake before looking at the screen again.

...On the local front, newlyweds Robert and Linda Byron were hospitalized this afternoon following an explosion in the church where they took their vows. The minister was also injured in the explosion, which witnesses say seemed to come from the altar. No other injuries were reported and the ensuing fire was quickly contained by the fire department.. The police bomb squad and the Fire Marshal have declined an interview but assured us the incident was under investigation.

Stanley found the phone where he had left it on the sink in the bathroom. He splashed cool water on his face, adjusted the air conditioner and dialed Alex.

Stepping out of the shower, Rhonnie laughed. "I still can't believe you poured chocolate sauce all over me. Cold chocolate sauce, I might add."

"Well," Alex explained. "I was afraid hot fudge might burn you."

"Oh that's rich," Rhonda giggled as she dried her hair. "Um. Alex..." she began to move back toward the shower stall. "What are you planning on doing with that can of Reddi-Whip?"

"I'm going to finish what I was doing before you decided to take a shower, of course." Dark brows waggled above sparkling blue eyes.

"Alex, I just got clean!"

"Yeah but you know I like it dirty."

"Oh god," Rhonnie sighed. "You are so bad."

"Not as bad as I'm gonna be," promised Alex.

"Well fuck!" whined Alex when the phone rang, interrupting her plans.

"Not yet apparently," teased Rhonnie.

"Just don't get too dry," Alex quipped before grabbing the telephone.

"Hello."

"Alex, is it true?"

"Stanley? Where the hell are you? Is what true?" she asked.

"I'm not far from you. Did they get Mickey? They said on the news that he was captured this afternoon. Is it true?"

"Yeah. It's true. The director called personally to tell us. They've taken him to some undisclosed location and delayed the hearing in Utah indefinitely until reliable transport can be arranged . What do you mean by 'not far' from us? Where the hell are you? And are you all right? Oh and Stanley, Rhonnie says hi."

Rhonnie donned a robe and sat on the bed next to Alex.

"You told me phone lines are never secure Alex." Stanley explained. "I'm fine. Just a little road weary and still a little shaky from having the bejesus scared out of me is all."

"Well, we're glad you're okay. Matt asked me to tell you he's sorry he scared you. Director Haynes says you probably won't be relocated for a few weeks so we can get together in the meantime, if you'd like. Mickey's in jail so you can tell us where you are."

"Some motel in Brighton. I'd love to get together but not until tomorrow. I'm exhausted."

He gave Alex the number off the motel phone and she promised to call him the next afternoon. Soon he was sound asleep again.

Alex, on the other hand, had less sedentary things on her mind.

"Now," she whispered with a waggle of brows. "Where were we?"

Rhonnie smiled and lifted a brow of her own as Alex reached for the sash that held the bathrobe together. It afforded her the perfect opportunity to grab a still chilled can of whip cream, especially since it rested on the bed just behind her wife.

Sliding the soft green robe from Rhonnie's creamy shoulders, Alex purred as she kissed the tender flesh. Her hands pressed the material farther off the shoulders until it fell onto the thick comforter. Strong hands cupped the face of her lover as Alex moved her kisses from the shoulders to the neck's pulse point. She swirled the tip of her tongue against the gentle rhythm and sucked softly.

"I love you so much," Alex said as she lowered Rhonnie to the bed.

"I love you too," Rhonda replied as she slipped the cool can out from behind her wife and smiled.

"Where did you get that?" Alex laughed while she tried to retrieve her idea of a marital aid. "Now, Rhonnie," she warned when she saw the can and nozzle becoming horizontal in front of her chest.

"Yes?" asked the blonde as she pressed the white plastic, sending the delicious treat in a creamy steam onto a warm chest.

When the cool cream hit Alex's breasts, the physical response was immediate.

"Hello!" Rhonnie beamed. "Come to Mama," she sang before covering first one and then the other full breast with her warm mouth.

"Rhonnie, I,...Oh God." Alex started before allowing her partner to roll her body over and to the left.

Rhonda licked and sucked until all the whipped cream was long gone and Alex was in a near frenzy of anticipation. Slowly she ran her fingertips around the outer curves of the body parts she so lovingly feasted upon. Gradually she allowed her fingers to caress first ribs and then hips until the pads of her fingers reached strong trembling thighs.

"Baby, please." Alex pleaded and she lifted her hips in an effort to press into the leg Rhonnie had slipped into place.

"Did you want something love?" Rhonda asked as her tongue flicked a nipple.

Her fingers stroked up and down the length of the tanned thighs going first to the outside and then to the innermost, tender flesh of her lover's legs. She would bring her fingers to the top of the legs and then brush the soft curls with a sigh , all the time sucking and licking the full round breasts. Finally she moved her fingers to slowly stroke the engorged, throbbing clit. Rhonda held a nipple gently between her teeth as she lengthened her stroke, allowing her finger to press just inside her partner.

"Oh God," Alex moaned.

Rhonda added a finger and continued stroking, making each pass longer and pressing deeper inside. Moving her lips from first one breast to the other she concentrated on thrusting in and out of Alex , forcing her self to keep the pace slow and steady. Her own clit throbbed as she felt Alex getting closer and closer to the edge until the body beneath her arched and tightened. She held her fingers in place inside her lover and lowered her body until she could take the still throbbing clitoris into her mouth.

"Jesus!" Alex cried out as Rhonda began sucking and licking.

Immediately Rhonda felt Alex's body begin the climb toward the next orgasm.

"I love you," she whispered, not taking her mouth from its swollen target.

"I love you, Baby." Alex groaned as she felt Rhonda's fingers resume their thrusting in perfect time to her talented tongue.

When Rhonnie felt her fingers clenched several times she stilled all movement, pressing her tongue against Alex until her breathing and heartbeat slowed again.

"I'm so glad Matt is finally gone," joked Alex before pulling her wife up where she could look into her eyes and tell her how much she loved her.

Alex could feel the intense warmth of her partner's arousal against her stomach as she held her there and kissed her lips. Slowly she slid Rhonda's body downward until she straddled her hips. Once she felt Rhonnie's curls atop her own she gently pressed the body against her own as she lifted her hips until a slow rhythm was formed.

"That feels good," Rhonnie whispered.

"Does it?" Alex asked, huskily.

Just then Alex rolled them over and slid her hips firmly between her wife's now spread legs. With agonizing slowness she slid herself against Rhonda while pumping at the same time. Taking the fair breasts into her mouth, one at a time, she began to lick and suck to the pace set by her hips. When she felt the moisture level increase she slid down the small body until she could stroke Rhonnie with her tongue.

"Jesus, Alex! Don't stop. God, I love you." She moaned.

Alex could feel her wife was very near the precipice so she sucked her clit into her mouth and slid two fingers into her, pumping and sucking until she felt the body stiffen and heard the muffled cry. Tenderly, she removed her fingers and kissed the sensitive flesh before crawling back up the body of the woman she loved more than life itself.

Soon they were asleep, in one another's arms, as they had always dreamed it would be.

Mickey watched the two women get out of the car and go inside. Everything was going just as he planned it this time. There would be no last minute screw-ups with this one. No unannounced schedule changes. It wasn't his fault the Byrons got hurt, he told himself. They weren't even supposed to be there. How the hell does someone elope on a fucking cruise ship the day before their wedding? This was probably the brainstorm of a Stoner, he figured. No matter. Abigail wasn't a Stoner any more now so he didn't care. Alex was the one he really wanted and killing Rhonnie would just make it all the sweeter. Besides, it would probably kill Abigail when she found out her only remaining daughter was dead anyway. The fact that she was blown to bits in the house she grew up in was sure to make headlines, he thought giddily.

It was important that he not rush things. The timing had to be perfect. He wanted them to know who was responsible but be unable to prevent the explosion or even help one another. No, he thought. It was more than that. He wanted to watch them die. This was going to be good, he thought, as he settled into the car's upholstered seat and waited. He would pull out from behind the trees and into the drive when he saw them in the doorway. Now that he had activated the device, all they had to do was step onto the front steps again. There would be a thirty-second delay before the explosion; just enough time for them to see him grinning at them. He could hardly wait.

Alex peered out the curtains for the third time but nothing looked out of place. She shook her head slightly, mentally scolding herself for being so paranoid. Her imagination must be working overtime, she thought. She had been certain someone was watching her but there wasn't a car or suspicious character in sight. She returned her attention to her partner.

"Alex, what is it exactly we are supposed to be doing?" Rhonnie asked, looking around the spotlessly cleaned room. "Your mother has no pets other than the fish. That ought to take about thirty seconds. There is definitely nothing to clean. My God, you could eat off the floor in here."

"You wanna?" Alex inquired.

"What?"

"Eat off the floor." Alex grinned as she stretched out across the gleaming hard wood surface.

"You are such a brat. And in your mother's home, no less."

"Spoil sport," Alex whined as she brushed off the back of her jeans.

"What the hell are you brushing off? There probably hasn't been dust in this room since we raced through here in our roller skates." Rhonnie laughed.

"Got our butts smacked as I recall." Alex remembered.

"Nothing wrong with your memory," Rhonda grinned. "So, what are we supposed to do here?"

"Snoop, of course."

Rhonnie laughed at first and then grew more serious. "Alex, is your father's foot locker still around?"

"Sure. Mom's been nagging at me to take it home but I just never seem to get around to it." Alex explained as she walked toward the room that used to be her father's office. She was feeling a little guilty. Alex always felt guilty for not helping her mother more when it came to her father and Anna. For some reason, just thinking about moving their things bothered her. She had never talked with anyone about it before but she felt like disturbing the things they had loved would hurt them somehow. It made no sense and she knew it but that was the way it felt, just the same.

Rhonda had seen that look on her partner before and suspected she understood it better than Alex might imagine. She considered whether to say anything or not.

"I've wanted to see inside that foot locker since I was a little girl," she admitted. "Do you suppose we could take it home with us, Alex?"

Stopping in front of the room in front of the locker as well as several boxes containing things that once belonged to her sister, Alex smiled down at the beautiful woman who shared her life and so much more.

"I love you, Rhonnie. We can take it with us now. Help me load it onto the trolley and we can wheel it out the back. It'll be easier to pick it up from back there."

"Okay," she agreed and went to the closet to get the trolley.

In little more than twenty minutes the two women had managed to load everything up on the large trolley and move it out the back door. Anthony and Alex had put in a concrete driveway last year that ran along the back of the house and into the small alley behind the old garage. When they were kids Adam had let the girls use it as a playhouse after he built the attached garage. It had been years since anyone had used it for anything. Alex didn't even know where the key was anymore.

"Alex, let's pull it out here to the alley. We can use the ramps you made last summer. That way all you have to do is back the truck in and we can push it right onto the truck, trolley and all."

"Great idea," Alex commented as she helped Rhonda push the trolley the rest of the way down the back drive.

There was a loud booming sound. Everything around them was jolted sharply, knocking them both to the ground. Their ears seemed to pop and then vibrate with a dull hum, drowning out the loud shrill sound caused by the screeching of tires as a furious Mickey Lawton fled the scene.

"What the fuck was that?" Alex asked. Shaking her head and snapping her fingers beside her ears, she turned to her wife. "You okay, Baby?"

Rhonnie blinked her eyes and held her palms over her ears and then released them, listening for any change in sound. "I think so," she answered. "What the hell happened?"

Just then a young man came running around the side of the house, yelling. "Alex. I mean, Miss Stoner. I'm so sorry. It was an accident. I was playing with my new boomerang and it got away from me. I've been trying to learn to make it come back and I'm not very good at it. I kind of hit your front porch with it and the next thing I knew the whole place blew up." The boy was panting from running and talking so fast. "My mother called the fire department Miss Stoner but you gotta get your truck moved or it's gonna catch fire for sure."

"Fuck!"

"Alex!"

"Oh. Sorry kid. You didn't hear that, okay Jeff?"

"Yes Ma'am. I mean. No Ma'am. Not a word."

"We're sorry, Ms. Stoner." The Fire Chief said as he slipped from his heavy fireproof coat. "The front portion of the downstairs is pretty much a total loss and the upstairs suffered a lot of smoke damage. We'll file a report later but there's no question that it was arson. The device was under the front steps.

"Hell, Mickey must have had just enough time to plant that thing. He probably thought he would catch Mom on her way out." Alex sighed turning to stare at the still smoldering house.

The firemen were collecting their gear and storing in while the Fire Chief spoke with Alex and the Sheriff Deputies that had responded to the fire.

"Looks like you ladies are lucky you went out the back this time. If you don't mind my asking, what made you go out that way? I mean, your truck was parked out front and all." The Deputy asked still taking notes.

Alex just shook her head. "You know, to tell the truth, it was just a fluke, an odd bit of good luck, I guess. My mom has been trying to get me to move this stuff for years. Today, for some reason, I just did it. I guess my wife made me realize it was time. Once again, she's saved my butt."

"I see," he smiled. "Well don't say it too loud or she'll never let you live it down." He winked.

"Ain't it the truth?" Alex quipped.

"What was that, Alex?" Rhonnie asked from her seat in the truck.

"Nothing, Sweetheart. Just talking about fires and bombs and butts and stuff like that."

"Mmmhmmm." Rhonnie hummed. Alex smiled, even though the Paramedics had checked them both out and said the ringing in their ears would subside soon, somehow she knew her wife's ears were as good as ever.

"Damn it!" Mickey pounded his fists against the steering column. "I ought to kill that little brat. What the hell was that anyway?" He shouted, venting his anger and disappointment at being foiled yet again. "No matter. That would have been too fast anyway. Now that I think about it, this would have been too good for that Stoner bitch. Why should she be allowed to die with her loved one? Better she should ...oh why didn't I think of this before?" He grinned and eased his right foot off the accelerator. Pulling onto the main road, he slowed down enough to match the 40 mph traffic, virtually disappearing.

Chapter Twelve

Little more than an hour later, Rhonnie and Alex backed the truck into the drive and wheeled the heavily laden trolley into their garage, locking the door behind them. They decided it would be easier to simply carry each item one at a time than to try to haul in the clumsy cart. The boxes, though heavy, proved to be far easier than the large, bulky footlocker.

"Jesus!" Rhonnie grunted. "This thing must weigh a ton."

Alex managed a chuckle between the winces she was trying to hide from her partner. "Well, I don't think it is quite that heavy but it is damn close. I don't think they even make footlockers this size any more. This one belonged to my grandmother I think. It's probably a fucking antique, now that I think about it."

Rhonda looked up just in time to catch the grimace. She stopped cold and lowered her end of the chest back onto the trolley. Alex instantly felt the weight shift, even before she saw the footlocker drop back onto the cart.

"Alex stop! This is hurting your back." Rhonda commanded.

"It's not that bad. Come on, honey. I'm fine." Alex countered.

"No. Let me think a minute." Rhonnie was serious. She glanced around the interior of their garage and spotted the metal ramp Alex used to load her bike onto the truck. "What if we laid the bike ramp across the doorway and just wheel it into the house? I think the doorway is wide enough and it will be better than lifting it."

Much as she hated to admit it, Alex was in pain. It had been a strain lifting and carrying the boxes and she wasn't even sure she could make it all the way to the door carrying the chest.

"Good idea. That should work out great. It is a wide doorway too. Remember we had them make the doorways wider than usual because some of our friends use wheel chairs or those scooter things when they visit?"

"Yeah, not to mention all the times you are on crutches,that alone was well worth the extra it cost us at the time." She laid the ramp in place and stood on it to make sure it would not shift when weight was put on it. "There. I think that will about do it. You okay, Alex? Don't get mad but you're looking a little pale."

Alex smiled and stood up from where she had been leaning against the cart handle. "I'm okay. I'll get a drink and take something once we get inside. Okay? And I'm not mad. I love the way you look out for me. I just get frustrated when my body won't do what I want it to is all."

Rhonnie kissed her cheek and felt the cool, clammy flesh that was so out of sync with the temperature and activity. "You're going to do it no matter what I say so let's push this sucker inside and get you sat down with a cool drink and a couple of pain killers."

Both women were relieved when they pressed the cart onto the polished floor and felt the blast of cool air from the air conditioning. It was all Alex could do not to stretch out right then and there, sprawling her body across the kitchen floor and absorbing the coolness of the tiles. Fortunately, her wife anticipated the temptation and pulled her into the living room, seating her on the small sofa almost immediately. She dragged a footstool in front of the sofa and lifted Alex's feet onto it.

"I'll be right back with a soda and some Darvon. Don't move."

Before Alex could respond, Rhonda was half way to the bathroom medicine cabinet. "Mug or Dr. Pepper?" She shouted from the kitchen.

"DP," replied Alex. I think I could use the caffeine.

"Ice or straight up?"

"Ice," Alex replied. "Why are you so...good to me?" She chuckled at how fast her wife had appeared in front of her, meds in one hand and drink it the other.

"That's easy," Rhonnie smiled. "I love you! Now, shut up and take your pills so the pain will let up."

"Yes Ma'am. And Ronnie, thanks. I love you too. I always have." Alex kissed the empty hand after taking the two capsules into her mouth. She chased them down with several large swallows of icy cold Dr. Pepper and leaned back into the cushions, waiting for the magic to begin.

About an hour later, Alex opened her eyes and looked around in an effort to get her bearings. She was still on the sofa but her feet now stretched across a pillow that lay on the far end. Another fluffy pillow rested beneath her head and a lightweight blanket had been draped across her while she slept. Pulling herself to a seated position, she reached for her abandoned soda and took a drink. She was surprised to taste that it had been recently refreshed.

"How does she do that?" Alex asked no one.

"She's psychic," came the laughing reply.

"I believe it." Alex chuckled. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost exactly an hour," Rhonnie answered. "How's the back? Still hurt?"

"Feels good. Those pills help a lot if I take them before it gets really bad. Thanks, Rhonnie."

"My pleasure. Now," she grinned. "Now, can we plunder and snoop?"

"Absolutely."

Rhonda pulled the trolley over in front of the sofa, after moving the coffee table out of the way. The boxes could wait for another time. She had wanted to see inside that foot locker since she was a little girl and here it was, finally, in front of her.

She looked at Alex, waiting for her to lift the lid.

"You do it," Alex said. "Just lift the latch and it should open. I want to watch your face. You are so like a little kid about this. I love this side of you."

"Okay," Rhonnie quickly agreed.

There was no lock in the latch so she lifted it, feeling the thin metal in her hands. She noticed the delicate swirls engraved into the latch itself and wondered if they had been put there by a Stoner hand. The palms of her hands slid back and smoothly across the rounded surface of the top of the chest. It felt a bit like leather with the edges and corners, cover in beaten brass, feeling cooler and smoother to the touch, rather like the latch. Once her hands reached each front corner, she began to lift the lid, stunned by its weight.

"Wow," she said. "It's heavier than I expected. "I mean, I know the locker is heavy but I just thought the lid would be kind of light."

"Really?" Alex asked.

"Yeah. Feel it, Alex. It feels heavy, like it has something in it or is made of heavy wood or something."

Alex bent forward and lifted the top of the chest, opening it all the way back until the footlocker sat before them, fully exposed. It was stuffed completely full, including a large storage compartment in the rounded lid. There were three leather straps buckled across the contents, effectively holding them in place. The smell of mothballs and cedar wafted up, rising out of the antique chest like an ancient, invisible spirit and with much the same reception.

"What the hell is that?" Rhonda asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Jesus! I wonder if Mom thinks she put enough mothballs in there. Holy shit. We're gonna have to light some incense or something in here now. Damn, that shit stinks to high heaven." Alex pulled her head back and away from the intense odor.

Despite her burning nostrils, Rhonnie laughed as Alex pulled her shirt up and over her nose and mouth. Alex scowled at the blonde.

"Listen you," she scolded in a muffled tone. "I've been in tear gas raids that smelled better than that."

Rhonnie laughed but managed to light several scented candles around the room and turn on a small fan before resuming her position beside the chest.

"Whatcha got?" she asked Alex who seemed to be holding something in her hands, though Rhonnie couldn't see it.

"I think I have them all," Alex explained as she opened her hands to reveal over a dozen small white spheres. She quickly closed her hands around the offensive objects and the smell immediately grew more faint.

"Wow. That must be half a box. Your mother must have been really concerned about whatever was in here."

"Yeah," Alex said after ridding them of the mothballs. "I think my father's uniforms must be in here. Maybe even his medals from when he was in the service. I'm not really sure what all is in here. I know she said she had some stuff up in the attic but I think most of the really important stuff she put in here. Hell, I think she probably kept everything he had in his office when he died. I know she gave away some of his clothes but that's about it, as far as I know."

Rhonnie carefully opened the small buckle across the lid of the chest and pulled back the thin cloth that lay just beneath them, covering the contents. The leather was dry and there was a line where the closure had been sealed for so long. The heavy blue uniform had faded a bit but, as she lifted it, Alex felt a spray of goose bumps crawl up her forearms. For just a moment, she was there again, being lifted into the air by his strong arms, looking into his smiling face and listening to his laughter as he promised Anna she would be next. Shaking her head slightly she lowered her arms and laid the jacket carefully across the arm of the sofa.

"It's funny." Alex said softly. "Sometimes I almost forget how he looked or smelled or sounded. Then something happens and suddenly he is alive again. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah. He was a good man, Alex. I miss him too. When I was a little girl I used to wish my father would be more like him. He loved you and Anna so much. He would be so proud of you Alex." Rhonda leaned over and kissed Alex on the forehead.

"I hope so." Alex sighed and returned to the lid of the chest where they found her father's full dress uniform with his badge and revolver tucked inside the light blue dress shirt. "I didn't even know she still had his gun. I kind of figured she had his badge somewhere but I never thought about her having his gun. I thought for sure they had asked her to turned it in. I wonder if she kept the..."

"Bullets?" Rhonnie asked, holding out her hand with the small objects resting in her palm.

"Damn." Alex whispered. "Where were they?" She asked.

"In the pants pocket," Rhonda answered. "She must have loved him so much, Alex. I mean, she kept everything and look how long she waited to marry again. I'm so glad she and the chief finally realized how much they mean to one another."

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "I'm really happy for them. I'm even glad they eloped."

"Me too." Rhonnie agreed as she turned her attention back to the contents of the chest. "I didn't know your father built models." She commented upon finding the well-wrapped plastic masterpiece.

"He didn't as far as I know. I did though, for about a year when I was eight or nine." She explained. "Oh wow. I can't believe she kept this. It was my favorite. Look at all the details on the wings. You can almost hear the rattle of the gunner. Well, I thought so when I was nine years old," she laughed.

Setting it aside, they looked at the rest of the memories and treasures contained in the beautiful old chest. There were copies of her father's commendations, her parents' marriage license, even Alex and Anna's baby shoes were tucked inside. There were some old magazines and a couple of clippings from old newspapers that they didn't really understand being included. Then, at the very bottom, resting beneath the girls' birth certificate, were four books. They were tied together with a faded ribbon. A small typed note card was attached. The message said, "Alex, in the event of my death, please read these." It was readily apparent that they were journals of some sort, they were each marked on the front:

Alex touched the leather covering and ran her fingers along the embossed lettering. Of all the things they had found so far, this was the only one that truly surprised her. She thought she knew her father fairly well but she had never even considered that he had kept a journal. So much raced through her mind as her fingers continued to trace a lazy path along the soft cowhide.

"Alex?"

Rhonnie was calling her name. She could hear it but she couldn't seem to formulate sufficient sound to reply, yet.

"Alex?"

On about the fifth repetition, Alex found her voice. "Yeah?"

"Are you all right? Did you know your father kept a journal? What do you suppose is in them? Are you all right?"

"I think so. No. I have no idea and I think so." Alex answered as she sat back on the sofa holding all four books to her breast. "I never dreamed he had left anything like this behind. I should have done this when mom first asked me to, years ago. I didn't know. Rhonnie. I just didn't know."

Rhonda sat beside her, pulling Alex close. "It's okay Alex. You have them now. Your mother must not have known either sweetheart. You couldn't have known. No one could have."

"Anna did." Alex replied softly.

The first thing that struck Rhonda as strange about the journals was that the handwriting in all four seemed extremely similar. It was a cross between printing and cursive. As she thumbed through some of the pages of each she watched for any clear changes in the script. None appeared. Rhonnie knew this was an indication that the journals had all been written by an adult. Rather than having been penned over a wide span of years, these books had been written one after another, by the same person during the same general period of their life. If the journals had been written over a lifetime, as one might presume, even by the same individual, small changes in handwriting would be visible. Although most people experience fluctuations in the slant of their letters or certain formations, a notable change takes place between the handwriting of a child, an adolescent and an adult. None of this appeared in these books. Rhonda was certain that Adam had written the journals as an adult but she had no idea what would have prompted him to leave such a notation on them. She knew that any answers that might exist would be found not in looking at or holding the journals but in their reading.

She was interrupted in her thoughts when Alex began to read aloud from the first of the four books.

Yesterday was July 15th. I got a card from Mickey again this year. He didn't sign it, of course, but it was from him. He knows I know who sent it, just as he knows I won't call him on it or report it. It was another of his death threats or, as he prefers to call them, death promises. He's made these every year since James died and I've come to believe they will continue until one or the other of us dies. What I didn't understand before is why it is each year on this particular date.

Today I was sent to help a stranded motorist out by the old cemetery. She got a flat tire while visiting her father's graveside. After I changed her tire I took a moment to look around before returning to my cruiser.

We were just kids when Mickey's mother died so I never really knew the precise date. Her grave marker says she died July 15th. I don't know what this date has to do with me but every year on this day Mickey sends me a note or card. They're always essentially the same. He tells me it is my fault, though he never says what "it" might be, and he promises that he has taken it upon himself to rid the world of Stoners.

For years I have tried to overlook his odd correspondences because we were such close friends as kids. Once we were like brothers but that was a very long time ago. To tell the truth, I hardly even recognize the boy who was my friend so long ago. It's the memory of that boy that I have tried to protect, to honor. Now I am not so sure this has been a wise thing to do. I pray that in my wish to preserve a boyhood dream and friendship I have not brought a nightmare - or worse - upon my family.

This morning I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. Our district used to be quiet, not much trouble found its way onto our streets. But the world is changing and it was only a matter of time until evil found its way here, I suppose.

Last week a road construction crew on the outskirts of town unearthed more than dirt and stone. The authorities were called in to investigate the physical remains of an unidentified male believed to have been the victim of foul play.

I don't know why but I think Mickey is involved, somehow. It's such a strange feeling, as if I could almost touch it but not quite. It's like a movie that you know you saw but you just can't remember when or what it was called. If I'm right, and I pray I'm not, my life and the lives of my wife and daughters could be in danger.

None of this makes a lot of sense to me and perhaps it will all come to nothing but a case of the heebie-jeebies. If so, I will have written this for nothing. If not, I can't even bear to think of it.

Alex sat, stunned and silent, slowly shaking her head. She looked from the pages of the open book to her wife.

"They were friends? My father and Mickey Lawton were friends? How can that be? Could he really have been so different as a child? It doesn't say when he wrote this. He gives the day and the month but not the year. I wonder when it was." She asked in a hushed, somber voice.

"That shouldn't be too hard to find out." Rhonnie said. "There must have been something in the local paper about a road crew finding a body. I mean, that would have been a pretty big story, especially back then."

Alex looked up. "You're right. I wonder if they ever identified the remains. He said they suspected foul play. Maybe they found the killer or, at least, had a full investigation. That would be in the records. Thanks Honey."

"For what?" asked Rhonda

"For bringing me back to earth. For making me realize that for every mystery there are clues and answers. I just have to know where to look." Alex answered.

"Well I think you're probably holding the answers, Alex."

"You could be right. I guess I'll be doing a lot of reading, huh?" Alex grinned.

Rhonda touched the stack of books. "We could read them twice as fast if we split them up. Care to share?"

Alex crinkled her brow. "What if they don't make sense out of order?"

"Well, we can compare notes and you can read the first two while I read the last two. That way, if I have questions I can ask you and you will probably have come across the answers. We can both make notes about anything that strikes us as unusual as well as things that we want to investigate further. If nothing else you might discover why your father left them with that note to you."

"You're right. The books aren't that big. They only look to be about a hundred pages or so each. We can probably get through them tonight and tomorrow we can talk about it and see if things make any more sense. Okay by you?" Alex asked.

"Beats hell out of television," Rhonnie replied.

The ringing of the telephone jolted Rhonda from sleep and she reached beside the bed to answer. That was when she realized the phone wasn't there. In fact, it seemed that nothing was where it should be. She rubbed her eyes and looked around, laughing when she awoke fully enough to comprehend the situation.

"Hello," groaned Alex as she tried to twist the kinks out of her body.

"I woke you. I'm sorry, Alex. I'll call back later." Stanley apologized.

"No, Stanley. Don't hang up. I'm fine. I just fell asleep on the sofa and my body is expressing its displeasure this morning." Alex explained.

"Oh. Okay, but morning was over about an hour ago." He teased.

Alex looked at the clock, surprised by the hour.

"Damn," Alex said. "I must have read all night. The last time I looked at the clock it said four, I think. So, how are you doing Stanley? You want to get together for dinner later?"

"Sure," he answered. "That would be terrific. How about we meet at the Outback by the station house at seven?"

"Which station house?" Alex asked.

"Oh. The one Chief Bartoni took me to right after the trial. He needed to pick up something. Is that okay? If it's too far we can go somewhere else."

"Naw. That's a good place to meet. We both know how to get there and that makes it perfect." Alex smiled.

"You didn't say how you were doing. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just still a bit rattled I think. It was a long drive and I'm still tired too. I'm glad they caught him but part of me just won't rest until he's back in Florence. Ya know what I mean?" He asked.

"I know exactly what you mean." Alex said remembering the explosion at her mother's house. "Get some rest if you can and we'll see you at seven. We're here if you need us Stanley. Talk with you soon." Alex could hear the exhaustion in Wheaton's voice and hoped he would get some sleep now that the crisis was over.

Rhonnie handed her a steaming cup of coffee and slipped onto the sofa beside her.

"Tell me I didn't really sleep on the floor next to this thing all night."

"Sorry baby. You made me promise never to lie."

"Very funny," replied Rhonda.

Two pots of coffee later, they were awake and alert. Each had finished the two journals they had taken to read and gone back over them at least once. Alex had not expected reading the journals to create such strong emotions in her. His words on the pages were so like the man she knew that she hated to close the books. It felt almost like losing him all over again. She had also been surprised to read that he had seen his death coming, had actually expected it to come sooner than it did. There was so much information on the pages she had read. She wanted to share it with Rhonnie and to hear about what her partner might have learned. Since Rhonnie had read the things written latter, Alex knew there was probably even more about his suspicions concerning the danger he felt he and his family faced.

It was decided that the best thing to do would be for each to read aloud the sections that had struck them as being especially important. That way they would both have the same information and be better able to find any clues Adam had left for them. Perhaps there were others, clues he was not even aware existed. They spent the remainder of the day sharing passages from Adam Stoner's journals.

Thursday...

I've been thinking about how little my family knows about my childhood. It might be important for them to know more about how Mickey and I used to be the very best of friends. I don't know if it will ever be important or not but, just in case, I will try to put some of it in words.

When I was four years old my mother and father bought a small house outside Colorado Springs. It was nothing fancy, judging from the few photographs I've seen but to me it was the grandest place on earth. Part of that was because my folks were really terrific parents but another big part of it was that my best buddy lived three houses from us. His name was Mickey Lawton and we were practically inseparable.

Mickey's father was a large man who always seemed to be in a bad mood. His name was Michael and I later learned he had a problem with alcohol but that was only one of the things the Lawton household dealt with on a daily basis. Michael Lawton was an abusive brute of a man who beat and emotionally battered his wife and terrorized his two children.

Mickey had a younger brother named James. James seemed to be the focal point of much of Michael Lawton's rage almost from the time he was born. I remember that once, when James was only a baby, Mickey's mother, Mary, brought the baby to our house. She was crying and her face was bleeding around her mouth and nose. She begged my mother to keep the baby and she wasn't talking about babysitting either. I remember because I was all excited about having a baby brother. My mother was great. She made Mary sit down and have dinner with us and she stayed the rest of the evening.

Mickey was with her and that was the first time I realized just how much he loved his mother. He was very protective of her and raced around the house trying to anticipate her every need. At the dinner table he watched her carefully and never took a bite of food until after she did. He sipped his tea at the same intervals she sipped hers. When Mary announced it was time to go home, Mickey's face paled and his small body stiffened but he followed her without question.

That was the last time we saw Mary Lawton alive. A day or so later she had some kind of accident and died. My father said she had fallen and hit her head and that it was a horrible tragedy. He told me not to mention it to Mickey unless he asked but to be nice to him right now because it was a difficult time for he and his family. I remember my mother glaring at my father at the time and my father shrugging his shoulders in response. My mother never did say anything about it but was always checking on the boys to be sure they had food to eat and things like that. They were always included in family outings but Michael Lawton usually said they had something else to do.

Mickey seemed angry with me after his mother died but my father said he was just mad at the world and to be patient with him. It must have worked because things did get better and our friendship grew even closer over the years that followed.

All through grade school we did everything together, often taking little James along with us. We learned to swim together, the three of us, at the local YMCA one summer. We caught our first fish in Old Man Granger's Pond. You never saw three boys run faster than we did when Old Man Granger caught us and came after us with his old shotgun. I think James actually outran Mickey and I as we raced back to the woods and home. Granger must have told Michael about it though because the next day Mickey sported a black eye and James couldn't even wear a shirt because his back was covered with painful red whelps. His face was a mess from the obvious beating he had taken and his mouth was so swollen and sore he could only get water down by drinking through a straw.

My mother was so furious she threatened to phone the police but my father reminded her how they had reacted when she went to them about the "other thing". Many years later I learned that the "other thing" was Mary's death, which my mother considered suspicious to say the least. In fact, I believe her comment to my father was "bullshit dear. He killed her sure as shit." At the time I thought it was hilarious to hear my mother cuss like that. Now I understand her frustration and anger.

When Mickey and I were in high school we decided to become cops. I wanted to do something to help change things and, to be perfectly honest, I wanted to be able to protect people like Mickey and James and even Mary. I don't know why Mickey wanted to be a cop. I thought his reasons were similar to my own. Gradually it became apparent this was not the case.

One day, about half way through the police academy training, we were doing an exercise designed to help us in a hostage or stand off situation. In the exercise, a man was holding his wife and young children at gunpoint, threatening to kill them and then take his own life. Our job was to determine the best way to disarm the man without him or the hostages being harmed. Part of the exercise was that we had to decide on a course of action and then carry it to a satisfactory conclusion.

Mickey seemed lost in his thoughts while the others took their turn and was startled when his name was called. Naturally, he had not been permitted to see what the others had done. I don't think any of us were prepared for what happened next. He never batted an eye or hesitated to consider any alternatives but walked directly into the house. Mickey simply opened fire, killing all the hostages and the suspect. When he stopped firing, he calmly said: "There. Now they're all better off."

After that, Mickey was given lots of tests and asked to attend counseling sessions with a shrink. He fought it but, in the end, he was told that he was not an acceptable candidate. They strongly advised him to seek help but he insisted he didn't need help. They even went so far as to tell him there was no reason he couldn't apply again if, in the future, things changed.

Mickey was furious. He said it was my fault and that I should have explained to them that he had done nothing wrong. I tried to be patient and understand but the truth was I didn't understand. Mickey's immediate response to all this was to get drunk. He wasn't living at home any more by then but he still went by every day to check on James who was in high school at the time. I think now that he went there so often to be sure Michael hadn't killed James because the man beat the boy almost daily. Even though Mickey was going to the bars and getting drunk every day he still went by the house every night.

James worshipped Mickey. To him, Mickey was the world and could do no wrong. He wanted to be just like his big brother. So, after his father went to work one afternoon and after Mickey had come and gone, James sneaked out to bar hop with some of his buddies. By the time we were called things had gotten a bit out of hand. Several of the boys had been drinking from a bottle of scotch whiskey they had stolen from their parents' house and were too drunk to even stand up any more. James was one of those who had been drinking from the same bottle but had not yet fallen. When the fifth of whiskey ran dry, James decided to talk one of the patrons of the bar to go inside and get them another bottle. Apparently, up to that point, the boys had been parked outside in an old pickup truck but had been too smart to actually enter the establishment. Well, the man in question took offense and an argument soon became a brawl. The bartender called the police because he was afraid someone might get seriously hurt.

When we arrived I recognized James immediately as did the others. We tried to reach Mickey to come and get his brother but he didn't answer the phone. We even sent a cruiser to his apartment but he wasn't home. We delayed things by moving James to the end of the line while everyone was processed. Those whose parents came were released into their custody but those whose family did not arrive were to be sent to the juvenile detention center until they could be reached. It was a matter of protocol, rules.

Some of the guys suggested we call Michael to come get James but I was afraid of what his father might do to the boy if he were called at work. Everyone knew the man beat the boy so no one really wanted to call him if we could avoid it. After trying to reach Mickey for four hours, it was decided that James would be taken to the detention center but only until we could reach Mickey. No one dreamed the boy would be beaten and raped by older boys only hours after being admitted.

In the quiet and terror of that night, alone and frightened, James slipped the leather belt from his jeans and hung himself from the water pipes that ran across the ceiling. He was fifteen years old.

It was not until the next night that Mickey learned anything had happened. He came by the house for his usual check up of James only to find a police car waiting for him. He was devastated and furious, ranting and raving about how I should have protected James and this was all my fault, somehow. He kept shouting about how I was never there when he needed me and if it were not for my family his mother would still be alive. Then, James would be safe, too.

The funeral was a small and somber affair. Michael Lawton never showed up. In fact, he never returned to the area at all. Everyone just assumed he had run off somewhere, lost in his grief. Mickey stood alone, refusing to even speak to anyone else but especially my family or me.

It wasn't long after that he left the area. I heard he had gone to attend college in some other state but he never called or wrote. Years later, when his name started popping up in cases in Denver where I had moved after joining the force there, I knew I had not seen the last of Mickey Lawton.

If I had known then what I do now, I would have packed up and moved...to Alaska.

Alex let the journal quietly drop into her lap. Rhonda sat back, feeling her body lean into the cushions for the first time since Alex had begun to read aloud from her father's journal. She reached over to take her partner's hand and was startled to find it chilled and icy to the touch.

"Alex? Honey, are you all right? Your hand is freezing!"

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just a little numb, ya know? I had no idea my father even knew Mickey. It's so strange Rhonnie. Part of me is glad we found these and another part wishes we could stick them in the dirt somewhere and pretend they never existed."

"I know," Rhonnie soothed. "But I keep thinking about your father. He was such a busy man; at least, that's how I remember him."

Alex nodded. "Yeah, he really was always doing something or going somewhere, usually to help someone. You know, now that you mention it, I don't remember seeing him just sitting and watching television, even once. Odd how I never thought of that before."

Rhonda agreed. "Me either. He was always busy but he also always seemed to have time for us. You know, we were forever bursting into his office or running up to him when he worked in the yard or on a car and he never once yelled at us or told us he didn't have time."

"Yeah. I always remember him as a very loving and giving man. I can't honestly say I've met many like him." Alex smiled.

"Trust me, Sweetheart. Your father was one of a kind. I've always felt lucky to have known him." She paused. "But Alex, I was thinking about these journals. Four of them, Alex. Think about how much time it must have taken him to put all this down. He must have done it at night when we were sleeping because he was too busy to have done it any other time."

"Yeah?" Alex knew Rhonda was getting to something.

"Well I am trying to think like you taught me. I am looking for the motive. He must have had a good reason to spend so much time writing this all down and then there is the note he left you. It was addressed to you, specifically. To me, that means he expected you to be the one to get and read the journals."

"Hmmm." Alex thought about what Rhonnie was saying.

"Your father knew you very well. He knew Anna and he certainly knew Abigail. His best friend and partner was Anthony but it was you to whom he left the note and journals. I could be wrong here but I think it was because you were always the most like him. I believe he thought you would have the best chance of understanding what was in his head. We don't really know when he wrote these but my guess is, that at least part of it, was in the last year or two of his life. By then he knew you and Anna were probably going to be cops. He also knew you wanted to be a detective. You both did. I don't know Alex. I feel like there is a lot we don't understand yet but I am more convinced than ever that there is something missing. Some detail we haven't uncovered yet that will make it all fall into place."

"I think you're right. You know what I hate?" Alex asked.

"My being right?" Rhonnie teased.

"That too," Alex laughed. "No. Really I hate learning that Mickey wasn't always evil incarnate. I really hate that his father was a prick and his brother died and anything else that might give him some kind of excuse for being such a murdering, heartless, unfeeling bastard. I'm surprised his lawyer hasn't brought any of this up, trying to play the 'society is to blame' card or some such bullshit."

"I don't think his lawyer knows." Rhonda said. "And lots of people have assholes for parents but they don't all go around killing people. No. He is as big a monster as ever."

"Well, that was the section I read that stuck in my mind the most. There are a lot of places, in the two I read, where I learned things, but that part just stuck with me. I guess it's because I could feel the pain in his words. It must have hurt him a lot to have his best friend become his worst enemy. To have someone he loved and trusted turn on him and endanger everything he held dear must have been almost unbearable, especially to a man like my father. He always tried so hard to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, ya know?"

"Yeah. I remember that about him, too. Did you get a chance to do any checking on that body he said they discovered?"

"Only a little. I booted up the computer and accessed some of the Sheriff Departments Cold Case files. From what I could find it is still an unsolved murder, but I couldn't find anything to indicate the body had even been identified.. Why?"

"I think your father knew who it was. At least, I think he had a very strong suspicion about the identity of the victim. He was having a lot of trouble getting anyone to listen to him though. Alex, I don't think your father was killed because Mickey hated him. I think he was killed because Mickey feared him."

"Really? What makes you think Mickey Lawton feared my father?"

"Well, maybe not your father so much as what he knew; or, more precisely, what Mickey thought he knew."

Alex turned on the sofa to face her partner, puzzled but interested.

"Here, let me read something to you."

Sunday in July, pre-dawn

It's been over a year since the road crew found human remains outside Colorado Springs. Until yesterday I didn't know the exact location of the find. We had to transport a prisoner to Denver from Pueblo yesterday. When we reached a section of new road, Anthony told me it was only about a quarter of a mile from where they had discovered the body...or what was left of it.

My mouth went dry and my heart pounded. I looked around the area, hoping I was mistaken about the location. I tried to tell myself it had been a lot of years since I was a boy and all the ponds and woods in that area looked alike. The trouble with that kind of logic is that any kid who grew up around here can tell you that the woods don't all look the same and every pond is not alike. The trees are different. The distance from the edge of the woods to the pond varies from place to place. The animal sounds are different in every place, too. All that kept nagging at my brain and the truth, that all men know, spoke loudest of all. Every boy remembers where he caught his first fish. Old Man Granger's Pond. The place they found the body was once the woods between our houses and Old Man Granger's Pond.

This put a whole new spin on the remains they had found, at least in my mind it did.

I asked Anthony if anyone had questioned the old man who owned the property. He said they would have but the old guy had died about four years ago and the property had been left to some grand niece or something or other and she sold it to the state. Now she lived in Arizona and about all they knew about the location was that there had once been a pond there that local boys like to fish in when the old man wasn't looking. He asked if I had ever gone there and I laughed and told him about the day we were chased off by the old geezer and his shotgun. He laughed all the way home.

This morning I checked to see if there had been anything found with the body that might be a clue as to the victim's identity. The only thing in the notes that was listed as remarkable in any way was the absence of teeth or dentures. Cause of death was believed to have been stabbing but no weapon was found. The body had deteriorated to such a degree as to make identification very difficult given the fact that the crime scene was also the site of a major highway project. Any evidence that might have existed was believed to have been long since destroyed.

I closed the file and went to my Chief. I told him I believed I knew the identity of the remains found by the highway crew. He asked me who I thought the victim was and then he needed to know what evidence had led me to that conclusion. The investigators did look into what I told them but could find nothing in the evidence to indicate the victim had been Michael Lawton.

In fact, I was assured, they had gone so far as to question Michael Lawton's one remaining relative, a Mickey Lawton. They said Mickey was an up and coming businessman in the community and had even once considered joining the police force in Denver.

I explained that he had been turned down for that position as emotionally unstable. I was informed that the records said he had been excused from the academy due to health reasons when his physical examination revealed a heart problem. I was even shown the doctor's report when I questioned their honesty, insisting that I had been there and knew better. Sure enough, there was a full medical report signed by a reputable physician. There was also documentation that Mickey Lawton had left the academy as a result of physical unsuitability.

I knew it was a lie. I also knew it was a very well planned and meticulously executed lie. It was then that I knew, beyond any doubt, that the decaying bones and rotting cloth belonged to Michael Lawton. Unfortunately, I also knew, it was a truth I would likely take to my grave.

Sunday night...

I have to go to work in a few minutes. I'm pulling the night shift tonight because Pauly's wife just had her baby and we all thought he should be with her.

I don't know if these journals will ever be read by anyone but if they are, I hope it isn't because Mickey has killed us in our sleep or something equally horrible. I don't even know why I have been compelled to write them but I'm glad I have.

Before I started writing in these journals I had never allowed myself to think it all through, to remember. I guess maybe I had been a little bit afraid I would find that Mickey was right and I had somehow failed him or James. I didn't. I know that now.

Michael Lawton failed Mickey. He failed Mary and he failed James. In the end, the person he failed most was probably himself. If I'm right, and I believe I am, the last thing Michael Lawton saw in this life was the face of his oldest son. It was also the face of his killer. That failure, as vast as it was, is nothing to the way in which Mickey failed James. I suspect that is the source of his madness. He is driven to destroy anything and anyone that threatens the grandest lie of them all. It is the lie he tells himself each day when he wakes and each night before going to sleep.

"It isn't my fault."

The trouble with a lie is that there is always someone who knows the truth and the liar must silence them at all cost. The first one to be silenced, of course, is the voice inside that tells them it is a lie.

Each day before I leave the house I kiss my wife and my girls an extra time wondering if this will be the day this truth is silenced. I suppose that is why I wrote these journals...so that the truth will exist somewhere...even when I no longer do.

Rhonda lowered the journal to her lap, almost reverently. She didn't quite know what to say. In all the years she had known Alex, this was only the third time she had ever seen a tear slip from those beautiful eyes. Rhonnie took Alex's hands in hers and squeezed them ever so slightly. Alex didn't speak. She squeezed back and lifted her mouth into a soft smile as a second tear edged its way past her nose and onto her upper lip.

Neither woman spoke for several minutes. Rhonda hadn't even noticed when the tears began to slip from her own eyes but Alex did.

"He died on a Sunday night. Did you know that?" Alex asked.

"Yeah, I remember Alex. It was so horrible. My mother wouldn't let me go over to your house at first. She said we shouldn't intrude on your family in their time of grief. I was so glad when Anna phoned to ask why I wasn't there. I didn't know Sunday night though. I didn't find out until Monday morning when I got up to go to school. I was about to run out the door to get you guys when my father told me not to go next door. I remember, I asked him why not and he said your father had been killed during the night. At first I thought it was some awful joke, just his way of getting even with me for liking your father so much. Then I saw the police car in the driveway."

"Anthony. He didn't want to leave us alone. I think he felt responsible somehow. I know now that is how all cops feel when a fellow officer gets hurt or killed."

"I'm sorry Alex. This must be like losing him all over again."

"It is, in a way. But, in an odd way, it is also like having him back again."

"It is?" Rhonda asked.

"Yeah. In a way it is because I think I know him even better now than I did before. He must have died just a few hours after writing that entry. I wonder when he wrote the note to me or why. I mean, we were only twelve when he died. Anna and I had already started studying the codes and anything we could get our hands on that had anything to do with becoming policewomen. We had even suggested that he and the chief could make things easier on everyone by giving us lessons now so we would be able to pass all the "cop tests" better. They both enjoyed that one."

"I think he knew he was going to die that night." Rhonda whispered.

"What?" Alex looked at her, wide eyed. "How could he have known? I think he knew it was coming but how could he have known it would be that night?"

Rhonda sighed. "I don't know Alex. I just do. That's all."

"How?" Alex insisted.

"I don't know," Rhonda answered. "I can't really explain it. Sometimes I just think people sense it; kind of know it in their bones, so to speak. That is what I mean. I think your father just 'knew' it. I think the same thing that prompted him, even compelled him, to write the journals also allowed him to know he was about to die. It was almost as if someone wanted to be certain the truth would not be lost. I guess that sounds pretty crazy to you, huh?"

"What? You mean like Michael Lawton?" Alex asked, half kidding.

"Or James," came the reply.

Alex thought a moment. Then the words just seemed to float from her mouth, unexpected. "Or Mary."

Stanley sat in the parking lot of The Outback Steakhouse and waited for Alex and Rhonda to drive up. He had been watching the entrance for about twenty minutes when he realized that not only were there two entrances but he had absolutely no clue what they were driving. Glancing down at his watch he had to smile. He could still see Alex snatching his old watch off his arm and smashing it to bits. God, he had been stupid back then, he thought. Noting that it was only six thirty and they were not to meet until seven, he decided to go in and get a table. Maybe he could get something cold to drink while he waited.

"Good evening, Miss Reynolds." The hostess gushed when Alex and Rhonda entered the restaurant.

Rhonnie smiled graciously but said nothing. Alex rolled her eyes and wondered if they would ever be able to go anywhere without her wife being recognized and ogled.

"We're meeting a friend here." Alex explained.

"What's your friend's name?" The hostess asked, clearly directing her inquiry to Rhonda. "Perhaps your friend has already arrived, Miss Reynolds."

"Perhaps so," Alex quipped. "Miss Reynolds," she teased, "why don't you tell her our friend's name?"

Rhonda smacked Alex on the butt. It was a move that did not escape the keen eye of the hostess.

"Miss Reynolds, would you mind terribly if I asked you to sign a napkin for me? I'd really love an autograph. I'm a huge fan."

"Not at all," Rhonnie said as she signed the napkin. "But it isn't Miss Reynolds any more. It's Mrs. Stoner. Mrs. Alexandra Stoner, in fact. My wife and I are meeting a Mr. Stanley P. Wheaton here this evening. Do you know whether or not he has arrived?"

The hostess blinked. Alex grinned. Stanley stood and waved.

"Never mind," Rhonnie said. "I see him now. Could you please send over some ice water? It's very hot out this evening." Rhonda smiled as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. As they walked over to where Stanley stood waving, Alex smacked Rhonda on the back end and winked at the hostess. Maybe she could not have the last word but she could still make a statement.

Rhonnie shook her head and ignored her partner's shenanigans.

"Stanley!" She embraced the very surprised man and kissed him quickly on the cheek, which immediately began to flush. "It's so good to see you again." She said.

"Hey Wheaton! You're looking good. Have you been working out? You look like it. Great to see you Stanley even if the reason does suck." Alex gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then sat down, hoping the others would follow before the whole damned restaurant asked for her wife's autograph.

It was a pleasant meal and the three of them were waiting for dessert to arrive when a rather large group was seated at the tables nearest them. Alex couldn't help noticing that two of the people sported bandages and one of the women was in a wheelchair. Knowing it was rude to stare she quickly averted her eyes and returned her attention to those in her booth.

When the waitress brought the food, she leaned in and whispered.

"Isn't it awful about that woman and her husband? He's still in the hospital, you know. I heard the bomb caught him right in the face. They're going to have to do all kinds of plastic surgery on him. That's his wife in the wheelchair. Poor thing. You know, they only had the chapel because the couple that originally reserved it for that time decided to elope. Some former Chief of Police, I heard."

She spoke so low and so fast that, at first, Alex wasn't sure she had heard her correctly.

"What?" Rhonda asked. "What did you say about a Chief of Police?"

The waitress was thrilled someone was actually listening to her gossip. She was always getting in trouble for chattering, as her boss called it.

"Oh yes," She explained. "Had a foreign sounding name, Rigatoni or something."

Alex snickered.

"Well," she continued. "My sister is a nurse and she said he and his wife had eloped at the last minute and this young couple were given the time slot for their wedding. Talk about your omens. Imagine having the whole damn alter blow up just when you say I do!!"

"Oh my god!" Rhonda gasped.

"No shit," the waitress said, no longer even trying to whisper.

Alex cleared her throat. "Could we have the check please?"

"Oh sure thing. Right away. Sorry. I never do know when to shut my face. I'll be right back with your check."

"Jesus!" Stanley said. "Talk about bad frigging luck. What are the chances some nut will bomb your frigging wedding, for Christ sake?"

"Actually Stanley," Alex said. "That was no nut. That was a farewell present from Mickey Lawton."

"Ah Shit." Wheaton whined.

Alex grinned. "Now that is the Stanley I remember."

Stanley knew it would only be a few days before they relocated him and the chances were good he would never see his friends again. He was relieved to know that Lawton was in custody but he also knew that wouldn't stop someone else in his organization from harming him. As much as he might like to believe he could just move back into his old neighborhood he knew it was not to be. Meeting with Alex and Rhonnie had been wonderful but on the way outside he began to feel melancholy.

"What is it Alex?" Rhonnie asked. "Were you looking for something?"

"Just me being paranoid again, I think." Alex answered while her eyes tracked across the parking lot yet again. "I keep feeling like someone is watching me but when I look there's no one there. I think this whole situation is just creeping me out is all."

"Well, if it's any comfort, I'm having the same problem." Rhonnie explained. "I keep expecting to see a black car lurking in the shadows, filled with marshals who are no doubt referring to me as location zebra."

Alex laughed. "Um, Sweetheart; that would be location Zulu and you would never be anything short of location Alpha to me."

Rhonda gave her a quick peck on the cheek and a hug. Stanley shifted nervously and smiled.

That was when Alex surprised everyone by suggesting they all make a trip to the cabin before Stanley was relocated again. She explained that since no one knew exactly when that would be the best time to go would be right away.

"Are you serious?" Stanley asked.

"Hell yes I'm serious." Alex exclaimed. "This might be our last chance to have some fun together. Besides, I think we could all use a break."

Stanley considered her comment. "Well, as I recall, getting to that cabin of yours is anything but a vacation."

Rhonda laughed. "Stanley. That is because she took you in the hard way and because, at the time, you were running for your life."

"The hard way!" Alex snorted. "Like your way is any easier, smartass."

Stanley laughed.

Alex glared at him. "What are you laughing at, Wheaton? You didn't even know how to row the fucking boat. Well," she tapped her foot. "We're leaving at sunrise. You in or not?"

"Sunrise?" Stanley and Rhonda both whined.

Alex rolled her eyes skyward. "Saints help me. I'm surrounded by wusses."

"We'll pick you up at nine, Stanley."

"Nine?"

"Stanley, remember you heard it right here. The one and only Alexandra Abigail Stoner - whining." Rhonda laughed.

"I was not whining!" Alex insisted. "And if we wait until nine to leave we are going to end up rowing in hundred degree temperatures."

Rhonnie patted her wife on the back and smiled at Stanley as she opened the door to the car. "See you at nine right here in the parking lot, Stanley."

"Aw geeeze, Rhonnie. It will be hot as hell by eleven."

"That's okay Alex. I'll take off my clothes." Rhonnie teased.

Alex smirked and winked at Wheaton as she got into the car. "Oh yeah. That ought to cool things off. NOT!"

Stanley shook his head and wondered if he had completely lost his mind. Was he really going to go up the river again with Alex Stoner? Yep, he thought. At nine o'clock tomorrow morning.

"Nine it is then, you stupid bitch!" Mickey rolled up the windows of the dark blue Mighty Max and slipped from the shadows and onto the road.

"I must say, Alex," Rhonda began. "You really surprised me back there. I don't think Stanley ever dreamed you'd invite him to take another trip to the cabin with you. I know I certainly didn't see it coming." She smiled. "So, Alex Stoner, what the hell is really going on in that sexy head of yours?"

Alex turned just long enough to wink at her partner before returning her full attention to the highway and the morons who had apparently decided to homestead, two cars up. "Come on, assholes." She muttered. "It ain't for sale and it ain't for rent. That there sign is the speed, not the price. Damn tourists!!" Alex smacked the steering column.

Rhonda chuckled. "That's a good one, Alex. But they have Colorado tags so they can't be tourists."

"Probably a rental from Rent-a-Clunker out in Jackass Junction. I hear Buck and Bubba have really good rates."

Rhonnie laughed when the vehicle in question finally moved into the slower lane, leaving behind it a trail of black exhaust and a stench that made her eyes water.

"Fuck!" Alex groaned, adjusting the air conditioning to allow them to breathe less noxious air. As she passed the small car, still belching poison, she shouted at the driver. "Get that POS off our roads, you dickweed!!"

Rhonnie was cracking up. "Gee, Alex. Don't hold back. Tell them what you really think."

Alex glared at her partner. "I will have you know, Ms Comedy Central, that it is fuckers like that who get people killed."

Rhonnie tried to stop laughing. Really she did. She knew Alex was no longer talking about that one vehicle or its driver. They had simply jiggled the nozzle on the pressure-cooker that had been building up heat since she first lifted the lid on her father's footlocker. She watched the bulging vein in the tanned neck and the jaw that clenched and unclenched to the same internal rhythm. It grounded her and she stopped laughing.

"Alex? Honey, are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

"You just passed our exit, sweetheart. You wanna talk about it?

"Fuck! Sorry Rhonnie. I'm fine. Just had my mind elsewhere, I guess." She patted Rhonnie on the leg and took the next exit. "I've been thinking about Dad's journals and that body they found all those years ago. I sent Janice an email this evening asking her to see if she could find anything on it. I can't help wondering if they ever re-opened the case or determined the identity of the victim. Dad thought it was Michael Lawton. I think he was probably right. But there has to be more to it than that."

"Good idea. I've been thinking about it too. You know what else I've been thinking about?"

Alex lifted her left brow, indicating her curiosity.

"Well," Rhonda continued. "I've been thinking about that card...the one attached to the journals."

"Yeah?" Alex pulled into their long driveway.

"I've been thinking about what I never remember seeing in your father's office."

"What?" asked Alex.

"A typewriter."

"Oh, you're good." Alex smiled.

"I am?" Rhonda looked puzzled.

Alex winked. "Better than good, actually," she grinned. "But, getting back to our discussion," she commented with waggling brows. "I thought about the typewriter too. In fact, that is the main reason I want to go up to the cabin but I thought it would be nice to invite Stanley. I kind of want to go right away and I didn't want him to be relocated without us having a chance to spend a little time with him. I don't want him to think we don't care, ya know? I kind of think the little guy's been let down enough by people he once trusted."

"That was very thoughtful and I love you for it. But why go to the cabin? I don't understand what it has to do with your father not having a typewriter in his office."

Alex grabbed two sodas from the refrigerator and handed one to Rhonda on the way to the sofa.

"Dad didn't type. He hated it. My mother used to type all the reports and paperwork he did from the house. He printed everything he did at the office. I remember Anthony teasing him about having the neatest handwriting of any cop he ever knew. My Dad always said it was a self-serving skill he developed because he hated paperwork. When he first started he had to redo his paperwork because no one could read it."

"So you think your mother typed the note?" Rhonnie asked, incredulously.

"Not at all. I think my sister typed it."

"Anna?"

"Yep."

"But why?"

"Because my mother would never have written that note. I'm absolutely certain of it."

"How can you be so sure and why the cabin? I still don't get it." Rhonda scrunched up her face, indicating her confusion.

Alex smiled and took her hand. "My mother would have written Alexandra. Think about it. She is such a stickler for shit like this. If it is written it has to be my actual name. To her, it's some kind of unwritten law or something."

"Wow." Rhonnie thought about it. "You're right. So, why go to the cabin?"

"First, we are going to go through all those boxes we took from Mom's place."

"The ones with Anna's things in them?"

"Yep."

"Are you looking for something in particular? Oh and why would Anna type that note...oh wow. You think Anna knew something, don't you?" Rhonnie asked.

"Yep and yep." Alex grinned when Rhonda smacked her on the thigh. "Well, you asked."

"Spill it. What do you think Anna knew and what are we looking for in the boxes?"

"Remember how we all thought for a long time that Mickey had killed Anna by mistake and then he told us he just let us think that?" Alex asked.

"Yeah. Fucking asshole. He said something about how she should have left things alone or minded her own business or something like that. That was also about the time he admitted he had been responsible for your father's death, wasn't it?" She felt her grip on Alex's hand tighten and noticed the strong jaw clench again.

"Yes it was. I'm guessing that Anna stumbled on something about that body that would have identified it as Michael Lawton. Hell, I don't know. Maybe she found some kind of evidence or information linking Mickey to it somehow. Whatever it was, we can be sure of one thing." Alex explained.

Rhonda listened carefully but couldn't help remembering her best friend "What's that Alex?"

"It got her killed," she whispered.

Four and a half hours later they sat in their living room, surrounded by their childhood. Adolescence lay neatly off to the right with college years and the police academy taking up the entire left side of the large room. Empty boxes and discarded soda cans were scattered haphazardly on the outer edges, standing like sentinels, guarding the memories housed within what had become, albeit temporarily, the sacred shrine of one Anna Abigail Stoner.

"Well, Alex," Rhonnie began. "We found roller skates, tennis balls, two softballs, a baseball with autographs on it we can't even identify any more, petrified Juicy Fruit, something I pray was Milk Duds, 6 yearbooks, more photographs and newspaper clippings than I care to think about but no journals, diaries or even notebooks with anything in them to indicate what Anna was doing the last year of her life."

"Exactly." Alex said as she leaned back and took a large swallow of warm Dr. Pepper.

"I must say," Rhonda stated. "You seem rather pleased about it. I thought you said Anna would have kept a written record of whatever she was investigating."

The brunette grinned nearly from ear to ear. "Yep."

"Okay Stoner." Rhonnie laughed, knowing her partner was up to something. "Why are you so happy about not finding what we just spent hours looking for?"

Alex sat up and kissed her wife. "Because now I know I was right about going to the cabin."

Rhonda blinked. "Of course. You think Anna hid something in the cabin."

"Yep." Alex said. "I sure do. In it or near it. I remember now why she had to borrow my car."

"That's right. Anna had borrowed your car. I remember, at the time, thinking how strange that was because she was just like you about her car. She even changed her own oil because she wouldn't let strangers tinker with her baby. I never did ask. What ever happened to her car?"

"Oddly enough, it burned up in a fire at the garage where she had left it."

"Anna Stoner left her car in a garage?!" Rhonnie's eyes widened.

"She hadn't had much choice. Her brakes started acting up about a mile out when she was on her way back. She had gone up to the cabin for the weekend and it was Sunday afternoon. When she tapped her brakes going into that first downhill curve she noticed the pedal didn't feel right; it went too far down. She pumped slightly after that and watched in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, there was a trail behind her. Anna called me on the cell and asked me to call the auto club for her and send someone out to tow it. The only one I could find who was willing to tow her right away was the owner of a garage about 20 miles from where she was stuck. I didn't want her stranded up there until I could get there so I called her back and told her what I'd found. She was pissed but she agreed it was the only real option since it would get dark up there soon and she didn't want to be stuck up there waiting for some damn mechanic. He'd agreed to pick her up immediately if she let him do the repair work. She had to run errands that night so I let her borrow my car. You pretty much know the rest."

"Yeah but the garage had a fire? When? What the hell are the odds on that happening?" Rhonda was trying to grasp this new information.

"They had a fire around midnight that same night; burned the place to the ground. No one thought much about it at the time since fires in that kind of environment are not uncommon and they usually do pretty much destroy the place. So many combustibles tend to keep a fire burning and the location made it hard for the fire trucks to get there. I didn't even think about the significance until I tried to retrieve her car so Mom could donate it to be auctioned off according to Anna's instructions."

"Anna left instructions to auction off her baby?" Rhonnie was amazed.

Alex chuckled. "Yeah, shocked me too. She asked that it be auctioned off and the funds be given to the Widows and Children's Fund. Mom donated the insurance money instead. The guy had good insurance, I'll give him that much."

"Did they?"

"Oh yeah. They investigated him. He came up clean; stupid, but clean. I figure Anna was supposed to die on the way down the mountain that afternoon. It would have just looked like another motorist taking the turns too fast. Up where we were there didn't use to be any guard rails so she would have probably have gone over and it might have been days before they found the car. Whoever cut the brake line most likely torched the garage when the car didn't go over. They could have been watching or maybe they heard the cell call or the radio on the tow truck. We'll never know for sure how they knew but I'd bet money that Mickey was behind it. He figured she would have whatever information or evidence she had collected in the car with her."

"And you think she didn't? Right?"

"You knew Anna better than almost anyone. What do you think?"

Rhonda thought about it for a minute. She looked around the room, remembering the woman who was her dearest friend in the world. Anna was the kind of woman who had kept a secret nearly all her life, two secrets actually. What if she had discovered a secret that might have held the answer or even a clue to the answer to who had killed her father and why? What would Anna have done, she asked herself? Would she have told someone? No. Anna would not have talked about it until she was certain of her information. Would she have trusted her memory as the only source of her discovery and data? No. Anna was too good a cop for that. Alex was right again. Anna would have kept a journal, especially about this. She would never have been so trusting as to carry it with her either. In fact, Anna would have kept more than one record!

"Alex! Anna's old laptop...where is it?" Rhonda exclaimed.

"Now we're on the same wavelength," Alex smiled. "It burned up in the fire. Hard drive was still inside and there were five floppies melted into what was left of the case. I figure the only way anyone could copy Anna's computer data would be to steal or borrow her laptop or through a modem of some kind. I happen to know she removed the modem to keep herself from surfing the internet when she should be working. If anyone had stolen her laptop we would have all heard about it and since it was surgically attached to her two days after you gave it to her, I cannot imagine anyone borrowed it without her knowledge."

Rhonnie laughed. "I had so hoped she would like it. I searched for months for Christmas presents that year. I wanted them to be special."

"Yeah?" Alex teased. "I notice I didn't get a laptop."

Rhonnie smacked her on the leg. "No, you certainly did not. You got a hand-tooled leather holster and riding boots to match along with a genuine Colt 45 made in the 1800's. I know because I dust the glass case you keep the gun and holster in. I'm glad you still wear the boots, Alex. Did you ever master that spin and quick draw you liked so much?"

"I did," she answered. "Remind me to show you sometime."

"I will. Okay so the laptop is out. Then I'd say we need to find her notebook because you and I both know she had a backup for anything she put on the laptop. Ah," Rhonnie nodded. "You think she would have been too smart to keep the laptop and the backup in the same place. Good thinking. I agree. Anna would have hidden her hard copy because she wouldn't have risked anyone finding it before she had checked all her data. The question is, where in the cabin would she have hidden it that no one has found it already?"

"No one has looked for it, Rhonnie. Other than us, and Lawton apparently, no one even knew she had anything. The marshals only looked for anything that might have been related to her murder. Until a couple of years ago it was presumed to have been a hit intended to kill me. Anthony said she had been helping clear up some old cases that were still open but he wasn't aware of anything dangerous about the work. He did tell me later that one of the files had come up missing but nothing more was ever said about it so I figured they had found the file. I don't want to call him on his honeymoon about this so I am going on the hunch that the missing file is the John Doe remains discovered by the road crew decades ago."

"God. I wonder what she found and why Mickey killed her over it. I mean, it's not like he hasn't killed a lot of people and from the way your father's journal makes it sound his ass-wipe of a father needed killing. Sorry. It just doesn't seem like Mickey cares if everyone knows he's a murderer."

"Yep, I thought about that too. I just have a feeling that whatever she found out was more important to Mickey than the fact he killed his father."

"If he killed his father, Alex. We don't really know that's what she found."

"No, we don't." Alex conceded. "But we will soon."

"You're that certain?" Rhonnie asked.

"Yep."

"Alex?"

"Hmmm?"

"It's after midnight."

"Yep."

"What are we going to do with all this stuff?"

"Tonight?"

"Well, yes tonight." Rhonda answered, looking around.

"Not a bloody thing," came the reply.

Alex stood up, carefully remaining just in front of where she had been seated. She turned and leaned down, placing her good shoulder closest to the sexy blonde. Carefully, she pulled her wife up, bending the small body over her shoulder. Slapping the cute bottom, she waggled her brows.

"Ready to go to bed?" she asked.

"Your back! Alex, put me down this instant. You're going to hurt yourself." Rhonnie complained.

"Pain pills," laughed Alex. "Gotta love em. Ya ready?"

"You're joking!" Rhonnie giggled. Alex, this room is an obstacle course!" she objected.

"Well then," Alex smirked. "Aren't you lucky? You're married to someone who's a trained expert in getting through obstacle courses."

"Yes. Well, but not carrying a full grown woman, I'll wager."

Alex lifted her brow.

Rhonnie rolled her eyes. "Great," Rhonda sighed. "Now I understand that look that passed between you and Janice, don't I?"

"Not likely," Alex laughed as she made her way across the room and toward the stairs.

"Really?"

"Really." Alex answered. "Janice wasn't even in my obstacle training class."

"Oh, for ...I give up," moaned Rhonnie.

"Good. I love it when you surrender to me," quipped Alex as she flopped her wife onto the bed.

"You're incorrigible!"

"Don't you mean, insatiable?" Alex wiggled her eyebrows as she lowered herself onto Rhonda's warm body.

Rhonnie smiled up into her lover's eyes. "Are you?"

"Wanna find out?"

"Absolutely."

Despite all her pleas and arguments, Rhonda had been unable to persuade Alex to take another route to the cabin. Alex insisted that since this was Anna's favorite way to go, it was important they travel the same path. She had however agreed to return using any route Rhonnie cared to select.

Having made this journey once before, Stanley had gone by a drug store the night before and purchased the strongest insect repellent he could find. On his way out the door that morning he had sprayed it everywhere he could reach. He felt confident this would be sufficient since he had already sprayed all his clothing, including his underwear, at least three times.

"What is that smell?" Rhonnie asked.

"Is that you, Wheaton?" Alex glared at him.

"Um. Well..uh..I... remembered all the bugs and..uh," he stammered.

"Bug spray?" Alex scowled. "Good thing we aren't being tracked, isn't it?"

"Stop it, Alex. You aren't on duty here and I, for one, would love something to keep these damned mosquitoes off me. Care to share, Stanley?" Rhonnie asked, swatting at her forearms.

"You bet!" he shouted. Digging into his cargo pockets, he presented her with a small green and white container.

Rhonnie generously sprayed her exposed flesh and then gave a quick pass at her clothing before handing the can to Alex. After setting the last of their gear in the rowboat, she accepted the can and, aiming the nozzle at her bare arms, she pressed. There was a tiny spattering of droplets, followed by the sound of rushing air...empty, non-bug repelling air.

"Figures," she said before stowing the empty can in her own pocket.

Stanley and Rhonnie looked at one another and winced. "Sorry Alex." The apology was delivered in stereo.

"It's okay," she mumbled. "Let's get going before it gets any hotter."

Soon they were moving upstream at a smooth and steady pace with Alex and Rhonda both rowing and Stanley matching their rhythm with irritating small talk and questions about the Broncos.

A small voice inside her head whispered to her: "Shut up, Alex. You invited him!"

Miles away, in an air-conditioned hotel room, Mickey Lawton spoke into a cell phone.

"You do what I told you?" he asked.

"Yeah Boss. We're in the woods about a quarter mile from the cabin. You sure you don't want us to take her out, Boss?" asked the man in the dark green shirt.

"I'm sure, you idiot. Just stay where you are and watch the fucking cabin. Keep your trap shut, don't light any fires and no smoking cigarettes. That's how she spotted the last morons I sent up there."

"Okay Boss. No sign of them yet though."

"Of course not. I told you she wasn't even leaving town until nine. It will be near dark when they get to the cabin. Just keep an eye on things and when they get ready to leave, tell me."

"Okay Boss."

"And stop calling me...you dumb fucker. You're not supposed to hang up until after I do. Idiots," he muttered. "Why am I always surrounded by idiots?" He closed the cell phone and snapped up the remote, turning on the television.

"Did you hang up on the boss?" The young man with the dirty blonde hair asked.

"I thought he was done."

"Did he hang up first? Did you hear the line click or go dead?"

The larger man thought about the question. "No."

"Then you hung up on him," said the blonde.

"Aw shit. Ya think he noticed?"

"Just don't fuck up this assignment. I heard he doesn't give second chances."

"Aw shit." He picked up the binoculars and returned to watching the woods around the cabin, determined that if so much as a raccoon went near that place, he was gonna know about it.

That was where they sat, just the two of them, in that same spot, not moving, watching the cabin. When the small light began to flicker in the window of the cabin, just after sunset, something dawned on the blonde.

"Um, Doug. Do you suppose the boss meant for us to watch the cabin from different sides?"

"Huh?"

"Well, if'n we're both watching from this here side, how we gonna see if they come in from t'other side?"

"Aw shit."

Just after sunrise the next morning, Stanley woke to the smell of coffee and cinnamon. He had slept on the couch Alex had once threatened to destroy and could hear hushed voices, which he recognized as belonging to Rhonnie and Alex. Thinking they might need a little privacy, he pretended to be asleep, giving them a few more minutes alone together. He told himself it was the least he could do and that he wasn't really eavesdropping because, after all, he couldn't help hearing their conversation.

"Any ideas where you want to look now?" Rhonda asked.

"Well, I think we need to check the chimney better. I couldn't really see it very well last night."

"And under the couch. We didn't turn it upside down last night and I think that is a place Anna might have used." Rhonda suggested.

"Good idea," said Alex. "I need to chop some wood for the barbeque pit so we can cook out there tonight. I'll check out by the woodpile when I do that. Can you check the kitchen again and around the outside of the cabin itself?"

"Sure." Rhonda agreed. "Do you think we should check the roof?"

Alex laughed. "No. I think it's a fairly safe bet that Anna would not have climbed up on top of this old cabin to hide it. She would have put it somewhere she thought you and I would look but that no one else was likely to think about. Any ideas where that might have been?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'd have bet the farm on that spot under the mattress or in the bed frame. Anna had such a wicked sense of humor and she always believed we would be together one day." Rhonnie said.

"My money was on the spot under the floor or inside the coffee maker. At one point last night I even checked the cupboards for old Dr Pepper bottles because it would have been just like her to dump out my DP and stick a note in its place. That was when I knew I needed some sleep."

Stanley couldn't hold back the snicker.

"You're up!" Rhonnie said, smiling at his Sylvester Pajamas.

"Morning, Wheaton." Alex offered. "Hungry? Rhonnie made French toast with cinnamon. It's wonderful."

Stanley stretched as he padded across the floor to the small kitchen.

"Coffee?" Alex asked as she took another mug from the cabinet.

"Yes please." Stanley replied. "And some French toast sounds great. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Sleep well?" Rhonnie asked as she placed a plate of hot French toast in front of him.

"Mmm. Yeah," he said around a mouthful of breakfast. "I heard you talking. Did you guys lose something? Can I help you find it? God, I can't believe how much better I feel knowing they have Lawton back in jail. It was so weird seeing him on the news night before last. He looked so different. I mean, I've never seen him in jeans and a ball cap before."

"What?" Both women asked at the same time.

"Oh yeah," he answered around another mouthful. "They caught him on camera as they took him into the jail, I guess. He was looking pretty ragged, too. He must have been holed up there for a while from the way he looked. He had on cowboy boots and jeans but it was the baseball cap that really threw me. To tell you the truth, I never much took him for a football fan but to wear a Washington Redskins cap in Denver. Well, that just kind of stuck in my mind cause I sure never expected it, ya know?"

"There's a reason for that, Wheaton!" Alex strode across the room and grabbed her cell phone.

"Really?"

"Really," answered Rhonda. "What are you gonna do, Alex?"

"Before or after I snatch someone's balls through the fucking phone?"

"Calm down, Alex. Maybe he's changed. Maybe it's a trick and he wore the hat on purpose just to throw us off?"

"I don't think so honey. Wheaton, get dressed. Okay?"

"Alex, you're starting to scare me. What's wrong?" Stanley asked as he went to get dressed.

"Nothing but my paranoia, I hope." Alex answered.

Matt rubbed his eyes and looked at the red numbers on the alarm clock. Zero six, zero, zero. "Six o'clock in the morning." He mumbled. "Who the fuck is calling me at six in the morning? Hello?"

"Matt, stop cussing the phone and wake up. I need you to tell me they definitely have Lawton in custody." Alex demanded.

"Alex, of course he's in custody. The director called you himself, remember?"

"I know that Matt. What I need you to tell me is that they really have him."

"You're losing me Alex. What do you mean really have him?"

"Matt, was the man they captured wearing a hat?"

"A hat? Jesus Fucking Christ, Alex. You call me at six fucking o'clock to fucking ask me if he was wearing a fucking hat! What the hell is fucking wrong with you? How the hell do I know what the fuck he was wearing? I was in your fucking living room, remember?"

"Yes, Matt. I fucking remember just fine. Call someone, Matt. Find out. I need to know if the man they arrested was wearing a hat and, if he was, what method of verification did they use? How did they verify that the man they had in custody was Mickey Lawton?"

"Aw Jesus, Alex." Matt groaned as he pulled on his trousers with the hand not holding the telephone to his ear. "They'll hang my ass from the flagpole for asking if he had on a fucking hat."

"Yeah, well if the man they arrested had on a fucking hat and I'm right, they'll lower you down off the fucking flagpole and give you a fucking medal."

"They will?"

"Yeah, because if the man they arrested was wearing a hat and I'm right, then they didn't arrest Mickey fucking Lawton."

"Jesus! No offense, Alex, but I hope you're wrong."

"Me too, Matt. Me too."

"I'll call you when I find out."

"Use my cell. I'm not at home."

"Not at home? It's fucking six in the morning. Where the fucking hell can you be at six in the fucking morning?"

"Up the river."

"Jesus!"

"Just call me."

"Will do. And Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch your back."

"Will do. Oh, and Matt, one more thing. Wheaton is with us."

"Aw Jesus, Alex."

"Just call me."

"Fuck. I mean, will do."

"Gone."

"Fuck." He muttered as he hung up the phone. "Jesus, I hope she's as full of shit as a port-o-potty at a State Fair."

Twenty minutes later Alex felt her pocket vibrate and snatched her cell out, bringing it to her ear.

"Matt?"

"Yeah, it's me." He said. "You have any fucking idea how much fucking trouble I'm in? I just woke up the fucking director and he is not a happy fucking camper, Alex."

"And?" she asked.

"And he said to tell you that he has no fucking idea whether or not Lawton was wearing a hat or gloves or a mother fucking pink tutu but he said one thing is certain and that's that this fucking bastard is in fucking jail and what the hell are you doing in the woods with a federally protected witness? That is pretty much an exact quote, Alex."

"Pretty much?"

"Yeah I fucking left out the part where he reamed me a new asshole, okay?"

Alex chuckled. "Sorry Matt. I owe you one."

"An asshole?" He asked.

"Very funny. Thanks buddy."

"Don't think I won't collect, Alex. You owe me big for this."

"I know, Matt. Sorry. I think my paranoia is working overtime lately. It's the training I guess. Once a cop, always a cop. I tell ya, everywhere I go, I think someone is watching me. Christ, I even thought someone was in the damned trees with fucking binoculars last night. It's a relief to know they've really got the bastard. Now maybe I can relax."

"Well don't get too relaxed. Director Haynes said you better have that witness back before anyone goes looking to relocate him."

"I know. Thanks Matt. We'll be back in a day or two."

Alex looked at Rhonda and Stanley. The relief she felt was almost physical. In the back of her mind something twitched and wriggled, trying to get her attention. She walked over to a chair and sat down, taking a drink of cold coffee. If Director Haynes said they had him it must be true. She looked at Rhonda and Wheaton, still obviously shaken from even the possibility of Lawton being out there somewhere. Alex knew she was at least partly responsible.

"I'm really sorry I scared you guys. Matt called the director and Mickey is definitely in custody. I don't know what the deal is with the hat but I guess I just over-reacted. Sorry."

Stanley spoke up first. "Nothing to apologize for Alex. I trust your instincts any day."

"Me too, doubled. Besides, I read the journal too and I still think the hat means something. We just don't know what...yet." Rhonda added.

"What journal?" Stanley asked.

Alex surprised even herself by answering him without hedging. "My father's."

Rhonnie looked at her wife. She knew how private Alex usually was about things involving her father. Whether he knew it or not, this was quite a compliment, coming from Alex.

"Alex, I'm sorry." Stanley said. "I didn't mean to pry. You've done so much for me. I've come to think of you as a friend."

"I am your friend, Wheaton. You aren't prying, not really." Alex assured him. "Rhonnie and I recently found some journals my father left that gave us some background on Lawton we didn't have before. Now that I think about it, I guess I should tell the authorities about them. I'll do that as soon as we get back. It's not as if any of it is going to be new information. I think the chief knew everything that's in them; he and dad probably wrote it up in triplicate or something." She smiled.

Rhonnie stood. "Well I guess I'll turn this old couch over and check under it. Care to give me a hand with this Stanley? I think my sexy wife has wood to chop. Right Alex?"

Alex loved that Rhonda always knew when she needed time to think. "You got it, baby. I'll fill the pit; you cook the birds. While I'm out there I'll check for any hiding places my evil twin might have found."

Rhonnie laughed. Stanley didn't really get the joke but he smiled anyway. Alex gave her partner a kiss and went out the back door.

Jeff wiped the sweat from his brow and peered through the scope again. He knew that he wouldn't get a second chance if he missed his target. In fact, even if he hit his target, he might not live to tell about it. He had never shot anyone with a tranquilizer dart before and was not at all convinced of its effectiveness. That concern, far more than the newly risen sun, inspired the perspiration he kept wiping from his face with the cleanest area he could find on the short sleeve.

Doug stuck another stale Krispy Kreme in his mouth. "How's this gonna go again? You want me to go on around to the front so's I can take care of business inside as soon as you pop her? Right? Now you ain't gonna leave me to have to carry the blonde off on my own are ya?"

Jeff lowered the rifle and stared at his cousin, wondering why he had ever agreed to do this job with him. Then he remembered the money they were being paid. He thought killing the woman would be easier than this dart thing but, then again, he wasn't being paid to think. Now, he thought, if his cousin would shut up they could get on with it and get the hell out of there before the tall one caught them. He was almost certain she had looked right at them the night before.

"No, you stupid jackass. I ain't gonna leave you to tote her on your own. You'd be winded afore you got her out the door. Just remember not to kill her. You can bruise her up some if ya gotta and a busted bone is okay if it ain't a big one. You can kill the guy if ya wanna cause the boss don't care none what happens to him. He done said so. Just pay attention and kick the door in as soon as you see me wave my hat. That'll mean I got the marshal with the dart. The boss says she'll go down fast and be out most of the day but I ain't taking no chances. As soon as you see my hat, get in, knock the girl out and drag her over to the door. I'll come and help you get her out and onto the contraption he called a litter. Shit. I always figured a litter was what a cat had...damn fancy ass words. Anyway, just do it. Then we can drag her ass out of here and back to the river and be done with it."

"Okay. Gimme a couple minutes to get in position first. Then pop her and let's get the fuck outta here. Something about this whole thing gives me the heebies. I'll wave my hat when I get in position."

"Good idea moron. Why don't you whistle and dance a jig while yer at it? Jesus, but yer stupid. Just git yer Krispy Kreme ass over there. I'll give ya three minutes starting now so git."

Doug picked up the nightstick he'd stolen a few nights ago and hurried to his predetermined position near the front of the cabin, hidden by a line of trees.

Jeff looked at his watch and gave it another thirty seconds for good measure before taking aim one last time. He'd been told the dart was one often used to sedate large primates but he still didn't like it. His instructions were to get it into her neck and that was a helluva sight harder to hit on a moving target than he was used to targeting. He took another swipe at his dripping brow and pulled the rifle's butt tightly against his shoulder. Taking in a deep breath, he lined up his sights and pressed the pad of his finger in close to the trigger. He waited for her to lift the axe again. Just when she reached the highest part of her swing, he eased out a breath and squeezed the trigger.

"Fuck!" He muttered, lowering the rifle. The dart had missed its target, catching her in the collarbone instead. She didn't even drop the axe, he marveled. He was both irritated and impressed. The woman had held the axe with one hand while snatching the dart from her flesh with the other. In little more than the blink of an eye, she had disappeared behind the woodpile and, from what he could see, she still held the axe. Sparing a quick glance at his watch, he knew there was no time to waste. Ignoring his instructions, he loaded a second dart and watched the ground near the woodpile. He hoped the woman would be disoriented enough to let her guard down, if only for a moment.

Suddenly she sprang up from her hiding place. Uncertain what had startled her, he quickly fired the second dart. The dart he was only supposed to use if the first was lost or damaged stood out from the target's shoulder, waiting to be plucked and cast aside. He watched as the marshal turned not toward him but to the cabin. A single word could be heard as she fell.

"Rhonnie."

Jeff waved his hat and took off for the cabin.

"Rhonnie, let me do that. I'll lift the couch and you can look under it." Stanley offered. "What are we looking for anyway?"

"Actually, I think we ought to turn it over on its side so we can check it carefully. It's really heavy, Stanley. I appreciate your help. Alex and I think her sister might have left notes of some kind, maybe a notebook. We feel certain she would have kept a record of whatever she had discovered. What she found, we don't know but whatever it was, it was enough to get her killed. It all goes back to Mickey Lawton."

Once the sofa was turned on its side, Rhonnie pulled the thin cloth away from the bottom so she could check more thoroughly. She ran her fingers along the lines of the wood, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. Stanley checked around the cushions and pressed his fingers into the soft fabric where coins and jewelry is often caught. Neither Stanley nor Rhonda found the treasure they sought.

"What makes you guys think Anna left the notes here? Wouldn't it have made more sense to put them into a book of some kind? You know, hidden in a secret compartment or something?" Stanley asked.

"That sounds like a great idea for a movie, Stanley but I don't think Anna had access to any books with secret compartments. In fact, the only books she had been reading at the time were...oh my god. That's it. Stanley, you're brilliant!"

"I am?"

She gave him a quick hug. "Yes, you are. Anna didn't hide the notes at all. They were always right where we could find them. It's all in the...".

"What in the hell?" Stanley turned toward the crashing sound just as the front door banged open, cracking the wooden bar that bolted it shut. "Rhonnie, run!" He shouted just before his world went dark.

Alex squinted involuntarily against the bright light overhead and tried to remember where she was and what she was doing. Slowly, she looked around. When she tried to lift her head it all came flooding back to her. She reached for her shoulder and was frustrated to find her limbs moving in slow motion, and that came only with great effort and concentration. The sluggish movement of her arms was only a prelude to the main event. Moving her legs to stand proved to be a far greater challenge. Forcing herself to remain calm, she lay back until she could gather her thoughts. It was then that she saw what seemed at first to be a silver shadow, hovering only a few feet from where she lay. The shadow seemed to be pointing at the shrubs. Alex blinked to clear her head and the shadow was gone. It was then that she remembered the old pump. She felt certain it would be dry and need priming but it was worth a try. It couldn't have been more than five feet from where she lay but every inch required complete dedication. By the time Alex reached the shrubs surrounding the old pump, she was covered in sweat and her limbs trembled from the effort. The muscles in her legs began to spasm painfully, demanding equal time with the pounding drums inside her head.

Reaching out with her right hand, Alex gripped the base of the old pump and pulled until she could grasp it with both hands. Gritting her teeth against the clenching muscles, she dragged herself forward until she was on her knees alongside the rusted pump handle. Praying for a miracle but not really expecting one, she lifted and lowered the creaking handle. Without warning, cool water burst forth, splashing across her face and neck where she was hugged against the metal pressed between her neck and right shoulder. Each time the flow slowed to a trickle she pumped again until more of the cool liquid broke free, lapping across her head and shoulders, slowly rousing her body and clearing her mind. When she was finally able to stand upright, holding onto the pump with only one hand, she looked around. Everything was bathed in bright light; indicating it was nearly noon. She felt a tiny rush of wind against her ear and turned toward it. The same silvery shadow she had seen earlier moved away, floating toward the cabin.

It was then that Alex heard it. As clearly as the sun shone overhead, she heard her sister's voice.

"Rhonnie."

"Rhonnie!" Alex shouted. When she turned, the shadow was gone. It was almost as if it had never been there at all. Shaking her head, she looked around for something to use as a walking stick. Locating a section of tree limb she sometimes used to stir a fire, she began to make her way to the cabin, fearing what she might find but not daring to give it too much thought.

Stanley was lost. He didn't recognize the area; yet it seemed familiar to him. It was dark but he could see the outline of trees indicating he was probably in a forest of some kind. He tried to remember what he was doing there but everything seemed fuzzy and unclear. Off in the distance, he could see a light; he began moving toward it. The closer he got to the light the heavier his body felt. There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind urging him onward, telling him to hurry but he didn't know why. He concentrated on the voice thinking he might recognize it, as if that would tell him where he was and why he was here.

As he came nearer to the light his head began to ache and his left arm throbbed painfully. A jolt shot outward from his lower back when he reached the edges of the light. It was then that he heard someone calling his name. He looked at the figure of a woman, a shimmering halo had been created by the light but, for a moment, he was almost certain it was Alex standing there. Blinking to clear his vision, he took a tentative step forward but was interrupted by a gentle tug on his right hand.

"Wheaton? Jesus, Stanley. Talk to me." Alex pleaded as her eyes darted around the room, looking for her partner. She wasn't there. Rhonda was gone and Wheaton looked like he'd been in a fistfight with a bulldozer. A very large bulldozer. His arm looked like it was probably broken and the blood oozing from his swollen lower lip led a small trail to the stains forming on his shirt. When he began to stir, Alex got a look at the injury that was most likely causing his current state of semi-consciousness. There was a knot on the back of his head the size of a Grade A Large.

The room looked like whoever had taken Rhonnie had definitely not done it without a fight. The wooden beam they used to bar the door lay broken on the floor. A police nightstick lay atop the still upside down sofa, which rested about eighteen inches from where Stanley struggled to regain some semblance of alertness.

Suddenly, without warning, the small man jerked upward into a full sitting position, pure panic in his eyes. "Rhonnie!" He shouted as he tried to stand, only then becoming aware of the pain in his back. When he automatically moved to put his hand on the painful area he was alerted to another reality: it hurt... a lot.

Only then did he see Alex, who managed to stand with no small amount of help from what looked to be a tree limb. She appeared to be slipping in and out of consciousness and Stanley couldn't help wondering what it had taken to bring the tall marshal to this point. Then he snapped back to his senses. He knew it wasn't a matter of what had caused their predicament, but who, and there could be only one answer to that question. Mickey Lawton.

Director Haynes was on the warpath. Matt could almost hear the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of heads rolling. Listening to the man on the other end of the telephone, he wondered if the director had been a fire breathing dragon in a previous lifetime because, sure as hell, someone would be reduced to ashes by nightfall. Cold chills ran up his arms just thinking about it.

"Are you listening to me, dammit? Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look? Dammit, man. I told her myself, gave my personal assurance that the bastard was behind bars. Gosh Dammit!! Who the fuck doesn't verify the identity of a federal prisoner? Dammit, man. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes sir! I certainly am, sir!"

"Well?"

The director seemed to be waiting for a reply and Matt's brain sent impulses racing up, down, around and sideways trying to locate just the right response.

"Dammit, man. Why aren't you answering me?"

"Um. Well sir, to be perfectly honest..."

"Matthew, I don't want honesty. I want you to agree with me, tell me I am absolutely right and that there is no way possible that any of this could be my fault. Tell me Alex and Rhonnie are safe and that the little wimpy fellow is back in protective custody. In short, man, I want you to give me absolution. Tell me how many Hail Mary's to say and send me on my merry way."

"Um. Hail what's, sir? Uh, you are absolutely right sir. None of this could possibly be your fault. The little wimpy..uh, Wheaton is with Alex so he's sure to be safe, sir. After all, this is Alex Stoner we're talking about. Right sir?"

"Good answer, Matthew. Now stop kissing my butt and get on that cell phone of yours. Tell Alex someone fucked up and Lawton is still on the loose. Oh and Matthew, tell her I'm sorry. Dammit. Who the fuck doesn't verify the identity of a federal prisoner? Dammit!"

"I don't know, sir. I guess they were sure they had the right man."

"Well, they didn't. That's why god invented fingerprints, dammit!"

"Yes sir."

Director Haynes paced back and forth in front of his desk while he spoke with the team leader. It wasn't helping. He was just getting mad all over again. Narrowing his dark eyes to thin slits, he slowed and then stopped.

"Matt?"

"Yes sir?"

"After you talk to Alex, run a check for me. Look at anything out of the ordinary in the last few days that matches Lawton's evil preferences. This was too well orchestrated for him not to be up to something. The skin on the back of my neck is crawling and I don't like it."

"Yes sir. I'll do that right away, sir."

"Get back to me by the end of the day on this, Matthew. Oh and let me know after you talk to Alex. She better be all right or I will personally castrate this bastard with one of my mother-in-law's steak knives."

"Sir?"

"Dumb bitch is scared shitless of sharp things. Eating a steak at her house is damn near impossible unless you pick it up with your hands and gnaw at it like a fucking Neanderthal."

"Yes sir." Matt silently smiled at the image of Director Haynes as a cave man, tearing the flesh from a large dinosaur bone. He had no idea just how close his thoughts and the director's were at that moment.

Johnny Austerday wiped feebly at the ink on his hands with the torn paper towel. Even the perspiration coating his palm wasn't helping. It never did, he mused. Finally, he gave up and tossed the crumbled, shredded paper in the general direction of the corner of the cell serving as a trash can. He wondered how long it would be before their computers revealed the truth. Rocking back and forth on the small cot, he tried to remember what he was supposed to do next.

"Just keep my mouth shut," he told himself. "That's what the lawyer said. Just be quiet and wait until someone shows up and gets me out. I can do that."

Even as he spoke the words aloud, he wondered if he could really remain silent. He felt reasonably certain someone from the organization would come to get him. What he wasn't so sure of was how long they might make him wait. There, in the semi-privacy of the jail cell, he admitted he was frightened. It was a truth that didn't come as any great surprise to him as he had never considered himself a particularly brave man. What did surprise him somewhat was the other thing sneaking in around the edges of his fear. Anger. He was angry. More importantly, he was angry at someone other than himself.

Johnny had never been angry at anyone before without finding some way to blame himself for whatever it was that had angered him. This time was different and he couldn't help wondering why.

It had been nearly a year since he agreed to participate in this little charade. The whole thing seemed too bizarre to be real, at first.

He had been cashing his last unemployment check at his favorite bar when the bartender asked if he'd like to make some good money.

"Is there any other kind?" He'd joked.

"You got that right, pal." The bartender, a man everyone called Joe, laughed and wiped the bar with a dirty cloth. "So," he continued. "You wanna make some money, pal? I know a fella could use your help and he's willing to pay for it."

"Someone needs my help?" He tossed back the whiskey and lifted the brew to his lips. "Doing what or ain't I supposed to ask?"

Joe laughed and slid another brew into place in front of Johnny, easing a bill from the neat pile that lay atop the bar.

"You can ask," he said. "But not me. All I know is the phone number the fella said you should call if you're interested."

"Yeah?" He asked, draining the first glass and lifting the second. "What do you get outta this?"

"Smart man. I get a cool hundred bucks just for asking you and another five if you agree to do the job." He removed the empty glass with one hand and slid another one in it's place, foam leaking down the side.

"Well," Johnny said after draining the second glass and tossing back another shot of whiskey. "If a fella can't trust his bartender, who can he trust? You can count me in. Where's the phone number?"

Two phone calls, five shots and seven brews later he was climbing into a taxi and agreeing to have plastic surgery done on his face. Other than Joe, he never had actually seen anyone involved in the job, as they called it. Everything had always been done either on the telephone or on the computer. The money had been transferred into his account directly and his bank statement listed the deposit as coming from some company in South America or Mexico or somewhere else he'd never been.

If someone actually showed up to get him out of jail, it would be the first person involved in this whole drama that he'd seen face to face.

The more he thought about it the less likely it seemed that anyone was going to come along and bail him out of this mess. He had been played for a fool. Johnny figured he'd been ripe for the picking and he just stepped right into it but he hadn't done it by himself. As the minutes ticked by he thought about the hospital he'd been taken to in the dark of night. He remembered all the shots and how he'd been forced to watch those films over and over until he could imitate the facial expressions and walk to everyone's satisfaction. After weeks of practicing the vocal patterns he'd been told he had the "wrong tonal quality" to pull off the voice. That was when he'd been instructed to just keep his mouth shut.

During the past several months he'd been kept a virtual prisoner, unable to contact anyone he knew. He had not been permitted any hard liquor and his beer intake had been limited to two twelve packs a week.

"Yeah," he thought bitterly. "First they can't stop feeding me the booze and now they withhold it like I was some pimple faced teenager. How stupid can you be?" He asked himself. "If I ever see that bartender again, I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind."

"What bartender would that be?" Joe asked from the other side of the bars.

Johnny looked up, too surprised to speak even though he had momentarily forgotten his vow of silence.

"Oh. Yeah. You can talk to me, Johnny. I'm here to get you out."

"Umm." Johnny was taking no chances. This was the man who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Joe stepped close to the bars, motioning Johnny over as if he had something he needed to whisper to him. Not fully trusting but curious, the reluctant actor moved in close, straining to hear what the bartender was whispering.

"Say goodnight, Johnny." Joe stuck the needle through the bars and into the soft belly, pushing the plunger as far as it would go before pulling back. Slipping it into his pocket, he unzipped his jacket exposing the crisp blue shirt with the small badge pinned to the left pocket.

"Everything okay in there, Joe?" The officer asked from the doorway.

"Sure thing. Everything's quiet in here. I think he's asleep. Did the prints come back yet?"

"Coming in now. You wanna grab some lunch? We're up for a break in five."

"Sure thing. I'll meet you in the locker room."

"You got it."

As soon as the officer turned, Joe stepped away from the cell, watching the body slump quietly to the floor.

"If you can't trust your bartender, who can you trust? No one, Johnny. No one."

Jeff had carried the badly beaten woman out of the cabin and into the woods without uttering a word to his cousin. At first, he thought she was dead like the man they left lying on the cabin floor. Her body was so still. He couldn't feel a pulse and there was no warm breath coming from her nose or mouth. He had laid her on the litter and pulled it for hours before she even stirred.

Doug had been useless, complaining the whole way and never once taking a turn pulling the contraption the woman had been strapped into. Once, when the blonde had opened her eyes and tried to shout, the sound coming out like a garbled moan, Doug had stepped alongside and hit her in the face. Already swollen and bloodied, the flesh gave way and bright red fluid covered his calloused hands.

"Damn you! You stupid mother fucker. Can't you see she's nearly dead already? Don't you remember nothin? The boss said she has to be alive and you weren't sposed to hurt her bad neither. You'll be lucky if'n the boss don't kill you, you stupid idjit. Just my luck to git paired up with a fucking moron. Leave her the hell alone you lazy pig!" Jeff ranted at his cousin.

Rhonda could hear them fighting as if they were miles away. She knew they were taking her somewhere but when she tried to move against the restraints a white hot pain shot up her legs and into her spine, nearly taking her breath away. She tried to call out for Alex but the sound she heard herself make sounded foreign to her. It was as if she formed the sound in her head but someone else had made it, using their voice instead. She had been considering what to try next when something slammed into her cheekbone and the darkness came. It was a soft darkness, a warm blanket of quiet surrounded her. Muted sounds could be heard in the distance like the waves of an ocean or the fluttering of wings from a flock of birds. Rhonnie tried to think, to remember where she was but the call of sleep was too strong and she reluctantly surrendered to it.

By the time they reached the river, Jeff's shoulders ached from dragging their captive for hours. Often the narrow path led them through uneven terrain that was overgrown with plants and vines. Secretly he hoped Doug had taken one of his many breaks on a tree stump padded with poisonous leaves of some sort. As he pulled the small boat from beneath the bushes it occurred to him that he really didn't need Doug. In fact, he reasoned, the boat would be considerably easier to row without his fat ass plopped down in it. He was reviewing the situation when his cousin broke the silence, interrupting his thought but making his decision for him.

"Now, you know I can't row with that arthritis in my shoulders and all. Looks like you're gonna hafta row us all outta here."

Jeff tilted his head to one side as if hearing something no one else could hear. Then, he laid the litter down and straightened his back, smiling at the popping sound and the relief it brought. Without saying a word, he bent over and untied the restraints, allowing the woman to be lifted from the makeshift stretcher. He took a deep breath, slipping his arms beneath her small battered body. One eye pulled nearly closed as he eased out the breath and lifted his bundle into the air. He took several long strides before reaching the water's edge and stepping into the cool green river where he lowered Rhonda into the small boat, placing her body closest to the front.

"She takes up too much room like that. Where the hell am I gonna sit?" Doug groused.

"Funny you should ask," Jeff smiled.

"Well I don't see nothin funny about it." Doug began, just before noticing the small handgun being pointed in his direction. "What the fuck are you doin now?"

Jeff cocked his head again, first one way and then the other. He looked down at the gun in his hand and back to his cousin, saying nothing.

Doug was tired of playing games. He wanted to get in the damned boat and go home. "Fine. Be that way. I'll move the bitch myself then," he said, starting toward the boat.

"That won't be necessary." Jeff said.

"You gonna move her then?" Doug asked impatiently.

"Not exactly," Jeff answered. Before Doug could say anything else, Jeff lifted his eyebrows, cocked his head to one side and explained himself. "I'm gonna put us both out of our misery."

Doug's eyes opened wide as Jeff fired three shots directly into his chest. He hit the ground before they even closed.

"Finally," Jeff said. "He shut up."

After immobilizing Stanley's arm, applying ice to his head and helping him clean the blood from his face, Alex drank another cup of coffee and prepared for the long journey that lay ahead of them. Her muscles ached and if she was still too long she nodded off but time was not on their side. Whoever had taken Rhonnie had been sloppy and careless and that meant they were not professionals. She had little doubt that they worked for Mickey but he was clearly scraping the bottom of the gangster barrel to hire the kind of people who had done this. Not only had they missed their target and failed to put her out of commission, they had left their weapon behind and probably had their fingerprints all over the place. What was perhaps the most troubling to her was the fact they had taken Rhonnie and left Wheaton behind, still alive.

It was already past noon and, in their current condition, she and Stanley would not likely reach the nearest Sheriff's Office until sundown. She was about to phone Matt when her cell vibrated.

"Yeah," she answered, too tired and worried to be polite.

"Alex?" Matt asked. "You okay?"

"Depends on your definition of okay." She answered. "I was just gonna call you. What's up?"

Matt swallowed. "Alex, Director Haynes asked me to call you. Lawton is still out there. The man they have in custody is not Mickey."

"No shit."

"You knew? How?" He asked. " I mean I knew you suspected but how did you know?"

"Well Matt, I think the two tranquilizer darts some fucker shot me with were not the ammo of choice at the local Hunter's Club. That and the fact someone beat shit out of Wheaton and kidnapped my wife pretty much cinched it."

He gasped. "Fuck. God, I'm so sorry Alex. Are you okay? Never mind. Stupid question. What can I do to help? You want me to see if we can get a chopper out there for you guys?"

"Naw, it's too risky. Storm's brewing, from the looks of things." She explained after looking out the window at the darkening skies. "Besides, I'd rather you send them out to the river to look for Rhonnie. They can't have made it all the way back to the highway yet. If you scramble them, you might catch whoever did this before they get to wherever they're supposed to meet Lawton. If he hurts her..." Alex stopped cold when she saw the look in Stanley's eyes." Oh god."

"What!" Matt yelled into the phone. "What is it? Are you guys okay?"

"Would you please stop asking me that?"

"Sorry."

"Matt, just get on the horn to the choppers, okay? We have to start out of here while I'm still awake. I'll check back with you in a while. Call me if you find her."

"Will do. Alex?'

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

"Too late for that now. Just find her, Matt. She's all that matters to me."

"I know, Alex. I know. We'll find her."

"We better." She pushed end call and turned to Stanley. "Okay Wheaton. How bad is it? I can see in your face that they hurt her. Just tell me they didn't kill her. Please." Her hand trembled as she placed it on his shoulder, the one without the homemade sling across it.

A single tear slipped from his eye as he looked into the face of his hero and saw something he never expected to find there. It was the look of fear and he knew she wasn't afraid for herself. In that moment, more than any before, Stanley thought he knew how much Alex loved Rhonnie. It was almost a physical presence and it seemed to fill the room.

"Alex, there were two of them. At least, I think there were two because I can remember hearing one tell the other one to stop. It was the first one who broke the door in. He had a stick and he kept swinging it like...some sorta madman. I tried to push Rhonnie behind the couch but he swept that thing up under me and sent me over backwards. I think that's probably when I broke my arm but I got right back up and jumped on his back. He was beating her something awful, Alex. It was horrible. She just kept getting up and it seemed to make him crazy because he started kicking at her and swinging at the same time. After she fell, he kicked at her face and ribs without mercy. I came around behind him but he must have seen me because the next thing I knew he swung that thing in a huge circle until it slammed against the back of my head. As I fell, I heard another man yelling at him - something about the boss telling them not to hurt the blonde. I'm sorry Alex. I don't remember anything after that until you came in and woke me."

The strong jaw clenched, making the veins at her temple throb and pulse. Her eyes turned icy and narrowed. After a moment, she spoke in a hushed, almost reverent tone.

"It's going to be all right, Stanley. We're going to find her and get her back. She's going to be all right, Stanley. You were very brave and you probably kept that first man from killing her. I'll never forget this, Wheaton. When it really counted, you were there." Alex looked him in the eye and squeezed his shoulder gently. "She's going to be fine. We're going to find her and she's going to be just fine. Then I'm going to kill fucking Mickey Lawton, once and for all."

"Alex, you can't..." Stanley started to say. He paused, nodded his head and spoke. "Okay then. Let's go get Rhonnie before she wakes up and does the job for us."

Alex smiled. "Stanley, I had no idea you knew my wife so well."

Slowly and painfully, they made their way through the woods to the river. It was a long hike made longer by unwilling bodies pushed beyond human endurance by sheer determination and something else: love. They both loved the same woman. Not in the same way perhaps but, in the end, love is love. So they kept walking, moving ever onward, determined not to arrive too late.

"Matt?" Alex spoke into the phone.

"Alex? I was worried. It's been hours. I thought you were going to call."

"Yeah. Well, we've been a bit busy. It's a long walk on the best of days and this isn't one of those. Did you get a chopper up? Have they found her yet? Oh, and Matt, we found one of the kidnappers."

"You did? Oh. We got a chopper up and they spotted the boat we think they used but there was no sign of Rhonnie or her captors. We're canvassing the area now. If anyone saw anything we'll find out. You need me to send someone to pick up your prisoner?"

"Yeah but he's not exactly my prisoner."

"How come?" Matt asked.

"Mostly because he's a corpse," Alex answered.

"Aw shit, Alex. You killed him? How the fuck are we supposed to question a dead guy?" Matt whined.

"I didn't kill him, you idiot. I think his partner did it. Stanley says this is the one who broke in and beat them up. The other guy was pissed so I'm guessing he decided to cut his losses. Besides that, maybe he didn't have room in the boat for all of them. Send someone out to get him. We're heading out now. I want to get off the river before the sun goes down if we can. I'll call you later."

"Alex, wait." Matt urged. "There's something you should know."

"Okay." She said. "Go on."

"There was a lot of blood in the boat, Alex. And they found Rhonnie's necklace. It had blood on it, too. I'm sorry Alex. We'll find her. You know we will."

"Lawton better pray you do, Matt."

"Alex, don't do anything stupid."

"I already did that Matt. I ignored my instincts, my gut. I won't make that mistake again."

"Alex."

"I'll call you, Matt. Call me if you find anything. Anything at all."

"I will."

Alex ended the call and shoved the phone back into her pocket.

"Alex?"

"It's okay Stanley. Face wounds bleed a lot. You said he hit her in the face. My guess is he did it again and that's what got him killed. She's okay. I'd know it if she weren't."

"How?"

"Anna would tell me."

"Is Director Haynes in?." Matt asked the receptionist. He almost began pacing as he waited to be told he could go into the large office.

"Haynes."

"Yes sir. It's Matt. I've found some things that look like good probabilities but I haven't been able to sort out where he's headed with it yet, sir."

"Tell me what you found. Maybe I'll see something you didn't."

"Well, the bomb in the church downtown most likely wasn't intended for that young couple or the priest. The guy I talked to from the bomb squad said it was definitely one of Lawton's specialty pieces. He said this one wasn't meant to kill anyone but, rather, it was intended to maim the people at the altar and no one else. The blast was contained within a three to four foot radius. He was after the chief and Mrs. Stoner. The bomb was on a timer but they said this type would have needed to be set within 24 hours of detonation. Security around the church was too high for Lawton to have been the one who placed it. Most likely, he had someone else plant it but he built it. Jerry said he'd stake his reputation on it. The wires had Mickey's signature twist and odd color combination."

"Okay so we know he built the bomb and was probably in the general area at the time of detonation. Lawton likes to watch the victims. He gets off on it. What else do you have?"

"The Stoner house was torched, bombed actually, the other night. I still don't know how that one slipped by without our being red flagged. I thought we had a team watching the place. I know I didn't move them." Matt explained.

"That one gets laid at my doorstep, I'm afraid. I reassigned them when we got the word Lawton was in custody. What's this about the place being bombed? Where the fuck was Alex? She'll be pissing mad if they hurt her baby."

"Oh. No sir. Red Death is just fine. It was Mrs. Stoner's house they got."

"Dammit! How bad is it?" He asked, wondering what the hell was happening to the communication in his department.

"Downstairs was a total loss and parts of the front porch were found three houses away."

"Dammit."

"Yeah. The upstairs didn't fare much better. Water damage pretty much turned the whole thing into a soggy, smelly disaster area according to the Fire Marshal's report. But you wanna know what is the most interesting about this one?"

"Dammit. Of course I want to know, Matthew. Just go on and you better not be getting ready to tell me one of your ghost stories either."

"Too soon for ghosts, sir." Matt smiled. "Guess who was at the house when it blew?"

"Matthew."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir. Rhonda and Alex were there. Well, actually they were out back loading something into the truck. The report says that was the only thing that kept them from being injured or, more likely, killed. Some kid was playing with a boomerang and hit the front porch. The next thing he knew the porch and a good portion of the house was blown to bits. They found remains of the device still taped to the underside of what had been the top step. Damn thing was pressure and motion sensitive but with an odd delay-release on it. Bomb squad said it was set to be activated with the first motion and detonated on the second."

"Dammit. Let me guess. It had Mickey's trademark, right? The kid all right?"

"Kid?"

"Yes, dammit. The kid with the boomerang. Is he all right?"

"Oh. Yes sir. He was pretty shook up that night but according to his father he's enjoying hell out of telling people all about his adventure and the dangers of boomerang throwing."

Director Haynes chuckled. "Yeah, I just bet he is at that." He cleared his throat. "When exactly did this happen? Was it before or after...scratch that. It had to have been after the capture or our people would have still been there. It's beginning to look like our escaped cop killer isn't as anxious to leave the country as we thought."

"Yes sir, that's how it looks to me too."

"Anything else you could find that looks like it's connected to Lawton? I'm trying to see if we can spot a pattern here. Anything that would give us an idea where to look for this bastard."

"Well sir, I have someone going over every report of arson, bombs, cop killings or anything else that looks even remotely like Mickey might be involved. They're checking state wide, for now."

"Dammit, Matthew. That's a huge job for one person, even with computers."

"Yes sir. It would be but I also sent a memo out a few hours ago detailing the sort of things we would be watching for and asking individual departments throughout Colorado to red flag them. I included photos in the emails and faxes along with mention that he was wanted for killing law enforcement. I don't think much is likely to slip through without someone seeing it. Oh and I made sure the local media got copies too, sir."

"Good thinking, Matthew. Anything else?"

"Actually, there is but you're not going to like it." Matt wiped his palms on his trousers.

"That's too bad, Matthew. The rest of my day has been so pleasant, too."

"Sorry sir."

"Just say it, man. What is it I'm not going to like?"

"They have Rhonda, sir. They shot Alex with some kind of tranquilizer darts and beat shit out of Wheaton; most likely they only left him behind because they thought he was dead. Chopper crew found Rhonnie's necklace and it had blood on it."

"Dammit! Who is this 'they' you keep referring to and how bad is Wheaton hurt? Is Alex all right? When will she be here?"

"Um, well sir, one of 'them' is dead. Alex and Wheaton found the body. It's being examined and identified now. Wheaton and Alex are both in pretty bad shape but they refused to come in. They took the boat a couple hours ago. In fact, Alex should be calling in soon."

"Took the boat? What boat? Surely you don't mean that damned rowboat of hers? What do you mean she refused to come in? Why didn't you order her in, man?"

"Um. Begging your pardon sir but we retired her, remember?"

"Dammit."

"Besides that, this is Rhonnie we're talking about. No order in the world is going to bring Alex Stoner in, or anywhere else, as long as Rhonda is in danger. I put my team on it right away sir. Two of them are at the cabin now. The place is one hell of a mess and they confirm blood on the scene. They got prints off the nightstick used by the intruder and a second set was on the doorframe. There's a trail in the woods where they dragged something but it's storming up there now so that'll all be gone by morning, most likely. The second team located and secured the body near the river, right where Alex said it was. They are with the medical examiner now and will report as soon as they know anything."

"Is that it?"

"Yes sir, pretty much. Oh except we have an identity on our imposter. His name was Johnny Austerday. He had a short sheet but nothing major. Looks like he just made some bad choices."

"Was? What do you mean his name was Johnny Austerday?"

"Didn't someone phone you? They found him a few hours ago, slumped on the floor of his cell, leaning against the bars. Looks like an apparent heart attack. A guard had just been in to check on him, too. They're going to check it out but it looks like pretty routine stuff."

"Nothing about this has been routine. Make sure you follow up on that. Seems to me a bit too convenient for this man to die before anyone can question him. Get the name of the guard who saw him last. What about that credit card the chief alerted us to? Anything more charges show up on it in the past twenty-four hours?"

"No sir, not a one. Looks like he stopped using it."

"Okay. Well keep me informed. I want you to pull all the files on Adam and Anna Stoner as well as anything they worked on in the last eighteen months before they died. This bastard's got a thing for Stoners and I wanna know why. If you need more people let me know and I'll authorize it. There's a cop killer out there and I want him caught, dammit."

"Yes sir."

"And I don't want to lose anyone else doing it so don't do anything stupid, Matthew."

"You should pardon my saying so but I'm not the one you need to be saying that to, sir."

"I know that dammit. But she won't listen so I'm telling you. Now you can tell her. Oh and Matthew, tell her it's an order."

"Oh yeah. That will work," Matthew responded dryly.

Director Haynes slapped him on the shoulder as they walked to the door. "I know, but tell her anyway."

"Okay sir, but I hope my health plan is paid up."

Both men smiled as Matthew walked out to the elevator and the director went back to his desk, pulling the door closed behind him.

Stanley grabbed the back end of the small rowboat as Alex lifted the front. Together they half carried, half dragged it out of the water and into the bushes where Alex pulled the tarp over it.

"Thanks Stanley. It's been one helluva day. Now let's get out of here before the bugs realize the spray wore off."

"That sounds almost as good to me as an ice cold Coke, super-sized."

She had to admit, that sounded good to her, too. "Done. First fast food joint we see on the way to the hospital, we'll grab some chow and sodas."

"Hospital? I thought you were feeling better?" He asked.

"Not for me, Wheaton. I'm almost positive that arm is broken and if you don't get it set it's gonna heal wrong. If that happens they might have to re-break it in order to set it properly. I also think you ought to get things checked out where that asshole tried to crack your skull. I know your head hurts like a mother and you threw up back there a ways. I know the boat isn't it because we did this once before and you didn't upchuck that time. I just want to make sure you're okay and then I'm gonna go find me a cop killing, wife stealing, moron hiring zombie."

"Zombie?"

"Yeah, zombie, as in the walking dead. That fucker is dead. He just doesn't know it yet is all."

"Well, if it's all the same to you, Alex...I'd rather not go to the hospital." He watched her facial expression and then added, "they'd call the authorities and by the time we got away there's no telling how far that creep might have taken Rhonnie. She's counting on us, Alex. I know she is. The last sound I heard was her calling your name."

"Fuck."

Alex hated knowing that Rhonnie had needed her and she hadn't been there. She looked at this person she had once thought of as nothing more than a nagging, whining, chicken shit little man, another witness she had to protect. It had always irritated her that good people lost their lives every day protecting those who had gotten themselves into messes they were too stupid or cowardly to get out of on their own. The three days she'd spent with Wheaton nearly two years ago had helped her to see another side of things. He could be the poster child for the federal protection and relocation program. But unlike the stereotypes she had dealt with and heard about so often in the service, he had taken this chance and proven himself more than worth it.

This would be breaking more rules and regulations than she cared to count. Then again, hadn't they just retired her crippled ass? She thought about that and figured it would be her first line of defense when the director started reaming her out, which, she realized, was inevitable. She would probably live to regret it, a part of her warned. In the end, she had to follow her gut and that was telling her that Stanley was right. If they went to the hospital it would be hours, if not days, before they could look for Rhonnie. She may not always see eye to eye with Stanley P. Wheaton but they agreed on the thing that mattered most: Rhonnie. Rhonnie came first. Her decision was made.

"Okay Stanley. Let's get the fuck out of here. We need to get some food, something to drink, some supplies and some sleep. Then we will track this brain dead yahoo from the sticks, can't shoot fer shit and had the colossal gall to kidnap the woman I love."

"The woman we both love," he corrected. Then hastily added: "though not in the same way, I'm sure."

"That's all right Wheaton. I can't fault you for having good taste." Funny, Alex thought, surprisingly enough, she meant it.

Mickey Lawton pulled into the parking lot of the Sandman Motel. Driving past the vacancy sign and the small office, he made his way around to the back where the big rigs parked. He had specifically told Jeff to make sure he got a room back there and, it would seem, the man had followed his instructions. Two for two, he thought. Johnny was dead, right on schedule. In a few minutes he would take possession of his trump card, his bait for the perfect trap.

Inside the small motel room, Jeff tried to clean the woman up a bit. He tried to use a damp washcloth to wipe the crusted blood from her face and neck. Each time he attempted it the woman moaned even though she was not really conscious or aware of what he was doing. He found that if he got the cloth wet enough he could remove the blood without disturbing her. This presented two problems. One was the fact that it got her shirt and the bedspread wet. The second was a far more serious problem, he feared. By removing the blood he had only managed to make the bruises and swelling more visible. He decided that turning off the lights on either side of the bed might help and had just completed the task when someone tapped lightly on the door.

Jeff had never actually met the boss before but he had heard enough stories to be frightened. Maybe killing Doug hadn't been such a good idea, after all. Now he had to face the man alone. Standing up straight, he swallowed hard and reached to open the door. The person in the doorway was nothing like what he had expected.

"You gonna get outta my way and invite me in or what?" Mickey asked as he pushed past the tongue-tied hillbilly.

Jeff stepped backward to make room but not fast enough to avoid having his stocking feet crushed by the heavy cowboy boots. He didn't dare complain so he limped out of the way, settling in one of the two overstuffed chairs with cigarette burns on the arms. A thin film of cold sweat covered his face and neck and he rubbed his palms against the thick fabric of his Wranglers.

"Which one are you Doug or Jeff? And whichever one you are, where's the other one and why isn't he here?" Mickey walked into the tiny bathroom and returned with the one semi-clean towel, covering the chair cushion with it before sitting down.

"I'm Jeff." The answer was spoken clearly but quietly. "Doug's dead." He waited, bracing himself for whatever might happen next.

Mickey scanned the room with his eyes for the third or fourth time, noting the still figure on the double bed that took up most of the room's interior. He returned his gaze to the man in the other chair, permitting no warmth to reach his eyes.

"Dead, you say. Did someone kill him or did he eat himself to death with those Krispy Kremes?"

Jeff had to smile at that but the expression quickly faded when he noted nothing in the other man's demeanor to indicate he possessed a sense of humor. He decided to take his chances with the truth.

"I killed him. He kept beating the woman and I was afraid he was gonna kill her like he did the dude in the cabin. So when he kept whining and bitching and went to punching her in the face after she was already knocked plum out I took out my gun and I killed him. I'm sorry if yer mad but that's the truth of it."

Swallowing hard, he waited to die.

Mickey leaned forward in his chair, looking almost directly into the fear filled eyes only a yard away. "Well," he said. "You did exactly the right thing, Jeff. My instructions were quite clear. I told you that the blonde was not to be harmed any more than absolutely necessary. Doug failed to follow those instructions and I don't tolerate failure in any form. If you hadn't killed him I would have."

Jeff released the breath he had been holding.

"So," Mickey stood. "How is she doing? She fight you much? I figured her to be a pretty good scrapper."

"Oh you got that right. She's a feisty little thing, that'n. By the time I got there she had kicked shit outta Doug's legs and caught him a good'n in the nose, too. He was pummeling her face and arms when I came through the door. The man was already dead. His body was kind of twisted with one arm turned strangely and blood ran down his chin and onto his shirt. The woman was trying to get away from the nightstick, crawling toward the kitchen. She was moving really slowly but Doug couldn't let her be. He stood over her and slammed that damn thing into her back until she stopped moving at all. I thought the bastard had killed her, let me tell you."

Mickey's eyes narrowed and he looked again at the still figure on the bed.

"What did you do to stop him?" Mickey asked as he edged closer to the bed.

"There weren't nothing I could do. He'd done kilt the man and the woman were jest laying there, all quiet like."

"So you did nothing then?" Standing at the side of the bed nearest the bathroom, he waited for an answer.

"You kidding? I snatched that damned nightstick outta his hands and throwed it clean across the room. Then I picked up the woman and got the hell outta there afore the tall one woke up and come after us. That there is one scary woman, Mr. Lawton. I swear, she can see in the fucking dark, too. Snatched that first dart practically right outta the air, she did."

Mickey looked up. "The first dart? You missed your target?"

"Oh, not completely boss. I got her all right, it just weren't exactly in her neck is all." Seeing the boss was not pleased, he continued. "So I figured it'd be best if'n I shot her again, jest to be safe and all."

"You figured, huh?"

"Um, well I didn't think you'd want me to leave her too alert or nothing."

"You didn't think?"

"Um..."

"See, Jeff. Now that's exactly why I hired two idiots to do this little job for me. I didn't need someone to think. I needed someone to perform a task. If I had needed someone who could think, do you really believe I would have hired you and that dumb ass cousin of yours?"

"No boss, I guess not. But I just thought..."

"There you go again, trying to think. Didn't anyone ever tell you to stick to what you did well?"

"You did, boss." Jeff answered, his voice beginning to tremble.

"I did, didn't I?"

"Yes boss."

"Then you disobeyed my orders, didn't you?" Mickey slowly pulled the large handgun from where he kept it tucked into his belt, behind him. Carefully, he removed the silencer and twisted it onto the end of the barrel before snapping the magazine in place with the heel of his left hand.

Jeff considered running but there was little chance he would make it farther than the door. This wasn't the way he wanted to die and he wished he had married and had a family so that, at least, there would be someone to miss him. He'd never been shot before. He wondered if it would hurt. He didn't live long enough to find out.

Mickey walked the few steps to the chair he'd been in a few minutes earlier and removed the towel from the cushion. Without taking so much as a single step, he tossed the dirty rag in the general direction of the face of the man who slumped awkwardly in the chair.

"That is how you hit a target, Jeff." He said matter-of-factly before turning his attention back to the woman in the bed.

Alex decided it would be a good idea to stay far enough away from the cabin to be out of the worst of the mountains without taking the time to go all the way home. She wanted to be at a safer altitude before dark and managed it with less than thirty minutes to spare. While she agreed that a hospital was too risky she knew they would need some medical supplies so she stopped at the first service station with a teller machine and gassed up. She withdrew as much cash as the machine permitted and stuffed it in her jeans pocket. She didn't want to have to use a card for the motel. Alex had no intention of hiding but she wasn't going to make it easy for Matt to find her either. After suggesting Stanley do the same thing she was surprised to learn he had already made certain he would have plenty of ready cash. That made her smile.

Just before nine she pulled into a shopping center and parked in front of the drug store. Stanley stayed in the car while she went in to get some bandages, over the counter pain pills, triple antibiotic ointment and a few other things. She looked at her watch as she tossed the bags into the back noting that she had managed to do it all in twelve minutes. She had shaved a full two minutes off her own record and Rhonnie wasn't even there to appreciate it. She frowned.

Stanley knew without asking what had caused his friend to frown. He chose not to say anything but instead handed her a lukewarm French fry. The gesture did not go unnoticed.

"Thanks, Wheaton." She forced a smile. "I think it would be best if we shared a room tonight. I'm pretty sure no one knows where we are and I think if Mickey wanted to kill me he'd have done it already. Still, better safe than sorry, eh?"

He nodded.

"Okay then. I saw signs for a Holiday Inn, a Days Inn and a mom and pop motel. Which shall it be?"

Stanley was almost too tired and in too much pain to care. Then he remembered his stomach. "Holiday Inn is more likely to have a restaurant and room service so let's go there if that's all right with you."

"Real food. Good thinking, Wheaton. Some of these places even have bars in them. Let's hope we hit it lucky. I don't know about you but I could use a drink about now."

He nodded and leaned his head against the cool glass of the window on the passenger's side of the car.

"Head hurts pretty bad huh?" Alex asked.

"Some," he mumbled, not wanting to add to her list of things to worry about.

"Some huh," she remarked. "I've had a concussion before Stanley. It hurts like hell and I know it." She reached into the back and grabbed the smaller of the three bags, digging around inside until she found the large square box. "Here we go," she said. "It ain't as good as what they'd give you at the hospital but I think it's safe enough. I know they say don't take pain medication after a head injury but it's been long enough it should be all right. This was the strongest stuff I could get without a prescription." She ripped the box open and pulled off the plastic shielding before unscrewing the lid and dumping four round green gel caps into her palm. "Take these with as much of that watered down Coke as you can stand."

"All four?" He asked.

"We'll start with four and see how you feel in an hour." Alex shoved the bottle into her pocket and buckled her seat belt before heading off in the direction of the Holiday Inn

Stanley swallowed the pills and took five or six extra swallows before setting the cup back in its holder and leaning against the window again.

Alex eased back into the front seat, trying not to jar the seat or her exhausted friend. She pulled the door closed until it clicked softly and drove around to where the desk clerk had told her she would find their room. The restaurant was open 24 hours with room service until midnight. They did have a bar and it was open until one. Figuring Stanley was probably as hungry as she was, she had asked the clerk to order four of their largest cheeseburgers with fries and onion rings, a bottle of chilled wine, four cokes and two apple dumplings. She'd also asked if they could bring a bucket of ice, explaining that her friend had hit his head earlier. It was all supposed to be delivered in about forty-five minutes, which she figured would be just fine.

When she parked the car Stanley opened his eyes and sat up. The pills were helping, he realized, gratefully. Since they hadn't brought anything with them from the cabin all he needed to do was follow Alex into the building and to their room. A few minutes later they stepped into a large room with two queen size beds and all the amenities one could expect from a four star hotel. Alex closed the door behind them and strode over to the bed nearest to the door. Stanley had anticipated that would be her choice and walked to the other bed, cautiously sitting and then lying across its firmness.

Alex pulled off her boots and sat on the edge of the bed studying the instructions on the telephone.

"Whatcha doing?" Stanley asked.

"Just trying to figure this thing out and remember how Rhonnie told me I could check our voice mail when we were away from home. I hate shit like this but I have a feeling I need to check it. Lawton always sends me one of his little love notes when he does something intended to cause me pain. I figure since he can't really reach me immediately using his usual methods this time, he might leave a voice mail message."

"You don't think he'd hurt her, do you?" It sounded stupid now that he had said it. "Sorry Alex. That was a really stupid question."

"Actually, I don't think he would hesitate for a moment to hurt her if he thought it would get him what he wants. He's one heartless fucker, Wheaton. I don't think he'll kill her though, at least not until he accomplishes whatever he set out to do. This whole thing has been too well orchestrated for him not to have a plan. Besides, Mickey always has a plan."

"So what do you think he wants?"

"Me," she answered. "He wants to kill me. According to my father's journals he wants to kill the entire Stoner family, to wipe us off the planet. I don't know what part Rhonnie plays in this insanity but I'm pretty sure he wants her around to witness the final act."

"Final act?"

"Yeah and unless I miss my guess I'm the headliner. My father wrote all about he and Mickey in his journals and how he had figured out that Mickey had it in for him. I think when he killed my father it didn't give him what he thought it would. When killing Anna didn't satisfy whatever drives him he decided he needed to kill all of us. It's all in my father's journals, Stanley."

"Shit!"

"What?" Alex jumped up, looking around for an intruder or some other form of danger.

"No, no. Everything's all right. I just remembered something Rhonnie had been telling me before that guy burst into the cabin."

Alex sat back down. "What was it about?"

"Your father's journals, I think. It was about Anna and the notes you were trying to find. Rhonnie said you were looking in the wrong place or something like that, I think."

"What did she say Stanley? Try to remember. Picture the whole scene in your head as if it were a movie. Can you do that?" Alex encouraged.

Stanley sat up and scooted against the headboard before closing his eyes. He tried to picture the inside of the cabin, as it had been that morning. Remembering what his counselor had taught him about relaxing and meditation, he tried to add a memory from each of his five senses in an effort to recall Rhonnie's exact words.

Eyes, he thought. He pictured the honey gold color of the wood and the way reflected the sunlight coming through the window.

Ears were next on his mental list. Scrunching his brows in concentration he tried to remember what sounds there had been. Birds. He had heard birds singing outside. There was also the soft rhythmic beat of the percolator. Rhonda had started a new pot of coffee just after Alex went to chop wood.

This was working quite well, he marveled. The next item on the list of senses was his nose. He smiled. Coffee. He could almost smell the coffee as it blended with the lingering aroma of maple and cinnamon from the French toast he had eaten for breakfast.

Adding the sense of taste was easy because he had never eaten anything that tasted as good as breakfast had that morning.

Lastly, he needed to add the sense of touch. The first thing he thought of in that arena was the rough texture of the couch's upholstery. He also remembered how heavy it had been to lift and the tightness he felt when he pressed his hands into the inner edges where the cushions fit when it was upright.

The scene was forming clearly in his head now. They were looking for the notes and talking when suddenly Rhonnie seemed to think of something. What was it she had said, he asked himself. Then, almost as if he had clicked a remote control button, the sound came on in the movie his mind was playing.

Anna didn't hide the notes at all. They were always right where we could find them. It's all in the...

"It's all in the what?" Alex asked.

"I don't know. That's when the door slammed open. I'm sorry Alex. I guess it wasn't much help, was it?"

"If Rhonnie thought it was important then it probably is. I just need to think about it...after we eat." She stood up when there was a knock on the door, glad the food had arrived and grateful for the excuse to take a break. Stanley wasn't looking so good, she thought.

Not long after finishing off his second burger, Stanley stretched out and went to sleep. The marshal had talked him into taking more of the little green pills with his first cheeseburger and they seemed to be helping with his headache. His lip had broken open when he took a large bite but it hadn't slowed him down very much.

They hadn't even opened the bottle of wine so Alex slipped it into the tiny refrigerator along with her second burger, two Cokes and their desserts. She pulled the covers up over her temporary roommate and went back to her bed and the telephone. After only two calls she got through to her voicemail messages and began to play them. She was informed by a pleasant sounding woman's voice that she had four new messages.

Message number one was her mother saying hello. They were having a wonderful time and did not wish she were there.

Message number two excitedly announced that she had been selected to receive a new credit card and all she had to do was call the 800 number and they would happily take her application over the phone.

Message number three was Director Haynes asking her to come back in and trust the law enforcement machine to do its job. That's what she had done before and now her wife was in the hands of a lunatic.

"Machines are only as good as the person running them," she mumbled. "I wouldn't let the people who fucked this up run my weed whacker! Sorry Director Haynes," she said as if he were in the room with her. "This is one job I have to do myself."

Message number four hit pay dirt.

"Nice phone message, ladies. Real sweet. Too bad I can only leave a message for one of you but I'm sure you understand. Don't you Alex? I'd tell you Rhonda sends her love but she's feeling kind of poorly right now. I gotta tell you, from where I'm standing, she's not much of a bombshell. Still blonde, though. I bet it's natural too, huh? Not much to do with half the state out looking for me. Maybe I ought to check that little detail out for myself, have some fun. Maybe not. To tell you the truth, she's not doing so well. I'm not sure how much longer she'll be with us but I'll do my best to keep her alive so you can say goodbye. That's a sight more than anyone gave me, I'll tell you.

Oh but you don't know where we are, do you? Ever play Hide and Seek as a kid Alex? Your father and I did. Did he ever tell you we were friends? We were. He was great at Hide and Seek. I had to work really hard to beat Adam Stoner. I guess you could say he taught me all I know. Are you as good as your old man was Alex? Let's find out, shall we?

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're asking yourself why you should play some stupid kid's game with someone like me. That's easy: because I have the woman you love and I'm ready, willing and able to kill her. I think that should be sufficient motivation. I could be wrong, of course. So, Alex, you tell me. Is that reason enough for you?"

There was a moment's pause before the message continued.

"I thought so. Here are the rules of the game. And before you try to think of one of your clever little tricks, they're not negotiable. It's very simple really. I'll hide and you seek. If you find me before she dies, I'll let you kiss her goodbye. But Alex, you better hurry because those morons I hired hurt her real bad."

"That was your last message."

"Fuck!" Alex cussed. "I hate Hide and Seek," she complained. She looked at her watch. It was after midnight. She couldn't even think clearly when she was this tired. To make matters worse, her back and legs were stiffening up again and the muscle spasms were back with a vengeance. She stretched her body the length of the bed, changing positions several times before finding a relatively comfortable one.

"I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes, an hour maybe, and then I'll see if I can figure out where this fucker is hiding. Maybe by then I can sort out what Rhonda was trying to tell Stanley."

She was asleep even before she finished the last sentence.

Matt had been up nearly all night gathering data and comparing information. Director Haynes had put him in charge of coordinating the search for Mickey Lawton and Matt didn't want to muck it up, for lots of reasons. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that there was something they were missing.

None of this made any sense.

Charges made by the credit card Bartoni had tipped them to belonging to Lawton followed a path away from Florence and toward Arizona or New Mexico. There were several items from where someone had fueled up and based on the number of gallons in each purchase they were not driving an economy car. No notation had been made on the credit slips indicating a license number but the signatures all matched. Additionally, cash withdrawals had been made each day for the full amount permitted at the automatic teller machines. This was a large portion of the trail that had led to the capture of the man who had obviously been hired to make people believe he was Mickey Lawton. Unfortunately he would not be available to answer questions, Matt thought as he flipped open yet another manila folder.

The storage unit where Marshals MacDonald and Brumsfeld had been discovered had been rented in person, using cash. The name given turned out, to no one's great surprise, to be false . It belonged to Mickey's Secretary's Great Dane. There was really no point in taking fingerprints but they did it anyway. Mickey's prints were all over the unit as well as the rented Ford Taurus, especially in the back seat and on the rear doorframe. The location of the unit seemed a bit odd to Matt since leaving it there meant it would have actually required Mickey to drive back in the direction of the prison.

By looking at the odometer reading and comparing it to the one taken at the time the vehicle was rented they could calculate the distance to within a tenth of a mile. They knew how far it was from point of pick up to the prison and they knew how far it was from the prison to the storage unit. After combining those numbers they were left with a number of miles unaccounted for; these had to have been driven after the marshals were killed. Investigators had tried to determine as many possible courses that could have added the miles within the parameters of what they already knew. There were two probable routes and both would have required Lawton to turn around and go back in the direction he had just come. Of course, at that time no one even knew he had escaped.

Everyone who could be linked with Mickey or his organization had been questioned and many were being carefully watched. There had been no phone calls to the office or his attorneys; at least, none had been recorded, reported or overheard. It was clear that something was going on that increased perspiration and eye movement during visits from investigators.

Matt noted that the financial records had been subpoenaed. Someone was getting back to basics. Follow the money, he thought. What kind of things was his employees spending money on that were not on last year's records? Were there any unusual deposits or withdrawals? Were there any new accounts that might provide an identity for someone on the run? There were a lot of very good questions but they would have to wait until the records were turned over. Even though a judge signed the court order they had 72 hours to comply after which a team of experts would go over every line and decimal, making an IRS auditor look like the ice cream man.

Okay. Think, Matt told himself. Back to basics is good. Motive. There is always a motive; even if it doesn't make sense to anyone but the perpetrator, there is always a motive. What is it that Lawton wants? The first thing that came to mind was Alex but it hadn't started with Alex, he remembered. Start at the beginning, he told himself. Where was that, he wondered? When had it actually begun? He knew about Anna's murder. Of course and he'd been told that Alex's father, Adam, had been killed by Mickey. He decided that would be a good place to focus part of the investigation.

That was when he came to the last two folders. They were marked Adam Stoner and Anna Stoner and were by far the thickest on his desk. He rubbed his eyes and swallowed the last dregs of cold coffee before standing up to stretch and refill his mug. Walking to the window he could see that it would be light soon. The coffee could wait. It would still be hot in an hour, he reasoned. The files weren't going anywhere. It wasn't going to help Rhonnie if he fucked up because he was too stubborn to take a break.

He removed his watch, set the alarm on it for ninety minutes and leaned back in his recliner. A thought danced around in the back of his mind, waving a little red flag but the fog was too thick and he couldn't quite make it out.

The sun was warm and the air smelled of fresh mown grass and wildflowers. She was walking through a meadow of some sort but there were walls around the meadow and a strange, high ceiling that she could see the sun through. Birds chirped and off in the distance she could hear children playing and water gurgling in a small brook nearby. Anna was holding her hand and tugging softly, urging her along. Alex didn't want to go. She wanted to play with the other children. It sounded like they were having so much fun. But Anna wasn't looking in the direction of the laughter. She was pulling Alex in another direction entirely. Every time Alex started to let go and head off toward where she was certain the kids were having fun, Anna looked at her with sad blue eyes that almost perfectly matched her own.

At the edge of the meadow Anna stopped. She looked at Alex and smiled as a little girl approached. After hugging the child close to her, Anna kissed the little blonde on the cheek and smiled. Then she took Alex's hand and placed it in the smaller one. It was the most beautiful hand she had ever seen. When she turned to ask Anna about their new friend, her sister was gone. Looking back again she could see the little girl fading, her hand slipping away. Alex gripped more tightly only to find there was no longer a hand in hers. She reached out but no matter how far she extended her arms the warmth she sought was just beyond her grasp.

The sounds of the happy children no longer beckoned to her. Birds stopped their songs and the brook halted its flow. The breeze that had warmed her skin only minutes earlier now felt cold and lonely. Fragrant wildflowers morphed into vines and weeds where she stood and the newly mown grass took on a bitter smell that burned her nostrils and stung her eyes, making them water. Everything had changed. With no hand in hers, Alex realized, she was lost.

"Alex? Alex, are you all right?" Stanley asked.

It was nearly dawn and he had been awakened by the sound of someone calling out a name but he had been unable to make it out clearly. The blankets that had been on the bed where Alex was had been kicked to the floor and the muscles in Alex's legs looked tight and hard like a charley horse. Her face was strained as if she was in pain but it was that awful moan that concerned him the most. To Stanley it had sounded like the almost primal cry of a heart breaking.

Matt decided to go through Adam's folder first since it was the older of the two remaining files. He knew that most of the information had been input into the new computer system. However, he also knew that sometimes in the rush to get the data into the software a kind of shorthand was used. Since an entire case can be broken by even the smallest of details, he opted for reading the original reports whenever possible.

This folder was not like the other, smaller files. When the reports and accumulated data grew too bulky to be safely contained in a regular folder, a larger, accordion style file had been used. Adam Stoner's file had a brown elastic band around it that had been stretched until it was no longer taut. As a security measure, two large brown rubber bands had been wrapped around it; one ran vertical, the other horizontal. Carefully, Matt removed them and lifted the stained flap to reveal the contents. He couldn't help thinking it was a kind of biography of the man, complete with photographs.

Adam had joined the police force almost right out of high school. Matt was surprised to learn that his training had not been in Denver at all. Alex had never mentioned that her father wasn't from Denver but, then again, it had never come up in the conversation. Adam had grown up in Pueblo, Colorado where his father worked in the steel mill and his mother was a waitress, part time. He had done very well in the academy and had actually set a new record with his marksmanship. There was a notation written in hand on one of the evaluation sheets indicating that he was a fast thinker who was always ready to help out. The last line caught Matt's eye.

"It is my opinion that Adam will make a good cop. His one weakness may be that he cares too much and the wrong people might take advantage of that. His friend Mickey was washed out today. That one is going to be trouble."

Mickey? Matt wondered if it was possible that the person mentioned could be Mickey Lawton. He had never heard anything about Lawton being in the academy. Then again, why would he? According to the file, it all happened in Pueblo and a long time ago at that. Adam hadn't joined the Denver police force until two years after graduating. By that time he had met and married. Matt made a mental note to check out the possible connection. If Mickey and Adam had known each other all those years ago there might be something in their history that would shed some light on things.

A few reports, citations and photographs later, Matt found something that surprised him. The name Lawton appeared in the file again but this time it was about a James Lawton, minor child of Michael Lawton. He'd been picked up outside a bar with several other boys. It said they had been drinking and tried to persuade a patron to purchase liquor for them. When the man, who was at least as inebriated as the boys, refused to make their purchase, making colorful comments about their probable parentage, a fight ensued. Adam Stoner had been one of the first police officers on the scene. They tried to settle the matter quietly but the boys became aggressive and had to be taken into custody. The other two boys' parents arrived and took their sons home within an hour of being notified.

Adam had strongly suggested that Michael Lawton was abusive and that it would be in the boy's best interest if they contacted the older brother instead. The switchboard operator tried for several hours to contact the brother at home and at work with no success. Finally, the boy was sent to the closest juvenile detention center until someone could be reached. By that time they had even tried to contact the father but he was not answering the telephone and the man at his work number said he'd gone home hours ago. Adam had driven the boy to the center himself assuring the now very sober and frightened teenager his brother would call soon.

When Mickey Lawton finally walked into the station house just after noon the next day, he looked like he had just stepped out of a shower. His hair was still damp and his clothes were clean with sharp creases still in the slacks indicating they had not been worn long. It was not good news that greeted him. His brother was dead. After being gang raped and beaten by five older boys, James had hung himself from the steel water pipes in the basement. According to the coroner's report, he had used his own belt. It had been a birthday present from his brother only a week before. He was fifteen years old.

The reaction of the brother to the news was uncontrolled rage. The officer at the desk said there was a brief moment when he first told him that he looked as if he might crumple to the floor but he didn't. Not a single tear was shed. Instead, Mickey had demanded to see Adam Stoner. The shouting and accusations could be heard throughout the entire police station. When Mickey struck Adam and threatened to kill him, he was quickly grabbed and restrained by nearby officers. Adam convinced them Mickey was his friend and was just in shock and grieving the loss of his only brother. They reluctantly let him go with a strong warning.

A newspaper clipping showed a large group of people gathered at the boy's graveside. A young Adam Stoner and his parents were among those present. The headline read:

"Damn," Matt mumbled. "What a cold bastard. Guess the apple didn't fall far from that family tree."

Continuing his reading, he found where the file showed that Adam had been assigned to partner with Anthony Bartoni about six months after arriving in Denver. The two made a good team and became close friends as well. There was a newspaper article with a picture of the twins as newborns being held up by Bartoni, in uniform. The caption said it all:

Matt had to laugh at that one. He smiled when he came across the picture of Alex and Anna dressed as policewomen for the Halloween Party. They were twelve. His smile faded when he turned the page.

A gentle weight on his right shoulder made Matthew turn but there was no one there. He could still feel the warmth as he carefully gathered everything together and returned it to the folder, closing it securely.

"Live and learn," he said quietly. "Live and learn. I sure would have never figured Stoner and Lawton to be friends. Then again," he mused aloud. "No telling what the hell my childhood friends are up to these days."

For some reason the image of the little redheaded boy who used to steal his lunch money popped into his mind. He shook his head and decided he definitely needed another cup of coffee.

His captive had kept him awake for the better part of the night with her moaning and mumbling. Mickey was tired and had already finished off the miniaturized pot of coffee the hotel room allowed him to make. He had even brewed and consumed the pot made from the decaf they so generously left in the room. In an effort to make it at least marginally helpful, he had dumped the decaf pouch in on top of the real coffee pouch. The result was a slightly darker but no more potent liquid. There was no room service and his assistant was now nearly an hour late, which would not improve the reception he would receive.

Adding to his increasingly bad day was the touch of reality he had been given just before dawn broke about twenty minutes ago. Even when no food or drink is consumed for nearly an entire day, the human body's waste engineers are still on the job. Mickey had found himself in a situation he had not been in since he had shared a bed with his younger brother, James, a bed wetter. Disgusted, he had stripped the bed, tossing the soiled sheets into the corner before covering Rhonda with the blanket, bedspread and extra blanket from the closet. He couldn't risk her catching pneumonia in the cold room but he had no intention of changing her clothes, even if he had something to change her into which, he reasoned, he did not. Afterwards, he had showered and changed into clean clothes and contacted the man whose arrival he now awaited.

Jeff's body still rested in the chair, the bath towel still draped haphazardly across his face. The chair now sat directly in front of the air conditioning unit, which he had cranked up full blast with the air aimed in the direction of the chair and its contents. Amazingly, it worked very well. The small hotel room was like a walk in freezer now though perhaps not quite as cold. Mickey had put a long sleeved shirt on over his tee shirt before donning a jacket. He had considered moving the body but decided it might be a good motivator for his tardy employee.

The blonde bombshell had developed a fever during the night and kept calling out for Alex. Lawton prayed she would shut up but also hoped she would do that when it came time to leave his next message for Alex. It would be such delicious torture. He smiled just thinking of the pain it would cause the tall marshal.

Finally, there was a quick rap on the door.

"Hey Mick. What the fuck? It's like a fucking freezer in here why don't you..?" He stopped mid-sentence. "Is that a body?"

Grabbing the tall man by the belt buckle, Mickey pulled him inside before clicking the door shut and bolting it.

"Yes you fucking idiot. That is a body but it ain't something I'm real anxious to have a lot of people know just yet. Where's my damn Starbucks? Don't tell me you forgot or there'll be two bodies in this room."

"Course I didn't forget. I just have to go to the truck and grab it. I wanted to make sure I had the right room first is all. Be right back Mick."

He flipped the bolt over, opened the door, left the room and pulled the door closed behind him. Less than a minute later he was at the door again. This time Mickey was waiting for him. He carried a tray holding four large cups in one hand and a large white bag with golden arches in the other. Once inside, he looked for a place to set things down and decided the small round table was the only option.

" I got you three large Starbucks like the one you asked for and got me one. I didn't figure your tastes had changed much in the last few years so I got sausage biscuits and took a pass on the donuts. Hope I guessed right." He explained, glancing over at the chair near the window every few words.

"You guessed right," Mickey said, reaching for a cup with one hand and the sack with the other. "But you're late." He growled.

"Yeah. Damn cops were snooping around my car this morning so I had to get something else. Went to one of those buy here pay here places and they took a while with the paperwork. Sorry Mick. I didn't want to risk it with the cops. They must be checking out all your old buddies or something."

"Shit." He muttered. "I'd hoped they'd still think I was headed for the border. Guess I better get Jake to take care of that. Let me do this while you drink some coffee. Take one of those biscuits too. You look hungry."

He pulled out his mobile phone and dialed the familiar number. "Yeah. It's me. Listen Jake, I want you to take my Porsche and drive to the airstrip outside Grand Junction. You remember which one I mean?" He waited for the affirmative response before continuing. "Good. Call Lester and book a flight in my name from there to Mexico City. Make sure you use my name and my bank account. Check into a nice hotel and stay until you hear from me again. Make sure you order lots of steaks and, you know what to do Jake. Just act like it's me doing it. Do it right away and I'll get back to you in a few days."

Having scarfed down two cups of coffee and three biscuits during the call, he sat back and sipped on his last cup of the steaming brew.

"Okay Howard, you got everything all set up? You brought all the stuff I told you to get?" He asked.

"Sure do Mick. I have everything ready and waiting for our guest, just like you ordered, boss." He didn't want to push their friendship too far. He knew only too well that a friendship with Mickey Lawton was unreliable at best. "That her? She don't look like much. Um, no offense."

"None taken," Mickey answered. "But don't let current appearances fool you. She's a real beauty when she hasn't had the shit kicked out of her. More importantly, Stoner loves her. Love's a weakness, like I always said. Stoner's got it bad for this one. It'll sap her strength and make her stupid, mark my words."

"Whatever you say, Mick. Still, she looks awful puny laying there. You sure she's gonna make it long enough to get Stoner? I mean, doesn't she have to figure out where we have her first? I thought you were playing Hide and Seek or something with her."

"Oh don't worry about Alex. She'll figure it out. I plan to give really good clues. You just make sure you have everything in place in a hurry because things will probably happen pretty fast after my next message."

"I'll be ready. When you leaving the next message?" He asked, looking at the woman on the bed. "She been calling for her like that all morning?"

"Try all night," answered Mickey.

"Shit. That'd keep me up."

"Well then kiss sleep goodbye for a while cause she ain't likely to stop by tonight."

"Shit," he muttered.

"Yeah, well not yet but you're gonna have to clean her up some after you get there. You're on your own on that but don't be fucking her or you'll end up like Jeff there." Mickey warned, indicating the body in the chair.

"Why can't I fuck her? I don't see why that should matter. It isn't like you aren't gonna kill her anyway." He complained.

Mickey lowered his brows and stared at the man. "You don't have to see why it matters, Howard. Just don't fuck her unless you want to end up dead...and dickless," he warned.

Swallowing hard, he nodded silently.

"Okay now shut up while I make this call. Then you can grab your package and get going. I'll take care of a few things here and be along later."

Howard nodded again, looking first at Jeff's body and then at Mickey. Chills ran up the back of his neck as he watched and listened. He knew he was never going to win any prizes as humanitarian of the year. Even his own mother had told him it was unlikely he would escape hell. He figured she'd be right - if there were such a location. If there were, he thought with a quick shiver, he would not be surprised to find his friend ran the place.

It was a relief to be out of that room and on the road again. He looked at the small woman strapped into the passenger seat and smiled.

"What Mick don't know won't hurt him, I always say." He patted the leg of the nearly motionless body. "Don't worry baby. I know how to warm you right up. I fix you right up just as soon as we get in and get settled, whaddaya say?" He laughed out loud. "No argument from you eh? Good. I like agreeable women."

Howard studied his traveling companion more closely at the first rest area, having parked in the back where the big rigs parked if there were any. Today there weren't so he decided to introduce himself.

"Hello Rhonda," he whispered. "My name is Howard Williams. What? You're too warm all bundled up like that? Here, let me help you." He unbuckled the seat belt in order to remove the blanket from around the small blonde half the male population had once lusted after. "What? You're still too warm? Maybe we need to unbutton this shirt then." He leaned over and began unbuttoning her blouse until he could spread it open, bringing the tops of full round breasts into view. "Oh yeah, Baby. That's real nice. It was so nice of you to wear one of those bras that open in the front for me. Let me help you with that, Baby." Thick fingers fumbled with the closure until the material gave way, releasing her breasts into his clumsy hands. The softness of the flesh made him hard and ready. He was about to explore further when a large rig pulled in next to him and he had to wrap the blanket around her again. Frustrated, he quickly buckled her in and left the rest area, anxious to reach his destination before his friend.

Just after nine o'clock Matt was interrupted by a phone call from a member of his team.

"We have activity on Lawton's account, Matt. He filled up at a station about an hour west of Denver just after seven, this morning. A few minutes ago we got a call verifying charges for booking a flight to Mexico City with a small airline that specializes in this kind of thing. They've been investigated before by DEA but no charges were ever brought against them. A reservation came through for a five star hotel in Mexico City on that same account not five minutes after the flight. Looks like our boy's headed to Mexico after all."

"I take it we have someone following up on this?" Matt asked.

"Yes sir. We're on it."

"Well keep me informed but don't pull the rest of the team from their stations yet. This bastard led us on a merry chase once before. Track it but keep watching everything."

"You got it." The reply was short and to the point with the line going dead soon after its delivery.

Matt hoped the information was accurate and they would soon have Lawton, once and for all. Still, something nagged at him. It just didn't feel right. He had barely removed the elastic from the final remaining file on his desk when the phone rang again.

"Seaboldt," he answered.

"Matt, it's Janice. Homicide cops just found a dead body in a hotel room. Matt, it was just outside Cripple Creek and it has Mickey Lawton all but written all over the body. Identification says his name is Doug McPhee, which was red flagged because of the body Alex found. That one was identified as Jeffrey McPhee. Here's the clincher. They both have the same address on their driver's license."

"Fuck. And this is in Cripple Creek, you say?" Matt asked.

"Well, near there." She answered. "And Matt," she continued hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"They found blood and urine on the bed linens which had been tossed into the corner. It was also on the mattress but there is nothing to indicate the victim was ever on the bed."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, well I had to tell you. Let's not tell Alex yet though. I think we need to check it first. I put a rush on it with the lab and asked them to type the blood right away."

"Let's pray it's Lawton's." Matt remarked.

"I just pray it's not Rhonnie's." Jan replied. "There won't be enough cops in the country to protect that fucker if he's hurt her."

"No shit." Matt felt his stomach do a triple somersault. "Call me when you know."

"Will do." She answered before ending the call and closing her phone.

"Great," Matt mumbled. "So what else could go wrong this morning?" Just then his phone rang. His caller ID said the caller was Director Haynes. "Better and better," he whined before picking up. "Seaboldt."

It was a few minutes before nine when Alex got the call from Director Haynes. She had been trying to decide what to do next, frustrated by the knowledge that, for now, the best thing she could do was wait. Stanley watched as his friend made both beds only to strip them and make them again, careful to create perfect hospital corners and smooth each sheet and blanket. She used a bar of soap and a washcloth to clean every surface in the room at least three times and had started toward the beds again when he could stand no more.

"Alex, please sit down. You're making me dizzy." He implored as he stepped between her and the already perfectly made beds.

She looked surprised, almost startled by his words. Blue eyes surveyed the room before a well-sculpted brow lifted over one eye.

"Did I do that?" she asked.

"Twice." He answered.

"Damn. I gotta get outta here before I lose it."

"Too late," Stanley remarked, hoping she would catch the joke.

"Oh now that is just mean, Wheaton. You don't mean to tell me you don't have some O.C.D. hidden in that brain of yours. Come on, what is it? What do you do when you're stressed out, Stanley? You can tell me," she teased before sitting on the edge of the bed she had slept in the night before.

"Whine?" He laughed.

She smiled and started to say something but was interrupted by the telephone.

"Hello," she answered while flipping the device open.

"Alex, it's Director Haynes. Have you checked your voice mail messages on your home line lately?"

"Yes sir. I checked them late last night and I already know about Lawton's dumb ass Hide and Seek Game if that's what you mean." She answered.

"Yes. Well actually, the report does indicate that you retrieved your messages last night. Four, I believe."

"Yeeeeessss," she answered, trying not to sound as irritated as she felt knowing her phone was tapped. Then again, she reasoned, it would be standard procedure and I've done it myself.

"I'm sorry Alex. I know this is different when you're the one whose life is being intruded upon. Have you checked your messages yet this morning? The power was interrupted in the van and the guys weren't sure."

"How could anyone...never mind. I probably don't want to know. To answer your question: No. I haven't checked my messages yet this morning. I'm gonna go out on a limb here though and guess I need to. Right?"

"Right. Call me after you've heard it." He said before hanging up.

"It? If you already know there's only one, then you know what it says so why..."

Realizing she was talking to herself, she hung up and dialed the number for her messages. Each button was pushed slightly harder than those preceding it. Stanley noticed but chose to say nothing about it.

"Good morning, Alex."

The message began simply enough but it didn't matter to the tall marshal. She didn't care for niceties at this point. She just wanted him to get on with his fucking clues so she could find him, get her wife, kill his sorry ass and go home. She clenched her jaw and waited for the message to continue.

Suddenly she sprang to her feet. It was Rhonda. It was Rhonnie's voice in the background. Quickly she tried to punch the button to increase the volume. Instead of accomplishing her goal, it terminated her call.

"Fucking piece of shit!!" She growled at the small telephone and punched in the code for her messages again.

This time she had the volume up as loud as it would go. She strained to listen for every sound; she felt certain Rhonnie would send her a secret code of some kind. What she heard made her blood chill in her veins just before it began to boil. Rhonda was calling for her and Alex knew that voice well enough to know her partner was talking in her sleep. If Rhonnie was sleeping in a situation like this she was either hurt or drugged or both.

"Damn you, you mother fucker. I'll kill you this time, so help me God! Well shit!"

She jabbed at the keypad, calling the number again and listening again, her rage growing stronger by the second.

"I think that should sufficiently demonstrate that I do indeed have your so-called wife, that she is still alive at this moment and that, as I told you last night, she is not doing so good. My associate has her now and they are on their way to prepare for you. Now that your mother has remarried, only two Stoners remain to be dealt with and one of them looks like she's half dead already.

Here's your first clue, Alex. It's an especially good one so don't fuck up and take too long. Your little bombshell isn't made of steel, you know?

The clue is: Home on the Range. You figure it out. Oh and Howard says to tell you hi and thanks for the date. He'll take real good care of her until you find her.

Say goodbye Rhonda."

Alex could still hear the fading sounds of Rhonnie calling for her as the phone was moved gradually away from her until all she could hear was Mickey Lawton's evil laughter.

"Fucking bastard! You fucking bastard!!!" She shouted as she disconnected the call and paced the room trying to calm down enough to phone the Director.

"Director Haynes."

"It's Alex."

"Do you know what it means, Alex?"

"It means I'm glad you retired me."

"Huh?"

"I said I'm glad I'm no longer in the service because I'm going to kill him and I don't want it to reflect badly on the marshal service."

"Now don't go doing anything stupid Alex."

"I have no intention of it sir. Oh and sir?"

"Yes."

"I'll be gone before they get here." She hung up and pulled on her boots. "Wheaton, get...I see you've learned a thing or two in the last couple of years." He had his boots on, key cards were laying on the dresser with more than enough cash to cover the room charges and the bottle of pain pills were in his good hand.

"A few," he smiled. "So," he continued. "Do you know where Rhonnie is?"

"Yes, my friend. I think I do. Shall we go and get her before she wakes up and beats him to death for mussing her hair?"

Alex and Stanley were three exits away on Interstate Twenty-Five by the time the team pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot. She pulled into a combination gas station and convenience store and parked in the back.

"Something wrong?" Stanley asked.

"Not a thing," Alex answered. "We need new wheels is all. I'll be right back."

She returned in a few minutes with two large sodas, a box of donuts and a copy of the local Trading Post newspaper. Stanley thanked her for the drink and donuts and watched curiously as she began flipping pages and making circles with her ink pen. After turning several pages and making about five large red circles Alex slapped the steering wheel and smiled.

"Bingo. We have a winner. Now let's call them and see if it's been sold yet."

The whole thing was fascinating to Stanley. He had no idea what she was up to but, whatever it was, she seemed to know what she was doing and that was good enough for him.

"Yes," she spoke into the phone. "I was calling about the truck you have for sale. Is it still available by any chance?"

"Why yes," the woman answered. "Would you like to come by and see it?"

Alex smiled. "We sure would. Can you tell me how to get there from the local Holiday Inn?"

She scribbled some notes in the margins of the newspaper and asked if they could come right over. The woman agreed and Alex told her they would be over in about ten minutes.

"Stanley, I know your arm hurts like hell and you probably still have the headache from Tartarus but do you think you could drive this if you had to? It would only be a few blocks at the most and it is an automatic." She asked.

"Sure Alex. I can drive with one arm as long as I don't have to change gears. But, what about your truck? You aren't gonna just leave it are you?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Stanley, that fucker has Rhonda. Do you think I give a shit what happens to this damned vehicle?"

"I guess not. Sorry Alex." He apologized.

"Wheaton, I'll let you in on a little secret. To get my wife back safe and sound I'd walk away from Red Death and never look back."

"Huh?" He asked, confused.

Alex had to laugh. "Sorry Stanley. That's the name of my Cherry Red 1963 E-Type Jaguar converted by Proteus, in England, into an XJ13. Let me tell you, she's a beauty, second only to my Rhonnie."

"That is about the nicest thing I've ever heard. Holy shit. I didn't think there were more than a handful of those in the whole world!"

"With fingers left over would be my guess and I'd give her up in a heartbeat to know Rhonnie is safe."

The front door opened and a tall woman with gray hair walked outside, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"You the folks who called about the little truck?"

Alex stepped out of her vehicle and nodded, closing the door behind her.

"It belonged to our son, Andy. He's in the Army and got shipped overseas. He can't take it with him so he asked us to sell it. He did a lot of work on it, bless his heart, and just can't bear the thought of it sitting here for two years with no one to drive it. My husband won't drive a truck and I can't drive a stick shift to save my hide. That's it, right over there. The little green looking thing with the blue cap on it. He planned to have it painted up real nice but they shipped him out before he had time. He finished up all the other things though."

"What kind of other things?" Alex asked as she lifted the hood and tried not to look surprised by what she saw there.

"Oh, land sakes, I couldn't tell you. He redid the transmission, put a whole new engine in it and did something or other with the shock absorbers. I hate to even think how much he spent on it but he said to sell it for what he paid when he first bought it and that was six hundred dollars, just like the ad said. Oh, we had our mechanic put a new muffler on it too and the paperwork is in the glove compartment. It sounded just awful without it, I can tell you. Loud as any I've ever heard. I don't know how he could hear his radio over all that racket. I guess that's why he went and put in that fancy new one a while back."

"Mind if I crank it up?" Alex asked.

"Why not at all. The keys are in it, Miss. Go right ahead."

Alex shook her head as she looked at the outside of the little Ford Ranger Pickup. She couldn't help thinking about how ugly it was. Rhonda would love it, she thought with a smile. Then she opened the door to the extended cab. All the upholstery and carpet had been redone and she could see where someone had installed a new stereo with a compact disk player as well as a whole new speaker system. She climbed inside and cranked it up. The little truck rumbled to life. The marshal quickly turned it off and got out of the truck, reaching for her wallet.

"Cash is okay, I take it?" She asked while removing six crisp one hundred dollar bills.

"Oh yes," the woman answered happily. "Cash is always good. I don't think you can get tags on Saturday but you can just leave these on it if you like. It's not as though my son will need them. You can drop them in the mail to us when you get new ones next week. Would you like to do that?"

"That'd be terrific," Alex answered.

They exchanged the necessary paperwork and Alex drove away with Stanley following. Four blocks away she pulled into the parking lot of a small church. She scribbled a note on the back of a cash register slip from the night before and stuck it to her steering column with a wad of chewing gum. Next she walked over to the edge of the pavement and scooped up a handful of mud, which she carefully smeared on the license plate before wiping her hands on her jeans.

"I can't believe you did that," said Stanley.

"What?" Alex asked innocently before winking. "Okay. Let's go," she said.

Once they were inside the newly purchased truck, Stanley had to know.

"What did you write on the note, Alex?"

Pulling back onto the road, she answered him. "I'm mad Stanley, not stupid. I told them to meet me in Pueblo and to wear their vests."

Late that afternoon Alex checked them into Holiday Inn after picking up more medicine at a drug store. She asked the woman at the desk if there was someone who might run an errand for her. The woman said her grand daughter would be happy to do it if it wasn't too far. Alex explained that she only needed someone to pick up a few things at the local Wal-Mart and that she would be more than happy to pay someone to do it. They made arrangements for the girl to come by the room in about twenty minutes.

They had picked up some sandwiches at a drive through and she suggested to Stanley that he take some more pain pills with his. He agreed but told her he was actually feeling much better than yesterday at that time. It made her think of Rhonda.

Thinking about Rhonda made her think about what she had told Stanley just before being beaten and kidnapped. What was it she had said? Alex tried to remember.

Anna didn't hide the notes at all. They were always right where we could find them. It's all in the...

Something was bugging her, nagging its way into her brain. What was it Rhonnie had been trying to tell her, she wondered? If Anna didn't hide the notes then who did? But, she thought, Rhonnie seemed to be saying that they weren't hidden at all. They were always right where they could find them. Alex thought about that and it made her think of the old trick of hiding things in plain sight. Put something where people will see it but not see it. Like putting a rare coin in a penny jar, she thought. No one sees the rare coin because they're expecting to see pennies. Okay so what was it she said next, Alex asked herself. It's all in the what? It's not hidden. It's where we could always see it but didn't because we weren't expecting to see it. It's all in something. Alex was pacing now. She was getting close to figuring it out. She could feel it. When she turned to make another circuit of the room there was a knock at the door.

Grace introduced herself and explained that her grandmother had sent her. Alex had explained to the girl, a young woman really, she discovered, that she and her friend had lost their luggage. They simply needed some clean clothes and a few things like razors and combs. The teen made a list of what was needed in a small notebook while she informed Alex that some of the items were available from the hotel and she would bring those from housekeeping. She took the money Alex gave her and promised to return shortly. Before leaving Grace tucked the money into a wallet with the initials FI. The lettering caught Alex's attention.

"I thought your name was Grace? Grace Iglehart, right?"

"Yes, oh you mean the initials." The woman smiled. "It was my grandmother's idea. Some of the employees were stealing money from my wallet so she gave me hers. She said they'd never have the nerve to steal from her." Grace laughed. "Let me tell you, that old woman must have them all scared because I've never missed so much as a nickel since."

"Well, I'll be damned." Alex slapped her knee. "Thank you Grace. You just solved a mystery for me."

"You're welcome," she said. Still unsure what she had solved, she promised to return and was on her way.

"What is it?" Stanley asked, having stirred from his Excedrin induced nap.

"My father didn't leave me the note about reading the journals at all. Anna did. That means she read them first. Something she read in them got her killed but Mickey said she was snooping where she didn't belong. That means that she was following up on something she read in my father's journals. Whatever she was looking into bothered him enough to kill her. We know he doesn't give a shit about murdering people. He wouldn't have killed her just for knowing he killed someone. Everyone knew he was a murderer. We just couldn't prove it back then. Besides, he didn't care about that because he never believed he could be caught."

"What if it wasn't the fact he killed someone but who he killed?" Stanley asked.

"Son of a bitch!" Alex shouted. "That's it! Stanley, you're a genius!" She slapped him gently on his back.

"I wish you women would either stop saying that or tell me what I said that was so smart." He laughed briefly and then frowned. "You know, the last woman who called me a genius didn't fare too well."

"Yeah? Well as soon as it gets dark I'm gonna see what I can do about that."

Alex put the hotel phone number into the memory of her mobile phone and checked to be sure it was fully charged. She wrote down her mobile number in huge digits on a notepad from the hotel and placed in next to the telephone for Stanley.

"Okay. I should be back before sunrise but don't worry if I'm a little late. I'm going to check some things out and make sure I'm right about where they are."

"Shouldn't you take someone with you? I can go, Alex. Really I can," Stanley argued.

"Wheaton, I need you here. Besides, I'm not going to do anything that would jeopardize Rhonnie's safety. Tonight I just need to locate them and formulate a plan of action. I need to get Rhonnie back and to a hospital but I won't risk her being hurt any worse than she already has been. By tomorrow some time the cavalry will be here. It's not enough that we get Rhonda; we have to take care of Lawton, too."

"How can you be sure they'll be here?" He asked.

"Well, Matt has been studying all the files he could get his hands on and the last time he called he had finished my father's file and was starting on Anna's. That means he knows my father and Mickey were friends and that they grew up in Pueblo."

"Really? You grew up around here?"

"No but my father did," she answered. "He would also know by now that my grandfather and Mickey's father, as well as most of the men from around here back then, worked in the steel mill. By now they have retrieved the tapes from Mickey's last voice mail message. He all but told me where he was taking her when he said 'Home on the Range' was the clue. When he told me she wasn't made of steel I knew he wanted me to die here, in Pueblo, where his brother died. Unless I'm very much mistaken he killed his father not far from here."

"He killed his own father?" Stanley asked.

"From what I've read the man was a real waste of genetic material. He beat his wife until he killed her when Mickey was just a kid. Once she was gone he took to beating the youngest boy, Mickey's brother James. Mickey was probably trying to save his brother in his own twisted way when he murdered his father. I don't think he ever forgave himself for not being there for James."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh. James was picked up that same night with some other boys for being drunk and disorderly and for taking a swing at a cop. The other kids were sent home with their folks but my father knew old man Lawton would only use it as an excuse to beat the boy again. He had them hold James and call Mickey. When Mickey couldn't be found nearly four hours later they tried to reach Michael Lawton, the father. He could not be reached either. I think it's because he was already dead. Anyway they had to take the kid to the nearest juvenile detention home and they had a group of older boys there who were really bad news. My father had no idea and neither did anyone else. During the night five of them beat and gang raped James before dumping him into his room. They found him the next morning hanging from the steel water pipes that ran across the ceiling. He'd used the belt Mickey had given him for his birthday the week before. It was pretty awful. Mickey blamed my father for it and even attacked him right there in the station house."

"Damn."

"Yeah. Well anyway, I think Lawton has probably always been a bit off his bean. Who knows? Maybe he inherited it from his old man. I think he has things all cockeyed in what passes for his brain. I don't really give a shit any more. He may be one hundred percent fruitcake for all I care. He's also a cop killer and he's hurt Rhonnie now. He wants me to play Hide and Seek well I can play his little cat and mouse game."

Alex pulled the zipper up on the black nylon jacket and grabbed the keys.

"If I call you and say do it, dial that number and tell them the escaped cop killer is hiding in one of the closed sections of the old steel mill. Tell them he has kidnapped Rhonda Reynolds and is trying to kill her along with Deputy United States Marshal Alex Stoner. Then cover your ears because the sound of sirens will probably be heard for miles. Just don't do it unless I say those exact words. Okay?"

"Okay. Just be careful."

"Absolutely."

"Please let this all be a nightmare," she heard Wheaton whisper as she closed the door.

It was Saturday night, the weekend. Alex wondered if Mickey had gone so far as to plan that too. Years ago, Rocky Mountain Steel had been so busy you could see people coming and going every hour of the day and night, regardless of which day it happened to be that you were looking. She remembered stories her father had told her about how every family in Pueblo was connected to the mill, one way or another. His father worked in the mill. His mother was a waitress part time who served hot coffee and cheap food to the hungry workers. Back then the mill produced everything from rails to pipes and back again.

If your father or your uncle didn't work making steel the chances were good they did something else connected with the Rocky Mountain Steel Mill.

She could still see his warm smile as he told her about the place where he'd grown up. It couldn't have been an easy life for his folks but it was a good one, by all accounts.

As she drove along Northern she couldn't help but notice how different things looked from what her father had told her about. She tried to picture in her mind's eye what it had been like years ago but the reality kept slamming into her vision. This place was dark and dusty; the people she saw were definitely not going to or coming from work. There were small bars, a tattoo parlor, a run down convenience store and even a restaurant of sorts, all dimly lit and not particularly inviting from her point of view. Judging from the number of people her opinion wasn't hurting business.

Alex drove past the small businesses to the mill itself and the warehouses nearby. There was an area that was fairly well lit but there were no cars or trucks in the lot and the lights in the buildings of that section were only on in a few places. Those lights were clearly not those used during working hours as they gave off a slightly orange hue, much like emergency or very low watt lights might do. The night sky was not being filled with plumes of smoke either, to Alex, this was a pretty good indication the mill was not running a shift at that time. She drove on slowly, scanning each building for anything out of the ordinary, anything that made her skin crawl. She was certain she was in the right place so she followed the road, going as slowly as the little truck and wisdom allowed.

Following the turns she soon found herself in a much darker part of the steel mill. These buildings looked all but deserted, she thought as her eyes scanned to parking areas and smaller buildings. Behind some of the warehouses were piles of pipes and rails but, in the darkness, she couldn't be sure if they were old or relatively new. Rolling forward very slowly she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as her eyes caught a flicker of light in one of the abandoned warehouses. Alex dropped the truck into neutral and allowed it to coast behind a small, almost square, concrete building with what looked like a steel door. She wondered what purpose it served but had no time to think about it further. She'd turned all her lights off when she turned into the area as it was darkest and the truck's lights would have drawn attention even from the main road. Now she considered whether or not she should kill the engine but decided it was more likely to be heard stopping and starting than idling. Besides, she reasoned, the old truck barely made any noise at all. Even a rowdy bullfrog could be heard above the little truck, which she had nicknamed Scugly and which she fully intended to keep.

Alex reached up and removed the plastic that covered the bulb in the interior light. She took out the small bulb and laid it in the empty ashtray. Starting to open the door she heard voices and stopped. Listening carefully, she could hear two men talking; one of the voices sounded familiar and she hoped she was wrong about the man to whom it belonged.

"Thanks for doing it tonight, Joe. You're sure it will creak if anyone walks on it?" Asked the familiar voice.

"Oh yeah. That thing will creak if a large cat walks across it, Howie. Just remember what I said. It isn't real sturdy and I'm not gonna be responsible if someone gets hurt falling through that damn thing. Two feet isn't a lot to fall but it'll sure snap a leg in two if someone goes through those boards. When their foot hits that damned old linoleum laid over top of solid concrete it will not be a pretty sight. So be careful to walk on the edges like I showed you. I don't want to have to come out here tomorrow and haul your sorry ass to the hospital."

"I'll remember."

"Oh and whatever or, maybe I should say whoever, you have in that box is gonna need a bath...and soon. I turned that on at the water main but you didn't hear me say that."

"Thanks Joe. I'll see you Monday. Don't forget to pick me up before five. I don't want to be stuck hiding in here for a fucking week. If that marshal ...urm...I mean, see you Monday."

"I'll be here."

Alex listened to the sound of heavy boots on pavement and then gravel before she heard the rumble of an engine coming to life. Blue-white lights pierced the darkness and she held her breath as Joe drove out the way she'd come. His lights never even pointed in her direction but her heart raced all the same. She saw the orange glow of a cigarette as it lit the face of a man she had been responsible for putting in prison nearly eight years earlier. Howard Williams, she remembered as her stomach tightened and her jaw clenched.

Forcing herself to take long deep breaths, Alex struggled to maintain her focus and keep reason in control. Emotion was demanding her attention and she squeezed her hands into tight fists only to release them and begin again. This man was an especially brutal rapist, often leaving his victims more dead than alive. Getting a conviction on him had been made difficult not by the lack of evidence but by the conflicting opinions of the psychiatrists who examined him. Everyone seemed to agree he was crazy as a hoot owl but the professional opinions as to his ability to tell right from wrong couldn't have been more different. The third evaluator however said in her report that it was her opinion that the defendant was not only able to discern right from wrong and good from bad but that there was evidence indicating that he had studied a number of books on the subject and was, simply put, as gifted in acting as he was brutal in attacking women. It was her educated opinion that he not only knew that what he was doing was wrong but that his choice of victims as well as the locations he selected was his way of thumbing his nose at law enforcement. She told the judge and jury that it was her opinion that this defendant fully expected to be set free and absolutely would continue to rape and brutalize women. Five hours later he was convicted and sent to prison for twenty years. She had not been informed of his release. Alex gritted her teeth and made a mental note to find the person responsible for that little fuck-up. She'd always wondered if her Dremel worked on human flesh and the area she had in mind ought to make a nice test run, she grinned.

It had taken longer than she'd planned but Alex had seen more than enough. The newly laid plank floor rested on quickly made frames and the eight by twelve foot boards had been laid in such a way that they would rattle and creak if any weight was placed on them at all. By climbing onto the roof however, she could easily slip into one of the smaller windows near there. Many of them were broken and all had been left open, probably for ventilation purposes. There was a kind of crude catwalk or what might have served as one when the warehouse was in use. The steel framework was still in place and Alex was certain she could use it to enter the building and reach Howard undetected. That was not going to be a problem.

Alex had seen Rhonda as Howard took her out of the wooden crate he must have hidden her in while Joe laid the floor. She did not look like she was in very good shape. To Alex's worried eyes she looked like Mickey could be telling the truth; she might not make it through this one. Shaking her head angrily, Alex wiped her face with her gloved hand. No. That was simply not an acceptable scenario. She sat on the rooftop and closed her eyes, concentrating.

"Anna," she whispered. "I know you can hear me. I don't know how and I don't really care. I need you Anna," she pleaded as the tears slipped from her eyes and onto the black cotton gloves. "Anna, go to Rhonnie. Tell her I'm here. Tell her I love her and to hang on for me. Tell her I said dying is not an authorized activity. Please Anna. I need you to do this for me. I can't go in there right now or I could get us both killed. I need to do this right. You know. I know you do. You know how badly I want to climb in there and kill that fucker and take my baby home with me. I know Lawton is here though. I saw the cameras. I saw the plastique, the dynamite and the wire. I don't know where he is yet but I know he's not far. He's watching and he has the place wired to blow. I have to find a way to prevent the detonation without disconnecting the cameras or tripping some secondary trigger that madman has wired into things. I'll be back Anna. I'll be back with help. Please tell her that." Alex opened her eyes and started back down off the roof. When she reached the truck she whispered: "And Anna, I miss you. A lot."

Stanley woke to the sound of Alex's voice. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the red numbers on the clock radio. It was four twenty three. He sat up and Alex nodded, removing her gloves and jacket. She was talking to someone and the look on her face told him she was worried. His wish had not been granted. He was wide-awake and this was no dream.

"Damn," he mumbled, "somebody up there must really hate me."

Alex smiled and winked but continued her conversation, the worried expression returning.

"Yes, that's right." Alex explained to her friend in the bomb squad. "Yes, plastique around the inner parameters and bundles of dynamite under the newly laid floor. Everything is wired to the main, which is taped with black duct tape so I couldn't really see the twists but we already know it's him so we don't need that. No," she paused. "No, the only boxes I saw were with the cameras. There were definitely no boxes with the dynamite or plastique. Nope, the only lights, blinking or not, were the two Coleman lanterns and the tiny green ones with each camera. At least, that's all I saw and I tried to check it out very thoroughly. I crawled around that place for hours, trying to make sure I got everything."

Stanley handed her a small cup of hot coffee. She accepted it with a nod.

"Yes. That's right. The main is a heavy black cable that picks up all the leads in one spot by the back door. It's the one I saw him at so I think it must be the only one they're using but we can't be certain of that. Yeah the cable runs across the narrow pavement and into a small concrete block building that looks to be about the size of a small shed but I can't imagine why it's made of block. Yes I'm sure. The cable runs beneath the solid steel door. In fact, I noticed that someone had used a knife or something to dig a small ditch in order to get it under the door because the damn thing is flush with the ground." There was another pause as she considered something. "Well I guess there could be something on top. I didn't have any way to get on top of it but then I didn't think about it either. I think I could get up there if I pulled my truck alongside it. You sure? I don't mind checking it out. Okay if you're sure." She nodded and listened.

"So you're sure there's no backup device, no secondary trigger?" Alex sighed. "Yes, I know you don't give guarantees, Bobbie. Just humor me, okay. That's my wife in there, goddamn it." A slight smile and another nod indicated she was listening again. "That's good enough for me. Thanks, pal. Now go ahead and call Matt. Tell him I said no fucking up and no jumping the gun. If he tries to rush this Rhonnie will be the first to die. Remind him he owes me and tell him what I said about the bombs. I don't want to lose any one else if we don't have to. Make sure the fire department is alerted just in case there is a backup and have an ambulance at the ready, too. Rhonnie is really hurt badly, Bobbie. He has her strapped into a chair with duct tape and her head is just hanging there. Her clothes have been torn and one of her arms looks like it might be broken. I could see bruises through the torn shirt and I think she has some busted ribs. Her face is a mess and her hair had a dark spot toward the back that might be blood. The light was so dim I couldn't see very well but it was all I could do to walk away. God, she better hang on." Alex took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "Okay. Tell them I said midnight and not a minute sooner. That will give them time to get here and get set up which reminds me. Tell him I said absolutely not to come into Pueblo. Mickey would spot his little caravan in a heartbeat. Split up and go to surrounding towns. Meet up at the exit east of here and come in together. Midnight. Not a minute before or after. Tell him I'm counting on him. Yes, I do know I am not technically in the service now, thank you very much." She chuckled. "Well if he mentions that little detail you can tell him I said I was here first."

Once she had ended the call Stanley spoke up. "I take it you found her?"

"That would be an affirmative." Alex answered.

"So we're going to rescue her at midnight?"

"Not exactly," was her reply.

"What does not exactly mean? You're not going to ask me to stay here and do nothing are you?" He pleaded.

"Nope. I'm going to ask you to be my right arm, Stanley. My backup. My partner in crime, so to speak. I need your help if this is going to work and it will probably hurt your arm and I'm really sorry about that."

"I'm not. I'd cut it off myself if it would get Rhonnie back safely. Just tell me what to do and when and I'm there."

Alex blinked and looked again at the man sitting on the bed a few feet from her. Could this be the same man she had protected nearly two years ago? Was this the Stanley P. Wheaton she had dragged through the woods and rowed up the river? The answer was like so many things in her life of late, complicated. It was and it wasn't the same man. She shook her head gently and smiled.

"Stanley," she said. "We've come a long way baby."

"Ain't it the truth?" He laughed. "So," he lifted his left brow not unlike his mentor. "When do we rescue fair maiden?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Keep talking like that and fair maiden will kick both our asses." They laughed. "Right now," she said, "we try to get some sleep. Believe me, we're going to need it."

"She can't do that!" Matt bellowed into the telephone. "Fuck! Damn it to fucking hell! She cannot fucking do that!"

Bobbie waited patiently for Matthew Seaboldt to complete his temper tantrum.

"Have you called Director Haynes? She can't fucking do that! Can she?"

"No, I called you. Alex asked me to call you Matt. Whether she can or not, she has done it. For whatever it's worth, I don't think she had a lot of good choices. I mean, come on Matt. She's been his target from the start. It's not as if she chose this. The fucker has her wife. If someone kidnapped my wife and hurt her the way this asshole has hurt Rhonda I'd blow him into another fucking galaxy; the consequences be damned."

"Rhonda's hurt?" All the anger leaked from him as he eased back into his chair. "Bobbie, how bad is she hurt? She's not dead is she? God. Alex won't survive if he's killed Rhonnie."

Bobbie paused a moment, not sure what to tell him. "From what Alex said it's pretty bad Matt. She's worried Rhonda might not live until we get there but terrified if we rush in there half cocked she'll be killed for sure."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. I think we better do this one like Alex planned. She's seen the place and knows the layout. I told her how to disarm the bombs and if we do this by the numbers, just like she worked it all out, I think we can pull it off."

"Well, I don't like it. She's retired damn it all to fucking hell!"

Bobbie grinned. "Well, when you put it like that she did give me a message for you."

"What?" He asked.

"She said to tell you she was there first." "Fuckin' A! I can't believe she remembered that." "Remembered what?" Bobbie asked.

"Five years ago I blew one of her ops by arresting the guy before she knew I was there. When she asked me what I thought I was doing I told her I couldn't help it; I was there first."

Laughing, Bobbie shook her red head. "Well, I'd say she owed you. You want us all to meet in your office in twenty?"

"Make it thirty. Some of the team has a ways to drive. See you then." He hung up and closed the folder he had just finished reading.

"I wonder if you ever had time to tell anyone what you found out, Anna. When this is all over, I'll make sure the body is officially identified and that the records show what you learned. The boys who killed James never told anyone they knew who he was or that they were retaliating against his brother. I don't think anyone even knew Mickey was involved. I'm sure no one knew about the tapes you got from the shrink in Chicago. But they will, Anna. I promise you they will."

It was nearly ten o'clock when Howard finally woke up, groaning from sleeping on the wooden floor with only a sleeping bag for comfort. It had been nearly sunrise when Mickey got there and gave the woman a shot. He'd said it was some kind of antibiotic and pain medication and that it would help keep her alive until the marshal showed up. He'd smacked Howard around a bit for strapping her into the chair like he had. Mickey had wanted him to release the woman and make her more comfortable but when they tried to remove the tape from one of her legs the woman screamed. The tape was tearing skin off and even in the low light they could see blood. Mickey had smacked him in the head with the handle of the large knife and yelled at him some more.

"Don't think I don't know what you're up to, you sick bastard. You've torn her shirt to shreds and cut the hooks completely off her bra. I can see smudges on her skin where you've been touching her too. I specifically told you to leave her alone, didn't I?"

Howie shook his head. "No. You only said I couldn't fuck her and I still don't see what it matters if you're gonna kill her anyway."

Mickey stuck the tip of the blade against the zipper of Howard's jeans. "What did you say, fucker?" He asked, pressing the point home.

"Nothing boss. No fucking the blonde. I got it." He eased away from the blade, certain he was already bleeding.

"Good." Mickey pulled the knife back and stroked the blade as he spoke, the threat unspoken but clear nonetheless. "Now, I see that you have taped her legs apart, one to each leg of the chair. I also see that you have seen fit to remove her jeans and tape her thighs apart. Tell me Howie, did you do that when you first put her in the chair or did that come later? Maybe you didn't do that until you'd been playing with her tits some, huh?" Mickey glanced down to see the bulge in Howard's jeans. "Oh you did play with her tits then? Did you run your fingers over her nipples or did you lick them?" He watched to see the thick tongue sneak out across the parched lips. "Licked them I see." He said as he stroked the blade slower, exaggerating each movement. "She's a beautiful woman or she was before someone beat the shit out of her. I warned them not to do that. Did you see what happens to people who disobey my orders, Howard?" He asked, holding the knife up higher, catching the lamplight with the blade and reflecting it into the frightened eyes of Howard Williams.

"Yeah boss. I saw. You shot him."

"Well I might not shoot you though, Howard."

"No?" He asked, hopefully.

"No," came the answer. "I shot Jeff because Jeff is a shooter. You I'd have to do another way."

"You would?" He swallowed and waited, the bulge in his pants now almost completely gone.

"I would." Mickey said, slowly lowering the blade and stroking it again. "I'd have to make you drop your pants so I could lean in real close and take your nice big dick in my hands and slip this shiny steel behind it." He watched as the bulge returned, smiling. "Oh yeah, I would have to pull it gently to see if I could get it to stick straight out."

Howard swallowed as his eyes moved from Rhonda's breasts to the hair easing out around the edges of her bikini panties.

Mickey smiled, ready to deliver his message. "Then I'd squeeze as tight as I could so it wouldn't fall on the floor when I slid the blade forward and cut it off."

Howard gasped.

"Then, you worthless mother fucker, I would let you bleed to death with your own dick in your mouth. Now," Mickey pushed the blade against Howard's crotch, "leave her the fuck alone!"

Then he had stood up and walked out without saying another word. Howard knew the boss wasn't likely to be far away but he also remembered that he had said he wouldn't see him again until after the marshal showed up. That, he figured, ought to give him plenty of time to get some dinner before having a little fun.

Alex and Stanley sat in the parking lot of a small run down motel where Alex had rented a room for the night. A room which she had no intention of using; except for the unquestioned access it gave her to the parking lot, of course. The night before, she had noticed the large rigs parked not far from the warehouse where Rhonda was being held. A few discreet questions told her that it was a lot used by long haul truckers who either didn't want to pay for a motel room or whose rigs wouldn't fit in the other lots. She was told that not many truckers used it any more, especially this time of year. It was too hot and by the time they paid to run their air conditioners they'd be as well off to have rented a room. It made sense to her so she did a little internet surfing and called in a few favors to find out whether Lawton might own a big rig. He did. In fact, she learned, he also owned part interest in Rocky Mountain Steel, albeit under one of his employees' name.

One thing Alex knew about Mickey was he enjoyed the hunt but not as much as he craved the kill. He liked it up close and personal. Whenever possible, he wanted to be the one doing the actual killing. He was obsessed with killing Stoners, this Stoner in particular. Building the bomb and setting the trap would not be enough. He would want...no, he would need to see her die. That was why he had cameras everywhere inside the warehouse. Judging from the way he scratched his crotch and talked to himself, she figured Howard didn't know about the cameras. After doing some checking she discovered that these particular devices would transmit only a short distance, especially in this location. That could mean only one thing. Mickey Lawton had to be very close-by. He would need to be in something large enough to have the equipment he required. Since the blast area Bobbie described would cover the better part at least half of a city block, he would be in a vehicle. A big rig seemed a good choice and there had been two parked in the area earlier that day, one with a trailer and one without.

They'd been parked and watching since just after dark. There were no streetlights in the area and the dim lights from the local bars were all behind them. Alex wasn't exactly sure what she was watching for but she would know it when she saw it. Just before eleven she saw it. A small car with a light on the top that said Dominoes Pizza pulled up alongside the big rig without the trailer attached. The driver got out and walked to the truck's side door, which was facing away from them. The door opened and someone took the pizza and soda. She didn't see money exchange hands but that wasn't important to her. About that time the other rig started up and pulled away with the pizza delivery car not far behind.

"Okay Stanley," she grinned. "You have the cell we got you today at Wal-Mart?"

"Right here." He held it up.

"Good. You have the numbers all programmed in for the local cops, fire and ambulance, right?"

"I do, Alex but I think 911 is universal." He answered.

"This will be faster, Stanley. More direct." She pulled the hood up on the black jacket and slipped her hands into the dark gloves. "Okay, this is it Wheaton. Change places with me."

Stanley opened his door and walked around the small truck, entering on the other side and adjusting the mirrors. Alex slipped into the passenger seat and closed her door before reaching over and buckling the seat belt for her friend. They drove out of the parking lot and around to the entrance she had used the night before, turning the lights off just as they turned into the drive in front of the mill.

"Okay, this is good. Let me out here." She turned to look at Stanley, jaw clenched against the pain in his broken arm. "Hang in there, Stanley. You can do this. Drive back to the hotel but make sure to turn the lights back on before you get onto the main road. When you get to the room put the bag of ice on your arm. It won't be comfortable but it will help until you can take the pills. At exactly midnight call all those numbers and tell them what we practiced. If they tell you someone already called that in thank them and tell them you are acting as Deputy Stoner's back up and give them my badge number. As soon as you hang up take your pills. Rhonnie and I will wake you when we get there."

"From your mouth to God's ears," he said.

"I just hope she's listening," Alex smiled as she slipped from the truck and was gone.

As he put the truck into gear he whispered: "Anna, if you're out there somewhere, help them...please."

He felt a warm touch on his shoulder that traveled down his broken arm and into his fingers where they tingled slightly. "Wow!" He said, fully extending his arm for the first time since Alex had found him lying on the floor of the cabin. Before he could fully comprehend what had taken place he felt something brush the top of his head. To Stanley, it felt like lips. No sooner had the sensation stopped than the headache he'd been struggling with disappeared. He'd felt this presence once before, he remembered with a smile.

"Thank you," was all he could say before driving on. It was enough.

Alex glanced at her watch when she reached the back of the warehouse where she had climbed up on the roof the night before. Cutting the wire had been easy if she didn't count having her heart beating so loudly it nearly deafened her. She'd made good time, too. It was eleven seventeen. She tucked the legs of her black jeans into her boots and slipped the wrists of the gloves beneath the elastic of the jacket sleeves. Twisting first to one side and then the other, she listened to her vertebrae become aligned. She did three deep knee bends and squatted, shifting from side to side a few times, grimacing each time she heard her knees pop. Finally, she stood up and took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly before beginning her climb to the roof.

Outside a gas station, less than six minutes away from Rocky Mountain Steel (at the legal speed) were enough law enforcement personnel and vehicles to have a parade. Matt paced the length of the parking lot over and over, tapping the face of his watch, trying to make the minutes pass more quickly.

"By the book," he kept mumbling. "By the book. Don't rush it. She's calling the shots and she's one of the best. By the book," he repeated.

Bobbie walked over and joined his nervous march. "Almost time, Matt. Got your vest on?"

"Fuck yes, I've got my vest on!" He looked at her, wide-eyed. "If Alex says wear a fucking vest, I'm wearing a fucking vest. I'll deny it if you tell her I said this but not much spooks her, ya know? We've all lost some good friends because of this asshole. I just don't want any of us to lose any more." He looked at his watch again. "Fuck," he muttered and resumed his circular march.

At the Holiday Inn, Stanley was doing some clock watching of his own. He had driven back to the hotel without so much as a twinge of discomfort in his arm and his headache had not returned either. He even did several push ups against the wall to test his broken arm. As far as he could tell his injuries had miraculously healed. He was absolutely amazed. The more he thought about it the greater was the temptation to return to the warehouse and help Alex. When he stood and walked toward the door a sharp pain shot from his shoulder down his arm and into his hand. It was twenty minutes until midnight. He waited.

Alex crawled along the cool roof to the spot just above the broken window that rested less than a foot from the lowest part of the roofing. Careful not to get caught on the sharp edges of bent steel along the frame, she leaned her upper body over far enough to grasp the bar inside and swung herself into the building and onto the metal framework of the old catwalk. Once inside, she kept perfectly still for a moment, listening for any indication she had been heard. She'd selected this particular window partially because it was at the other end of the warehouse but didn't want to take any chances either. Certain her entry had not been discovered, she began to slowly make her way closer to Rhonda. She remembered where she'd seen the cameras the night before and would have to be very precise about her timing. She didn't want to enter the space where she would be seen on camera until her backup was in route. Timing, she grinned, was everything.

Howard Williams was getting mighty tired of this particular job. The floor was hard. The room was dark and smelled of dust and mold. There were bugs and spiders, no beer and now he wasn't even allowed to fuck the woman. The more he thought about it the dumber it seemed to him. In a few hours she was gonna be dead anyway. He knew it. The boss knew it. Hell, he figured by now even the missing marshal knew it. So, he reasoned, what the hell is it gonna matter if I fuck her a couple of times?

He sat his comic book down and looked at the woman taped to the chair. She had barely stirred in the past few hours but her color was looking a little better, he thought. The flushing was gone and the shivering had stopped even before he woke up. The bruising along her ribs was dark purple and her arm hung all wrong. He figured it was busted up pretty good but he had tried to tape it down in as near a normal position as possible. He knew it must hurt an awful lot because she had whimpered and tugged away from him even though she was practically unconscious at the time. He wondered what color her eyes were in real life; he'd seen photographs, of course, but everyone knew those were doctored. He studied her small mouth and imagined her lips on him.

Life, Anna knew, was a series of choices and Howard Williams was about to make the wrong one.

He walked to where she was bound and unconscious; leaning over, he pressed his lips to hers only to feel something sharp biting into his mouth. He jerked up and felt his lower lip begin to swell and throb as a small trickle of blood made its way down his whiskered chin. She was awake!

Green eyes flashed at him as she spit in his direction. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" She spat.

"What the hell?" He sputtered.

Rhonda narrowed her eyes to barely more than slits and glared at the man standing next to her. Her head hurt, her side ached, her chest felt like someone had been sitting on it, her arm was too cold to feel much of anything and she was hungry. Now some smelly man was trying to stick his tongue down her throat and Alex was nowhere to be seen. All in all, she was not in a very good mood.

"You wanna play? We can play. I even brought my favorite toy but I thought we wouldn't get a chance to play. You've been asleep for a long time now. I'm glad you decided to wake up so we could have some fun."

Rhonda's head was starting to feel heavy and things were getting foggy again. Where was Alex, she wondered? And why was Anna standing behind this man, whoever he was?

He walked over to a heavy cart covered with a dark green cloth. Removing the cloth with a flourish he grinned in her direction not noticing she was no longer fully aware of his presence. He lifted the silver switch and the device immediately began to hum and vibrate. A tiny green light cast an eerie glow into the darkened space as Howard fumbled until he found what he was looking for: two small spoon-like instruments. Each had a wire attached to the narrow end with those meeting about five inches away to form a single wire, which appeared to be at least two feet long. At the end of that was a plug not unlike the one on an electric guitar or a speaker. He inserted that into a hole marked "paddles".

"Well, Ms. Bombshell," he sneered. "I think it's time to play."

He lifted the silver looking paddles into the air a few inches apart and slowly moved them closer until a blue arch formed between them. Holding both in one large hand, he adjusted a knob and tried again and again, repeating the process until the size and intensity of the arch met with his approval.

"Time to wake up," he said as he brushed her inner thighs with the paddles.

The cry pierced the near complete silence of the warehouse and seemed to fill the building. Howard loved it. Next, he brushed the paddles against her thighs again, this time an inch or two farther from her knees. Rhonnie struggled to kick at him and tried to move away but couldn't budge from her restraints. Her struggle only served to excite her assailant further and he stepped in closer, pressing his face into her cleavage.

Alex felt inside her jacket pocket with her left hand for the rubber handled wire cutters. Howard hadn't even noticed when she snipped the wire to the machine, so intent had he been on having his way with Rhonda. He nearly fainted from fear alone when he felt the paddles slip between his legs, attempting the first simultaneous electronic enema and vasectomy.

It was just what Alex needed to disarm and immobilize the man she had hoped would still be in prison from the last time she captured his sorry ass. She tied him to the heavy cart with the torture machine still humming and vibrating and rushed to release Rhonda. If the kid who took her order earlier this evening had done his job right, Mickey would have been distracted himself. It would only last for a minute or two when the pizza delivery kid knocked on his rig with the large pepperoni with extra cheese. Quickly, she cut the tape by slicing it closest to the chair, taking as much care as possible not to inflict further pain or injury to her already battered wife.

Rhonda opened her eyes and laid her head against Alex's leg. "I knew you'd come," she whispered.

"Always, my love. Always." Alex answered while glancing at her watch. It was midnight. She smiled a chilling smile and spoke aloud into the open warehouse....

"Okay Lawton. I know you can hear me. Howard is kind of tied up at the moment; so go ahead. Push the button. Flip the switch or whatever the hell it is you have rigged. Go on. Blow us all to kingdom come. I must say though, I'm surprised at your method. Here we are, the moment you've been waiting for and you aren't even here to see it first hand. Then again, you weren't there for little James either, were you?"

Alex could picture his thick fingers twitching over the detonating device. Then, pressing it again and again and again.

"Yeah. Poor James. Big brother couldn't come and get him that night, could you? No. You had more important things to do...like killing your own father. Abusive bastard that he was. Guess the apple didn't fall far from that tree, eh Mickey?"

She held Rhonda close as she kept taunting him. She could almost feel his rage as he jammed the button down over and over again, to no avail.

"Yeah. Poor little James. What was he Mick? Fifteen? Hung himself with his own belt. Didn't you buy that belt for him Mickey?"

More button jabbing.

"Did he cry, do you think? I bet his last thoughts in this life were of you, Mickey. Yep. I bet the last thing little James thought was where is Mickey? Why didn't he come for me? Why didn't he help me? Why did he let them do this to me? You let him down Mickey. You weren't there for him. James is dead because of you, Mickey! But you know that already. It wasn't my father, Mickey...it was you. James is dead because of you. It was your fault all along. How does that make you feel?"

The truck cab door slammed open so hard it nearly closed again. Mickey Lawton leaped from the rig in a blind fury...only to find himself surrounded by a sea of blue. Blue uniforms and blue steel, drawn and aimed directly at him.

It was over. He knew it. Alex knew it. Somewhere, even James and Anna knew it.

Mickey dropped to the ground without even being instructed to do so. He lay, spread eagle, face down on the cold dark pavement, his eyes at just the right level so that he could see the broken wire coiled just beyond his reach.

Alex lifted Rhonda into her arms and carried her out of the building. She was awake and had promised she would not die anytime soon. They looked around at flashing lights and uniforms as far as their eyes could see.

There would be no escape for Mickey Lawton now. Not from the prison in Florence and not from the truth he had finally been forced to face.

As they stepped into the ambulance Alex felt her pocket vibrate. Rhonda looked at her curiously. The marshal answered her with a single word: Stanley.

Rhonnie's eyes widened as she remembered where she had last seen their friend. "Is he?" She started.

"He's fine." Alex answered as she clicked the button so Stanley could hear. "I couldn't have done it without him, Rhonnie. He saved you as much as I did."

She leaned in close to the phone. "Thank you Stanley," she said. "I love you."

Alex pressed end call and shook her head at her wife. "See what you did?"

"What?" Rhonnie asked.

"He fainted." Alex answered.

The paramedics looked at one another and shrugged as their patients burst into laughter.

Rhonda heard one of them say, "I guess you had to be there," just before she laid her head on a strong shoulder and closed her eyes.

Alex leaned her head against Rhonnie's and closed her eyes, too. "Thank you," she whispered.

Matt closed the ambulance doors and slapped them once, indicating to the driver that it was safe to move. As it pulled away he heard shouting to his left. He turned to the second ambulance and wondered what the fuss was all about.

"What's up?" He asked the driver.

"We don't know. He looked at the warehouse and started freaking on us. He started calling for his mother and crying and saying he was sorry and he had to do it and mumbling about it not being true that it was his fault someone died and he had to kill the girl after she found the body. He was hysterical and calling for his Mother and aplogizing to someone named James and then he coded. They're working on him now but it doesn't look good."

A little later, the paramedic turned off the machine and looked up. "He must have had a heart attack. I'll call it in. Sorry guys."

Matt didn't know if the paramedic was sorry or not but, if he was, he was the only one.

Stanley had been given a new identity until it could be determined whether or not he was still at risk. There was a strong probability that he could return to his own name and a residence of his own choosing, according to Director Haynes. Alex wondered if anyone knew about the cell phone Stanley had but decided to mind her own business, just this once.

Michael Lawton's remains had been officially identified and laid to rest in a pauper's grave.

Mickey's attorney as well as several others in his organization faced charges and a full investigation was being launched by the Internal Revenue Service. Those who had not fled the country were being extremely cooperative.

Things were beginning to get back to normal for the Stoners. They were in Director Haynes' office and Rhonnie was in the corner with Matt, going over the expense sheet from Alex's recent adventure. Alex was signing the papers she'd been avoiding. There could be no more question about it, she'd been given early retirement.

"I'm sorry, director." The speaker on his desk said. "There is a call for Alex and Rhonnie on line two."

"Put it through," he answered and pressed the button activating the speakerphone. It was Anthony and Abigail Bartoni.

"So Alex, what will you do with all this free time you suddenly have on your hands?"

Rhonnie teased, "Well Chief, with all these new toys Alex has recently purchased, I think we can come up with something." Lifting up on her toes she kissed a grinning Alex.

"TMI, ladies. TMI."

Laughter filled the small office. Alex pulled Rhonnie close and whispered. "Wait till you see what's not on that list."

"Good Lord," Abigail said.

"Sorry Mom," was the stereo reply.

Sam Ruskin's Scrolls
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