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A Danse on the Dark Side by Denysé M. Bridger of 36

A DANSE ON THE DARK SIDE

by Denysé M. Bridger

15941 words

Chapter One

The prison doors had slammed shut with a clang that reverberated along the hollow stonecorridors. He was really here, behind bars. Somehow the concept had been a lot morecomfortable than the actuality. Peter Caine had volunteered for this undercover assignment,something Captain Doug Shannon of the 87th had counted on from the moment he'd made therequest to see the detective. He'd chosen his time well, too; Blaisdell and Strenlich were inChicago, at a conference that would last the better part of a week. Neither of them would havesanctioned this assignment had they been around to be consulted. So Shannon had hisundercover, and Peter had quickly become acquainted with the rules from the other side of hisbadge.

The first "adjustment" had come in the form of his cellmate. David Tanner had made it very clearthat if Peter expected to survive his stint behind bars, and remain a "virgin", he'd do well to playalong with the charade. Naturally, Peter had made all the expected noises about how he couldtake care of himself. That had been before he'd met Jake Monahan. Jake had taken an immediate"interest" in the new kid. Tanner had let Peter flounder for a few minutes, then he'd taken pity onthe kid and stepped in to make a territorial claim. Caine had swallowed his pride, and aconsiderable amount of indignation, and had accepted the prisoner's protection.

That had been almost a week ago, and the assignment was nearly completed. Peter had justcalled in the information that should shut down the inside drug ring Shannon's people had beenasked to investigate. Peter had been surprised, and suspicious to find Tanner waiting for himwhen he left the Warden's office. The man's reticence to speak was unnerving.

*****

Tanner could feel the change in the air, sensed the unease that surrounded them as they madetheir way back to the cell down the dingy corridor. He cast a surreptitious glance at hiscompanion and wondered, not for the first time, how in hell anyone thought this kid wouldsurvive here. The speculative thought had no sooner formed than he felt the tremor of warning atthe back of his neck. The guards melted away, as if on cue. Well paid for their blindness, nodoubt! Tanner thought grimly. That was all he had time for, then instinct took over. He reachedout a hand, instinctively flinging the other man away from him, and into the nearest wall.

The impact left Peter stunned for a few seconds, then pain erupted inside him. Blood filled hismouth and he gagged as his head was slammed again into the bricks. Pinpoints of light dancedbefore his eyes and he fought his way up from the lure of unconsciousness. His vision clearing,he heard the sounds beside him, the muffled gasps of Tanner being silenced. Which meantDetective Caine was now on his own in the enemy camp.


Before he could do more than shake his head, Peter's entire body spasmed in an agony of terror.His wrists were pinned to the dull grey walls, the grip on them a vise, as other hands held hisshoulders. Faces swam before the blur of his vision, faces he recognised, people he'd beenwarned to avoid. Jake Monahan stepped into his line of sight, and the look on the other man'sface made Peter's stomach roll. Tanner had kept Peter away from this man on more than oneoccasion during the past week, and despite Caine's aversion to the method David employed, theend result had been worth the humiliation. Until now, some inner voice quipped.

Monahan leered at the detective and Peter twisted with renewed panic when the big man's handsencircled his throat. Instead of the pain Peter was anticipating, Monahan let his fingers splay,then ran them over the contours of Peter's chest, the caress more frightening than any imaginedviolence Peter had been expecting. The detective shook his head, the motion frantic with denial.Jake grinned at the reaction and Peter's voice rose in an anguished groan when the handssuddenly balled into fists and rammed into his stomach with brutal strength.

His arms suddenly and unexpectedly released, Peter fell, his knees hitting the stone floor withjarring impact. He sprawled forward, another moan wrenched from him when a booted footsmashed into the lower part of his back. Peter's vision whirled away into a vortex of blisteringagony, the blackness broken by the red haze of fear and the acrid taste of blood. He retchedagainst the flow of an open cut in his mouth. He was rolled onto his back and the blinding glareof light made him close his eyes.

"It's just starting, Detective Caine," Jake promised him, grabbing the young man and haulinghim to his feet. He flung the kid ahead of him, laughing when Peter staggered and made adesperate clutch for the bars on the other side of the corridor. The men inside the cell paid noattention to what was going on. Peter's fingers were pried free, and he doubled over again whenhe took a solid kick to his side.

"You just can't stay on your feet for longer than a few seconds, can you, Caine?" Jake observedwith a laugh. "Doesn't matter, I'm more interested in seeing you in a few other positions." Thatcomment earned him a round of raucous laughter that made Peter cringe in spite of himself.

"Get him down to the laundry. Morgan's gonna be waitin' there for us," Monahan directed.

Once again, Peter was dragged to his feet, barely conscious. He heard Jake give the order forTanner to be brought with them, then pain burst into new life, taking all of Peter's concentrationjust to keep breathing through the mire he was drowning in.

*****

The laundry was on the lower level, and the stairs became a nightmare for Peter as he waspushed, dragged, and forced down the long, narrow flight. He could hear Tanner mutteringbehind him, the threats falling on deaf ears. It no longer mattered what David had to say; theywere both in danger. Somehow, the idea of being considered Tanner's 'property', something Peterhad fought from the moment he'd stepped into the cell, was beginning to have some genuineappeal.


They reached the dingy room in minutes, the absence of guards something that Peter took note ofin some abstract part of his mind. He was having serious regrets about agreeing to thisassignment. Undercover work was generally an assignment Peter enjoyed, but this was going along way toward changing that.

He groaned when he was flung onto a heap of dirty linen, and before he could recover enough toroll over and face the men surrounding him, he was jerked into a sitting position. A towel wastorn into strips and he was gagged in seconds.

"I'm going to enjoy this, Caine," Jake said with macabre friendliness. "I've never fucked a copbefore, and you're a real pretty one, Petey!" Peter glared up at the other man, his rage throwingdaggers from the dark eyes, and the others laughed at the useless defiance.

His head still spinning, Peter launched himself forward, getting to his feet by sheer will, and hewhirled into one of his father's kung fu kicks before he could be grabbed. He caught Monahansquarely in the stomach, then fell himself as his balance refused to recover quickly enough. Heheard the other man's loud moan of pain, but his satisfaction was short lived when he was pinnedto the floor and Jake straddled his hips. Peter squirmed, twisting away from the implications ofthe man's expression. Monahan's fist slammed down into the centre of Peter's chest and the blowwoke a new wave of agony. His body spasmed, his back arching upward as his breathdisappeared into the heat of pain and sickness. He choked, gasping as he tried to drag air intolungs that collapsed beneath the other man's weight and the blanket of searing fire that racedthrough him.

A second blow threatened to throw the detective down into an abyss of blackness. Peter made ahalfhearted swing at Jake, the strike easily caught as his hands were slammed back against thecold cement floor. The numbing chill was beginning to penetrate Peter's skin, bringing a shiverof reaction.

"I think our guest is cold," Monahan sneered. "Don't worry, Petey, I'll have you forgettin' allabout that soon."

"I'll have your head for this, Jake," Tanner snarled in fury. He'd been tied securely to one of thehuge washing machines, in a position to watch what was going to happen to the kid.

"I told you a week ago," Monahan mocked him. "You should've been more willing to share,Dave. This bitch is too pretty to belong to you."

"What the fuck do you think's gonna happen when the Warden finds out what you're doin' to thekid? This place is gonna be crawlin' with fuckin' cops, man!"

"We already got us a cop, Tanner! And neither of you is gonna be tellin' anyone anything." Heturned his back on the other man and looked down at Peter, who was slowly beginning to breatheagain. "First you're gonna watch, Tanner. Then, it's your turn to play. You think I don't knowwho shut us down? Petey, here, was your arresting officer. Who better to spill your guts to," he


finished with a snarl of hatred. "You and this pig must've really enjoyed digging into mybusiness. Made for some interesting pillow talk, did it, Tanner?"

Monahan bent down to haul Peter back to a shaky stand, and the detective had to cling to theprisoner to keep from falling back down.

"Hey, he's startin' to like me," Jake roared. He flung Peter backward and nodded to a couple ofhis men who caught him. "Strip him, I wanna see what we got here."

Peter shook his head, desperation giving him a burst of strength. He yanked at the hands holdinghis wrists, his body twisting away from the groping hands. Someone behind him grabbed ahandful of hair and jerked his head back. The room veered wildly, the light pouring from a bulbhanging over them blinding Peter's vision. Darkness tugged at him again when a hand closed onhis throat and Jake's face swam before him in a daze of semi-consciousness. He was gaspinghoarsely, trying to focus on the prisoner holding him. Monahan raised his hand and Peter felttears start when his face was bruised by repeated, open-handed smacks that echoed in the hollowroom. The force behind each strike was brutal, and blood flowed openly from Peter's mouth,absorbed by the strip of towel that prevented any sounds other than whimpers of pain. He wasreleased unexpectedly and the loss of support made him collapse, the icy floor almost welcomeagainst the heat of his stinging cheeks.

Monahan went to his knees next to Peter, and he pushed the kid onto his back. "You're not sopretty already, Petey," he noted, again with the mocking tone. He grabbed the front of Caine'sshirt and tore it, the material shredding like paper in the huge fist.

Peter tried to push the hands away again, fear flooding into his mind. He had no strength left,though, despite his terror of what they were going to do to him. He was lifted off the floor, therest of his clothes removed with appalling speed, then dropped again. Chill and pain shot throughhim when he hit the stone, then he was unceremoniously pushed onto his stomach.

"Aren't you gonna tell me not to?" Jake demanded, staring down at the young man's prone body.His eyes drifted over the tall, slender form, and he felt a moment of honest appreciation for thekid's attractiveness. Detective Peter Caine was a good-looking man, and Jake hated him justenough to make sure he didn't stay that way.

Peter heard the taunt in the voice, but he was beyond answering it, even if he could have foundthe words.

"Get him on the table," Jake ordered.

Peter was hauled roughly to his feet again, long enough to be flung against one of the tables. Heheard a moan from behind him and knew Tanner's latest protest had been silenced. He refused toallow for the possibility that they'd just killed the man; he couldn't cope with the idea just now.He was tossed into the table, the edge catching him solidly in the hipbone. He started to spinaway, but again, unknown hands forced him face down onto the table. The same hands held hiswrists in relentless grips at the far edge of the table.


Monahan stared at the cop bent over the ancient wooden table, and he laughed with bizarreenjoyment and anticipation. Peter's pale skin looked like alabaster in the dull light, and Jake lethis gaze wander. The long, muscular legs were spread and restrained, the smoothly rounded asswaiting for Jake's pleasure. Dark, angry bruises adorned the flawless expanse of skin, andMonahan stepped forward to draw a hand across the lower part of Caine's back. He got noreaction, so he closed his fist and struck into the darkest patch of bruising. Peter groaned andtried to buck away from the pain. Monahan's men tightened their hold and flattened the kid'spalms against the wood. Almost as if the move were prearranged, both of them rammed fistsdown onto the backs of Peter's hands, sending another visible shudder through the kid's body.

Jake's hand wandered to the front of his own pants, anticipation drawing a leering grin across hisface. The expression amused the men with him and he finally dropped his pants. Stroking hisrigid organ, he leaned down to turn Peter's face sideways to look at him. The dark eyes were shuttight, and the kid's jaw was twitching with rage and disgust, and no small amount of fear, Jakesuspected.

He pushed the dark head away with a snort of derision and drew back enough to stare at his prizeagain. Letting his huge hands fondle Peter's ass, he spread the tensed cheeks so he could eye thetight hole he was about to plunder. He felt another jerk of reaction as Peter tried to twist away.Jake aimed a kick at the back of Peter's left knee and the kid would have buckled and slid fromthe table if he hadn't been so firmly held there. Before Peter's body could absorb the torture, hespasmed again as Jake rammed a finger into him. Manipulating the probing finger, Jake pusheddeeper as he stretched the resisting muscle, each thrust rough and painful.

"You still with me, Petey?" he asked, his voice raspy with an excitement just beyond his control.

Peter tried to shut down, his mind no longer wanting to know what was being done to him. Hefelt the lingering taste of blood that clotted in his mouth, and he couldn't swallow past the fearsharpened dryness. His throat seemed closed. Every muscle in his body clenched against theassault of Monahan's hand, and he felt a sob rising in his throat when he finally understood thatthis pain was merely the forerunner to an even greater one. He wanted to pass out, but his bodywouldn't allow the escape.

Jake pulled his finger from Peter's body and gripped the lean ass, spreading the cheeks wide. Hedidn't give Peter any warning, simply shoved himself into the tight entrance with a brutal thrustof his hips. The moan that escaped the detective made him laugh and he leaned in closer,pressing Peter's ass cheeks together as he began his assault in earnest. The kid's virgin body feltlike a tight glove, and Monahan lost himself to his driving lust, his hips pumping ruthlessly intoPeter's resisting body.

The raping rhythm lasted endlessly long minutes, each push of Jake's hips grating a new layer ofragged pain across Peter's consciousness. He could feel his own naked body scraping across therough surface of the table, and he wondered if he'd survive the hell he'd descended into. Itprobably wouldn't matter, a tiny voice inside him warned. Once Jake was through with thisdegradation, he'd find some other way to torment Peter; then he'd finish it with the cop's death.


Just when Peter thought the chasm of blackness would finally embrace him, Jake rammed intohim with a loud groan. Peter's entire body screamed rejection at both the force of the maninvading him and his own revulsion when he felt Monahan's orgasm explode deep inside him.The world instantly lost any tangibility as Peter was suddenly released. Hands vanished, and Jakepulled out of him. He slipped to the floor, too weak to break any part of the fall. Muscles pulledto their limits trembled violently at the sudden lack of pressure, and Peter moaned low in histhroat when he hit the icy stone floor with a painful thud. He fell back and curled into a ball,pulling his knees tightly against his chest, despite the pockets of pain the movement stirred tolife.

He huddled on the stone, oblivious to everything around him, his body wracked with tremors hecouldn't control. Tears flowed from his eyes, a torrent of salty warmth that stung the openwounds on his cheeks. He wanted to stop the tears, but they, too, were beyond his control. Hethought it was over when no one touched him, and he gave in to the desire to drown in thedarkness stealing over him.

Jake's laughter jarred Peter back from the edge of unconsciousness. Monahan gave the huddledcop a casual kick, just enough to stir him back to half-consciousness, then he glanced around ashe tugged his pants back up and belted them at the waist. With another burst of laughter, hegrabbed the kid, hauling him back onto his feet. He tossed Peter to the men waiting for him, andshook his head when the kid fell at their feet.

"Who wants him next?"

Peter surrendered to the blackness, welcoming it as he fell into an abyss filled with silentscreams . . .

Chapter Two

Caine stumbled in the dull greyness of the prison corridors, his hand reaching automatically forthe cool stone wall. Pain burst to life inside him, and it took all of his concentration to pierce thedarkness that teased at his mind. He felt a hand on his arm and turned mildly startled eyes tomeet the concern in Paul Blaisdell's face.

"What is it, Caine?" Blaisdell heard the tremor in his own voice as he asked a question he wasn'tsure he wanted answered. He'd seen this type of empathy before, and the fact that Caine had losthis balance was more alarming than any vocal warning he could have issued.

Caine shook his head, trying to find a reply that would explain the lapse. When words refused toform, he tilted his head and stared into Blaisdell's eyes.

"Peter."

When the priest nodded, a barely perceptible shift of his head, Paul felt his own head spin withfear induced dizziness.


The warden, Adam Tully, saw the paling of both men, and he fumed inwardly. Damn it all tohell! Why in the name of God had they assigned a cop like Caine to undercover duty in thisplace?

When he'd asked for an investigation, he didn't realize Tanner would specify the officer he wouldtrust. If he'd known it was this kid, he'd have sent the request elsewhere. Of course, it hadn't beenBlaisdell who'd issued the assignment, had it? He read the open fear on both faces, recognisedthe love, and hoped they'd find the kid in one piece. If his informant had given them the correctinformation, Monahan and his followers would have dragged the kid into the laundry. Henodded, indicating the direction he was turning, and headed toward the barred door. A few moreblocks to cover and they'd know for sure.

*****

Peter groaned loudly when he felt hands reaching for him, and he was dragged back onto hisfeet. He was too weak to protest, and even the pain that wracked his body offered him noimmunity to the fear that was escalating with each second. His mind was ordering his body torun, to fight, anything but the dull acceptance he was exhibiting. His body was refusing tocooperate, however, and he shuddered into another twitch of rejection when he felt hands on hisass again.

"No . . . " In his head the word was a scream of denial, but in actuality, it was a tiny whimper ofprotest that was barely audible. He summoned up the last reserves of strength he possessed andsquirmed away from the restraining hands. The suddenness of his action played in his favour andhe managed to escape. He got exactly six feet before his knees buckled and he fell face down onthe icy floor.

The assault of agony he was anticipating never came, and Peter cringed when the room eruptedwith noise and yelps of terror. He heard the chaos surround him, and the sound of gunfire was hislast conscious awareness.

*****

For Blaisdell, it registered all at once, the fury on Jake Monahan's face, the scurrying of the menhe had with him, and the naked body lying very nearly at Paul's feet. From the corner of his eyehe could see the prison guards slipping into the laundry, weapons drawn.

When the police captain stepped away from Peter, Caine went down on his knees next to his son.He could feel the conflict in Blaisdell as the other man forced himself to do his job first, ratherthan listen to his heart. The priest gathered Peter into his arms and picked him up, his actionsslow and gentle. A soft moan came from Peter, and Caine whispered into his son's ear. Theyoung man's hands tightened on the soft fabric of Caine's jacket, fisting in the worn brownmaterial.

Blaisdell saw Caine backing out of the room and he concentrated on the prisoners in front ofhim. Peter was safe with his father. Jake noted the shift of Paul's expression, and made a lunge


for the older man. Blaisdell let him come, then grabbed Monahan's wrist and continued themomentum Jake had built.

Bones cracked as Blaisdell jerked his arm upward and spun with the weight of his quarry's body.He released Monahan and watched the other man crash into the solid stone wall. A low groanescaped the prisoner as he slid to the floor.

Gunfire reverberated within the small space of the laundry, and Paul stepped back, drawing hisgun as he moved. Tully was ordering a ceasefire already as the men who remained surrenderedquickly. For a brief instant, Blaisdell regretted their choice. His own thought appalled him.

Long minutes later, the room was cleared of the injured and the sole casualty of the incident.Paul noted that David Tanner was not among the wounded, and was genuinely puzzled whenDavid cast a worried look at Peter on his way out.

"How is he?" Paul asked, going down to one knee. Caine had taken Peter just outside the room,and was holding the young man huddled against him. The priest had wrapped his coat aroundPeter, and Blaisdell went back into the laundry. He returned seconds later with several blankets,which they wrapped Peter in.

"We've got an ambulance waiting in the yard, Captain. The paramedics are on their way down,"Tully informed them.

Paul gave him a distracted nod, muttered a thank you, and turned his look back to the tremblingboy clinging to Caine. Some inner voice whispered Peter was no longer a boy, but all Blaisdell'smind would take in was the fact that this was his son. The boy he'd promised himself he'd protectfrom more pain. It wasn't rational, or reasonable -- it didn't have to be. Love demanded its ownrules, they seldom bore any resemblance to logic.

*****

The trip to the hospital was made in tense, anxiety-laden silence. Paul thought it would takeforever. He could only wonder how Caine's incredible stamina was holding out. If it was thishard for him, following the ambulance, what must it be like for the priest who shared the smallspace with his son.

The picture would haunt Paul until the day he died. Peter, beaten and broken on the prison floor.Against his will, the images drifted before his eyes, momentarily blurring the dull greypavement. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel . . .

It flooded back, like some macabre vision of horror. His first glimpse of Peter had occurred whenhe slipped through the doors of the prison laundry. It was barely more than a glance ofobservation, but it was burned indelibly into his mind. The kid was curled into a fetal position,his face swollen and discoloured with the myriad of bruises and cuts that had been inflicted onnormally delicate, fine features. One pale hip was visible, scraped raw and ugly with crimsontainted welts. His thighs were bruised a garish purple-black. But, it was the trickle of diluted


blood that ran down the back of Peter's legs that made Paul's stomach roil within him. Hecouldn't stop the self-condemning thought; how much sooner he should have been there toprevent the rape he knew had taken place?

Somehow, he'd managed to stay on the road, and it was with a genuine start of surprise that hefound he was pulling into the emergency parking lot behind the ambulance. He allowed himself amoment to pull his thoughts together, and to quell the irrational guilt he was experiencing. It allvanished as soon as the rear doors of the vehicle ahead of him swung open and he caught sight ofthe Shaolin priest and his son.

Caine refused to release his son, and to Paul's consternation, he recognised his own voicesupporting the violation of rules as he stepped from his car. Caine offered him a tiny bow andgathered Peter into his arms again. The kid clung to him, even through his semi-consciousness herecognised the security of his father's strength, and sought shelter only Caine could give him.

*****

The night was eternal. Peter was taken away from them as soon as they stepped through thedoors of the hospital E.R., and they hadn't seen him since. Blaisdell was about to storm thenurse's station and exert whatever leverage he could when he spotted the doctor emerging fromthe treatment room they'd spirited Peter into. Without looking, Paul felt Caine's attention andwasn't surprised when the priest appeared at his shoulder seconds later.

"Gentlemen," the tall, weary-looking physician greeted them as he entered the room andcontinued to a seat in the quietest corner of the nearly deserted waiting area. He clearly expectedthem to follow him.

Once Caine and Blaisdell were seated at the table, he leaned forward and crossed his hands onthe smooth surface.

"First, I'm Ted Collins," he said with a wry twist of smile. "I don't suppose anyone thought to tellyou whose hands your son's care was placed in." When he saw the affirmation in both faces, henodded. "I'm going to be very frank with you. Peter's physical injuries are fairly minor, all thingsconsidered. The cuts and bruises will heal, and the internal bruising will gradually clear. Untilthen, he's going to find it painful to draw a deep breath, which is going to make it feel muchmore serious than it is." He paused for a moment, then continued with a resigned shake of hishead. "We've already done the blood work, and will have the results as soon as possible. A bloodsample from Monahan is being sent to our lab, as well. It should make the AIDS determinationmuch quicker." He sat back and let them absorb that piece of information before he broached thenext subject.

When he remained hesitant, Caine filled the awkward lull.

"It is not Peter's body you are concerned for," he concluded.


"No," Collins confirmed. "The rape is going to cause him some real psychological problems. I'veseen this type of assault completely change the victim. It's particularly hard on a young man,because, let's face it, gentlemen," he noted bitterly, "men aren't supposed to suffer this form ofassault." The tone of his voice was a mixture of contempt and anger. "Society has a strange wayof making violence such as this a very discriminating area. As a rule, we don't tend to treat amale victim with the same degree of sympathy that a woman can expect."

Blaisdell wanted to deny that assumption, but his vast years of experience on the force wouldn'tadd credence to the lie. The doctor was right, and it was a sad commentary on social mores.

"What can we do to help?" Paul asked quietly.

"He's going to sleep through the night," Collins stated. "We've sedated him, and he's beingmoved into a private room. When he wakes, I think it would be a very good idea to have apsychologist available in case he wants to talk."

"Somehow, Doctor Collins, I think this might be the one time when Peter's going to shut downand take the silent approach," Blaisdell noted with real regret.

"All the more reason to have someone qualified on hand," Collins persisted. "There's anexcellent doctor on staff here," he offered. "I can arrange an appointment for you and Mr.Caine."

Caine looked to Blaisdell for this decision, and was surprised when Paul shook his head.

"I know someone," he explained. "He's an old friend, and highly qualified for this particularcase."

"Oh?" Collins remarked in surprise.

"Yeah," Paul smiled briefly, then winked at Caine. "This man is probably the only person I knowwho's even more stubborn than Peter." Caine shared the amusement.

"What's his name?" Collins requested.

"Nigel Jordan," Paul supplied the name as he rose. "He's from -- "

"New York," Ted finished with a nod. "I know his reputation. You're right, he's damn good. Andusually inaccessible except in special cases. Your son's lucky," he said with a smile. "I'll arrangefor a temporary office and tell the nurse to expect Doctor Jordan."

"I'll have him here within twenty-four hours," Paul promised. He placed a strong, supportivehand on Caine's shoulder, let the touch linger for a moment, then headed for the pay phone asCollins continued to speak to the priest.


Chapter Three

The light hurt his eyes, and Peter turned away from it with a hiss of pain. Light couldn't hurt,though, some inner voice insisted. He tried to blot out the brilliance and memory suddenlyblossomed into a clarity that had him tossing fitfully seconds later. He could feel the handsholding him down and he lashed out at them, fighting with desperate strength. They were goingto keep him still for Jake, but Peter wasn't going to suffer through another rape. He'd make themkill him first. He struck out, the blow vicious with the force of his panic and fright.

Caine caught the blow high on the left side of his face, and his fingers curled around Peter'sflailing hand as the boy emerged from the nightmare that held him. On the other side of the bed,Paul made a grab for the kid's right hand, determined not to meet with the same fate as Caine.The bruise on the other man's face was showing up already in the form of a shadowy blue.

Peter would have bolted upright in the bed if it hadn't been for the gentle restraint on his wrists,and he gasped in fear as his eyes flew open and light flooded over him.

"No!"

Caine's heart broke at the muffled tears he heard in the soft plea. His hand moved to his son'sface instantly, smoothing over the flushed skin, soothing away fears and darkness with themerest touch of his fingers. Peter's head turned toward the caress, sensing the security of hisfather's presence, and Caine closed his eyes when the warm wetness of tears trickled onto hisfingers. It took a great deal more effort than it should have to calm the rage that flared withinhim, and Caine drew in air on a shaky breath.

"It's okay, son," Paul soothed, his voice drawing Peter's tear-bright gaze to him as he satcarefully on the edge of the bed. The fright his action precipitated alarmed the hell out of him,but he kept the response from his eyes as he waited for the edge to leave the dark eyes watchinghim. Peter eventually nodded, and closed his eyes, settling back into the softness of the pillowsbeneath his head. "It's over, Peter. You're safe."

The short, whispered reassurances blunted the panic lurking inside Peter, and he tried to relax.His fingers tightened into a clutch, knotting in the soft material of Caine's shirt. On the oppositeside of the bed, Paul's hand rested on his shoulder, and Peter felt anchored by the love both menoffered him.

Caine watched his son's face smooth into an expression of near peace, and he met Paul's gaze.His own worries and concern were mirrored in the other man's face, and Caine sensed therepressed fury in Blaisdell's cultivated control. The father's anger at the son's injury -- somethingthat would forever bind them more intimately than anything else could. He offered the policecaptain a tiny bow, and a whisper of smile passed over his features when Blaisdell returned thegesture with just a hint of awkwardness.

*****


A couple of hours passed before Peter woke again, this time without the forerunner of nightmare.Blaisdell was slouched in the chair that stood next to the bed, while Caine sat on the floor on theopposite side. The priest's position and tranquility had soothed Blaisdell in its own waythroughout the time. Paul found he wasn't at all surprised when Caine rose soundless from thefloor, his action a graceful flow of motion that reminded Blaisdell of water gliding over ice.Seconds later, Peter's eyes opened.

For several minutes, silence continued to fill the room, until it finally became awkward. Cainestepped forward and brushed a light touch across Peter's forehead.

"How long have I been here, Father?"

Blaisdell heard the rasp in the voice and he reached for the ice water that was sitting on thebedside table. He slipped a hand beneath Peter's head and held the cup while the young mandrank.

"Since last night," Caine answered.

"What happened . . . " Peter's voice broke, and he had to visibly force himself to try again. "Whathappened at the prison?"

For a moment the two men stared at each other, uncertainty arcing between them. Paul chose toanswer, and Caine placed a light hand on Peter's arm as he registered every minute shift ofexpression in his son's face.

"We got there as quickly as possible, Peter. When I got back from Chicago, I was told about thetransfer request. Shannon should have known better than to send you in!" Blaisdell heard the riseof anger in his voice and he consciously backed off and took a deep breath.

"He was doin' his job, Paul," Peter said quietly, the softness of tone a direct foil to the angeremanating from Paul. "And I was doin' mine."

"Peter -- "

"No! Damn it! I'm a cop, this is what I do. Tanner made the contact, and I was the only one he'ddeal with. Would you be this upset if it had been anybody else?" he demanded.

"Yes," Paul replied sharply, no hesitation at all in the claim.

"Bullshit," Peter muttered. "How many times have we had this conversation? I don't wantspecial treatment because I'm your son, Paul! I take the same risks as any other cop. I expect youto treat me the same way."

"He cannot."

They both looked surprised when Caine's calm voice interrupted the brewing disagreement.


"Why?" Peter almost shouted the word, knowing even as he spoke that Paul was not the realfocus of his anger. It was still beyond his ability to control his reactions.

"Because you are his son," Caine replied, again with the lack of jealousy that always seemed tocatch both Peter and Blaisdell off guard. "A father believes it is his duty to protect the son heloves. Just as the son protects the father," he added with a small smile.

"Not like this," Peter insisted stubbornly.

"There's a damn sight more to this than simply choosing the right man for an undercoverassignment, Peter. Something you know yourself."

"What happened to Tanner?" Peter asked, his memory feeding him an uncomfortable jumble ofperceptions that he instantly, and deliberately, rejected. The other man's attempts to keep Petersafe during his assignment had been what had put David in danger. Peter had to know if it hadcost the other man his life. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to handle the situation ifTanner hadn't survived the . . .

"Is he still alive?" Peter demanded, cutting off his own thought before it could become complete.

"He's being kept out of the general population until we know exactly what his part in this was,"Paul said.

"He did everything he could to protect me, Captain," Peter said quickly. "He ended up puttinghimself in trouble because of me. I want something done about his case."

Blaisdell's heavy brows rose in surprise, but he simply nodded, silently promising to look into it.

"What provoked the attack, Peter?"

Caine felt the tension ripple in the muscle beneath his hand and he let his fingers curl looselyaround his son's wrist.

"I'm a cop, they didn't need more reason than that!" Peter shifted in the bed, wincing at the painhis small movement stirred to life. His gaze moved to the window and he refused to look ateither of the older men. "I don't want to talk about this right now," he whispered, feeling theunwelcome blur of tears distorting his vision.

"You must talk, my son," Caine murmured, his hand gliding into a soothing caress over the curveof Peter's upper arm. "It is the first step toward healing."

"No, Father." Peter shook his head, rejecting the suggestion with both words and action. "I justwant to be alone for awhile."

"Peter . . ."


"I mean it, Paul. Just leave me to hell alone!"

The anger was disproportionate, and didn't surprise either man. Blaisdell knew the routine fromtoo many years' experience. Rape victims all coped differently with the attack, but the one thingthey all had in common was rage. And denial.

"I'll see what I can do about Tanner," Blaisdell promised. He wanted to talk to the prisoner,anyway; this would just push the visit up on his schedule.

Peter nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Do you wish me to stay, Peter?"

Peter closed his eyes at the gentle voice, and he fought the urge to turn and bury his head againsthis father's shoulder. If he started to cry now, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop again. Heshook his head, a quick, jerky motion that wouldn't be missed by either man. He kept his eyestightly shut and listened. He heard Blaisdell's weary tread, and the wheeze of the hospital door.Caine never made a sound, and Peter had to strain with every sense he possessed to discoverwhether or not his father had left with the police captain. Nearly five minutes passed before hedared turn and look. The room was empty, but he knew his father hadn't gone far. He could feelCaine's presence, the warm aura surrounding Peter like a protective shield.

*****

The minutes seemed to tick by like endless hours, and each of them gave Peter the solitude tobegin remembering what he was trying to push away. The rape began to play before his mind,distorted, dark flickers of shadow that swooped in on him like birds of prey. A shudder markedeach whisper of vision, the sharp terror-enhanced memories pecking at his fragile composure.

It was useless to try to block the recollections, and Peter felt another tremor of anguish run thelength of his body as he finally confronted the attack. A sob rose in his chest, creating a dull acheas he forced it down. He shook his head, eyes shut so tight it was painful, and the faces swaminto focus. Jake's leering grin, and the haze of scarlet-hued agony that pulsed through Peter ateach assault. His hands rose to his face, feeling the wetness that trickled from his eyes despite hisattempts to subdue the tears.

Caine's face emerged through the shadows, the expression filled with love and serene strength.Peter opened his mouth, part of him wanting to scream for his father. Shaking his head, he foughtfor breath to endure the horror show of his own memory.

Rage woke inside him, a deep, searing blaze of pure fury. Before he could decide who it was hehated, the answer slapped him in the face. He'd let them do this to him, inflict violence,humiliation, and degradation on him. He was a cop, he was supposed to help prevent this sort ofthing, not become a victim of it himself. He hated Jake Monahan, too, more intensely than he'dever hated anybody. The man was an animal, and he'd turned that vile nature against Peter. Howmany others had there been during Monahan's term in prison? In that instant, Peter decided that


one way or another, there would not be others. Once he was out of the hospital, he'd put an endto Jake's reign of terror.

The shift of focus helped to ease some of the panic that was lurking on the fringes of hisconsciousness. The anger he could deal with, and use; he could turn it into some kind ofresponse. The rest of it ate at him, taking away what little strength he felt he had left. Tears --God! he hated the tears. He was so desperately afraid of not being able to shut off the visibleflow of pain and rage; yet, it seemed already beyond his control.

He opened his eyes and stared around at the antiseptic, pristine surroundings. Hospitals alwaysmade him edgy, he really disliked being the patient. Something about the impersonal, hushedatmosphere never failed to unnerve him. He felt isolated and alone, something that was in directcontrast to what he actually wanted despite his stated preference. Maybe it was simply that ahospital was another institution, and Peter had had more than his share of time in such places.Maybe it was more basic than that, he reflected. The isolation brought back all the pain that he'dspent most of his life fighting.

His father was back, alive and well. Peter wasn't alone anymore. But, inside, he was. He couldn'texplain it to them, the terror he'd felt when Jake had him stripped and spread-eagled against atabletop, the revulsion that held him in a relentless grip when his body was invaded by Monahan.The memory teased at the back of his throat, and he had to fight back the urge to vomit.

He wanted to be alone.

He wanted to forget anything had happened to him.

Mostly, he wanted for none of it to be real.

He raised his hands, staring at the shaking fingers like they belonged to somebody else. Tearsglistened on the tips, evidence of the steady seeping of misery he couldn't repress. His expressionslipped into a glare and he scrubbed at the sheets, determined to erase the reminder of hisperceived weakness. He rolled onto his side, moaning softly as the shift again woke a sharp paindeep inside him. His breathing grew quick and shallow, then slowly began to ease as he madehimself remain still in the bed.

Weariness tugged at his consciousness and he wondered if he should sleep. The idea wasdismissed instantly when he recalled the previous night, and the aborted attempts to forget therape. How often had he awakened to find his fingers clutching at his father or Paul, seeking ashelter neither of them could truly provide. They couldn't possibly protect him from the demonsthat skulked in the recesses of his mind, demons reminiscent of Shadow Assassins, and asperilous to Peter's spirit as the legendary Chi-ru Master was to Kwai Chang Caine.

"Father . . ."


Peter whispered the word, needing to reassure his heart that it was safe to call to his father. Heknew it was equally safe to assume Caine could not hear the plea for reassurance; the reasonPeter allowed his voice to utter the single word.

Tears flooded in again, and he didn't fight them this time. He curled into the pillow and let thepain, both physical and spiritual, find the only release he was granted.

Outside the door, Caine felt the agony burst, like a dam suddenly breaking. His hands shook ashe touched the heavy steel panel that separated him from his son. Caine remained still and silent,suspended in a vortex of anguish that wasn't his own, yet was very much a part of him. It tookyears of discipline to overrule the voice of his heart. And, finally, the Shaolin priest retreated.The father's spirit lingered, drowning in the grief his son was adrift in, praying fervently that hewould be able to guide them both through the storm.

*****

Chapter Four

"Where are you going?"

Paul turned at the soft words, genuinely startled by them. He expected the younger Caine toquestion him, this was something of a first for the kid's father, though. For a moment, hecontemplated not answering the priest, then dismissed it as unnecessary precaution. He wastalking to Caine Senior, not the volatile detective they loved.

"I think a visit to Captain Shannon is in order," Paul told him, knowing he'd catch every nuanceof meaning in the simple revelation. Caine's thoughtful eyes took in the information, then heplaced a hand on Blaisdell's shoulder, preventing the escape the police captain was attempting tocover with his proposed call.

"This man who protected Peter," Caine said quietly. "Can you help him?"

"I'll do everything I can, Master Caine," Blaisdell promised. "No one's more grateful than I amthat Tanner took Peter under his wing."

Caine nodded, accepting the words without the sting they could have instilled in a less generousspirit.

"I didn't mean -- " Paul stopped when Caine shook his head and smiled. He ran a hand throughhis thick grey hair and felt the beginning of a massive headache settling into the back of his head."I'll check in as soon as I know what's going on," he told the silent priest, and left before he saidanything else that might be considered ill-placed.

*****


Between the peaceful haze of drugs and simple exhaustion, Peter managed to sleep most of theafternoon away. The few times he was aware, he knew he wasn't alone in the room, but herefused to acknowledge another presence. He drifted in and out, until even the sedatives refusedto keep him in a state of oblivion. He woke to the soft sound of voices, and finally opened hiseyes to see who was with him. Two people were inside the door, a tall, slender blond man, and araven-haired woman, who barely topped her companion's shoulder.

Peter registered their appearance naturally and automatically; the blond was roughly thirty-five,maybe forty, years old, hair worn shoulder length and casual, smooth, angular features, deepbrown eyes, and a smiling mouth emphasised with a light mustache. He looked to be about sixfoot one, or two, and his voice was gentle in much the same way as Caine's, as well as faintlyaccented. The woman appeared to be the same age, but her eyes were a startling shade of blue,and her voice was clipped and edgy as she argued quietly with the doctor. The accent thatcoloured her words was French.

The blond's head turned in Peter's direction with a suddenness that startled the detective. Peterhadn't made a sound, which made the notice all the more disturbing.

"You're awake, Detective Caine," the other man said with a smile as he neared the bed. Heoffered Peter his hand, waited out the momentary hesitation on acceptance, then clasped thedetective's hand firmly. "I'm Doctor Nigel Jordan. Your captain called me in from New York,which is why we haven't met sooner."

"Nice to meet you, Doctor," Peter remarked, his eyes straying to the woman who'd followedJordan into the room.

"Maxine Longe," she supplied in response to his unasked question. "I'm from the Rape CrisisCentre."

"What?" Peter sputtered in disbelief.

"I think we need to talk, Detective Caine," she said quietly.

She cast a wary glance at Jordan, and Peter no longer had to wonder what they'd been discussingminutes ago.

"I think one of us needs to leave, lady," Peter snapped, fury rising with each syllable. "Who's itgonna be? Me, or you?"

"Detective, this is departmental policy. Why make it an issue? I can help, if you'll let me,"Maxine stated, the edge gone from her tone now.

Peter bristled at the understanding -- it was definitely not preferable to her earlier attitude.


"I don't need your help, Ms. Longe," he breathed, making the words a hiss of escaping sound."And whoever sent you in here, with whatever misguided reasons they supplied, can stay out ofmy business, is that clear?"

"You're in denial, Mr. Caine. Under the circumstances, that's the most natural response in theworld. But, sooner or later, you're going to have to start dealing with what's happened to you."

"What's happened to me is simple," Peter snarled, easing himself into a sitting position, bitingback the pain that every shift of position woke. "I'm a cop who got hurt while undercover. Justlike other cops do, and I'll get over it. So take your ideas and your sympathetic bullshit, and stick-- "

"Detective Caine." Nigel stepped between them and drew Peter's furious stare up to him. "Wouldyou mind if I did an exam and ordered a few tests?"

"Get her out of here," Peter snapped.

"What's really got you running scared, Detective?" Maxine questioned with an eerie softness toher tone. The quiet manner did not extend to her eyes, they were icy blue and hard withchallenge. "Is it the rape, or the idea that men aren't supposed to be victimized that way?"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Don't I?" she tested, voice dropping to an even softer cadence. "You think rape is somethingthat happens to women, and it's your job, as a man, to be understanding and caring -- why do youassume it can't be the other way around?"

Peter wasn't listening. He tossed aside the sheets and started to climb off the bed. His feet didn'ttouch the floor before he felt the resistance of a firm hand placed against the centre of his chest.

"Back into bed, Peter," Nigel ordered, his tone deceptively soft. "I mean it, kid," he said firmlywhen the dark eyes rose to meet his.

Peter hesitated, waiting for some indication that the doctor wasn't serious. Nothing in Jordan'smanner offered the younger man a weakness to exploit, and Peter shook his head, stubbornnesssettling into his expression.

"So do I," he whispered. "She goes, or I do."

Nigel nodded, then turned to Maxine. "He is hurt, Ms. Longe, and he does need to be in hospital.If your absence is what will insure that Detective Caine remains here, then I suggest you leave.Now would be a good time," he added when she stared at him in open disbelief.

When she showed no signs of leaving, Peter pushed Jordan's hand from his chest and tried toease himself off the bed. Pain jolted through his entire body and he gasped loudly, almost


buckling against the assault on his senses. Jordan's hand moved to his elbow, and the physiciancarefully pushed him back into a seat on the edge of the mattress.

"Ms. Longe, I suggest you leave voluntarily. If I have to have you thrown out for my patient'sbest interests, I won't hesitate, I assure you. You will also not be allowed back in, if you makethat necessary," Jordan added firmly. He glanced back at the woman, pinned her with theintensity of his gaze, and waited.

"I'm just trying to do my job, too, Dr. Jordan," she replied. She looked down into Peter's face andher expression softened. "I am sorry that this has happened to you, Detective Caine. I came tohelp, even if that's not what you feel you need just now. Nobody deserves this kind of pain," shewhispered softly. "Remember that, if nothing else. You aren't responsible for anybody else'sactions. I'd like to come back in a few days, with your permission, and Dr. Jordan's?"

Peter heard the genuine empathy in her voice, and he nodded absently. He was too eager to haveher leave now to worry about how he'd react to another visit later. Within moments he heard thedoor swish open and slowly ease back, effectively blocking out the sounds of activity in thehallway. He allowed Jordan to help him back into bed, and was just getting his breathing to evenout when Nigel spoke again, and Peter's eyes flew open.

"Well, I ran off the counsellor for you, I figure that means you owe me, now, Peter."

"What?"

"Don't panic, kid, I have no intention of making you do anything until you're ready," Jordansmiled. "But, understand something up front, Caine. I'm not here to be manipulated into doingwhat suits your purposes. Or, for that matter, what suits anyone else. Blaisdell called because hisson needed a damn good doctor. I'm damn good at what I do, so here I am."

"Ego's not one of your problems, is it, Jordan," Peter remarked dryly.

"Never has been," Nigel laughed. "You might want to keep that in mind."

"This is gonna be lots of fun," Peter muttered sourly.

*****

Blaisdell all but stormed through the 87th Precinct headquarters as he searched out the Captain'soffice. It wasn't difficult to locate, the layout of the 87th was virtually identical to the 101. DougShannon glanced up sharply when the door to his office banged shut loudly enough to make thepictures on the wall rattle. The scowl on his face slipped away instantly when he recognised hisvisitor.

"Sit down, Paul."


Blaisdell bit back the completely inappropriate rejoinder that sprang to his lips, and did asShannon asked. Doug eased himself into his chair and leaned back.

"This is about your detective, Caine, isn't it?"

"I gather you've been informed," Paul commented. "Now, what I want is an explanation. Frankand I were out of town for less than a week, Doug. What in hell were you thinking about?!" Hisvoice rose in spite of his intention to stay calm. It just wasn't possible, not when his mind refusedto release the image of Peter's body curled into a protective ball, and the flat, almost deadexpression in the normally bright brown eyes of his son.

"I needed -- "

"No!" Blaisdell rose, not willing to give the man a chance at explaining. He no longer cared thatit was probably a legitimate reason. "You have no jurisdiction over my detectives, Shannon. Ifyou need one of my people, you go through channels!"

Shannon was unperturbed. "Would you be kicking up shit if this had been any detective otherthan your foster son?"

"Probably not," Paul answered honestly. "But you already know that. Did you think about thisfor a single minute, Doug? Peter Caine is the last man I'd have given you as an undercover,under any circumstances! The kid's got enough brass to get him through almost anything, buthe's too damn young for this kind of thing!"

"Which is why we arranged for protection inside," Shannon replied.

"Tanner?" Paul snorted. "A hell of a lot of good he did Peter. Why would you expect a prisoner,someone Peter actually put behind bars, no less, to protect him?"

"This is all the incentive he needed," Shannon said, tossing a file across the desk so that Blaisdellcould read it. "As you can see, Caine approved the deal."

Damn it! Paul wanted to argue. He wanted to blame this fiasco on the police captain who satwatching him right now. But, none of it would change a thing. Nothing would take away theutter terror in Peter's eyes, or Paul's agony when he saw his horror mirrored in Caine's face.

"I want Tanner transferred until there's a hearing," he said.

"It's already in the works, Paul."

Blaisdell rose, no more at peace now than he'd been when he entered the small office. His handwas on the doorknob when Doug's voice halted him.

"Tell Caine his information was accurate. We shut down Monahan's crew, and nailed the son of abitch who was smuggling the shit into the prison."


"I'll tell him," he replied shortly. He was enroute back to the hospital minutes later. Somehow,the success of the operation didn't matter a damn this time. He should have been pleased. Hecouldn't be. This time the bust had cost too much. Way too much.

*****

Despite his insinuations to Peter, Nigel had no intention of putting the kid through anyunnecessary discomfort. He needed a background before he could begin to understand whatwould be best for the detective. Rather than ask Peter the questions that would fill him in, Jordanchose to go to the kid's father. He found Blaisdell in the waiting room at the end of the corridor.

"We need to talk about Peter," Nigel said, dropping his long frame into one of the hard plasticchairs. He winced at the jolt to his tired body, and stared blankly when he spotted another manpresent in the room. Something about the man drew Nigel's instant attention, and he let his gazewander for a few seconds, taking in the cross-legged seat on the floor, the earthy tones ofclothing, and the undeniable sense of calm that emanated from the stranger. Mostly, it was thegentle hazel eyes that transfixed the doctor, and a smile tugged at his lips when the man bowedhis head slightly in greeting.

"I am Caine."

"Caine?" Jordan repeated, genuinely startled by the words. "Peter's -- ?"

"Father," Blaisdell finished and sat next to Nigel. "He's Peter's natural father. Now, what is it weneed to talk about, Jordan?"

The all-business tone didn't fool Jordan for an instant, and he waited for Caine to unfold in agraceful flow of motion. When the other man was seated across from them, Jordan answered thepolice captain's question.

"I need to know everything you can tell me about him -- personality traits, background, all of it.Once I have that, maybe I can begin to understand how to treat him."

"What do you wish to know?" Caine enquired softly.

"For a start, exactly whose son is Peter?"

Caine's smile was indulgent, and he nodded.

"Peter's my foster son," Blaisdell stated. "He was separated from Caine when he was a child."

"I'm listening," Nigel said, curiosity aroused. He leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankleover his knee.

"I believed my son dead after the Temple that was our home was destroyed."


"Temple?" Nigel couldn't prevent the reactive question, nor the scepticism that crept into histone. He immediately held up his hands in silent apology and waited for one of them to continue.

"Caine is a Shaolin priest," Paul stated, as if that explained everything. Of course, in some ways,it did. "Peter spent the early part of his life in the Temple. When they were separated, he wasplaced in an orphanage, then my wife and I took him from the home when he was fifteen."

Jordan's eyebrows rose, but this time he made no remark about the somewhat unusualbackground.

"What's he like, personally?"

Blaisdell sighed softly and looked at Caine. When the other man made no attempt to answer thequestion, Paul tried to find words. They didn't seem willing to come, and he shrugged.

"It is difficult to explain in words what the true essence of Peter is," Caine said into the silence."He is complex, and in constant motion. He is . . . Peter," Caine finished with a tiny shrug, and asmile that radiated both love and pride in the man his son was.

"He's stubborn," Paul stepped into the conversation again.

"He is tenacious."

"Quick tempered and impulsive."

"He often allows his heart to dictate his actions."

"Idealistic," Paul continued, his smile growing with each exchange of words, and the subtledifference in the perspective they revealed. "Peter wants to save the world, and make it fair."

"Sounds very much like someone I love," Nigel commented, his mind going back to one of themost special friends he had in New York City. He'd thought Nicole an original; it seemed he wasdestined to meet another young person very much like the artist.

"Peter has always felt it was his duty to help those who could not defend themselves," Caineinterjected softly, his smile a mirror to Paul's.

"How did he feel about himself?" Nigel asked, watching some of the warmth fade from theconcerned faces of the older men.

"Himself?"

"I have to know Peter, Captain Blaisdell," Jordan replied quietly, genuine concern in hisexpressive features. "I need to know how he saw himself before this attack, so we can get himback there."


"I understand that, Doctor," Paul answered. "I just don't know what to tell you. As Caine said,Peter is complicated, and it's difficult to know what he's thinking sometimes. He tries very hardto be his vision of a good cop, and gets irritated with himself when he isn't what he wants to be."

"Peter places great value on what others think of him," Caine said, his gentle voice drawingJordan's gaze again. "He feels he must earn their love and respect, and demands much more ofhimself than any of us would ask of him. He is afraid of disappointing those he holds in hisheart." Caine paused for a moment, his smile gently indulgent. "He has always been this way."

"He doesn't often disappoint anyone, though, does he?" Nigel said, the question purely rhetorical.His mind went back to the angry man in the room down the hall, and he shook his head. It wasn'tgoing to be easy to convince this kid that nothing which made him special to the people he lovedhad been changed. But, Nigel did have a better picture of how to deal with the detective.

He was a lot like Nicole, and Jordan suspected Peter Caine would respond to things in much thesame way.

"Thank you, gentlemen," he said, rising from his seat. When they stood, as well, he extended hishand to each of them. "You've helped a great deal."

"When can we see him again?"

"As soon as I talk to him," Jordan replied. "Just give me a few minutes."

Chapter Five

Jordan knew something was amiss before he made it back to Peter's room. The duty nurse wasscowling at the closed door, and the young student nurse was darting in and out with forms. Bythe time he was inside the room, Nigel already knew what he'd find.

"Going somewhere, kid?"

Peter looked startled, the caught-in-the-act expression something he couldn't conceal; it wasrapidly replaced by anger.

"Yeah, I'm checking out," Peter informed the doctor. He reached for his shirt and gasped at theknifing pain that shot through him.

"Sounds reasonable to me," Nigel remarked casually as he walked the last few feet into the roomand leaned against the window ledge. "I've always found it refreshing to walk the streets when Iwas in pain and couldn't see straight."

"My vision's just fine," Peter snapped.

"As long as the haze doesn't shift too quickly, you mean?"


The taunting tone had the effect Jordan was anticipating, and Peter whirled, only to weave withthe aftershock of the movement.

"Look, what the hell is your piece in this?" Peter demanded, his voice tight with rage and agony."I don't need you or some damn rape counsellor fucking with my head! I just want to be leftalone."

"You can hardly stand up, Caine," Nigel retorted with equal force. "Therefore, your ass is stayin'right where it is."

"I don't have to put up with your bullshit," Peter said, sarcasm colouring his tone. "I'm checkingout, and there's shit-all you can do about it."

"Are you sure about that?"

The challenge was unmistakable, and Peter's eyes narrowed.

"Maybe you'd like me to order a psych exam before you leave. Let's see, what can we assumewill be the first items on the review? Your father sent to New York for a medical presence he feltwas necessary. You were brought into the E.R. last night, naked, beaten, and obvious sufferingfrom a sexual assault. You're a cop who was assigned to an undercover stint in prison, so it'snatural to assume your usual lifestyle doesn't include this particular form of activity -- "

"Shut up!" Peter snarled, fury making his voice a low growl of sound.

"Denial will look real good on the report, too," Nigel snapped back, coming to stand eye to eyewith the younger man. "Don't push me, Peter. I want to help, but you have to let me. I don't wantthis to be a battle of wills. That'll only make it harder for us both."

"Because you don't know if you can win?" Peter charged, a little unnerved in spite of his refusalto back down graciously. He was exhausted, and he knew the strain was showing in his face; itwas too overwhelming for him to believe anything else.

"This isn't about winning, Peter," Nigel said softly. "It's about surviving and healing, somethingthat will be a whole lot easier if we work on it together."

"Why do you give a damn?" Peter demanded. "You don't even know me."

"I know you a lot better than you realize, Peter. I care because I don't like seeing the good guyshurt," Nigel added with a smile. "Besides, you remind me of someone who means a lot to me.She wants life to be fair and just, too. You'd like her." Jordan smiled for a moment, the change inexpression taking years off his even features. "She'd like you a lot, too," he laughed. "I'mbeginning to think I should have brought her with me."

Peter refused to rise to the bait. "I still don't want to see any shrinks or counsellors. I just want toget out of here."


"As soon as you can make that decision rationally, I'm willing to listen," Jordan relented. "Now,will you get your ass back in that bed?" When the stubborn set returned to Peter's jaw, the doctorgrinned and deliberately added a soft, "please?"

"You don't play fair, Jordan," Peter pointed out as he crawled back into the bed. His voice was abit shaky, and he closed his eyes against the wash of dizziness that made the room spin on him.

"So I've heard," Nigel remarked gently. "But I'm always on the right team, so it doesn't matter."

Peter waved a hand at the doctor, too weary to say anything else. Nigel grinned at the gesture,and waited until Peter's breathing evened out in sleep before he left the room to search for Caineand Blaisdell.

*****

"He was in the process of checking himself out," Jordan told Caine and the police captain whenhe found them again. "I've convinced him not to."

"I wish I'd seen that," Paul commented, the trace of irony bringing a quizzical tilt to Caine's head.The look transformed to shared amusement, and Blaisdell's smile grew.

"How is my son, Doctor?"

Nigel stared into Caine's eyes, feeling again the sense of being read in ways that no one else evernoticed. He couldn't escape the feeling that with this man, nothing remained hidden, unless Cainechose not to look.

"I think he can be fine, but it's going to require time, and a lot of patience. Since Peter's not longon patience, I'm assuming it's going to be up to you to provide the back-up on a pretty regularbasis."

"I -- we will do whatever is necessary," Caine assured him, including Paul naturally in thestatement.

Before either man could comment, Caine's head tilted again and he listened. His smile returnedseconds later and he turned to face Paul.

"Your wife is here," he informed the other man.

Minutes later, the small, trim form of Annie Blaisdell emerged from the elevator and an orderlypointed her toward the room where they were gathered. She sprung the cane and Paul went tomeet her.

"Your son has had a remarkable life for someone so young," Nigel noted when he and Cainewere alone.


"It has been . . . unusual," Caine agreed.

"He doesn't accept help easily, does he, Mr. Caine?"

"Peter thinks it is his place to protect the rest of us," Caine agreed. "He finds it difficult to acceptthat he is sometimes the one in need."

"I will do whatever I can to make this easy for him," Nigel promised, wondering even as he didwhy he felt it was so important to make this man understand his intentions, and his dedication tothe man they were discussing. Jordan rarely felt awkward around anyone, but something aboutCaine made him feel decidedly unsure of himself.

"I know," Caine murmured quietly, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. BeforeNigel could reply, Blaisdell and Annie reached them.

"Caine." She smiled and extended her hands to him. When he held both and bowed briefly overthem, she maintained her light grip. "How is Peter, really?"

"He is trying to force this into the past, too quickly," Caine answered after a pause. "I believe heis attempting to make it a thing that seems more a nightmare than something he has been forcedto live through."

"Caine's right." Jordan stepped into the conversation with the soft agreement. "He's in denial, andwe need to get him past that block before anything else can be done to help him. I can treat thephysical attack, but it's his emotional state that worries me."

"This is Nigel Jordan," Paul said when Annie's head turned up to him, the question in herexpression.

"I've heard Paul speak about you, Dr. Jordan," she smiled. "I'd like to see Peter, if that's allright?"

"By all means," Nigel said. "Would you like me to take you to him?"

Paul was about to object, but it was already too late. Annie accepted Jordan's arm and walkedaway with the physician.

*****

Annie felt the stillness in the room surround her, settling over her shoulders like a shroud ofdarkness. Some inner sense told her this was her son lying in the bed, sleeping lightly. Therhythm of his breathing was as familiar to her as the soft rise and fall of her husband's breathswhen he lay beside her. But, the shadows that hovered near this boy were not the essence ofgentle sweetness that she always felt in Peter. Something had extinguished that light in the youngman's spirit, and Annie felt the sting of tears begin, then trickle along her cheeks. All she felt inPeter's heart now was an isolation that was terrible in its scope.


"Peter?"

Peter knew she was there, and part of him wanted desperately to deny her presence, to go onfeigning a sleep he wished was real. He'd felt her come into the room, felt the whisper of painthat pulled him from his slumber. It touched him and he reached for her hand, encountering herfingers as they, too, reached outward.

"You shouldn't have come, Mom," he whispered. She ignored his words and rose, then bent overhim, arms encircling him as he leaned into her embrace.

"I love you, Peter," she murmured, stroking the dark head that rested beneath her chin. Sheshifted her position, perching carefully on the edge of his bed. His arms tightened and she felt theembrace change subtly, become a clutch of desperation.

"I don't want you to see me like this," he said, the words choked and frightened.

"Why?" she demanded, her own fear sharpening the word.

Peter pulled away from her and settled back against the pillows. He turned his head away, as ifnot looking at her would somehow mean she couldn't see him.

"Because I'm not the same anymore," he answered, the thickness in his throat making the wordssound harsh and strained. "I'm not who you love."

"How can you say that to me?" she whispered, stricken by the horrible emptiness she sensedconsuming him.

"It's the truth," Peter returned, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. "You don't -- can'tunderstand . . ." He tried to keep the tears from his voice, tried to hold onto the anger that hadsheltered him from what they'd done to him.

"They took something from you, Peter," she said. "Something I wish I could give back to you,but it doesn't change who you are. You're the same man you were before they did this to you.You have to see that, Peter," she finished, her voice pleading with him to find a way tounderstand himself.

"I'm not the same," he stated, refusing to let her words comfort him.

"Was I different because Mike Weston had me beaten up?" Annie asked, an involuntary shuddergiving a quaver to her words as the remembered fear rose within her. "Did it change the way youfelt about me?"

"It's not the same!" Peter almost shouted the denial at her. "I'm supposed to help people, notbecome one of the victims."


"Peter." Her voice broke on the name and became a small sob of anguish. "You aren'tresponsible for what they did to you. How many times did you tell me that when I was blamingmyself for what happened?"

"I should have done something!"

"What? Gotten yourself killed? Who would that have served, Peter?" She turned him back toface her, and held his hands tightly in hers. "Don't you understand, Peter? This only changes youif you let them win. They can only take what you're willing to give. Don't give them my son,please. I need him too much."

"I just want it to never have happened." He finally admitted the futile wish to himself and Annie."I want it . . . to go away . . . just . . . " He dragged in a gasp of air and started coughing when thetempest of emotion threatened to choke him. Tears began and he would have turned away ifAnnie hadn't pulled him close to her, her grip tight and filled with an agony he could almosttaste.

"I know, Peter," she murmured, her soft voice raw with the pain that they shared. She wouldhave given anything to be able to take Peter's terror and aloneness from him; she would havesuffered for him if it had been possible. All she could offer was the shelter of her love in whichto heal. "I love you," she whispered again and rocked him as he finally broke down and let thehorror pour forth in trembling sobs.

*****

When Annie emerged from the room later, Paul bolted to his feet and ran toward her. She waspale and her face was streaked with tears. Lines of pain scarred her beautiful features, andBlaisdell wondered what had gone on between her and Peter that had taken this much from her.

"Are you all right, Annie?"

"Peter's asleep," she said quietly, the shake in her words as unmistakable as the one in her handon his arm. "Where's Dr. Jordan?"

Blaisdell led her back to the room Nigel had arranged for them to occupy, and Caine roseinstantly when they entered. Jordan touched her arm as he passed, then slipped from the room insilence.

The priest's eyes narrowed when he stared at Annie, and he stepped forward. He tilted her faceup to his, the touch a gentle whisper of caress.

"Peter has stopped denying his pain. He has shared it with you." The soft words were notquestions, merely statements he knew to be true. "I am sorry you have suffered with him, but Iam grateful for your love for him."


"How could anyone do this to Peter?" She sounded sincerely confused by the question, thoughshe expected no answer.

"I'm looking into it," Paul assured her. "Shannon's going to have a fight on his hands when hetries to justify his decision to send Peter into this."

"No, Paul," she shook her head. "For Peter's sake, let it go. He won't want more attention, notabout this."

Blaisdell wanted to contest the choice, but the plea in his wife's voice, and the pain he'd seen inPeter's eyes were arguments he couldn't possibly disregard.

"Promise me, Paul." she persisted.

"Okay, Annie," he relented without a fight. "I promise."

Caine surprised Blaisdell when he turned and bowed.

"Thank you," Caine uttered softly, his sincerity evident in the tiny catch the simple phrase putinto his voice.

"Peter's asleep," Nigel said as he rejoined them. "I think he's going to stay that way untilmorning."

"I would like to be with him." Caine made the statement a request with his tone, and Nigelnodded.

"He's agreed to talk to you," Annie told the physician, her hand finding his arm with eeriefamiliarity.

Nigel patted her hand, then watched as she stepped into her husband's arms and leaned into thecomfort he offered. Her head went naturally to his shoulder and Jordan left them, his footstepsalmost as undetectable as Caine's.

*****

The hospital room was quiet when Caine entered, a silence his passing did not disturb. Forseveral moments, he stood just inside the door, watching his son with a heavy heart. Even insleep, he could feel the pain that haunted his child, the loss of some aspect of his spirit that wascasting everything into shadow and doubt. He'd felt this same anguish in Annie long before shehad left Peter and returned to her husband. Some part of the man they all loved was slippingaway from them, had been from the moment Peter had awakened in this place. Caine had felt thewithdrawal, growing with each hour instead of easing in the face of so much love surroundingPeter. Some of that isolated pain had eased with Annie's presence. The understanding ofsomeone who had endured an attack that left behind fear and insecurity in vast proportions.Annie had come away stronger, but would his son be as lucky? Would Caine be able to help


enough to make that recovery possible? For the first time in many years, the Shaolin Priest haddoubts in his own ability to accept -- the father in him was incapable of detaching himself fromthe emotions that blurred the teachings of a lifetime.

Dismissing the turmoil of his own soul, Caine finally forced his feet to cross the distance thatseparated him from Peter. He came to a halt at the bedside and stared down, his hand touchingthe smooth forehead with a caress that soothed more than he could possibly know.

Peter felt the gentle whisper of fingers in his face, and he stirred, turning his head toward thetouch. He opened his eyes reluctantly, part of him desperately afraid of what he might see in hisfather's face. Pain was not what he had been expecting, and he curled his fingers around Caine's,concern flooding into his features.

"What's wrong, Father?"

Caine was genuinely startled by the enquiry, and for once the emotions were as easy for his sonto read as Peter's normally were for his father.

"I would give much to be able to take this sadness from your soul, my son."

Peter's eyes, still swollen and tired from his earlier tears, suddenly filled again. The wetnessspilled over and trailed down pale cheeks. He swallowed hard, and tried to make his voice workpast the lump in his throat.

"Your being here is the . . ." He tried again, the words blurring in his mind as the feelings racedthrough him. "I just want you to stay with me, Father."

"I would never willingly leave you, Peter," Caine whispered, his own sight impaired by the mistbefore his eyes.

Peter nodded and closed his eyes again, content that he would not be alone, no matter whathappened to him. Part of him insisted he always knew that, but the reassurance brought the firsttrace of a sincere smile to his face.

"I love you, Father."

"As I do you, my son."

Caine sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes, then Peter leaned toward him, seeming toneed the touch of another presence. No, Caine reminded himself, his son needed him. He easedaway and resettled near the head of the bed. Peter sat up, then lowered himself again, his headcoming to a natural rest against Caine's shoulder. The priest braced his back against the wall, anddrew his legs up, making a cushioned chair of his body. Peter's hands covered Caine's as theyjoined at his waist, and a soft sigh escaped the young man as he drifted back into sleep.


It was difficult to say which offered more ease to Peter's pain, the medication Jordan had forcedinto him, or the simple blanket of love his father cast over him in the near darkness of thehospital room.

Caine closed his eyes and leaned his head back, prepared to hold Peter close for as many hoursas peace would offer his son sanctuary from the nightmare.

Chapter Six

It was almost 3 a.m. when Nigel was finally getting ready to leave the hospital for the night. He'dspent the past several hours in a closet-sized office, reading over the reports about Peter Caine'sinjuries and the charts made by the E.R. staff who were the first to see him. Then, there'd beenthe results of the tests Jordan had ordered that morning. All in all, Nigel had seen enoughpaperwork to last him for the next month.

He hauled on his jacket as he walked, and realised with a kind of wry humour that his footstepswere leading automatically to Caine's room. He gave in to the natural instinct and cracked theheavy door open. There was just enough light filtering through the window to show him thatPeter's father was with the patient. Caine turned, eerily sighting Nigel through the dark, andnodded when the doctor smiled.

"I'll be back first thing in the morning," Nigel whispered. "If he needs anything, they'll knowhow to reach me."

Another nod was Caine's only response, and Nigel stared for a moment before he slipped awayfrom the door and continued to the parking garage. The image lingered in his mind; Caine's armslocked around the man/child sleeping securely against his chest. The absolute innocence andtrust he felt within Peter went a long way toward reassuring Jordan that the kid was going to pullout of this ordeal. With Kwai Chang Caine on his side, Nigel had a feeling it would be difficultnot to win any fight.

*****

By the time Nigel returned to the hospital the following morning, Caine had moved away fromthe bed and Peter was glaring at the breakfast tray he'd been given.

"I'm not gonna eat this," he stated firmly, barely glancing up when Jordan entered the room.

"Food not to your liking, Peter?" Nigel grinned, an expression Caine seemed to share, thoughless openly.

"You feed people this stuff to keep them in longer, don't you?" Peter bitched.

The glitter of humour in the dark eyes was the first real change Nigel had seen in Peter sincethey'd met. It relieved him tremendously to see the trace of smile that hovered on the detective'slips.


"Feel up to having some company, after breakfast?"

Peter felt an undeniable flutter of panic rise inside him, and it took an effort of will not to say"No" outright. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his father, and read the expectancyin the older man's deep eyes. Peter forced down the threat of terror, and he met Jordan's steadygaze. The nod was curt and barely perceptible, but he managed it. He glared at the tray of foodanother time, then offered them a shrug.

"Might as well start this now, Doctor -- "

"Nigel."

"Nigel," Peter repeated with a nod, then continued, "Because I am not eating breakfast!"

Caine suspected his son had just made a tentative surrender to the inevitable, and smiled. Heplaced a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder, held the brown gaze in wordless support for severalmoments, then left him in Jordan's capable hands.

Once they'd been left alone, the silence in the room grew. Peter deliberately kept his faceaverted, and Nigel wondered if he was going to have to push the younger man into talking. Thatwas something he did not want to have to do.

"Why do you give a damn, man?"

The question, stated with anger and resentment, truly startled Nigel and he waited out themoments that it took Peter to turn back to look at him.

"I give a damn because I hate seeing people hurt, especially when they've done nothing toprovoke this particular kind of pain. I think you're a decent kid, Peter. You didn't deserve this.Hell! -- no one deserves this!"

"Maybe I did," Peter said with feigned casualness. "I'm a cop. Cops make a lot of enemies.Maybe this just goes with the territory."

"You don't believe that shit anymore than I do, Peter, so let's cut the crap, okay?"

"What the hell do you want from me?" Peter snapped, unreasonably angry at the other man.

"Some honesty," Nigel replied instantly. "Some chance to help you."

"You can help by leaving me alone," Peter retorted. He backed off as soon as the words werespoken, and his eyes closed. This was not the way he promised Annie he'd handle things. He ranshaking hands through his hair, and dragged in several deep, calming breaths. Jordan waited himout again, and was watching closely when Peter looked back at him.

"Being alone isn't going to help. It's not even what I really want," the detective finally admitted.


"Tell me what they did to you, Peter?" Nigel requested gently, as he sat in the chair next to thebed.

Peter pulled the sheets tighter around him, clutching them like they offered him a shield againstthe pain.

"You know what happened."

"I need you to tell me," Jordan insisted. "It's not going to go away until you can say it and dealwith it."

"What if I never can?"

"You're stronger than they are, Peter. You can deal with it and put it behind you. It won't evenhave to change you, if you start trusting yourself, and the people who love you."

"He raped me," Peter pushed the words out through clenched teeth -- after a very long pause. Assoon as the simple phrase was voiced, he felt the rage emerge -- swift and lethal. "The son-of-a-bitch raped me. I want to kill him, Jordan. Do you understand that?"

"Of course, I do," Nigel said softly, keeping his tone as gentle as Peter's was harsh. "And youwouldn't find it hard to enlist help in the hunt. But, if you take his life, will it give you back whathe took from you?"

"You sound like my father now."

"And what does that suggest to you?" Nigel smiled.

"That you're probably right," Peter shrugged, but the edge remained in his eyes. The dark,glittering depths were alive with fury, and revulsion. "But then, it wasn't your body being rippedapart by that animal."

"Your body will heal, Peter," Jordan said. "What about your heart?"

"What heart?"

"The one everybody around you cherishes so highly," Nigel replied, serious and direct.

"I'm not the same, Nigel. Nobody wants to see that."

"You're not the same, Peter, but it's not in the way you want to force on them. I'm not going tohand you some bullshit about how this is going to make you a better person. I'd be just as angry,and just as frightened as you are. But, there's got to be a balance. Some place where you canlearn to accept and love yourself, with all the weaknesses you forgive in others. You don'tdemand perfection in the people you love, why are you insisting that you be your vision of theperfect cop for them? You're not, you know; no one's a perfect anything."


"I should have done something to stop him," Peter said, ignoring the quiver of fear that betrayedhis heart in his voice.

"Is that what you'd tell someone else, if they were the victim?"

Peter glared at him, at the absurdity of the question. Then, he gestured in disgust as his lookmoved to the window and the warm rays of sunshine that were pouring over his face.

"Why is it so hard to cut yourself some slack?"

"It's not," Peter whispered after a lengthy hesitation. "I'm a cop. You have to understand thatthat's not something I do, it's who I am."

"Being a cop has nothing to do with dealing with this kind of attack. You're just as vulnerable asthe rest of us, Peter. Maybe that's something you need to understand about yourself?"

"Feeling vulnerable isn't something I need to grow into," Peter snapped, the anger flooding inwith renewed force. "What I'm wondering is if I'll ever feel any other way."

"Everybody is afraid, Peter. Not always because they've been hurt the way you have, but we allhave triggers that leave us feeling exposed and susceptible. You make yourself vulnerable everytime you care about another person."

"This has nothing to do with that kind of openness."

"Maybe not, but in the end it is the same basic principle. You hurt, it makes you back away andtry to place walls there that keep it from happening again. Human nature," Jordan stated softly."They hurt you physically, but you're the only one who can let it change you inside."

"That's what my mother said," Peter acknowledged reluctantly. "You just can't understand,Nigel. I know you're tryin', but ..."

Nigel nodded in agreement, then smiled.

"If I can't help you, and that's entirely up to you, because you're the only one who knows, thenwhy not talk to someone who can understand what it feels like to be in that bed."

"You want me to chat with the rape counsellor lady?" Peter asked, though the query wasobviously lacking the animosity it would have carried twenty-four hours earlier.

"Your choice, Peter," Jordan said. "I'm not gonna push you into anything that you don't feelready for."

"You've changed your attitude since yesterday," Peter pointed out, one eyebrow raisedquizzically.


"So have you. It helps, doesn't it?" He waited for a moment, then gave Peter the news he'dreceived that morning. "The results from your blood tests have come back from the lab, Peter.All clean." Peter's relief was obvious, and Nigel shared the feeling, wholeheartedly.

"How long before I can breathe without it hurting?" Peter asked after another pause.

"Another few days and the worst of it will be over. Then you just have to worry about movingtoo quickly," Nigel grinned.

"Wonderful! This is why Paul called you in from New York, isn't it? Your dazzling wit."

"Maybe I'm just cheap," Nigel suggested.

"Yeah, and maybe all this was just a bad dream," Peter noted, his voice tinted with blackhumour.

Nigel watched as the younger man's gaze drifted to the window and the brilliant beams of lightthat streamed through the glass. Jordan couldn't suppress the image, Peter looked like a lostchild, wreathed in golden light, the traces of tears shimmering in the glow of sunshine. Pain wasetched into the expressive face, but there was a tranquillity there now that hadn't been presenthours earlier. Nigel dared to hope the worst of it was over for the detective.

"Tell her I'll talk," Peter whispered. He didn't bother to clarify the elusive statement, Jordanwould know who he was referring to.

"Are you sure?"

"No," Peter answered with complete honesty. "But, from where I'm sitting, it may be the onlyway out of the darkness."

"I'll make the appropriate calls," Nigel told him, and stood up. Almost in afterthought, he added;"Is there anyone you'd like to have with you?"

"Yeah," Peter replied instantly, laughing a little at the startlement on Jordan's face. "You. Ifyou're not in too big a rush to get back to New York?"

"Why?" Nigel hedged an immediate answer.

"Because I trust you, and I may want to kill her, so . . . "

"I'll be around, Peter."

"Thanks."

Jordan was about to turn but the gentle grasp of Peter's fingers closing on his wrist held him. Hewaited for the question he saw in the dark eyes that watched him so closely.


"You never did say what your field was, Nigel."

"No, I didn't," Jordan agreed with a whisper of smile lighting his features. "But, then again, younever asked."

"I'm asking now," Peter announced with a sour look.

"Psychology," Nigel laughed, and enjoyed the surprise that lit Peter's expressive face for a fewmoments before it turned to resignation.

"Figures," Peter muttered darkly and settled down into the bed.

Still laughing quietly, Jordan patted his shoulder and left him. Nigel was at the door when heheard the detective speak again, the tone light and pensive.

"Tell my family I'd like to see them."

Jordan nodded and headed into the corridor, a smile lighting his features as he breathed a heavysigh of relief. It was a beginning.....

The End

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