***

"Caine's not here yet." His peripheral vision noting the advance of over two hundred pounds of ex-Marine, Sergeant Broderick anticipated the Chief of Detectives' question. It was the same question Strenlich had been asking every thirty seconds for the past fifteen minutes. Broderick was getting tired of answering it -- especially since, at this point, Detective Peter Caine's arrival couldn't possibly escape anyone's attention.

Broderick had to admire Captain Simms' restraint. Unlike Strenlich, she'd asked where Detective Caine was only once -- and she hadn't shouted it at the top of her lungs, either. Instead, Karen Simms leisurely paced the bullpen, occasionally stealing glances at her watch, her growing anger evident in her stride. A few minutes earlier, when Broderick had suggested calling Peter's apartment, she'd shaken her head "no". He'd decided he was going to enjoy the show when Peter finally did show up.

"Think Peter's going to grace us with his presence any time soon?" asked Skalany as she passed Blake's desk.

Looking up from the electronic tracker he was tinkering with, Blake watched Simms pace a few more steps and decided the same thing Broderick had moments earlier. "I don't know about soon, but I'd try for a ringside seat when the fireworks start."

"Fireworks?" scoffed Skalany. "It'll just be the same old, same old. The Chief never comes up with any new material. He just keeps getting louder."

"Oh, I'm not talking about the Chief." Leaning across his desk toward her, he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Watch the Captain a minute. Then tell me whether the way she's acting reminds you of anyone." He couldn't resist adding, "Especially since she wouldn't let anyone call Pete."

Mary Margaret turned so she had a better view of the Captain and started noting the details -- the length of her stride, the pointed glances at her watch, the tightly leashed but ever increasing fury evident in her movements. Realizing exactly what he meant, she turned back to Blake, a wide grin on her face. "As Kermit would say, oh yeah. Reminds me of the last time Captain Blaisdell decided to let Peter hang himself like this. This is going to be fun to watch."

Catching the last of their conversation on his way to the coffee maker, Broderick commented, "Looks like you two just figured out --" His voice rose to a shout as he interrupted himself. "No, Chief, no sign of Caine yet." Dropping his voice again, he continued, "-- what's in store when he does manage to drag himself in here."

If Simms handled it the same way Blaisdell had, there really was a treat in store for everyone who hadn't seen it happen then, decided Skalany. No one had been privy to the half hour conversation in the Captain's office. However, everyone had guessed how intense it was when Peter actually arrived two minutes before shift change the next day, despite having stopped on the way in to glean information from Donny Double D. Whatever had been said had made enough of an impact that Peter actually arrived at the precinct on time for two solid months -- on time, Peter Caine style, that was. That translated to a string of days when he made it to his desk two or three minutes after the shift started but without a superior officer noting his absence earlier. It also included more than one occasion when he presented himself fifteen or twenty minutes late with a suspect he'd taken into custody. Those occasions deflected concern from his late arrival to his propensity to act without backup.

Simms checked her watch again, struggling to contain her anger. Thirteen minutes until the meet at which Peter's new snitch had insisted the Captain be present. Thirteen minutes until the meet that could provide the 101st the evidence needed to take down the ring responsible for eighty percent of the city's drug flow. Thirteen minutes until the meet and nine minutes travel time between the stationhouse and the site. Damn it, Peter, of all days to be this late, she fumed to herself. The hell with it. He wanted the Captain, he'll get the Captain, he just won't get Detective Caine.

Once again, Broderick provided Strenlich his regular update that Peter hadn't arrived yet. "I'm leaving for the meet," announced Simms. "If Peter gets here within the next four or five minutes, you can tell him to meet me if he's interested in being part of this."

"Captain, are you sure it's wise --" Frank Strenlich trailed off as he encountered the withering gaze she trained on him.

Karen Simms counted to ten to prevent herself from exploding. The last thing she needed today was for Strenlich's latent doubt about the competence of female cops to rear its head. More than a little effort kept her tone even as she told him, "I wasn't planning on doing what Detective Caine would and going in without backup." Crossing to the office door a few feet away, she rapped on it, calling, "Detective Griffin, would you join me on this one, seeing that Detective Caine seems to have chosen not to join us today?"

Smirking, Kermit took his time retrieving his Desert Eagle from the file cabinet. You've really done it this time, kid. We could charge admission to what happens when you finally make it in.

***

Tires squealed as Peter whipped into the precinct parking lot, slamming on the Stealth's brakes. I'm dead. Simms is gonna kill me. Two minutes left – only I could manage to be too late to make a meet I set up myself. Locking the car, he noticed the Captain's parking space was empty. She went to the meet alone. Nobody's ever gonna let me live this one down. He raced up the stairs into the precinct and ground to a halt in front of Broderick's desk, half afraid to walk past it and into the squad room. Time to face the music.

"He's here," yelled Broderick, glad for the chance to break the monotony of the past half hour's exchanges with Strenlich.

Turning bright red with embarrassment, Peter tried to make his way to his desk as unobtrusively as possible. Unfortunately, all eyes were on him as he approached his chair, shedding his leather jacket as he went. Then all heads swiveled to Strenlich as he stormed his way out of his office and across the bullpen. Halfway down into his chair, Peter checked himself, deciding Strenlich-as-enraged-bull was better faced from a standing position.

Standing two inches from Peter's face, Strenlich bellowed, "A half hour late last week and now a half hour late today of all days. If this meet doesn't come off and your snitch was for real, you can consider yourself responsible for the continued influx of eighty percent of the drugs in this city." The last was exaggerated and everyone knew it, but the Chief figured it'd get the effect he wanted. It did. Peter refrained from mentioning that he'd been only twenty-eight minutes late when he tore through the stationhouse door.

Sinking down into his chair, Peter offered Jody a rueful smile. "Guess I'm in pretty big trouble this time, right, partner?"

"You don't know the half of it," Skalany informed him from two desks over. "The Captain took Kermit with her for the meet. Strenlich's done all the yelling, but, boy, is she pissed off."

Oh, shit. Peter got to his feet, deciding he needed coffee to fortify himself for the coming storm. Besides, going over to the coffee maker gave him a good cover for pacing off his nerves.

The background din that usually characterized the precinct suddenly dissipated. Even the phones seemed to silence themselves. Peter's blood ran cold. Experience had taught him that eerily encroaching silence here generally meant disaster was about to strike.

He was right. The dispatch radio frequency only Broderick usually listened to -- with only half an ear at that -- crackled to life with unusual clarity. "Officer down, officer needs assistance. Repeat, officer down."

Peter was only dimly aware of the crash as his coffee mug fell to the floor from suddenly nerveless fingers. The frantic voice now shouting the location belonged to Kermit Griffin.

Broderick started putting out the call for all units in the vicinity to converge on the location. Blake, muttering something about the success of his rebuilding of the transmitter, placed a call to the dispatch supervisor to make sure an ambulance was on its way.

Stricken, Peter moved blindly toward the front desk, as though physical proximity to the radio was the most important thing in the world. Background noises, including an approaching ambulance siren, continued to come across the radio. He was vaguely aware of Skalany telling Blake it sounded like his rebuilt handset wouldn't shut off.

The roaring thunder of his own blood pulsing filled Peter's eardrums. This is my fault, all my fault. It should have been me. The thought played over and over again in his mind like a mantra. It only grew worse as he heard the last words that came across before the transmission filled with static and then went dead, agonized words he knew he never would have heard if Kermit had been aware his radio was still sending. "Damn you, Karen, don't you die on me!"

Strenlich shook himself out of the shocked silence shared by most of those in the room and began barking out orders. "Skalany, Kincaid, Chin, I want you down at the site of the shooting with whatever units have arrived. If you need more uniforms, you ask for them. Skalany, you're the primary."

Skalany nodded tightly as the three detectives grabbed their coats and raced out of the precinct. Peter started to follow them.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going, Detective Caine?"

Strenlich's shout stopped the younger man dead in his tracks. Gulping, Peter turned pained hazel eyes to him and choked out, "To the hospital."

"No, you're not. You're staying right here and working the phones to find your snitch."

"But, Chief --" Peter began to protest.

"No buts, Caine. Your snitch is the key. You're not going anywhere until you find him." Strenlich had grown progressively louder.

Peter gave up and returned to his desk. Echoing in his head were the words The Captain could die because of me. If anyone was gonna get shot, it should have been me. He still could hear Strenlich issuing commands, but couldn't focus on the words. Hope none of those were for me. Picking up his phone, he dialed his first call.

Three calls and several minutes later, he heard that Skalany's first report from the scene was coming in. Strenlich's side of the conversation was distinguished only by being uninformative. I should be out at the scene. Maybe there I'd actually be doing something useful.

"We're looking for more than one shooter, people," Strenlich informed the remaining detectives at the top of his lungs. "Kermit told the first unit at the scene they were caught in a crossfire. Shooters opened fire at the exact minute the meet was supposed to take place. Happened too fast for them to call it in. No sign of your snitch anywhere around, by the way, Caine. Captain never got off a shot, but Kermit got off a few rounds before he was hit. If the uniforms got it right, the crossfire stopped after Captain Simms was shot and fire only came from one direction when the shooting started again."

Ordinarily Peter would have filed away that last bit of information to work on later. He hadn't heard the last sentence, though. His awareness had ended with the words "he was hit". I just got both of them shot.

***

"Annie..."

"For the tenth time in as many minutes, Paul, I told you I'd do my best to help you to explain to Peter and I will. The fact that I didn't agree with you about leaving or about staying away doesn't mean I won't help you explain it."

"I'm driving you crazy." His eyes left the road for a minute to see whether his wife's expression reflected real anger or merely annoyance at replaying the same conversation yet again.

"Yes!" Softening her tone, Annie added, "He's Peter, you're home, he'll forgive you."

"Have you?"

"I'm not the one you abandoned with no good explanation, Paul."

The first time she'd said it, he'd wanted to argue the point. By now he realized she was right. His reasons had been as flawed as he had been adamant about leaving. Flawed's an understatement. Dead wrong's more like it.

Annie broke the uncomfortable silence. She didn't think there was much more left to say, but anything was better than listening to the static of the police radio in the background. Once a cop, always a cop. Not even back in town two hours and the police band's on. "You're back for good. As long as he understands that, everything's going to be fine."

"I -- Shit!" Without easing up on the accelerator, Paul steered the car into a hard U-turn.

Annie grabbed the door handle beside her to brace herself. "What in the world --"

"Crosstalk from the 96th." He'd been so intent on his guilt he actually was surprised he'd given the radio enough attention to pick up on what had been said. "Reference to an ambush on officers from the 101st." Heart racing, Paul was more curt than he intended as he tried to control his voice.

"Oh, God, Peter?" The fear he felt was apparent in his wife's voice.

"Who else could it be, Annie? County General's closer than the precinct. I'm not wasting the time going to the 101st to find out."

As he and Annie each said a silent prayer for their son, it didn't even occur to Paul to radio in to the precinct.

***

"Nothing. Again." Peter slammed the receiver into its cradle, resisting the temptation to throw the phone across the bullpen.

"Same here." Jody grimaced.

"How could I have been so stupid? How could I have gotten taken in like that?"

Jody tried to reassure him. "Peter, we all make mistakes. Every one of us has been taken in by a snitch with another agenda at one time or another."

"Yeah, but I'm the one whose mistakes end up getting people killed."

"You don't know that, Peter." He effectively signaled the end of the conversation by picking up his phone again. Sighing in frustration, Jody gave up trying to get through to him. Beating my head against a brick wall trying to knock it down would probably be easier.

"Your investigative team should be back in a few minutes." The voice speaking to Chief Strenlich was Commissioner Kincaid's.

Peter groaned. Is there any way this can get worse? His question was answered seconds later as he heard the Commissioner start complaining about Sandra Mason's stakeout in front of the precinct. Vulture.

***

Paul Blaisdell headed straight for the admissions desk in the County General emergency room like a man on a mission. Annie waited a few feet to the side of the entry doors, leaning against the corridor wall. She'd preferred standing here and waiting to being dragged along in his wake.

Paul barely kept his composure as the nurse at the desk completed a phone call. The receiver hadn't yet been completely hung up when he demanded, "I need to know the condition of the officer from the 101st who was brought in here a little while ago."

"We do not divulge that information about patients, sir." The woman's tone was scornful.

If she'd simply respectfully stated hospital policy, Paul would have told her of his instinct that the officer was his son. As it was, he flashed his badge for the first time in nearly two years. "Police Inspector Paul Blaisdell. This is an officer under my command we're talking about here." His discussion with Commissioner Kincaid earlier that morning hadn't exactly spelled out the details of his return to the force, but he didn't care.

The woman's entire demeanor changed. "Sorry, Inspector, but you know the drill. Actually, two officers from the 101st were brought in."

He drummed his fingers on the counter as she checked the records. The fact that the nervous action was very Peter-like didn't escape him.

"Captain Simms has been taken to surgery. Her condition's stable; it's not life threatening. Detective Griffin --"

Paul felt a bit guilty as the wave of relief washed over him at the realization that Peter was all right.

" -- is being treated for a leg wound. He's --" She jumped. Paul stifled a chuckle as he clearly heard Kermit swear vividly, followed by something that sounded very much like a frightened response from a member of the ER staff. "He's in Treatment Room 3," Blaisdell supplied, nodding in the direction of the commotion.

"How --"

"My son's spent too much time in this hospital. I am more intimately familiar with this ER than I ever would choose to be. Now, unless there are any objections, I think I'm going to go in there and stop my detective from killing hospital staff." Paul didn't wait for a response. He did go over to Annie first, however.

"Paul?" His name was all she could force out when she heard his footsteps.

Paul wrapped an arm around her. "It wasn't Peter, Annie. It was Kermit and Karen. They're going to be all right."

"Then I'm not going crazy." Sensing her husband's bewilderment, she added, "I thought I heard Kermit cursing someone out."

"Yeah, you did. Feel like going in there with me and rescuing some hapless medic from Kermit?"

***

"Pete, we just found your snitch."

Peter looked up to find Broderick standing over his desk. That wasn't a good sign. When the Sergeant got news from a phone call, he usually just raised his voice and called it in to the bullpen.

Raking a hand through his hair, Peter asked, "Where?"

"Nicky Elder's table. He estimates time of death at 2:30 this morning. Sorry, Pete."

Strenlich stood in the doorway of his office. It was clear he'd heard the entire exchange. Peter cast a questioning glance at him as he got to his feet. "All right, Caine, we found your snitch. You can go to the hospital." He'll do it whether I let him or not.

Peter grabbed his jacket and ran before Strenlich could change his mind.

***

"I've been shot worse than this more often than you can count, Doctor, so would you just shut up about admitting me for observation and finish digging the goddamn bullet out?" What remained of Kermit's severely tested patience was fast evaporating.

"Maybe if you stopped intimidating him, he'd have an easier time doing his job, Kermit." I've said this so many times before, maybe I should just make a recording of it.

Green-shaded eyes whipped toward Paul's voice. The young doctor stared in amazement at the sudden silence. He didn't have the slightest clue as to the identity of the man and woman who'd just walked into the treatment room. He wasn't about to object to their intrusion, though; he'd welcome anyone who could divert the attention of his fright-instilling patient.

Paul hid his grin at the priceless look on the doctor's face as the man turned his attention back to the task at hand. "No 'welcome back', Kermit?" He asked the question sarcastically, not really expecting a civil reply.

"Nice timing," was Kermit's only response.

"Judging from the look on your doctor's face, I'd have to agree with that. Any specific problem at work or just the usual way you deal with hospitals?"

"You mean other than the fact that Karen could be dying and this..." Warning looks from both Paul and Annie convinced him to alter his planned wording. "... doctor won't give me any information about her condition?" It didn't even occur to him to pretend to characterize his relationship with Karen as a professional one in the Blaisdells' presence.

"Karen's in surgery, but she'll be fine," Paul told him. "Next problem?"

"You heard the next problem. I don't need to be admitted, I need to be out there tracking down those bastards."

Ignoring that remark, Paul asked for a rundown of the shooting. Kermit gave it impassively. By the time he was finished, an inordinately grateful resident had extracted the bullet, then cleaned and closed the wound. He couldn't believe he'd done it without further interference from his patient.

Success provided Doctor Johnston enough courage to say, "All right, Detective, why don't we start the paperwork to admit you?"

"No, let's start the paperwork to get me the hell out of here." Kermit punctuated the statement by starting to get to his feet. He gasped as sharp, fiery daggers seemed to lance through his shin. As if that wasn't bad enough, a wave of dizziness hit him so hard he would have fallen if Paul hadn't been there to steady him.

"You're staying here." Paul's tone allowed for no protest. "As good a detective as you are, we don't need you on this case. There's an entire precinct out there solely focused on finding the shooters, and every other cop in the city's on the lookout. Not to mention the fact that you and I both know Karen would go through the roof if she knew you checked yourself out of here in this condition. Annie and I have no intention of having to tell her something like that when she wakes up."

Paul didn't expect Kermit to give up easily. He was right. "I can be of more use --"

Paul cut him off. "You won't be of any use to the investigation if you collapse. You won't be of any use to Karen once she's out of surgery if you're not nearby. And, before you try to argue the computer skill angle, I'll bring you a damn laptop with a modem if the investigation warrants." Before his friend could protest further, he turned to the doctor. "I can give you all the information you need to fill out his paperwork. Why don't you and I go out to the admissions desk and fill out the forms and then I'll get him to sign them?"

Johnston accepted readily. Anything that would allow him to have as little contact with this patient as possible was welcome. "While we're doing that, I'll have him transferred to a private room." No way in hell I'm subjecting any other patients to this guy's attitude.

"Can I trust you to stay here?" Paul asked Kermit angrily.

Annie answered for him. "I'll just stay right here with him. If you're still filling out the forms, I'll go along with him when they transfer him to a room. He wouldn't dare run out on me."

She's right on that score, thought Kermit. After the way I pissed her off last week, I'm not about to cross her again this soon.

***

Peter barreled through the double doors of the ER – and stopped short, heart racing, as he caught sight of the admissions desk. He closed his eyes for a moment, convinced he was hallucinating. When he opened them, he still saw who he thought he'd seen before – and had feared he'd never see again. The emotion that washed over him was so strong that he could force out only one barely audible word. "Paul?"

Peter closed the distance between himself and Paul with three long strides, his speed more a trot than a walk. He was certain Paul didn't know he was there; the older man had neither stopped talking to the doctor nor looked toward Peter. He was wrong. The moment his approach brought him within arm's reach, he felt the reassurance of Paul's hand on his shoulder.

A rock hard knot of tension greeted Paul's hand as it came down on Peter's shoulder. He broke off his conversation with Johnston midsentence, turned to Peter, and said softly, "They're both going to be all right, son." Almost instantly, the knot eased under his palm.

If those words had come from almost anyone else, even one of the doctors, Peter wouldn't have believed them. He could tell that Paul wasn't holding out false hope, though. Sighing in relief, he leaned into the strength of Paul's hand. There was so much he had to tell him about what had happened today, about his responsibility for the shooting, but Peter remained silent. He could do that later. For now he was content to just stand next to Paul and drink in the sound of his voice as he finished talking with the doctor.

***

"These shooters were real pros." Anger colored Skalany's tone as she launched into her report to Strenlich the minute she reached the Sergeant's desk. "Not a goddamn trace of anything so far. Forensics is still there, but I'm sure they won't be able to come up with anything that leads us anywhere."

"What about shell casings?" asked the Chief, looking up from the M.E.'s preliminary report that was balanced precariously on the counter. Broderick listened to the exchange as he continued transferring reports from the last shift from one side of the desk to the other.

"Ballistics won't get anything to work with from the crime scene. I had the uniforms fan out and check every possible location the crossfire could have originated. The only shell casings we found were in the alley."

"There's no possibility --" started Blake as he and Jody joined the group at the front desk.

"That part of the hit team was in the alley? No, every damn one of them was from a Desert Eagle -- and I'd bet you a year's salary the number of shell casings matches the number of shots Kermit got off."

"Why leave it uncertain? Why not just check the gun for the number of rounds left?" asked Commissioner Kincaid.

My father thinks Kermit would let that elephant gun out of his sight?! thought T.J. incredulously.

"Kermit was conscious at the scene," chimed all three members of the investigative team.

"What difference does that make?" The Commissioner was genuinely confused on this point.

Jody queried, "Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that says, 'The only way you'll get my gun is to pry it from my cold dead fingers'?"

"Yes," was the puzzled response.

"Well, that describes Kermit."

Strenlich cut in before Commissioner Kincaid could ask why one of the 101st's detectives carried a weapon so far beyond nonregulation. "Any witnesses?"

"Only Kermit and the Captain, and we can't get her statement until she comes around," Skalany told him.

"We canvassed the entire area," added Chin. "Half the damn neighborhood's nothing but abandoned warehouses; the other half's like those three monkeys."

"Three monkeys?!" Strenlich's roar shook the building. "It's not bad enough I've got to deal with Detective Caine and a thought process that was hard enough for me to understand before he became some kind of Shaolin cop?! Now I've got you coming up with some obscure Chinese animal reference?!" His remaining control having fled when Sandra Mason managed to invade the precinct some minutes before, Strenlich reverted to Marine combat language. "How the hell did three fucking circus animals make their way into my police ambush, Chin?"

It was T.J., struggling not to laugh at the stunned look on his father's face, who dared to respond to the tirade. "I don't think it's got anything to do with anything Chinese, Chief. Didn't anyone ever tell you about the three monkeys -- you know, see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil?"

Strenlich turned so red Broderick and Blake were certain he was going to have a stroke. Knowing what a fool he seemed as he heard the familiar old tale, he changed the subject. "Skalany, your shooting's turned into a homicide investigation."

Despite his brusque tone, she paled, gasping, "My God, which one of them died?" Chin and Kincaid suddenly found the floor at their feet fascinating.

The two men were exceedingly uncomfortable. Neither one of them could imagine even an ambush actually having the power to stop Kermit Griffin permanently. Both could picture only too well the field day Sandra Mason and the rest of the media would have if the 101st had lost its Captain because a meet set up by "hotshot Detective Peter Caine" had gone sour -- especially given the fact that Peter Caine's inability to be on time for just about anything had kept him out of that alley. Neither man had difficulty envisioning the blood bath Chinatown was likely to turn into when Kermit sought to avenge Karen Simms' death -- or the fate Peter Caine would face if Kermit blamed him.

Jesus Christ, Mary Margaret, what the hell kind of a question was that? she scolded herself. I know Kermit was conscious at the scene, but it's got to be him -- he had to have been staying alive by sheer willpower until she was taken care of. Oh, God, it's Kermit, it has to be. If it was the Captain, he'd be in here right now, no matter how badly he was hurt, trying to find the shooters so he could kill them. But what if he's just not back here yet or he's already out on the streets, looking for her killers? Goddammit, of all times for Captain Blaisdell not to be here. He's the only one who could stop him. Strenlich had been uncharacteristically quiet in the aftermath of her outburst. Her heart filling with dread, Mary Margaret asked, "We're now working a cop killing?"

Strenlich shot her a look that asked if she was crazy and replied, "No, you and your team were already gone when Peter's snitch turned up on a slab in the morgue."

"Chief." Broderick interrupted before anything more was said.  "I think you'd better take a look at these." He handed two envelopes to Strenlich, saying, "I just found them under a stack of arrest reports from Vice from last shift."

Strenlich looked down, first at one envelope, then at the other. The five detectives crowded around the desk craned their necks to read over his shoulder.

One envelope was addressed to Detective Kermit Griffin. The other was addressed to Captain Paul Blaisdell.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think this is some kind of a sick joke," said Blake.  "I mean, letters like these just happening to show up the same day two of our officers get shot and Peter's snitch shows up dead.  Only other explanation could be --"

"Broderick, you sure you found these in the middle of last night's arrest reports?"  Strenlich ignored whatever Blake had been about to say.

"Chief, don't go off on some sort of tangent about whether it's possible these could have been here longer and just not discovered before now.  The Captain's been gone nearly two years, and you can see as well as I can that the paper's not yellowed."  Christ, he's worse now than when he was asking me where Caine was every thirty seconds.

"Sarge, do you remember where in the stack you found the envelopes?" questioned Skalany.

"Yeah.  I haven't moved anything since I found them."

"The earlier the report, the lower it was in the stack, right?"

Broderick understood where she was going with this.  "The next report down was completed at 2:29 this morning."

"When would you normally have gotten this far down in last night's arrest reports?" quizzed Jody excitedly.

"You mean if I didn't have somebody --"  He glared at Strenlich as he spoke.  "--breaking my concentration twice a minute for half an hour to make sure Pete hadn't entered unnoticed?  About the time of the ambush."

More than one person muttered, "Oh, shit" as the implications of his statement hit home.

"Guess we just found our first evidence," commented T.J. while Chin began to get ready to dust the envelopes for prints.

Blake waved Chin away.  "Don't bother, you won't find anything we can use.  These guys wouldn't have left prints.  For God's sake, you didn't even find a blood trail anywhere near the scene -- which means they're good enough that Kermit couldn't hit anyone with the Desert Eagle.  Anybody that good's not gonna kill the guy they used to set up two cops to be killed, then be stupid enough not to wear gloves when they deliver letters designed to up the ante."

Six curious stares greeted him.  The Commissioner, who didn't look up, was distracted by the draft of the statement he was preparing for Sandra Mason and the rest of the media.  OK, fine, time to put this line of thought away for the time being, Blake decided.  "Besides, the evidentiary chain's already tainted.  Broderick's prints are on the envelopes, Strenlich's prints are on the envelopes, and God alone knows who might have handled the envelopes between 2:30 this morning and shift change."

"All right," decided Strenlich, "somebody better get these envelopes over to Peter at the hospital.  If Kermit's in good enough shape, maybe the two of them can puzzle something out."

Without looking up from the pages he was editing, Commissioner Kincaid remarked, "Why don't you just ask Blaisdell?  I'm surprised he's not coordinating this investigation."

"Little bit difficult to coordinate something at a precinct you left two years ago and haven't come back to."  T.J. thought he muttered it under his breath; the stern gaze he received from his father proved otherwise.

"Last time I talked to Inspector Blaisdell was a couple of hours ago," mentioned the Commissioner.  "Come to think of it, I thought he said he was on his way here."

"Maybe he was," mused Skalany.  "Maybe he ..."

"... heard some crosstalk about the shooting over the police band, thought Peter got shot, and went to the hospital instead."  Jody finished her thought.

"Powell!"  Strenlich barked her name at the top of his lungs even though she was little more than three and a half feet away.

Jody restrained herself from responding in kind -- for once.  Just once I'd like to see the look on his face if someone answered him at the same decibel level.  "Yes."

He thrust the envelopes at her.  "Here.  Go on over to the hospital.  You and your partner see whether there's any connection between these and the shooting."

***

"They both could have died because of me."  Peter waited to say it until Johnston walked away, leaving him and Paul the only people in the ER corridor.  His voice was so low that Paul, standing next to him, had to strain to catch the words.

"It wasn't your fault, Peter."  As Paul read the guilt in the younger man's eyes, the knot of muscles hardened beneath his hand once more.  He didn't bother to try to knead it out.  Instead he locked gazes with Peter and repeated his words.

"Yes, it was.  It was my snitch, my meet.  Kermit wasn't even supposed to be part of it.  The only reason he was even out there in that alley was that I was late -- again.  I --"  Peter gulped and took in a deep breath so that he could go on.  Breathe, Peter.  Center yourself.  Yeah, right, it's not making it any easier and if I try to breathe any deeper, I think I'll pass out.  "When I -- when the radio call -- when --"  His voice broke and he couldn't continue.

Paul didn't say a word.  He simply took his hand from Peter's shoulder and put his arms around his son.  Peter returned the hug fiercely, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.  After a few minutes he reluctantly pulled away, embarrassed by his show of raw emotion.

"I missed you so much, Dad.  If you hadn't been here when I walked through those doors --"

"If I hadn't been here, you'd have handled it.  You don't need me to tell you that."  In response to the unasked question evident in Peter's eyes, he added, "I missed you too, son.  This wasn't exactly the place I'd have chosen for us to first see each other again."

"I caused this."  Like a dog with a bone, Peter returned to a differently phrased version of the same refrain.  "I got them shot."

"That's not the way I heard it from Kermit."  Paul shot him "The Look" as he spoke.  Peter was smart enough not to contradict him.  "He told me it was a set up from the start.  That shooting was going to go down whether you were there or not.  You couldn't have stopped it if you had been there.  Best you could have done was get yourself shot too."

Peter started to reply, but closed his mouth as he heard Jody's voice behind him.  "We may have our first lead in the case, Peter.  Welcome back, Inspector Blaisdell."

"Inspector?  Why didn't you tell me?"

"Peter, don't you think we had more important things to talk about than my rank on the force?" Paul asked gently.

Peter nodded, then turned his full attention to Jody.  "Show me what you've got."

She handed Blaisdell the envelope addressed to him, then waved the other in front of Peter's face, slowly enough that he could read the name on it.  "Broderick found these in the middle of last night's arrest reports.  It looks like they were delivered right around the time your snitch bought it and planted just deep enough that Broderick would have found them at the same time the shooting went down if you'd been on time.  They must have something to do with the ambush."

Paul had torn open the envelope and read the letter it contained while Jody started to fill Peter in.  Refolding the paper far more calmly than he felt, he said, "Nothing you did was the reason for this, Peter.  You're not responsible for the ambush -- I am."

Peter was dumbfounded; that much was clear to both Paul and Jody as they took in the look on his face.  Jody, for her part, was slightly puzzled.  She knew Peter blamed himself for the shooting but ... How in the hell could Blaisdell think he's responsible?  He's been gone almost two years.  How could the same ring still be responsible for over eighty percent of the city's drug trade after all the scum we've taken down in that time?

"I don't understand," said Jody.

"Don't try to protect me by doing this, Paul," protested Peter at the same time.

"You will when you read this."  Paul answered Jody, but handed the letter to Peter.  He had many reservations about this; his initial instinct had been to conceal the letter from his son.  Unfortunately, that gut instinct had been a father's predisposition to protect his child from the evils of the world.  Paul Blaisdell the cop knew that the officer who'd been used to set up the meet had to read the note -- even if that officer was his son.  The self-loathing in Peter's eyes had decided for him.  If Peter didn't read the note, the burden of guilt the young man carried would consume him far sooner than the vile words would shatter him -- and that guilt would stand far more of a chance of destroying him permanently.  So Paul waited and watched as Peter and Jody read the letter.

Jody read the computer-generated note over Peter's shoulder, her eyes growing wider as she did so.  As Peter absorbed the letter's contents, his instinct to deny the possible validity of Paul's assertion of responsibility dwindled.  Emotionally, he still knew he was to blame.  His intellectual knowledge, however, was another story.  The note read:

Blaisdell,

What was the last thing you said to your son when he left the precinct for his meet this morning?  Did you tell Peter to be careful?  Did you offer praise for the information Peter thought he'd get?  Were you too busy to even notice as Peter and Captain Simms left the station?
          What will be your first regret when the first unit finds the carnage in the alley?  How will you react when you lift the crime tape to walk past -- and into your worst nightmare?  Will you still be the almighty mercenary leader spouting commands for the pursuit when you see every ounce of your son's life blood splattered over the tar and gravel of the alley?  Or will you be a grieving father, cradling the bullet-riddled body of your son, screaming your anguish to the gods?
          How does it feel to know that Peter's blood is on your hands?  How does it feel to know that all it would have taken to keep Peter alive would have been to give in to our demands and walk away from the mission in Pakistan?  You and Griffin thought you destroyed me then; you were wrong.  But then you've known that for a while now, haven't you?
           You know this wasn't the opening salvo.  How does it feel to know your precious son is only the first to die, that one by one you will watch your family die?  By the time your time comes, you'll welcome death -- and I will enjoy every moment of pain I'll inflict before then.
 You should have known you couldn't destroy me.
 I'm back.

Jericho

As he finished reading, Peter slowly became aware that, at some point, he and Jody had switched positions.  She was no longer reading over his shoulder.  Instead, she was by his side, her arm around his waist, his arm draped over her shoulders.  Peter wasn't sure when the change had taken place.  In fact, he was convinced he'd never be aware of that.  What he did know was that the solidity of Jody's shoulders beneath his arm and the grip of her arm around him were the only reasons he was still standing.

Struggling to regain some semblance of composure, Peter swallowed hard.  He was stunned into silence, unable to find the words to express the anger -- and terror -- the letter had evoked.  I've got to say something.

Jody bought him some time.  She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she heard the harsh hiss as she let it out.  "Whoever the hell Jericho is, he's one sick son of a bitch."

"Yes, he is."  Concerned, Paul looked at Peter assessingly for a moment.  He'd expected a tirade of words, disjointed, rambling, but words nonetheless.  When Peter was upset he generally talked ... and talked ... and talked -- even more than usual.  He also tended to engage in frantic, sometimes frenetic, movement -- pacing, running a nervous hand through his hair, rearranging any item he could reach while roaming the room.  That didn't bother Paul.  That he expected.  Peter silent and still, as he was now, frightened him to his very core.  Annie had told him that Peter had completed his Shaolin training, but Paul knew him well enough to know that there was only so far even that could go to moderate the talkative nature and near inability to sit still that made Peter Peter.

Jody had noticed the change in her partner as well.  She didn't like it any more than Paul did.  Unlike Peter, she knew the exact moment he'd begun to rely on her strength as though it was his only lifeline -- and she could tell from the look in Blaisdell's eyes that it hadn't escaped his notice either.  She'd just hit the "carnage in the alley" phrase when it happened, but Peter had started reading a heartbeat before she did.  She suspected it had happened when he read the phrase "worst nightmare", for the sudden distance in his hazel eyes had told her he was somewhere else, envisioning his own worst nightmares. Jody knew that, as long as she lived, she would never forget that moment.

The sick feeling that had entered Paul's stomach as he read the first line of the letter had intensified as he'd continued reading.  As he watched Peter read the note, it had hurtled past nausea to dread.  "Jericho," he managed to continue, "was -- is -- a terrorist for hire.  He usually goes out to the highest bidder."  He stopped, directing another worried glance at Peter.

"I'm worried about him too."  Jody kept her voice as low as possible.

It penetrated the haze in Peter's brain anyway.  "Don't be," he ground out.  "Haven't you heard -- I'm a Shaolin cop.  We don't get affected by things like this."

Jody bit back a retort and Paul sighed.  Both heard the bitterness in his voice; both heard the guilt behind it.  Even worse, both sensed the dangerously brittle glass edge to his tone.  Neither liked it, but there was nothing that could be done about it now.

Blaisdell picked up the thread of his story once again.  "When Jericho goes out to someone other than the highest bidder, it's because he's been offered a perk he prizes more -- free rein to be as sadistic as he wants.  If you follow the money trail, you'll find that his most lucrative jobs are the assassinations.  The less lucrative a job the greater the importance he places on developing new tools and tactics to make life as painful as possible for his enemies.  Back in 1986 we thought we wiped out the last that was left of the terrorist squad he was running in the Middle East.  Obviously, we were wrong."

"That's the mission in Pakistan he was talking about in here?"  Peter brandished the note as he spoke, proud of himself for keeping his voice semi-steady.

"Yes.  I'd guess he's pulled together another terrorist team in order to exact his revenge."

"Who's next on his hit parade?" asked Peter.

Jody winced.  She wasn't sure she particularly liked Peter's flippancy, but she sure as hell preferred it to his earlier reaction.

Paul took in a deep breath.  He didn't want to give the answer any more than he had wanted to accept its inevitability as Jericho's goal.  "The same person it's been since he set up the ambush, Peter.  You."

"That makes it simple enough," stated Peter. "All we need to do is set me up as bait for Jericho. He tries to kill me again, we're ready for him, we reel him in."

"Are you crazy?!" Jody was furious with him, but not surprised that he'd come up with this solution.

"Absolutely not." Blaisdell's low voice shot straight past intimidating to deadly.

Jody had never heard him use that tone; Peter thought he could probably count the number of times he'd heard it on one hand. Well, if not one hand, definitely two with fingers left over. He knew Paul had deliberately chosen to modulate his voice that way, hoping that the lethal quality would change Peter's mind. It didn't. It just made him start pacing.

OK, fine, so Jericho's here because he wants revenge on Paul and Kermit. What difference does that make? I was supposed to be in that alley this morning and I wasn't. I was the target and I can't even say I walked away -- I never got there. And I let myself be used to set this whole damn chain of events in motion. I started this disaster. I've got to be the one to finish it. "Jericho wants me, Jericho gets me," Peter insisted, bringing his pacing to a halt. "He just won't know what we have up our sleeves."

"Peter, I said no, I meant no."

"I have to. I got them shot. Neither one of them would have been in that alley if it wasn't for me."

"Peter, that's not exactly --" Jody didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. Peter went right on talking as though she'd never spoken.

"Doesn't anybody see? The Captain wouldn't have been in that alley if I hadn't bought into the setup and arranged the meet. Kermit wouldn't have been there if I'd been on time for work this morning. At least one of them took a bullet with my name on it. That was my fault and I'm the only one who can do anything to make it right."

"All right, Peter, let's review the facts." Blaisdell's voice had grown tighter, though it retained its dangerous edge. "Jericho's ultimate goal is revenge against me and Kermit for something that happened years ago. In case it escaped your attention, I'm not the only one who got a note from him. Kermit got one too. We're all smart enough to know that letter's going to revolve around his claiming credit for Karen's death, just as this one --" he gestured to the paper still in Peter's hand "-- takes credit for yours. Remember, both you and Karen were supposed to be in that alley today. That means you were both Jericho's targets. If you hadn't bought into his setup, he would have found another way to kill both of you."

Peter didn't even notice the way Paul had connected Karen Simms to Kermit. Jody was too concerned about Peter to do more than wonder briefly about it.

"Do you really expect me to buy that, Paul? You yourself just told me I was Jericho's next target -- and that I'd been his target since he set up the ambush. Not me and the Captain. Me. Killing her would've just been a nice little extra for him. I'm his target. You said it yourself."

"Peter, did it ever occur to you that when I said that the way I said it, it could have been because I'm worried about you?" Paul paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. When he spoke again, his voice exhibited far more control than he felt. "Maybe if I was either a better man or able to turn off my emotions, I'd have been looking at the whole picture. I wasn't, son. I wasn't even thinking about the fact that Karen had also been an intended victim of the ambush. All I could think about was how close Jericho had come to killing my son. And if I misled you in the process, I'm sorry."

Jody tried her best to fade into the woodwork, so that neither man would notice her presence. She had the distinct impression neither would have wished to broadcast their "family business", as she had begun to think of this discussion, to an outsider. What surprised her was that she didn't feel like a voyeur witnessing it.

"None of that changes anything." Peter wasn't about to let Paul's words dissuade him from his chosen course of action. The grim determination on his face told both Paul and Jody as much. "I'm still Jericho's target and setting me up as bait to lure him into a trap's what we have to do to catch him."

"Damn it, Peter, baiting Jericho won't work," snapped Paul. It didn't work when I tried it two years ago. It won't work now. "Deliberately putting yourself in the line of fire is a recipe for disaster."

"Yeah, well, I think my screwing up this morning already made the disaster happen."

Jody shook her head, knowing how futile it was to challenge Peter when he had his mind this set on something. Let somebody else try to handle it this time, Jody. At least Peter might listen.

Paul let a few moments of dead silence go by. Seeing Peter open his mouth to continue the argument, he cut him off. "We're not discussing your habit of being late, Peter. Whether you screwed up doesn't matter. Either way, Jericho would have sprung that ambush. And I am not going to let you get yourself killed out of some damn need to assuage the guilt you feel."

"I don't need your permission -- or anyone else's -- to do this. If I have to set up Jericho alone, I'll do it. I just thought --" God, am I actually about to say this? "-- that it might help to have backup."

Paul's voice lashed out at Peter, making Jody jump before she even had a chance to reflect on the incongruity of Peter Caine voluntarily requesting backup. "Goddammit to hell, Peter, haven't you listened to a single word I said? Jericho wants you dead. He is going to keep coming until he succeeds. You try to set him up and all you'll accomplish is giving him exactly what he wants."

"So maybe giving him what he wants is the way to get to him," mumbled Peter, looking intently at his feet.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed or are you just intent on acting like an idiot?" Paul regretted both the words and their unintended harshness the instant they left his mouth. He didn't need to hear Jody Powell's gasp to know he'd gone too far in his zeal to prevent Peter from falling into the trap of thinking giving in to Jericho would work. It wouldn't have worked ten years ago. It didn't work two years ago. It won't work now.

Startled, Peter swung his gaze up from the floor. Paul had never used that particular tone with him before, had never betrayed the slightest hint that Peter didn't live up to his expectations. He's finally realized I don't deserve to be his son -- to be anybody's son.

Reflected in Peter's hazel eyes were mingled emotions that chilled Paul to the bone -- confusion, shame, guilt, doubt, and searing pain. He was responsible for the confusion and pain in his son's eyes -- and he'd done his damnedest to contribute to Peter doubting himself. "I'm sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have said that." He said the words quietly, hearing how hollow they sounded, knowing how inadequate they were.

"Doesn't matter, it's what everyone thinks about me today." Peter's voice was flat.

Paul shook his head, reaching Peter's side in two easy strides. He put his arms around him, whispering, "It matters, son. It matters." When he'd hugged his son earlier, Peter had clung to him fiercely, only reluctantly moving away. Now Paul felt Peter stiffen at his touch, further evidence of the pain he'd inflicted. "All I want is to keep my son alive," he added. Peter didn't respond. Paul didn't blame him. Maybe if I give him a couple of minutes, let Jody try to get through to him. Maybe then at least he'll realize I was wrong, be angry at me instead of taking this on himself too.

Reluctantly, Paul started to move away, resting a hand on Peter's shoulder for a few moments. He hoped the hand was reassuring, but feared it was shaking. Peter hadn't said another word. "I'm going to go find out what room they've got Kermit in. Then we're going to go give him his version of Jericho's rant and see if we can pick up anything that will help with the investigation."

Peter nodded. "Don't say it, I'll still be here when you get back."

"I never doubted it." He had, actually, but he wasn't about to let Peter know it. Passing Jody on his way down the corridor, Paul briefly placed a hand on her arm and requested quietly, "See if you can undo some of the damage I just did."

"Me?" The question was in her eyes before it was on her lips.

"I can see how much you care about my son, even if he refuses to see it."

"All right," agreed Jody, casting a worried glance at Peter.

She waited until Paul had rounded the corner before crossing to where Peter had halted after his round of pacing. She squeezed his arm to get him to look at her. "He didn't mean it."

"I know." Peter nodded.

"It's not true."

"That's a matter of opinion."

Jody didn't let it slide. "Only yours. Not his. Not mine."

"None of it matters. None of it except bringing down Jericho."

Ice started to form in the pit of Jody's stomach. She was afraid she could guess what was coming next. She was right.

"This is personal. I'm baiting Jericho no matter what anyone says -- and I need your help."

"Don't ask me that, Peter."  Jody looked away from the pleading in his eyes.  If she let herself meet that begging glance for too long, she knew she'd be lost.  "You know I'd do anything for you.  But I'm not going to help you get yourself killed."

"Jody, if I have to do this alone, I will.  I just thought --"  He shrugged, the movement more reminiscent of Kwai Chang Caine than he realized.  "-- well, I guess I thought -- partners and all.  I mean, after all, partners are supposed to watch each other's backs."

You're playing dirty, Peter.  "Partners are supposed to keep each other alive, too.  That's how I want you -- alive.  That's why I don't want to help you with this.  But I'm not going to let you go up against Jericho alone either."

A half-smile crossed Peter's features.  She'll do it.  She'll help me even if she doesn't agree with me.  "Thanks, Jody.  I knew you wouldn't let me down."

"You're right.  I won't let you down -- ever.  But I don't think you understand what I'm saying.  I'm not going to go against my better judgment and help you do this.  I'm going to stop you before you manage to kill yourself."

Peter just stared at her, unable to believe he hadn't managed to enlist her aid.  Paul, rounding the corner, nodded as he heard Jody's last few words.  Good for you, Jody.  Maybe he'll hear you where he won't hear me.  He decided it was best if he didn't acknowledge he'd overheard part of their conversation.

"All right," Paul announced, moving into their line of sight, "I've got Kermit's room number."  He approached Peter as he spoke, tentatively laying a hand on his shoulder.  This time Peter neither stiffened nor moved away.  It was progress, Paul decided -- progress that shouldn't have had to be made, but progress nonetheless.  Trying for a conversational tone, he remarked, "Dr. Johnston -- the one you saw me speaking to before, Peter -- was actually scurrying like a scared rabbit.  Funny thing is, I don't think he's had the guts to check on his patient yet.  It probably just hit him now that if I could manage to get Kermit to ease up on him I must be even scarier than Kermit."

"Got that right," Peter joked weakly.  Paul found himself actually wishing Peter had meant it, especially since it seemed it was as close to anger at him as he was going to get from Peter.

"I also ran into Dr. Sabourin.  She told me Karen's out of surgery, in recovery -- and she's doing very well.  As I told you before, she's going to be fine."

Peter closed his eyes as relief coursed through him.  The knot of tension in his shoulder had been back full force after Paul had taken their argument that step too far.  It still had been rock hard when Paul first touched his shoulder a few moments before.  Now it was easing under Paul's hand once again, not as much as it had earlier, but enough, given the circumstances. Intellectually, Paul knew his son's tension had as much to do with Jericho's letter as it did with his own words, but it remained difficult to admit that.

***

We know who was behind the ambush," blurted out Peter the instant he, Paul, and Jody entered Kermit's room.

"Who the hell was it?" growled Kermit, casting a questioning glance at Paul from behind the green shades.

Paul interpreted the minute facial change accompanying the look correctly, as one which had nothing to do with the identity of the man behind the shooting.  "I talked to Dr. Sabourin, Kermit.  Karen's fine.  She's out of surgery, she's doing well.  The doctor says she should be coming fully out of the anesthesia in a little while."

Thank God.  "Tell me who the hell put her through this."

"In a minute," said Paul, gesturing that both Peter and Jody should remain quiet.  "As I recall, there was a certain matter of paperwork to complete.  And I happen to have been carrying these damn papers around for quite some time now, so would you please sign on the appropriate line?"

They'd played this scene before, more than once.  Paul fully expected to wage another battle of the wills with Kermit.  The "Here we go again" smile Annie gave him told him she was thinking the same thing.  It also told him that part of the reason her chair was drawn so close to the bed was that she'd been expecting Kermit to try to walk out -- and intended to stop him as best she could.  Paul thrust the papers and a pen at Kermit,
anticipating an argument.

Instead, Kermit merely snatched the papers and pen from Paul and scrawled his signature, his only comment a sarcastic "Yes sir."

As Annie heard the scratch of pen on paper, far sooner than she'd expected, puzzlement crossed her face.  Peter's jaw almost hit the floor.  Jody gaped.  Paul started to worry.  It was too easy.

He studied Kermit for a few moments.  The younger man had never been able to hide what he was thinking or feeling from him -- Paul could read even his virtually unreadable expressions.  Kermit wasn't planning anything; he actually didn't have the energy to fight him.  Fatigue was evident in his movements, and he was more pale now than when Paul had first walked into the treatment room.

He didn't lose that much blood.  I saw the wound when the bullet was still in it.  It wasn't that bad.  Paul thought back to earlier that day, when Kermit had been determined to check himself out of the hospital.  He remembered the brief, low outcry of pain and Kermit getting dizzy. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but he couldn't remember Kermit ever reacting to a leg wound that badly unless it had gone untreated so long it was infected.  Kermit's voice echoed in his head, recounting the end of the ambush -- the crossfire ceasing and, a good half a minute later, a single final shot.  The final shot had been the one that caught Kermit in the shin.

Comprehension dawned.  Oh, shit.  "Jericho."

Paul didn't realize he'd said the last word aloud until he heard Kermit snarl, "Jericho's the bastard who had Karen shot?"

"It was a setup to kill Peter and Karen.  His plan was to have us read letters about their deaths at the same time they were being killed."

Annie Blaisdell's expression grew almost as hard as the savage one Kermit allowed to cross his face.  "Letters?" she asked, before anyone else could say a word.

"The one I got about Peter was vintage Jericho -- sadistic to the core."  Paul signaled to Jody to hand Kermit the other letter.

"How bad?" pressed Kermit as he took the envelope from Jody and tore it open.

"You can read it later."  Paul inclined his head slightly in Peter's direction.

Kermit nodded.  He knew Paul's avoidance of his question meant that Peter had read the letter and reacted very badly.  And Peter being Peter, he's probably already found a way to blame himself.

Unfolding the letter, Kermit scanned it quickly.  He was careful not to betray any outward sign of emotion but knew it wouldn't really matter.  Paul would read it on his face anyway, and Annie would hear it, no matter how carefully he controlled his voice.  Hell, now that Peter's completed his Shaolin training, he'll probably pick up on it.  "Like you said, Paul, vintage Jericho.  Both these letters become an official part of the investigation's records, right?"  It was a rhetorical question, and he continued without waiting for a response from the other three cops in the room.  "Well, I might as well be the one to read it aloud."  As cold and intimidating as he tried to make his voice, a razor's edge of pain was audible.

Paul winced.  He recognized the tone in Kermit's voice, knew the meltdown that was coming -- and had fervently hoped he'd never have to witness it again.  Annie, recognizing this as well, reached over to take Kermit's hand.  She squeezed it reassuringly, knowing nothing would stop him from deliberately ripping his soul out by going through with this.

Peter squirmed, wishing he were anywhere but here, thinking that it might actually have been easier to be in the alley earlier that morning.

"You don't need to.  We can just enter it into evidence," Jody offered quietly.

"Oh, but then Jericho wouldn't get the audience he wants.  Annie wouldn't know what's in it."  The bitter edge accompanying Kermit's flippant tone escaped nobody's attention.

Convinced she'd misunderstood, Jody repeated slowly, "Annie wouldn't know what's in it."

Realizing for the first time how his words had sounded, Kermit whispered, "Shit."  Turning to Annie, he said contritely, "I'm sorry.  I didn't think.  You're not a cop, there's no reason you should have to be subjected to what's in either of these letters."

"The hell with what Jericho wants... but your instincts were right the first time, Kermit."  Annie's steady voice was touched with steel.  "I do need to hear this letter -- but you don't need to put yourself through this.  Paul can tell me about it after he's read it."  Dropping her voice, she added, for his ears alone, "I expect you to read me that damn letter to Paul after Peter's gone, though."

"Oh yeah."  He replied to Annie in the same lowered voice, then addressed the others sardonically.  "For your listening pleasure... "

"Can it, Kermit," Paul snapped.  "Nobody in this room doesn't know that the letter's enough to tear your heart out."  And you won't let anyone stop you from punishing yourself by being the one to read Jericho's words aloud.

"Fine, what about this?  Here's a glimpse into the mind of one of the most evil men I've ever met."  He then launched into the words of the letter itself.

Griffin,

     What would you have done differently this morning if you had known it was Karen's last day on earth?  Would you have risked her career and reputation by allowing the entire precinct to realize that you were lovers?  By the way, how did the routine go this morning?  Did Karen leave your bed to return to her own home for an hour or so before leaving for work or was it one of the mornings when the sex was so intense that all you had time for was going to work in separate cars by separate routes?
    How will it feel to have had Karen's warm skin against yours last night and have her blood on your hands this morning?  How will it feel to kneel on an alley's cold, cracked pavement and feel your lover's skin rapidly cooling in death as you hold her in your arms one last time?  Will the ice Karen melted return to your veins?  Will you become dead inside once more or will the fire of passion be transformed into the flames of murderous rage?
    What will it be like to have traced the perfection of every inch of your lover's body last night and see it destroyed by bullets this morning?  Will Karen be recognizable to the world at large, or will it be some intimate detail, known only to a lover, that allows you to identify her body?
     Karen is only the first.  You know that.  How does it feel to know that her fate was sealed the day you met?  How does it feel to know that I am going to kill everyone you love, everyone you consider family, and that you can do no more to stop me than you could to protect Karen from me this morning?
    You were always so careful to keep Marilyn and her children away from the side of your life that pitted you and Blaisdell against me in Pakistan -- especially once they were your only blood kin."

So Jericho doesn't know I have a son.  One member of my family is safe.  Kermit couldn't help but feel a surge of relief.

     How does it feel to know that you sealed their fate the moment you let your guard down enough with Karen to begin thinking about a 'normal' life and to begin spending more time in their world?
     Did you think you'd found redemption in Karen trusting you body and soul?  Did you believe your dark night of the soul had ended with Karen bringing you back into the light?
    Do the ghosts still haunt your dreams?  Are they as many as before, or had Karen begun to exorcize your demons?  When you sleep tonight and every other night for the rest of your life, you'll have a new ghost for a companion -- Karen's ghost.  Will your dreams of a vibrant, sensual Karen be so vivid you wake each morning expecting to find her in your bed and, instead, find it as empty as your life?  Or will your dreams be filled with Karen's blood and screams, with every horrifying image of the most gruesome way you can imagine her to have died?
    Karen did know what was happening when she died; I made certain of that.  Karen felt the pain of every bullet as it slammed into her body, and she was aware there was no escape.  I want you to know that, so you can relive the last minutes of your lover's life over and over.  Do you think Karen guessed the truth and died damning you or did your lover believe in you to the end?
    Do you already long for death, for the nothingness of the abyss?  I have other plans for you.  You'll be the last one standing.  You'll bear witness to the suffering and death and know all you needed to do to prevent it was turn from your mission in Pakistan and join me.
    You shouldn't have taken news of my destruction at face value.
    I'm back.
             Jericho

No one spoke for several uncomfortable minutes.  The three who had read the letter addressed to Blaisdell were struck by how much longer the vitriol continued in this letter.  Neither Peter nor Jody understood why.  Paul did.  He knew he'd been meant to read this one as well, to lose his son and watch his best friend's soul shatter in the same day.  He'd spent most of his time listening to the letter struggling not to react, knowing he would only give Jericho what he wanted if he exploded in rage.

While Kermit read the letter, Peter's eyes had been darting around the room as he desperately tried to look everywhere but at Kermit.  It was bad enough that some of his Shaolin skills had kicked in involuntarily, although he'd deliberately tried to keep them at bay.  When they had, he'd started sensing the agonized depths of the older man's pain despite Kermit's success at keeping the emotion out of his voice.  He'd even felt the words stabbing like daggers at the heart at the same time Kermit did.  Looking at Kermit would have been his undoing; he half suspected that doing so would enable him to see straight through the green lenses and to the very core of Griffin's tormented soul.

"I suppose entering this letter into evidence is going to make it clear to the entire department that Karen and I are... involved."  Kermit broke the uneasy silence, his voice so detached it was clear Jericho's words had thrown him.

Jody weighed her thoughts before replying.  "It's been noticed at the precinct.  The two of you haven't fooled anyone."  She refrained from mentioning that Kermit's frantic words in the alley had literally broadcast that fact in the moments after the ambush.

Griffin, your skills are slipping.  There was a time when no one would have known about you and Karen if you tried to hide it.  Slowly, he became aware of Annie Blaisdell's fingers still interlaced with his own -- and of the fact that, as he read, he'd unconsciously tightened his grip on her hand so much that it had become like a vise.  There was no way he hadn't driven her rings into her fingers, but she hadn't complained once.  Willing his fingers to relax their grip, he relinquished Annie's hand.  "I'm sorry, Annie."

"There's no reason to be."  The way she flexed her hand to shake out the pain belied her words.

"Jericho was right about one thing -- Karen's blood is on my hands."

"Literally on your hands, not figuratively, you mean." Paul wasn't certain who he wanted to convince he didn't have blood on his hands -- Kermit or Peter. Maybe even myself -- although that's a lost cause.

"Both. Karen wouldn't have been in Jericho's sights if she hadn't met me, and we all know it."

"Listen to me." Paul's tone brooked no opposition. "The only person responsible for bringing Jericho back into our lives is me. And if you can't accept that, Kermit, then how about remembering the past? I drew you into the effort to bring down Jericho in the first place."

"We both chose to try to stop him then, Paul. We failed -- we can't do that this time around."

"Agreed."

Peter interjected softly, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Kermit's tone was suspicious; he was pretty sure he knew where this was headed.

"Getting you and Karen shot."

"Oh, for God's sake, Peter, given enough time, you could find a way to blame yourself for World War II!" Kermit could feel a pounding headache starting as he tried to find the right words to cut this exchange short. "Weren't you listening to this letter? The only thing this had to do with you was that you were one of Jericho's prime targets."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have been shot if I'd been on time and I'd gone out to the meet with Captain Simms."

"But you and Karen would both be dead. Do you understand that? Jericho doesn't slip up. It takes a concentrated effort to stop anything he starts. For once in your life, your being late actually helped. When Jericho's men saw me in that alley with Karen instead of you, they changed their game plan. I don't know why they changed it, but I know Karen's alive. So are you." He took a deep breath, looked briefly at Jody, and decided, The hell with it. Let her see another chink in the armor. "Hell, kid, I know you know I'd rather take a bullet than lose Karen -- don't you know by now I'd rather take a bullet than lose you?"

Peter didn't answer. Everything Kermit had just said made sense. So did everything Paul had told him about Jericho earlier. So why do I still feel so damn guilty?

"In light of the threats made in these letters, I think we should be talking about our families going into a safe house, don't you?" Paul addressed his question to Kermit, effectively cutting off any continuation of the discussion -- and voicing what the younger man had been thinking for the past several minutes.

"Oh yeah. I wouldn't go through the usual channels, though -- Jericho'll pick up on it."

"I wasn't planning to. I was thinking more along the lines of a piece of property that's never been planned for use as a safe house but can be secured easily enough."

Instantly following his friend's train of thought, Kermit grinned. He added, "Property with an owner who'd be more than willing to assist in other ways as well."

Peter and Jody looked at each other and shrugged, neither understanding where the conversation had drifted. "What's going on?" Peter asked curiously at the same time that Jody queried, "Who are you talking about?"

"Old friend from the trade, sweetcakes." Jody grimaced at the phrase, as usual, as Kermit responded to her question. "Otherwise known as your friendly neighborhood banker."

Jody still looked perplexed. A slow smile crossed Peter's face as he asked, "John Durham's an ex-mercenary?"

"Not exactly," replied Paul.

"Try MI-6," supplied Kermit.

Jody shook her head disbelievingly. "A couple of years ago, I had no clue I'd ever meet anybody who was a mercenary or a spy and now I see them coming out of the woodwork."

"Must be the company you keep, partner," Peter quipped, visibly growing more relaxed as he teased Jody. "I introduce you to all the finer things in life -- mercenaries, spies, Shaolin priests, Shambhala masters. But you're not honestly going to try to tell me that you didn't guess about Kermit having been a mercenary right off, are you?"

"Well, there were rumors," Jody admitted uncomfortably.

"Only rumors? You didn't think the Desert Eagle to protect his disks was a clue?"

Almost hating to interrupt their banter, Paul broke in. "I'm going to go call the precinct. Who's the official investigative team?"

"I wasn't on it," Peter muttered.

"Skalany, Chin, and Kincaid," Jody replied, shooting Peter a dirty look.

"Skalany's the primary?" Paul confirmed what he already instinctively knew.

Jody nodded.

***

"101st, Broderick." Upon hearing the voice on the other end of the line, a note of pleased surprise crept into the Sergeant's harried tone. "Welcome back, sir." He listened for a moment, then shouted, "Chief, Cap -- I mean Inspector Blaisdell on line two."

Strenlich took the call in his office with the door closed. A few minutes later, he opened his door and shouted for Skalany.

"What's up, Chief?" she asked, standing in the open doorway.

Strenlich's voice was much lower than usual. "Turn your notes over to Chin and Kincaid. They're co-primaries now. You're off the case."

"I'm what?!" Mary Margaret's outraged voice hit a decibel level near Strenlich's norm. It was loud enough and unexpected enough for all heads to turn in her direction.

"Off the case," repeated Strenlich, trying unsuccessfully to usher her into his office so he could close the door.

"You'd better explain yourself." The silence in the bullpen following her demand was so complete a dropped pin would have been deafening. Mary Margaret was slightly surprised at her own audacity, but she was too angry to care if the Chief charged her with insubordination.

"This wasn't my idea, Detective Skalany. This came from Blaisdell."

"How dare he suddenly question my competence?!" That doesn't sound like him.

"Detective, would you be quiet and let me explain?" Strenlich thundered. As she took in a breath before going on with her protest, he added, "It's not what you think. Blaisdell says the letters tell us who hired the shooters. Now all we've got to do is find them -- not that that's going to be easy. Blaisdell specifically requested you for protection detail, even though he figured you'd blow your top at being taken off the case."

"We've got two cops shot and Blaisdell wants me on protection detail?" Mary Margaret didn't bother to keep the scorn out of her voice. "What the hell could be so important about protection detail?" Have he and the Chief both lost it entirely?

Strenlich's next words stopped her cold. "The two families you'd be keeping alive are the ones threatened by those notes -- Blaisdell's and Griffin's."

***

"Here's the address of the safe house." A startled Jody looked up at Paul as he pressed the slip of paper into her hand. "And a few other things you need to know."

"Why are you giving this to me?"

"The protection detail's yours and Skalany's."

"Mine and Skalany's?"

Paul nodded. "Mary Margaret's going to round up the rest of my family and bring them to the safe house. I understand Peter can direct you to Marilyn's house."

"The Gables? Yeah, sure, I can give Jody the directions."

"No offense, Peter," said Jody, "but you can be directionally challenged at times. I'm sure you could get there, but I don't think you could give me accurate directions."

"I'm sure he'll manage to direct you from here even if he's not doing the driving. Jody, the safe house is about an hour beyond Marilyn's place so I'd suggest you just take Peter and Annie with you when you go up there and continue on to the safe house from there."

"I'm not going to the safe house." Paul heard both his son and his wife say the words at the same time. Damn, I knew this was coming. He looked at Peter first.

"I'm not going. I'm a cop, for God's sake! I can be of more use in the investigation."

"That's only one way of looking at it, Peter. You can be just as useful joining Jody and Mary Margaret in that protection detail -- not to mention the fact that you'd be safer."

"Dad, I let myself be used to set this whole damn thing up. I can't back out of it now. I've got to see it through." The urgency in his voice was nearly as intense as the pleading in his eyes.

Paul sighed. He'd seen this coming and known he wouldn't talk Peter out of it. "All right, Peter -- but on two conditions. First, you do not present yourself to Jericho as bait. I don't want to hear any more arguments about this. You know where I stand on it. You do not bait Jericho. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes."

"Second, you do not work this one alone."

"All right, all right, I'll call for backup."

"You working with a partner was more along the lines of what I was thinking."

"Who?"

Blaisdell had anticipated this question. He waited a full thirty seconds before replying. "A one-time partner, for this case only. Me."

Peter displayed surprise but agreed hastily and with obvious pride. Working with Paul? I almost want to ask how I got this lucky.

Turning to Annie, Paul requested softly, "I'll take care of Peter. Go with Jody."

"No."

"Annie --"

"Damn it to hell, Paul, I will not let Jericho drive me away. I will not let him force me out of our life."

Paul flinched visibly. It was enough for Kermit to realize Annie had scored a direct hit. This is about Paul leaving. What the hell did Jericho have to do with that?

"Annie, this is just common sense. It's what needs to be done."

"You haven't had that conversation with Peter yet, have you?" asked Annie.

"No."

"Fine, we're taking this argument out into the hallway." Annie rose and moved unerringly in the direction of her husband's voice.

Jody's eyes widened as she watched Annie practically shove Paul out the door. Peter was almost as shocked as she was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Annie that furious at her husband. Automatically he looked at Kermit.

Kermit just shook his head. "Kid, Paul doesn't have a hope in hell of winning this one. When Annie's that mad, smart money steers clear of her."

"Yeah, I know." Peter winced, remembering the few times when he was a teenager that he'd angered her that much.

Paul and Annie's words didn't carry, but the sound of their voices did penetrate the wall. Both were intense and determined. Each shouted at least once. Annie's irate tone went unanswered more than once.

Finally, after ten minutes, they returned. Paul wasn't happy. Annie's expression was grimly triumphant.

The outcome of the argument was obvious, but Peter still asked. "What's the decision?"

Paul was silent. Annie spoke with quiet determination. "I'm staying."

She has got to give me lessons, thought Jody admiringly as she realized that Annie had won. Might help me rein in Peter.

"I still don't like this, Annie." Worry clouded Paul's eyes.

"You don't have to." Just like I didn't like what you did two years ago. Annie was certain her husband would know what she was leaving unsaid.

"Paul, she'll be as safe here as anywhere else," interjected Kermit. "I know that's not what you want to hear -- but do you really think I'd let anyone get past me?"

"I know you wouldn't."

"Just worry about Peter. That should be more than enough to occupy you. I'll take care of Annie."

Annie and Peter aren't the only ones in this room I'm worried about. "Are you suggesting that keeping my son out of trouble is a full-time job?"

"Oh yeah. Just ask Jody."

"Well, my friend, he's not the only one who can find trouble like a magnet." Paul's concern about Kermit had eased gradually over the past several minutes, nearly allowing him to believe what he would under any other circumstances -- that no one could protect Annie better. He'd almost convinced himself that he'd been reading too much into small details. When his gentle teasing didn't produce the sarcastic rejoinder he expected, though, the worry returned full force.

Meanwhile, Jody shook her head in frustration as she finished writing down the directions to the Gables. Peter had taken her joke about his being "directionally challenged" as a dare to give her complete directions. Great -- now I know every freakin' landmark down to a tree stump that he can remember existing between here and Brazelton. And between the town center and the Gables. And I know the length in feet -- wait a minute, he measured it?! -- of Marilyn Carlson's driveway. Talk about overkill. She realized Peter was still talking. He's taken me as far as the damn driveway. How much further is he going to direct me? Oh, God, he's in the house now. "Peter."

Peter kept on talking.

"Peter." This time Jody grabbed his wrist as she spoke. It got his attention.

"What?"

"You made your point. I can get to Marilyn's house without any trouble. You also just told me almost the entire floor plan of the house."

"Overkill, huh?" Peter grinned sheepishly.

"In a word, yes." A thought suddenly struck her -- one she thought obviously hadn't struck anyone until now. "Doesn't Captain Simms have a son?"

"Yeah," Peter replied. "Todd."

"Shouldn't he be protected in the safe house too?"

"He's safe where he is," Kermit answered. "He doesn't know Karen was shot. I told Dr. Sabourin I'd notify him -- and I was going to wait to do it until after I knew if she was going to be all right. You know what happened then."

Jody nodded grimly. She knew all too well what had happened then -- and she was smart enough to realize that it had afforded her a glimpse of a more vulnerable side of Kermit Griffin than she'd ever imagined existed. "Are you sure Jericho won't go after him even if he's not anywhere near here?"

"If Jericho knew Karen had a son, he'd have been mentioned by name in the letter."

"Not necessarily," Jody argued. "What about the reference to his going after everyone you consider family? Don't you think he meant Todd?"

"He didn't. The letter wasn't written only for me to read. That part in particular was supposed to get to Paul too. Jericho was referring to the Blaisdells."

Jody nodded slowly. His words explained a lot of the undercurrents she'd been feeling. She'd known Kermit and Blaisdell shared a past. Until now, she hadn't realized that past extended beyond "business" to their personal lives.

"Paul's Jericho's main target, isn't he, Kermit?" Peter deliberately addressed his question to Kermit, fearing Paul would try to steer the discussion elsewhere.

"Yeah, kid. He ran several missions against Jericho. Jericho wants to destroy me almost as much, but part of the reason he wants to destroy me is to get to Paul."

Reluctantly, wishing she could stay and hear more, Jody started to leave. "Guess I'd better be on my way to the Gables." She met Peter's eyes. "Last chance, hotshot. Want to help me and Mary Margaret on this protection detail?"

Peter shook his head. "I'll be careful, partner."

"Right." Jody was dubious and allowed it to show.

Paul stopped her briefly on her way out the door. "When I gave you the address of the safe house, you asked me why," he said quietly. "I know you're wondering why I wanted you and Mary Margaret doing this. Do you remember what I told the two of you the day I left the precinct?"

She nodded, hearing his voice that day as if only a few minutes had elapsed, rather than nearly two years. "One of the things you asked us was to keep Peter safe."

"Well, that's why I want you to do this. I trusted the two of you with my son's life two years ago -- I can trust you with the lives of the rest of my family now."

Jody realized he'd included Kermit's family in that statement as if they were his own. The concept no longer seemed odd, as it would have a few hours earlier. "We'll take good care of them," she promised.

***

Jody hadn't yet left the building when she saw a frantic Peter come racing out into the corridor. Instinctively, she stopped and watched while he cornered a rather skittish young doctor and steered the man into Kermit's room.

Jody walked back toward Peter, noting that he was visibly shaking. Backing up against the wall, he leaned against it for a moment, then slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Wordlessly, Jody joined him. She reached over to place her hand on his arm but he intercepted it.

Peter's fingers locked tightly around Jody's hand. Rather than try to break his grip, she merely waited for him to talk. Finally, voice unsteady, he broke the silence. "I don't understand what the hell's happening here, Jody. Kermit just had a seizure and -- God, Jody, if you could have heard Paul's voice when he told me to go get the doctor. He was so worried he was yelling, if that makes any sense." He paused.

More than you know, Peter. I've heard you do the same thing. "Go on, Peter," she suggested softly.

"If he's that scared, this has to be pretty bad. Damn it, Jody, I should have been in the alley this morning instead of Kermit. He got shot because I wasn't. Jody, what the hell have I done?"

"This wasn't your fault," Jody began, as patiently as she could given the number of times she'd already said those words that day.

Forgetting he held Jody's hand, Peter shot to his feet at the sound of Paul's voice down the corridor. A bit awkwardly, Jody rose along with him.

They heard Johnston tell Blaisdell, "Leave it to the professionals. You're not a doctor. We're the experts."

Both were equally stunned -- though hardly as much as Johnston -- by Blaisdell's response. Driving the younger man up against the nearest wall, forearm across his windpipe, he snarled, "Before the lab starts doing the blood work you ordered, have Bill Grayson check the sample, as I just asked you. If he finds nothing, he finds nothing. But you will have him look for traces. Do I make myself clear?"

Johnston tried to gulp. It was impossible with an arm across his throat. Rather than try again, he managed to nod and, for good measure, croak out, "Yes." The pressure eased, minutely but distinctly. Sensing something more was expected of him, he added, "I'll have Dr. Grayson look for it."

Paul backed away, releasing Johnston. "See that you do."

"I thought Kermit was the only one who did that," Jody whispered to Peter.

"I think Paul taught him that move," he whispered back as Paul approached them.

"Kermit's all right." Paul shot a pointed look at Jody, then one toward the door.

Extricating her hand from Peter's, Jody assured him quickly, "I'm leaving, I'm leaving. I'll drive up there as fast as I can. I'll make up the time I lost."

As she left, an amused Paul thought, If she drives like Peter, she won't have any problem making the time up. "Earlier appearances notwithstanding, Peter, the doctor says Kermit's doing fine." Paul refrained from voicing his suspicions about the seizure's cause, praying to God he was wrong. "I know it scared the hell out of you, Peter. You weren't the only one. I didn't exactly react well myself. Now that the crisis is over, though, I think it's time for the two of us to head back to the precinct, don't you?"

Paul hadn't offered an explanation for the scene with Johnston. Peter decided it was best not to ask for one -- at least for the moment.

**********

"Fucking idiots! I have surrounded myself with a group of fucking morons!" shouted Jericho, facing five black-clad men standing at attention. "I give you assholes a simple task and detailed instructions on how to carry it out, but you can't follow through. No, instead you insist on raising incompetence to new heights."

Jericho stalked along the line of men in silence. Each shifted uncomfortably as Jericho paused for long seconds in front of him. The only sound other than the men's nervous breathing was that of Jericho's whip cracking against the concrete floor each time he switched it from hand to hand.

Once he was certain that each of the men sufficiently feared for his life, Jericho continued. "Perhaps none of you hears well enough to comprehend my instructions. You --" The whip lashed out in the direction of a stocky man in his mid-twenties, missing him by a fraction of an inch.

The man jumped as the whip cracked down. "Yessir."

"What were my instructions on this matter?"

"Sir, first we were to recruit some expendable man who would be believable as a snitch. We were to coach him on how to convince Detective Peter Caine he knew the source of eighty percent of the city's drug flow. He was to feed Caine just enough 'information' to get him to agree to set up a meet for this morning with Captain Karen Simms accompanying Caine. Once our recruit served his purpose, he was to be eliminated by Carlo. At the same time I was to plant the two letters at the 101st Precinct. The other three members of our team were to provide any distraction I might need."

"You managed to execute that part of my instructions without a hitch at least. Do you remember what the fuck you were supposed to do this morning?"

"Yes, sir, your orders were to eliminate Detective Caine and Captain Simms through the judicious use of sniper fire. We were to empty our clips into the targets and then use up whatever spare ammunition we carried to add to the effect of the wounds."

"That is where you failed!" thundered Jericho. "You fucking idiots didn't have the brains to realize the game plan needed to change when Griffin walked into that alley instead of Caine. Would any of you care to hazard a guess as to what you should have done?"

Dead silence greeted him.

"An intelligent squad of five men would have understood the principle of 'divide and conquer'. One of you would have gone to the 101st Precinct, waited for Peter Caine to emerge, and picked him off with one shot, preferably in front of Blaisdell. The rest of you fucking idiots would have gunned down Simms with Griffin watching."

"We did gun her down," piped up the youngest member of the hit squad.

Jericho turned on him. "Evidently not well enough. Not only is she still alive, she's expected to recover completely. And Peter Caine is walking the streets alive and well." He addressed his next remarks to all five men. "Which one of you was the fucking asshole who deliberately defied my instructions and shot Griffin? He was supposed to remain a witness to the end."

The stocky man spoke up again. "I decided we'd make the best out of a bad situation. All we did was step up your plan a bit."

"Step up my plan?!"

"The last bullet fired was for Griffin. I coated it with the poison."

"You introduced the poison into Griffin's bloodstream now?!" Jericho screamed. "I should have known better than to arm you with the poison this soon. I should have known none of you was smart enough to wait until I told you to use it -- if I told you to use it. You were only supposed to use it on my orders. Didn't I make that clear enough?"

"It was a field decision, sir."

"This kind of screwup is not why I have been paying you such exorbitant fees. You have not earned your fees -- and you will suffer the consequences."

Jericho signaled to the shadows behind him. Previously indistinct shapes resolved themselves into the figures of eight men carrying automatic weapons. "Now!"

The five man hit squad crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as each was raked by bursts of rapid gunfire. Once the warehouse grew still again, Jericho walked over to the fallen men and kicked each with a steel-toed boot. Satisfied that none remained alive, he turned to the eight awaiting further instructions.

"Treat this as a lesson about your own fate if my orders are not carried out to the letter. Get rid of the bodies, then return here for a mission brief in one hour."

Jericho permitted himself a momentary triumphant smile as a realization struck him. So, Blaisdell may watch to the end after all. He's deprived me this long of the chance to make him watch his family die. Perhaps the fucking idiots actually did me a favor by speeding up my timetable. Now I may even get to see Blaisdell watch Griffin die. He walked out of the warehouse, leaving his men to clean up the human debris.

***

"Peter, we need to talk."

"Is this the conversation Mom asked you if we'd had yet?"

"Yes."

"I really don't want to have this conversation, Paul, not if it's about what I think it's about. Everything that's happened this morning -- except you coming home -- is bad enough to deal with. Besides, like you said, we need to get back to the precinct."

"The investigation can wait for a few minutes." Paul pulled his car over to the curb and cut the engine. "I really don't want to have this conversation either, Peter, but there are some things you need to know. You should have known them for a good while."

"I don't want to relive the day you left." Peter's words were barely audible.

"I don't blame you, son. You asked me that day if Annie understood why I was leaving, then you told me that you hoped she'd explain it to you if she did. I think she's understood all of it all along far better than I have. She didn't believe I could go through with leaving once I tried to tell you I was going. When I did -- well, Annie refers to that day as the day I abandoned you, Peter, and she's right."

"But you came back. You promised you would and -- and Pop told me you would, too. And you did." The vehemence of Peter's protest couldn't mask the raw pain in his eyes. It was the same pain Paul had seen the day he left. He'd hated himself for putting that look in his son's eyes then, and he hated himself for doing it again now.

"Don't try to tell me you understood why I left, Peter. How could you? I didn't even tell you the truth. I fed you that line of bullshit about clearing the decks and dealing with my demons because I was too much of a coward to tell you why I was really leaving."

"I know why you left must have had something to do with Stiles and Cooper framing you."

"No. It didn't. I did the one thing I had sworn to myself I would never do to you -- I walked out on you -- because of Jericho."

"Jericho?" Peter repeated.

"You must have wondered earlier why I was so hell bent on you not baiting Jericho. You must have known there was more to it than just my trying to protect you now. The truth is... I had no intention of going anywhere two years ago until I heard from Jericho. I thought we'd killed him along with the rest of his terrorist cell eight years before but I was wrong. He was alive
and ready to seek his revenge."

"He threatened your life."

"No. If he had, I never would have left. He announced his return by sending me a number of surveillance photos -- pictures of you. The note he sent with them made it very clear that you would die unless I gave him what he wanted."

"Which was?"

"Leaving my family, walking out on my life. God help me, I fell into his trap. I convinced myself that I could protect you -- all of you -- by leaving. I knew those were only the first photos he'd send and that he probably already had the entire family under surveillance. I talked myself into believing that I could bait him successfully once I was gone and all of you were safe. I thought I'd lure him into a trap, take him down, and be able to come home -- and that it would take a few weeks at most. I was dead wrong. Baiting him didn't work then, which is why I know it won't work now. In fact, he's a greater threat now to all of us because I let him call the shots then."

"You don't know that you could have stopped Jericho if you stayed."

"True, but that's not important, Peter. What's important is what I do know. I know that leaving gave him all the power. I know that your mother was right when she accused me of giving him what he wanted by running from him instead of standing my ground and fighting. I know that taking that coward's way out demeaned every lesson I ever taught you about standing up to your worst fears. Every lesson I gave the girls too, although I suppose I thought they were more likely to have learned that particular lesson from Annie than from me. But most of all, I know how deeply I hurt you by leaving. That's enough for me to know I made the wrong choice."

"You're back. This doesn't matter. None of this matters as long as you're back. Unless... " Suddenly panicked hazel eyes fixed on Paul's face.

"Don't even think what I know you're thinking, Peter. I know I've given you every reason to distrust me, but the day I left was the only time I have ever lied to you. I have no intention of going anywhere. I'm home for good. And all of this matters, son. If I could turn back the clock, I never would have left. We both know life doesn't work that way, though. I can't turn back the clock and change what I've already done. All I can do is tell you how sorry I am."

"It's all right, Dad." Peter's voice cracked. "You're back. That's all that matters." Yet again he repeated the words.

"Peter, I don't have any right to ask your forgiveness because I don't deserve it but --"

"There's nothing to forgive," Peter cut in. "Not as long as you're back. What we need to worry about now is nailing Jericho."

***

A lone sniper stood on a rooftop and watched as Paul restarted the engine and eased back out into traffic. He'd watched throughout the entire conversation, Peter Caine visible in the crosshairs of his rifle's scope every moment.

Jericho brought the rifle down to his side. "Not yet, Blaisdell. You expect my move now. When you're convinced your son is safe -- that's when I'll kill him."

***

"If you'd told me what was going on with Jericho two years ago, I would have been willing to set him up myself to help you bring him down."

"We're not going down this road again, Peter.  I'm not letting you put yourself out as bait.  As far as two years ago -- what good would it have done for both of us to try to lure him into a trap and fail?  I've gone up against Jericho before -- you haven't.  I can tell you from bitter experience how deadly he is."

"If both of us had called him out, maybe we'd have succeeded."

"Or maybe we'd have failed so badly that neither one of us would have survived -- and God alone knows who we'd have taken down with us.  Let's not beat a dead horse.  Let's just focus on what needs to be done to capture Jericho and whatever unit he's managed to put together -- short of baiting him with your life."

"You're the expert on Jericho.  What do you sugg--"  Peter's heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach as Sandra Mason and the Channel 3 news truck came into view outside the stationhouse.  It had been hard enough to sneak past her when he'd left the precinct; he was sure he didn't have a chance in hell of escaping her now.

"Just follow my lead, Peter.  We'll deal with Sandra Mason."  Guided by long ingrained instinct, Blaisdell pulled his car into the Captain's parking space.  Belatedly remembering the lettering on it now read "Captain Simms", he deliberately slid the car's gears into Park and turned off the ignition anyway.  With luck, this move would distract their nemesis in the press long enough to allow Peter to make his way inside unmolested.

They weren't that lucky.  About ten feet past the car, Sandra blocked their path into the building.  "Detective Caine, is there any truth to the rumor that your dereliction of duty was responsible for getting two officers injured?  Was it responsible for the gunshot wounds sustained earlier today by Captain Karen Simms and Detective Kermit Griffin during an ambush?" As the last word left her mouth, she shoved her microphone in front of Peter.

Disgust at the reporter's tactics and guilt over the morning's events warred within Peter.  Guilt won.  He was about to give her the sound bite she wanted when he felt Paul's hand on his shoulder.  "Keep walking, son.  Don't give her the satisfaction."  Paul's voice was pitched low enough that only Peter caught the words.  Peter kept his mouth shut and kept walking.

Undeterred, Sandra Mason nearly matched her stride to his.  "Isn't it true, Detective, that the ambush occurred as the result of your failure to attend a meet with a source?"

Paul answered her before Peter could get a word out.  "Sandra, as I'm sure you've been told several times already today, the only statements made while the investigation continues will be official ones.  I would guess that Commissioner Kincaid's already given you several statements."  He waited for her confirming nod before continuing, "Then let me suggest you wait for the next."

She tried another tack.  "Captain Blaisdell, was your choice of parking space an indication that Captain Simms is being relieved of command and you're taking back over as commander of the 101st Precinct?"

"I advise you to check your information before you air speculations like that one."  Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Peter enter the precinct.  "In the interests of accuracy, Sandra, I'm about to give you the only statement you'll get through nonofficial channels today.  You're wrong on each count.  First, it's Inspector Blaisdell.  Second, there is no deeper meaning to my choice of parking spaces.  I chose this one because it was empty.  Finally, the 101st is still under the command of Captain Simms, and I have no intention of challenging that.  However, at the moment I am coordinating this investigation out of the 101st.  In other words, Sandra, get yourself and your cameraman off the steps of my precinct.  If you don't, I will get a restraining order against the media so that my people can do their job."

***

"You don't really want to use any of this footage, do you, Sandra?" asked her cameraman, prudently hiding his amusement at the way she'd just been "handled".

The reporter directed a murderous glance at him.  In turn, he decided that hazard pay should be made available to anyone with the misfortune of working a police-related story with Sandra Mason.

***

"I want to know who's been feeding Sandra Mason information about the meet this morning.  That's not part of the official statement.  Am I right, Commissioner?"

Commissioner Kincaid blanched at Blaisdell's words, made uncomfortable by the angry fire emanating from the other man's blue eyes.  "Nothing with the potential to compromise the investigation has been disseminated officially."

"Then there's a leak somewhere in this precinct that you and I need to plug."  Turning to Broderick, Paul requested, "Put any urgent calls through to the Captain's office.  You'll remember whose calls I'd consider urgent."

"Of course I remember, sir."  Broderick smiled.

"Figured you would.  One other person gets put through as well -- William Grayson."

Crossing in front of Blake's desk, Blaisdell raised his voice.  "Frank, you, Blake, Chin, Kincaid, and anyone else you've pulled in as part of the investigative team in m-the Captain's office.  Now."  He hadn't needed to include Peter in the directive; Peter had already entered the office.

***

By the time Paul entered his old office, Peter had slumped into one of the visitors' chairs in front of the desk.  It wasn't the place Paul remembered as Peter's usual choice during a discussion of an ongoing investigation; that had been leaning against the file cabinet.

Roger Chin and T.J. Kincaid filed in next, staking out their chosen positions -- Kincaid with one hip perched on the radiator ledge, Chin in the other visitors' chair.  Blake followed and settled himself in one corner of the sofa.  Strenlich brought up the rear, closing the door and drawing the blinds behind him.  He remained standing.  If there had been an opening between the slats, his bulk would have blocked it.

"These are the only people who need to be aware of the investigation's progress?"

"I'll brief Broderick," asserted Strenlich.  "You can deal with the Commissioner yourself, if you like."

Or I can keep getting stuck doing it.  T.J. shifted uncomfortably.

"No other detectives have been put on the team since I pulled Skalany and Powell for protection detail?"

"The two I pulled in are just working the phones right now.  Chin and Kincaid still need to bring them up to speed.  I asked Detective Blake -- the other one -- to come in earlier than next shift.  I also figured I'd give Detective McGuire the shot at something other than Vice she's been champing at the bit for.  I'll keep those two at the periphery of the case."  As he spoke, Frank noted with satisfaction that Peter had turned slightly green.  Thinking about two ex-lovers working together'd be enough to make anyone queasy -- especially since I think McGuire's looking for revenge against Peter.  Maybe working with another of Peter's exes will keep Kelly's mind off me, too.  That'd be a bonus.  Shortly after the new year, he'd finally come to the realization that Kelly was his midlife crisis; neither her looks nor the great sex could stop him from thinking about Molly.  He'd thought he'd let her down gently.  Unfortunately, he'd found out then that some of the scenes she'd had with Peter Caine were only the tip of the iceberg.

"Fine, let's take this from the top.  What do I need to know about this case?"  Blaisdell leaned back in his chair.

"First off, Detective Caine sets up a meet and shows up half an hour late for work.  That means late for the meet, too."

"Leave it alone, Frank.  I don't have the patience for this.  I already heard two versions of what happened this morning.  Both Peter and Kermit told me Peter was late.  That's an issue that can be dealt with at a more appropriate time.  At the moment it's a distraction from the real business at hand.  Peter's being late this morning was actually a good thing."

"A good thing?" Frank repeated in disbelief.  "Two of our own down and you call that a good thing?"

"Look, if Peter hadn't been late, we wouldn't have two of our own down, we'd have two of our own dead.  If you think Sandra Mason's turning this into a circus now, you wouldn't want to see what it would have been then."

T.J. caught Chin's eye.  "Circus," he mouthed.  The two exchanged grins, each choking back laughter, moments before Strenlich grumbled, "He had to say circus. Now they're gonna start with those damn monkeys again."

"Problem, Frank?'

"No, Inspector."

"Good.  Let's move on.  Chin, Kincaid, anything from the scene I need to know?"

The briefing moved on more smoothly from there, which was more than could be said of the investigation.  No progress had been made beyond learning what the notes revealed.  "Blake, every member of the investigative team gets a cell phone with jamming equipment like the ones you gave Skalany for her and Powell to use on the protection detail.  That includes Broderick.  No open radio or cell phone transmissions on this one.  And 'every member of the team' also includes me -- I'm working this one as Peter's partner."  The look in Blaisdell's eyes dared anyone to challenge him; no one was foolish enough to do so.

"It'll take a little while," nodded Blake, "but I can rig a few more to jam surveillance efforts that well.  Given enough time, I might even be able to jerryrig something to piggyback on an electronic surveillance effort to track it to its source."

"For now let's just worry about jamming it."  The intercom buzzer on the Captain's phone sounded.  "Yes, Sergeant?"

"William Grayson on line two, sir."

"Thank you."  Paul turned back to the men assembled in the office.  "We're just about finished here and I need to take this call, so I'd appreciate it if you all cleared out now."  Peter began to rise, along with the others.  "Not you, Peter."  Shrugging, Peter sank back down into his chair.

Just as he had been the last one to enter the office, Strenlich was the last to leave.  Paul waited a few seconds after the door closed to depress the button for line two.  "Bill, it's Paul Blaisdell.  Thank you for seeing to this yourself -- and for doing it so quickly.  What do you have?"

Peter listened to the one-sided conversation with a growing sense of dread for a couple of minutes.  When he saw Paul's fist clench, he knew the dread was justified.

"Paul, that's not all of it.  I'm sorry."  Grayson expanded on what he'd just told him.  "I didn't find traces of the poison, I found enough that I'm almost amazed the introduction of it into the bloodstream didn't kill him outright."

"Some of the best survival instincts I've ever seen."

Grayson's next words told Paul that he'd voiced his thought aloud.  "That and the fact that this poison never kills instantly."

"How long?"

"If Detective Griffin's as much of a fighter as you think he is -- three to five days."

Three to five days. Grayson's words echoed in Paul's head. They were what he'd expected once Grayson had confirmed his suspicions about the poison, but expecting the words didn't make them any easier to hear. With a conscious effort, he shifted into cop mode. "Best guess on method of delivery?"

"The bullet, though I'll need to run tests to be sure. Luckily, Johnston never got around to turning it over for evidence. By the way, Paul, interesting move you used with Johnston to make sure the test for the poison was run first. You're lucky he wasn't smart enough to go running to security about it. Instead, he whined about it to Ellen Sabourin. She hasn't been convinced he's got the temperament for his ER residency, so I think she actually thought it was funny, but it could have gone either way. Anyway, back to what we were talking about -- the bullet's still here and I'm just about to run the tests to confirm."

"Once you do, turn it over to the department for evidence."

"I will. I am sorry, Paul. CDC's no closer to finding an antidote than when I left Atlanta. And I wish that I could say that my continued research on rare poisons had helped me find one but I'm no closer than they are."

"Someone else is. This is all completely off the record, Bill, but I'm going to give you his number to call. It's not a guarantee, but it's a starting point. He's developed an antidote that's effective against the slower acting version of the poison. I need to warn you that the two of you will be working together long distance -- he'll be arrested the moment he steps foot on U.S. soil. There are people who might try to make trouble for you for working with him."

"I'm willing to risk it. Name?"

"Alan Maranville."

"Phone number?" Grayson wrote down the number he was given. "I take it I mention your name when I speak to him."

"Yes, and if he's suspicious, give him this number and I'll handle it. Good luck."

"Paul, do you want me to --"

"No, I'll tell him." I owe him that.

As Paul hung up the phone, Peter asked, "What's happening? From what I could piece together, it sounded... like the bullet that hit Kermit was poisoned?"

Taking a deep breath, Paul nodded. "Jericho's been known to use this poison before. Depending on the method of introduction into the bloodstream, it can kill at varying rates of speed." As he spoke, he moved from behind the desk to the chair next to Peter's. Sitting down, he reached over and placed one hand atop his son's. "I recognized a few of the symptoms, but wanted to believe I was wrong. I was almost able to convince myself... until Kermit had the seizure."

"If -- if the bullet was poisoned, that means an awful lot of the poison entered his blood, doesn't it?" Peter gripped the arm of his chair so tightly with his free hand that his knuckles began to turn white. "That means it's going to kill him quickly?"

"Dr. Grayson's best estimate is three to five days. That's if they don't perfect the antidote before then."

"From all you've told me about Jericho, I can't believe he'd use a poison if there was an antidote."

"He doesn't know one's been developed. How much of what I said to Bill Grayson about the antidote did you focus on?"

Peter couldn't recall at first. When he realized that Paul was waiting patiently for his reply, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself enough to find his center. Forcing his mind back in time didn't work the way he had planned. Instead of remembering what Paul had said a few moments before about the antidote, he remembered what Paul hadn't told him on the way back to the precinct. He'd said that he'd left because of Jericho. He'd never said why he'd stayed away until now.

"The antidote's been proven to work when the poison acts slowly. It's only been used once." Paul steeled himself to continue, but Peter's deceptively steady voice supplied the words for him.

"You know about Maranville and the antidote because you're the only survivor of this poison. Is that why you stayed away, Dad, because you were dying?" Unshed tears glistened in Peter's eyes as he looked at Paul, his gaze demanding a reply.

"What you need to remember, son, is that the antidote worked. I'm fine." Deciding he needed to be able to see Peter's eyes for the rest of this, Paul moved before speaking again. Crouching in front of Peter's chair, he placed one hand reassuringly on the young man's shoulder. "I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, Peter, but please let me do this without interrupting. It'll be easier for both of us that way."

Peter nodded hesitantly, trying to fight down his growing panic. He's right here. He's alive and well. You're not going to lose him, Peter. Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he grabbed Paul's hand as if he were holding onto it for dear life.

"When the poison acts slowly, it takes about three to five years to kill. The speed with which it works is directly proportionate to the amount of poison entering the bloodstream, so we're talking about my having been poisoned through a pinprick or a scratch. It would have been something I probably wouldn't even have noticed happening, so there's no way to track it back. All I do know for certain is that I was poisoned some time before Jericho made his first threats. If it had happened later, it would have taken longer for the symptoms to develop." He paused for a moment. "After I left, I was always one step behind Jericho. I'd started suffering the first symptoms, the most subtle ones, by the time I followed a false lead to the island where Alan Maranville lives. Maranville was there when I collapsed and insisted on performing a blood test. I was sure nothing was wrong beyond exhaustion but I indulged him anyway."

Peter couldn't help himself. "How did he know to look for the poison?"

"Jericho used his published research to have someone develop the poison. The doctor has been obsessed with finding an antidote ever since. Maranville's first thought is always the poison. In my case, he was right." Paul fell silent, deciding how to phrase what came next in the timeline. "Shortly after he took the blood, I got word through back channels that you'd been arrested for Rebecca Calvert's murder, Peter. I was on my way back here when I made the mistake of picking up the phone. That was when Maranville told me about the poison."

"And your only chance was to stay there." Alone. Away from everyone you love. Fighting this alone. God, why didn't you let us be there with you?

"I wasn't thinking very clearly, Peter. Maranville's research gave me the only hope there was, he seemed to think that he needed his human guinea pig present to perfect the antidote, and ... I couldn't see what earthly use I could be to anybody if I was dying. I've seen this poison kill before, Peter. It's not an easy death. Even though my symptoms were still subtle, I
knew what was to come. I didn't want to put my family through it."

"So you chose to die alone?"

"Dying alone seemed preferable to --" Paul's voice faltered. "-- to forcing all of you to watch me die."

"You are... ill?" Neither man had been aware that Kwai Chang Caine had entered the room until he spoke.

Peter jumped, shocked that he hadn't sensed his father's presence at all. Paul refused to betray his surprise as he rose. His next words were directed more to Peter than to Caine. "I was. Gravely ill. But I'm fine now. Maranville gave me a clean bill of health just last night."

Peter searched Paul's eyes for the answer to his next, unspoken question. He hated the answer he found. Dad, I can't believe you came that close and I never even knew. He was almost as grateful for the reassuring hand Paul had left on his shoulder as he was for the presence of both his fathers.

"I can see that now," Caine responded to Blaisdell. "Yet I sense an... aura of death? ...in this room."

Paul answered him before Peter could get a word out. "The terrorist who nearly killed me with poison -- he may have killed Kermit with the same poison."

"Kermit is dead? I still feel his essence."

Returning to his seat behind the desk, Paul gestured for Caine to take the remaining chair. Directing a worried look at Peter, Caine did so. "There's an antidote that's been used only once so far -- on me. It was successful against the slow acting form of the poison when it was administered in several doses over a period of several weeks. There's no guarantee they'll be able to find the right dosage for it to work against the faster acting version."

"If they do not find the appropriate dosage, Kermit will die," restated Caine. "When do they say this will happen?"

"The doctor says three to five days."

"But you think differently?" asked Caine, realizing Blaisdell was leaving something unsaid.

"If we're lucky, given his survival instincts, there might be a way to stretch it to a week."

Peter latched onto the tiny glimmer of hope present in that statement. "How could you stretch it out?"

"Having something to fight for and the instincts to fight can work wonders, son. I know there were many times over the past year and a half when it would have been the easiest thing in the world to just give up. But I didn't, I couldn't -- not with all I'd left undone."

"Well, Kermit being a fighter was never in question," declared Peter. "But you're leaving something out."

Paul was reluctant to explain the rest. To his surprise, Caine stepped in and began for him.

"There is a possibility that your presence could be of some assistance?" Paul nodded. "For the development of the appropriate dosage of the antidote?" Again, Paul nodded.

"I don't understand what the two of you mean. I'm not a doctor -- or an apothecary -- and I certainly don't have first hand experience with this poison, so would somebody please tell me what you're talking about?"

Caine opened his mouth to explain, but Paul preempted him with a slight shake of his head. "Peter, there's a poten--" Again the intercom buzzed. "Blaisdell." He listened briefly. "Put him through." I've been expecting this. "Alan. I take it you've just received a call from William Grayson?"

"So that call was legitimate? No one was trying to trap me?"

"Yes, Alan, the call was legitimate. I'm putting you on speaker phone because --"

As he clicked the phone to speaker mode, before he could finish his sentence, Maranville sputtered, "This is a trick! Is this some plot to lure me back --"

Paul cut him off. "My son's here with me. I want him to hear this conversation." He glanced at Caine, silently asking understanding of the deliberate omission of his presence.

Caine slightly inclined his head to acknowledge Blaisdell's judgment that Maranville wouldn't accept any other parties to the discussion. He would remain silent and listen -- and learn what he needed to know.

"Your son?" The suspicious edge to Maranville's voice slowly faded. "All right. I'll accept that. Peter, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"He's there now?"

Peter leaned forward slightly. "I'm here."

"Nice to finally talk to you. Your dad talked about you all the time -- he's very proud of you."

Both Peter's fathers noticed the flash of joy that crossed his face. "Really?" Damn it, why do I feel like I have to confirm it?

"Talked about you constantly." Maranville's easy tone switched to brusque once more. "Let's talk about the poison."

"How much did Bill Grayson tell you?"