Truths and Consequences

Note from the Author

The following story started out as a script by Vicky Duarte. Vicky turned it over to me, giving me carte blanche to do what I liked with the piece. So I did.

Submitted for your approval, a new Silk Stalkings story. Feel free to post all comments, good and bad.

Standard Disclaimer: They're not my characters. Some belong to Stu Segal, et.al., some are original characters created by Vicky Duarte. Since there's no money changing hands here, ain't no one got nothin' to fuss about. Like okay?

All phrases bracketed by * are thoughts.

Truths and Consequences

Chapter 1

It was like every other abandoned warehouse Tom Ryan had ever been in: dirty, damp, and dim. It smelled of mold, and rotting garbage, and despair. And fear. Every cop instinct he possessed was screaming at him. A cold trickle of sweat ran down his back, soaking through the crisp shirt and wicking into the lining of his linen jacket. He must've been crazy to follow Cassy in here, but he couldn't let her investigate without doing his part to watch her back. Damn it! He hated it when she acted like thisdeliberately disobeying a direct order.

"Yes, Harry."

Tom smiled at the irritation seeping out of his partner's voice. It was a tone he knew all too well.

"Harry, if we wait for backup he'll be long gone."

Yes, Cassy was definitely pissed. Ryan's smile grew fractionally bigger. For all the times she'd ticked him off, he was enjoying this small bit of payback.

"But-"

Cut her off in mid-sentence--good going, Skipper. Nice to see her getting a taste of her own medicine for a change.

"All right, we'll wait."

The sharp snap of her cell phone closing told him who'd won that particular argument. Settling back into the seat cushion, he smoothed out his tie, enjoying the feel of the cool silk against his fingertips. "Guess he wants us to wait." He flashed her his most charming smile, knowing it would irritate the hell out of her.

She glared at him, thinking hard, and then returned his smile with one of her own. "He didn't say we couldn't investigate the outside of the building." Pushing the door open, she was out of the car before he could react.

"Hey," he called, getting out to follow her. "Harry said to wait."

"Oh? And since when do you start listening to Harry?"

He matched her stubbornness with his own. "Since I know that this guy is armed and dangerous."

"Oh, aren't we Mr. Cautious all of a sudden." Turning on her heel, she moved away from him.

"Cassy, wait."

Suddenly she was in his face. "Look, Harry didn't say we had to stay in the car. I'm checking the perimeter. Either you're with me or you're not." She turned away again.

"Cassy." Reaching out, he grabbed her arm, tightening his grip and holding her in place. "Look I just have a bad feeling about this."

"A feeling? So, is that like one of your hunches?" she sneered.

"Okay, so I score zero in the anal retentive category."

She glared at him then, angrily breaking his grip on her arm. "You're scared."

"No, I'm not! I.. I just have this feeling-"

"So write a song about it!" She took a breath, tamping down the anger. It was Harry she was angry with, not her partner. "Come on, Tom, we've been after this guy for days." She flashed him a friendly smile, knowing that he wasn't completely immune to her charms. "This is the first solid lead we've got on his whereabouts." She could see the hesitation in his eyes, he was weakening. Time to move in for the kill. "He murdered a fifteen year old girl." She looked up into his eyes, silently pleading for his help. "We finally have a chance to nail this creep." She saw his eyes change from amber to olive. Gotcha.

"All right." Pulling the gun from his hip, he checked the clip, setting a round in the chamber. "We'll check the perimeter until backup gets here."

She matched his movements. "Now you're talking."

Together they began an examination of the perimeter. Stopping at a window, Tom peered inside trying to see any movement in the murky darkness. He stepped back, aware that his partner was no longer at his side. "Cassy?" Turning, he did a quick visual scan of the area. He spotted a flash of blonde hair as she moved through an open door. "Damn it, Cass." Ignoring the alarm bells ringing in his skull, he followed her into the warehouse.

*There she is.* He pulled his mind back from the brief reverie. "Cassy," he hissed. "Cassy, wait."

She ignored him, focused solely on her desire to find and catch a killer.

Something flashed off to his right. Slamming out his hand, he pushed his partner to the cement. "Cassy, down!"

Moving instinctively, he put himself between her and the shooter. White fire seared through him, twisting his body and slamming him down onto the filthy concrete.

Cassy pushed herself up. "Tom?" She heard footsteps skittering across the floor followed by rusty hinges protesting use. "Tom?" With her attention still focused on the door she stepped back, almost falling when her heel connected with something solid. Turning, she saw her partner sprawled out, face down at her feet. A flicker of movement near her foot caught her eye. A thin trickle of blood ran out from under his body. "Tom?" Cassy's voice caught in her throat. With shaking hands, she turned him over. "Oh my god."

Blood was everywhere. His shirtfront was soaked with it. It spread into his jacket, turning the blue linen an obscene purple. She watched, frozen in shock, as the blood continued to seep past his belt, spreading through the fibers of his twill slacks in a slow, relentless progression.

She forced herself to touch him. Sliding her fingers along the line of his jaw, she breathed a small sigh of relief as a faint pulse throbbed under her questing fingertips. The reassuring beat galvanized her into action.

Scrambling for her fallen purse, she pulled out her cell phone and stabbed in a familiar number. "Officer down, Southside Marine warehouse, come inside. Hurry!" She looked at Tom, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Please hurry."

Training took over. Rising swiftly to her feet, she scanned the area looking for somethinganything she could use to try and stop the bleeding.

Finally, she spotted a pile of old rags. Most were filthy and she hurriedly scrambled through them, hoping to find a few that were usable.

*Have to apply pressure to the wounds. Apply pressure. Apply pressure.* It became her litany as she worked.

Taking the few usable scraps of cloth she'd found, she rushed back to Tom. Fumbling with the blood slicked buttons, she managed to get his shirt open. Then she saw, in the blood soaked undershirt, two small holes. The edges had darkened where the fibers had been burned by the heat of the bullets slicing through the thin fabric.

*Apply pressure.*

She pushed one piece of cloth under the scoop neck of the undershirt, pressing it firmly over the hole beneath his ribcage. The other covered the wound in his right breast. The taut fabric held the rags in place, but she still needed to slow the bleeding.

*Apply pressure.*

Taking a small knife from her purse, she slit the belt loops on his trousers. Opening the buckle she repositioned the belt a few inches farther up on his torso and refastened it across the cloth.

The movement brought pain, jarring him back to consciousness. "Cass." His voice was a thin thread of sound.

"Tom? Tom can you hear me?"

Forcing his eyelids up, he looked for her. "Cass?" A soft hand stroked his cheek.

"Hey," she whispered, pressing down on the cloth against his chest.

"H-hey." He turned his head, searching through the dim light. "The guy."

"Shh, lie still, he's gone."

"Shot?"

"Yeah." She fought hard to keep her voice from breaking. "Help is on the way."

He shifted, trying to rise up on his elbows. "Can't can't breathe." His eyes opened wider. "Cass help."

She saw the panic flash across his eyes. Sliding on her knees, she moved behind him, lifting his shoulders and pulling him up until his head rested against her shoulder.

"Hold me?"

"I'm right here." Wrapping both arms around him, she held on tightly, still applying pressure to the seeping wounds. "Better?"

He nodded slightly.

She felt his weight settling against her as he slipped toward unconsciousness. "Stay with me, Tom!"

"Stop yelling at me," he mumbled weakly.

"Talk to me," she demanded, scared that if he let go of consciousness he'd let go of life.

"No." His voice was weaker. "Not not gonna talk velour seat covers not talk...."

"I'm sorry about the seat covers." Tears were running freely now. She leaned her cheek against his short brown hair. "I'm sorry."

"Never talk...." His body slumped heavily against her.

"Tom!"

"Cassy, where are you?"

"Harry?" She'd been so tightly focused on Tom that she hadn't heard the sirens. "Harry, over here!"

Heavy footsteps pounded in her direction. She pulled Tom more tightly against her, as if the physical embrace could keep him from slipping away forever.

"Cassy." The captain's voice was soft as he knelt beside his two officers. "What happened?"

"I happened. I wouldn't wait for backup." She looked down at the man in her arms, tears streaming down her face. "Why didn't you talk me out of this?" she whispered. "You could have stopped me, Thomas."

"Cassy, the paramedics are here." Harry's hand touched her shoulder, bringing her back to the world around them.

"He-he's going to be all right."

Lipschitz swallowed, the sight of one of his officers covered with blood was all too familiar. Choking back his own fear, he put on his captain's face.' "He's going to be fine." He forced a smile. "I mean, this is Tom we're talking about here."

Stroking the short hair off his forehead, Cassy kissed her partner. "Just hang in there a little longer, Thomas, help is here."

Two paramedics, followed by two uniformed cops ran towards them. Kneeling quickly by Tom's side, the men moved efficiently into action, taking vital signs and talking back and forth in the language of medical professionals.

Harry pulled Cassy aside, out of the way of stethoscopes and cardiac monitors. There was nothing they could do for Tom now. Only watch and pray as he was prepped and gently lifted onto the gurney for transport.

A paramedic with blood soaked knees approached them. "We're going to transport him now. If one of you would like to ride along?"

Harry squeezed Cassy's shoulders, pushing her gently in the direction of the street. "Go with him. I'll get things started here and meet you at the hospital."

Swiping away at her tears, she gave him a grateful glance. "Thank you."

One of the uniforms came up to Lipschitz. "They'll be taking him to Palm Beach General."

"Thank you, Officer Roberts." Aware of the sounds of a police investigation in full swing going on around him, Harry squared his shoulders and did the only thing he could do. "Okay people, somebody shot one of ours and I want the bastard found!"

The Emergency Room doors at Palm Beach General glided open on silent runners. The smooth movements in direct contrast to the chaos spilling through the opening.

They came running at full tilt. Orderlies were steering a gurney where a blood spotted paramedic was straddling a patient and performing chest compressions while his partner ran along one side rhythmically squeezing a breathing bag. On the other side, a pretty blonde with a tear streaked face clutched an unresponsive hand while keeping up a nonstop patter of threats and supplications aimed at the victim.

And in the center of it all, Tom Ryan lay still as death.

The trauma team converged.

"This the cop call we got?"

"Yeah."

"Take him to trauma two."

"What have we got?"

"Gunshot wounds to right upper chest and abdomen. Patient arrested en route and CPR was initiated."

"Get the defibrillator ready. We'll shock him as soon as he's on the table."

"Get him typed and cross matched and get three units of whole blood down here STAT!"

"Set up those IV lines!"

"Get his clothes off!"

"Have OR three standing by. Tell them to call in Franklin for this one. We'll transport as soon as he's stable.."

"Clear!"

Buzz. Thump.

"Clear!"

Buzz. Thump.

"Come on, come on. Clear!"

Buzz. Thump.

"He's back; we've got sinus rhythm!"

"Okay ladies and gentlemen, let's get to work."

Standing on the edge of the medical whirlpool, Cassy could only watch and wait. A sudden hand on her shoulder sent her automatically whirling into a defensive stance. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but you'll have to wait outside."

"He's my hus- partner."

The nurse was gentle, but firm. "I understand, but you'll have to wait outside."

"No. I can't leave him." Pulling out of the nurse's grasp, she turned back toward Tom.

"Sergeant St. John." Harry's voice cut through the wall of fear locking her in place. "Harry-how?"

"Michaels and Hollis showed up just when you were pulling out. They'll take care of things at the warehouse. I was right behind the ambulance all the way here."

Turning to the familiar presence, she buried her face in his shoulder and let the tears fall.

"Cassy, what happened?"

"His-his heart stopped in the ambulance. He wasn't breathing when they brought him in."

"They'll pull him through, Cassy." Closing his eyes, he swallowed down his fear. "They'll pull him through."

**************

Cassy's heels beat out an impatient tattoo on the waiting room floor. "They've been in there for over half an hour. Why doesn't someone come out and let us know what's going on?"

"They will."

"When?!" She saw his flinch and instantly regretted the sharpness of her tone. *He's just as scared as I am.* "I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's okay, Cassy." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I understand."

They sat together, bound by fear.

"Excuse me."

An average looking man in bloodstained scrubs stood in front of them.

"I'm Rick Stevens, trauma team leader."

Cassy jumped to her feet. "How's Tom?"

"Why don't we sit down," Stevens said softly.

"Is he going to be all right?" she demanded.

"I can't say. It doesn't look good for him right now."

"What the hell does that mean?" Harry's voice was uncharacteristically harsh.

"We're having a hard time stabilizing him for surgery. He's lost a lot of blood and we can't get his pressure back up."

"What about the bullet wounds?"

"We won't be able to tell anything until we can get him up to surgery."

"Will you be doing the surgery?" Cassy asked quietly.

"No. I'm in charge of the ER. Dr. Franklin is the surgeon who'll be operating on Mr. Ryan."

Cassy swallowed hard, fear forcing the words out. "You don't think he's going to make it."

Stevens shook his head. "I won't lie to you. He's in bad shape. I honestly can't say." He rose to his feet. "If I were you, I'd call his family."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I'll take care of it."

"I can promise you this," Stevens spoke firmly. "We'll do everything humanly possible to save him."

"Dr. Stevens," a male nurse interrupted, "we're ready to take Mr. Ryan up to surgery now."

"Can I see him?" Cassy asked.

"Sorry," Stevens smiled apologetically, while turning away. "There's no time; we've got to move fast."

A young woman in a light blue smock came up to them. "I can take you to the surgical waiting room. You'll be more comfortable up there."

"You go on, Harry. I'll call the Ryans."

"Cassy, that's my job. I'm his captain."

"Well, I'm his partner!" The blue eyes filled with tears. "It's my fault," she whispered brokenly. "He wanted to wait and I pushed, and I pushed."

"Cassy."

She shrugged out from under his comforting hand. Moving to a quiet corner of the room, she pulled her cell phone from her purse. With a shaking hand, she dialed a familiar number.

Twelve hundred miles away, a telephone rang.

****************

"Hello?"

"Lyam?"

"Yes?"

"It's Cassy."

A fond smile creased the weathered face. "Cassy! This is a surprise. I didn't recognize your voice." Covering the mouthpiece with a hand, he called into another room. "Margaret, Cassy's on the phone." He smiled lovingly at his wife as she bustled into the room. "So, to what do we owe the honor of your call?"

"It's not a social call, Lyam."

His heart started pounding. "Something's happened to Tommy, hasn't it?"

"He's been shot."

"Oh, God." His vision tunneled. He was vaguely aware of his wife clutching his arm, her eyes wide with terror. "How-" His voice didn't want to work. "How is he?"

"It doesn't look good."

He heard her voice break over the wires.

"You and Margaret better come down. Call Palm Beach Air. Tell them it's a code three police emergency. They'll get you on the next available flight."

"Palm Beach Air," Lyam repeated, still in shock. Suddenly, there didn't seem to be enough air in the room.

"There'll be a uniformed officer waiting when you get off the plane."

"Okay, we'll be there as soon as possible."

"Okay. Bye-"

"Cassy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do us a favor?"

"Anything."

"Go.. go to the chapel and light a candle for Tommy."

There was a pause. He could hear her sniff and pull in a deep breath.

"I will. Hurry."

Lyam Ryan barely registered the click of the broken connection. Pulling his wife of thirty-eight years into his arms, he let the tears fall. "Tommy's been hurt, Meggie. Somebody shot our boy."

Harry Lipschitz pulled his head up out of his hands at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Did you get in touch with the Ryans?"

"Yeah."

"How'd they take it?"

"How would you?" she snapped. "Oh, god, I'm sorry Harry." She looked into his red rimmed eyes. *This is as bad for him as it is for me.*

"Look, Cassy, Tom's probably going to be in surgery for hours. Why don't you go home and rest up? I'll call you when I get some news."

"I'm not leaving until we get some word on Tom." *One way or the other.*

They sat together in miserable silence until Harry's cell phone shrilled.

"Lipschitz Okay, Brandt, keep me informed. No, there's no word yet. Yeah, I will. Bye."

Cassy looked up. "Did they find anything at the warehouse?"

"The guy must have been holed up there. They found a sleeping bag and some empty cans of food."

"But no suspect," she said bitterly.

"No. He must've split after he shot Tom."

"Did you set up a surveillance team in case he comes back for his stuff?"

"It's done."

"Good." She paced to the window, gazing out across the hospital's well manicured lawn. The bright afternoon sunlight streaming though the pane did nothing to take the chill from her body. How could the sun be shining while Tom was fighting for his life?

**********

The sky turned black, and still they waited.

"God," Cassy moaned, "why don't they send someone out here to let us know?"

Harry rose wearily and moved to the waiting room door. "Let me go see if I can find anything out from the nurses at the desk."

She nodded her response and turned back to the window and the darkness outside.

The sharp click of high heels on polished linoleum echoed off the starkly painted walls. "Cassy." Fran Lipschitz hurried into the room, pulling the younger woman into a motherly hug. "I just got the message. How is he?"

"We don't know. They still have him in surgery." She sniffed, wiping a quick hand against her nose. "Harry just went to see if he could find out anything."

Frannie nodded. "Did you get the guy who did this to him?"

"No, not yet."

"How are you holding up?"

Cassy looked into Frannie's eyes, reading genuine concern. "I'm hanging in there." She forced a wan smile.

"Frannie."

"Oh, Hesh." Moving into each other's arms, the couple stood silently for a moment.

The love and support passing between them made Cassy ache. *I remember when Tom and I used to hold each other like that. Please, God, give him the chance to hold me like that again. No.* She mentally slapped herself. *Not me, but someone.*

Pulling her thoughts back to the present situation, she addressed her captain. "Were you able to find out anything?"

He shook his head. "Only that he's still in surgery."

"How long?"

Fran moved to Cassy, taking her hand. "There's no way to predict. All we can do is wait and hope. And pray."

***********

Cassy leaned silently against the window, trying to count the stars. It was impossible, like trying to count the grains of sand on a beach. Or the number of times she'd said a mean word to Tom.

For the nth time, she checked her wristwatch. "I don't like this. He's been in there for almost six hours."

Fran spoke gently. "These things take a long time."

"Cassy, he'll be fine," Harry said, not quite meeting her eyes. "he's in good hands." *But so was Chris Lorenzo.*

The shrill ring of a cell phone cut through the heavy air.

"Lipschitz.. Fine, thanks Brandt, I appreciate your doing this yourself. No. There's no word yet. Tell them to check at the fourth floor nurses' station. Right, bye." He closed the phone and looked at the women. "The Ryans' plane just landed."

"God, Harry, what are we going to tell them about Tom?"

"I don't know, Cassy."

"Perhaps I can help."

Three anxious pairs of eyes turned toward the new voice.

A man wearing blood and sweat stained surgical scrubs stood framed in the doorway. Smiling tiredly he approached them, absently running a hand through his thick silver hair. "I'm Dr. Franklin." He held out a hand to forestall the avalanche of questions. "Please, let's sit down and I'll tell you everything."

Franklin laced his fingers together and began to speak. "He's in ICU now. I wanted to be sure he got down there before I came to see you."

Cassy bit her lip, needing desperately to hear that Tom would be all right.

"I'm afraid that Sergeant Ryan is in very critical condition. The bullet in his chest traveled on an angle through his right lung and lodged very near to his heart. It was tricky, but we were able to remove the bullet and re-inflate the lung. Luckily, there was no damage to the heart itself."

"What about the other bullet?" Harry asked tightly.

"We haven't been able to remove it yet."

"What?" Cassy questioned angrily.

"The other bullet is deeply lodged within the abdomen. We were able to stop the internal bleeding, and there's no evidence of damage to his organs. So, we decided to wait"

"For what?" Cassy demanded. "Why didn't you get the other bullet?"

"As you know, he went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance. It happened again on the operating table. His heart can't take the strain of another four hours of surgery to get at the other bullet . He's in no immediate danger from it."

"We understand, " Harry said softly. "Thank you, Doctor."

Cassy swallowed hard, wiping at an errant tear. "May I see him?"

Franklin smiled, trying to offset the fear he could see in her eyes. "Sure, I'll take you up there."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Cassy?"

"Will you wait here for Tom's parents?"

"Sure, you go ahead." He bent down and kissed her cheek. "Give him our love."

***********

As they walked to the ICU, Franklin talked softly to Cassy. "I want to warn you that he looks pretty bad. He's on a respirator, and there're a lot of other tubes and machinery that he's hooked up to."

"Why?"

"So we can monitor him at all times. The respirator's temporaryto give his injured lung a chance to heal."

"Thanks."

They stopped outside of a small glass-enclosed cubicle.

Franklin gave Cassy a reassuring pat on the back. "Five minutes."

She stepped through the cubicle door into another world. A world of hissing pumps and measured beeps. Of clear tubes and plastic bags carrying liquids in and out. A world of antiseptic smells and stifled moans. Where hope and fear walked hand in hand. A whole world, bounded within an eight-by-ten foot space. Tom's world now. Her world, too.

A nurse checking his vital signs smiled at Cassy as she stood hovering at the entrance.

"Hi, I'll be done in a minute."

Cassy nodded, unsure of her voice.

"You can come closer to him if you want."

Getting a firm grasp on her nerve, she crossed the barrier.

"Do you have any questions?"

*Why? Why did this have to happen to him?* "No."

"I'll be monitoring him from the nurses' station. Come and see me if you have any questions." She smiled reassuringly. "He's really doing as well as we can expect. Touch him, talk to him, it'll help."

Slowly, Cassy moved into the room, working her way through the jungle of equipment until she reached Tom's side. The tears were falling freely now, as she clasped his hand to her cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It should be me in the bed, not you.

"You were always the cautious one. Evaluating the situation. A good, honest, by-the-book cop. I'm the fool who always rushes in. So why does the angel have to be the one who gets shot?"

Turning his unresponsive hand, she tenderly kissed the palm, listening as the machines beat out the rhythm of his life.

Laying his hand gently on the bed, she brushed a stray fall of hair from his forehead. "You fight, you hear me, Tom?" Don't you dare give up on me now. I swear to you; I'm going to nail the creep. He won't get away."

The soft squeak of rubber on linoleum announced the presence of Tom's nurse.

"I'm sorry, Sgt. St. John, but you'll have to leave now."

Sending a small smile to the nurse, Cassy bent and kissed Tom's cheek. "I'll be back later."

She stopped at the door, turning around for one more look at him. He'd always seemed so big to her. His six-foot-two-inch frame dwarfed her sometimes. He was her strength, her rock, her safe shelter from the storms that life threw at her. But nownow he seemed so small and vulnerable in the shadow of the machines surrounding him. Now she would have to be the rock.

Squaring her shoulders, she moved back toward the waiting room.

***********

"Cassy!"

Lyam Ryan's arms were around her, pulling her into a tight hug as she entered the waiting room. Reflexively, she hugged him back. "I'm so sorry," she choked out past the sudden lump in her throat.

"You should be sorry!"

Cassy turned to face the angry voice, feeling Lyam's arms release her.

"Margaret," he spoke softly, his voice pitched low with sorrow. "Don't."

"Where was she, Lyam? Where was she when Tom was shot?"

Cassy bit her lip, she had no defense against the woman's anger. She deserved whatever she got.

"Why weren't you there to back him up?"

"Margaret, enough," Lyam placed his body between the two women. "Nobody is to blame here."

"No," Cassy said, swallowing down her tears. "She's right. I'm the one at fault here."

Harry moved to the group, placing a strong hand on his detective's shoulder. "Cassy."

"No, Harry," she cut him off. "If I had listened to you, Tom wouldn't be here right now.

Margaret Ryan cast a disparaging glance at her ex-daughter-in-law. "You were always trouble for my son, and now look what you've done to him."

Lyam pulled in a shaky breath, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders and turning her toward the ICU. "Let's go see Tommy."

Nodding silently, Margaret clasped her husband's hand as they walked slowly toward the cubicle where their son lay fighting for his life.

Turning back to her captain, Cassy managed a wan smile. "I need to be alone for a while."

Harry stood in the doorway, listening to the echo of Cassy's footsteps die away. A pair of arms slipped around his waist, holding tightly. "Frannie, I need to go talk to her."

"Not now, Hesh." Fran rested her head against her husband's straight back. "She needs some time to herself right now."

"But-"

"No buts, Harry. When she's ready, she'll come and talk to us.

Twenty-four hours had passed. The longest twenty-four hours of Cassandra St. John's life. She'd spent them in alternating states of hope and despair. Wandering aimlessly, a pale blond ghost haunting the hospital corridors, she couldn't seem to stop moving. Somewhere deep inside she had the idea that her partner's survival was contingent on her activity. As long as she kept moving, Tom's heart would keep beating. But she couldn't keep moving forever.

As she passed the chapel, Lyam Ryan's voice echoed in her memory. *Go.. go to the chapel and light a candle for Tommy.* She hadn't done it then. She'd been distracted and she forgot her promise, just as she'd forgotten others over the years.

She stopped her aimless rambling. Turning around, she placed her palms against the smooth wooden doors. She'd never been much for religion, and regular church going hadn't been a part of her upbringing. Still, she couldn't help but notice the strong faith exhibited by both of the Ryans. Their unwavering belief in a merciful god who wouldn't rip their only child from their arms gave Cassy a degree of hope that she'd never have had on her own. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the doors open.

Soft light sifted through the stained glass window, bathing the room in a warm glow. A figure was kneeling in the front row of benches, and Cassy couldn't determine if it was a man or a woman. Moving forward hesitatingly, she slid into a seat at the back of the small room. She bent her head, her thoughts automatically drifting to Tom.

"Cassy."

The soft voice startled her. Her head jerked up as she met the other woman's eyes. "Margaret." The beginning of a nervous smile twitched the corners of her mouth.

"May I sit down?"

Cassy nodded, suddenly not trusting her voice.

The older woman settled into the bench. Clasping the string of rosary beads in her hand, she cleared her throat. "I wasn't sure, when I met you, Cassy, whether or not you were the right woman for my son." She chuckled softly. "Does any mother really feel that any other woman is good enough for her son? Maybe not, but he loved you and so I put my reservations aside and welcomed you into the family. And you broke his heart."

Cassy shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench. She wanted to run -- needed to run. But she couldn't. She knew that she deserved Margaret's harsh words, and the very least she owed her partner's mother was to stay and listen to what the woman had to say.

"I was appalled when Tom called and told us you two had been teamed up together again. He said Captain Lipschitz made the reassignment, but it was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted slowly. "I'd turned in my last partner because I saw him taking money off of a dead body. No one would talk to me after that, much less work with me. II needed a partner who I could trust." She swallowed, looking up guiltily. "The only one I could think of was Tom."

"Why?" An angry frown crossed Margaret's face. "I know why you divorced him, Cassy"

"He was having an affair with another woman," she snapped.

"Was he? Really?" Margaret's green eyes flashed with anger. "Tom could no more dishonor his marriage vows than you could break your oath as a cop!"

Cassy clenched her jaw. "You weren't there."

"I didn't have to be. I know my son. I know what kind of a man he is. He was raised to believe in the sacrament of marriage. He would never betray an oath."

"Well maybe not, but he sure as hell betrayed me!"

"Did he? You're a cop, Cassy. A good cop, according to my son. You're meticulous about your job, getting all the details of your cases, collecting the evidence so that you can prove a criminal's guilt.

"Did you do that with your marriage? Did you collect the evidence and prove that Tom was unfaithful?"

Cassy clutched the hard rounded corners of the bench until her knuckles were white.

"You didn't, did you?" Margaret continued. "Because there was no evidenceno proof. You were betrayed by your own insecurities, not by my son!"

"That's enough," Cassy hissed. "This isn't the time or place for this conversation."

"You're right. We should be focused on Tom and his recovery. And I've been praying with all my heart and soul that my son will live. But I'm also a realist, Cassy, and I know that the good don't always win, that evil does occasionally triumph, and that despite all the prayers in the universe... Tom could die. And if that happens," she paused, wiping away an angry tear, "then I have to accept it. I'll have to accept that fact that I will never see my son again. I'll have to accept the fact that I'll never see you again, too. But I can't let that happen without getting this out into the open once and for all."

"Can't you just let this go?" Cassy asked tiredly. "Tom has."

"Has he?"

Cassy kept silent, unsure of the answer. She knew, despite the fact that they'd resumed the partnership without too much friction, that there was still a lot of personal tension between them. Maybe he hadn't come right out and said it, but she knew he was still angry over the divorce proceedings and the final outcome.

She hung her head. "No," she finally admitted, to Margaret and to herself. "No, he hasn't. And you're right; I got scared. The divorce wasn't about Tom supposedly cheating on me. It wasn't about our different natures," she sniffed, looking into Margaret's eyes. "It wasn't even about our complete inability to live with one another. It was about me, and my fear of becoming my mother. I was always jealous of Tom and his relationship with you and Lyam, the love and support between the three of you. I never had that. I got shipped off to Texas when my mother remarried and I never came back home, even after her marriage broke up. And the next one... and the one after that. I saw what marriage had done to her and what it did to me. To be perfectly honest, I don't know why I married Tom, except to prove to my mother that I wasn't like her, that I could make a marriage work." She pulled in a deep breath. "But I didn't, did I? I'm as much a failure as she is."

A gentle smiled creased Margaret Ryan's face. Reaching out, she placed a soft hand on Cassy's chilled one. "You're not a failure, Cassandra, there's still time."

"God, I hope so," she whispered through the lump that had formed in her throat. "I'm so sorry that I hurt him; he never deserved it. I was trying so hard not to be like her. I never saw that that was exactly what was happening. I was doing exactly what she had done." The tears were falling freely now. "I'm so sorry, Margaret."

"I know, Cassy. I'm sorry, too, for all the harsh words I said to you earlier. I know you did everything you could for Tom. You were there with him when he was shot. You called for help. I heard you applied first aid." She squeezed Cassy's hand affectionately. "You kept him from bleeding to death before the paramedics arrived. But most importantly, you stayed with him. You didn't leave him alone when he needed you."

Cassy gripped Margaret's hands tightly. "That will never happen again, I swear."

Margaret Ryan looked deeply into her ex-daughter-in-law's eyes. *Grandma Rose always said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. She was right.* She could see, beyond the red-rimmed fatigue, beyond the ice blue fear, beyond the cold black determination, a glowing ember of love for her son. "I know."

They sat silently together in the waning light of the late afternoon sun. Two women from very different walks of life; but bound together by love, each in her own way, for Thomas Patrick Ryan.

Finally, Margaret spoke. "I should be getting upstairs. Are you coming?"

Cassy looked up and smiled. "In a minute." She sat quietly, listening to the fading echo as Margaret walked away, then rose and moved to the front of the room. She'd never been a believer, not in the way the Ryans were. But deep inside she believed in somethinga power greater than man. A step to the left brought her to a small table, where rows of candles sat waiting. Some of the candles were lit, some were not. She stared at the small flames, each one a symbol of hope.

Picking up a book of matches, she struck the small wooden shaft along the strike strip. She heard the tiny hiss of ignition and watched as a small spark leapt from the tip to burst into a steady flame. She looked at the candles, her eyes lighting on one sturdy taper, standing tall and straight at the end of a flickering row. Leaning forward, she touched flame to wick. The reaction was instantaneous; the new flame leapt up, burning steadily in the fading room.

She smiled, feeling a small measure of peace settling into her fractured soul. Turning on her heel she walked steadily from the chapel.

************

Cassy St. John paced the living room of her beachfront condo. Three days. It had been three days since the shooting. Three days that her partner lay in a coma. Three days spent tracking down leads that led to nothing. Well, tonight things were going to change. Tonight she was going to find that scumbag if it was the last thing she ever did. Grabbing her purse, she moved angrily to the door, flinging it open. "Harry!"

"Going out?" Lipschitz asked casually, leaning against the frame.

"I-I was just about to visit Tom."

"Don't lie to your captain." He peered at her over the top of his glasses. "Tom'll have to wait."

"Why," she asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"We're going to The Cock's Comb."

"The stripper bar?"

Taking her arm, he led her down the walkway to the street. "I'll explain on the way."

Cassy glanced at her wristwatch. Ten minutes had passed since Harry showed up on her doorstep and hustled her into his car. "So you want to tell me what this is all about?"

"I got a phone call right before I was leaving the station."

"And?"

"The caller said our man was going to be at The Cock's Comb tonight."

"This caller give you a time?"

"Nope," Harry sighed in exasperation. "Hung up before I could get any more information.

"Let's just hope that this isn't another wild goose chase," she said bitterly.

"Wild goose chase or not, it's the best lead we've gotten in this case."

In Cassy's estimation, The Cock's Comb was a few steps below the Runway Strip. The drinks were overpriced and watered-down. The furniture was eighties ostentatious. And the strippers were more than a shade on the tired side.

The club was filled with loud, drunken men who groped indiscriminately at strippers, waitresses and customers alike.

Making their way through the smoky air to the bar, Harry and Cassy ordered drinks and pretended to be interested in the floor show.

"I don't know, Harry," Cassy muttered into her drink's pink parasol. "Do you think he's really here?"

"The caller was adamant. She sounded afraid."

"She? You didn't say the caller was a she."

"Musta slipped my mind. I'm betting she's one of the dancers."

"Okay," Cassy said, unzipping her purse and readying her gun under cover of the bar. "Let's start looking for a stripper who's shaking more than usual."

*****************

The furnishings in the dressing room of The Cock's Comb were even older than those in the front. A sagging sofa striped in earth tones leaned against a crumbling wall. A cracked mirror, surrounded by bare light bulbs hung precariously over a card table littered with feminine paints and powders. Dawn Harper, known as Delta Dawn to the drunken men and bored women who frequented the club, pushed tiredly through the curtain that pretended to be a dressing room door. "Patrick? Pat, are you here?" A calloused hand covered her mouth, smothering the instinctive scream. Dry, cracked lips replaced the hand and a tongue thrust its way into her mouth, stealing her air.

"God, I missed you," he whispered huskily against her mouth.

"Well, that's what you get for staying away so long, lover," she purred, unbuttoning his shirt and planting small kisses down the length of his torso.

"I didn't have a choice, baby." He moaned as her tongue slipped into his navel and her hands danced lightly over his zipper.

"Is it because the cops are after you?"

He yanked her up, crushing her against him as bruises blossomed under his hands. "Why did you say that?"

"You're hurting me," she whimpered.

"Tell me why you said that," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"There-there was a cop, come around earlier showing your picture." She cried out as he tightened his grip. "Ow! Please, baby, you're hurting me."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Nothing, baby, I swear."

"Bitch."

Throwing her to the ground, he stepped over her sobbing body and out into the shadows.

"I swear, Harry," Cassy's angry tones carried the length of the hallway. "If one more creep pinched my butt, I was gonna start shooting."

"Cops!" Moving fast, Murphy ducked back into the dressing room and hauled Dawn to her feet. "You little bitch-"

"Freeze, Murphy," Cassy charged into the room, gun drawn.

Harry entered right behind her. "Police!"

Flinging his terrified captive at the two officers, Murphy used the momentary confusion to dive through the dressing room window.

Untangling herself from the human knot, Cassy ran to the window and leaned out. "Damn it, he's gone!" Turning back, she grabbed Dawn by the arm and hauled the woman to her feet. "Where'd he go?"

"I don't know, " Dawn sobbed.

"Where's he living?"

"I don't know! I hardly know the guy."

"Yeah, right," Cassy sneered. "That's why he was beating the crap out of you."

"No, no, I tripped. He was just helping me up."

"Stop lying, you little-"

"Cassy!" Harry's voice cut in. "Back off!"

"Harry-"

"Now, Sergeant St. John." Putting himself between the stripper and his detective, Harry took over the interrogation. "Tell us about Murphy."

"I don't know anything. He's one of the regulars, that's all."

"Well, this regular of yours killed a fifteen year old girl."

"No," she protested. "He's a nice guy. He'd never do anything like that."

"Yeah," Cassy pushed her way into the conversation. "Tell that to my partner in intensive carewhen he regains consciousness."

"Your partner?"

"Murphy put two bullets into him!" She stopped suddenly, turning away from the other woman. Fighting for control of herself, she continued. "My partner...a decent, caring man...is lying in a coma...with a bullet still in him...because of your boyfriend. Now, you tell us where Murphy's hiding or I'll throw you into jail so fast, your tassels will fly off in the breeze!"

"Outside, St. John." Harry's voice cut off the tirade.

Glaring defiantly, Cassy stomped out of the room leaving her captain to deal with the distraught stripper.

Drumming her fingers on the hood of the car, Cassy waited impatiently for Harry to come outside. *Damn it!* She pounded her fist against the metal, wishing it were Murphy's hide.

"St. John, you wanna tell me what the hell was going on in there?"

"It's called questioning a witness, Harry." She matched him temper for temper. "It's what we homicide detectives do, remember?"

"Questioning? Is that what you call it? Let me tell you something Sergeant St. John. From where I was standing it looked very much like threatening."

"Christ, Harry, so I threatened her a little, so what?"

"I'll tell you so what?' So we catch the bastard, and he goes to trial, and his defense attorney makes a big deal out of how the police coerced the prosecution's star witness. And all of a sudden, it's not about a killer, it's about police brutality, and the case gets thrown out of court. And maybe the next cop Murphy shoots winds up dead. That's so what.' You wanna be the one to explain to your partner how the guy who shot him gets to walk off scot free?"

Biting her lip, she hung her head. "I'm sorry, Skipper. You're right." Her head came up defiantly. "Dammit, Harry, she knows where Murphy is!"

"Yeah, she probably does," he admitted. "But if we push her anymore, we lose everything."

"So we just let the only lead we have walk away?"

He nodded slowly, a smile creeping over his face. "We let her walk away. And then we have her followed, discreetly, from a distance."

She huffed out a breath, expelling the anger with the air. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"I understand, but let me tell you this. You've already got two strikes against you on this case, one more and you're off the case."

"Okay," she said after a moment's consideration. "Tonight was one strike. What's the other?"

"Tom."

*************

Cassy trudged slowly up the walk to her house, anger and guilt weighing her down. A shadow shifted by the door. She reached for her gun. "Who's there?"

"Cassy?" A familiar figure moved under the porch light.

"Lyam." Her heart skipped a beat. "Tom?"

He could see the fear flash across her face. "There's no change."

She forced a small smile. "Wanna come in?"

"Sure."

"Coffee?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

Her smile grew. "No trouble at all."

He followed her into the kitchen, leaning against a counter out of her way. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "I thought you were coming to see Tom tonight."

"Sorry, I got sidetracked with a case."

"The guy who shot Tom?"

"Yeah."

"Did you catch him?"

"No." She turned away so he couldn't see her eyes fill. "He was there, but he got away." Turning back, she put a tentative hand on his arm. "We'll get him."

Lyam nodded, accepting the words. "I know you will."

She turned back to the hissing coffee maker. "Where's Margaret?"

"Still at the hospital. She didn't want to leave Tommy."

"Oh." Pulling mugs down from a cabinet, she placed them side by side on the spotless counter.

"You're probably wondering why I'm not there." The older man sniffed, wiping away the tears he could no longer keep in check. "I couldn't stand it any more; it's too quiet in that room."

It wasn't too quiet in that room at all. It was filled with the sound of death being kept at bay.

Cassy felt her own tears begin to fall.

"I guess," Lyam continued. "I guess I'm not used to Tommy being so quiet. He was always runningeverywhere. Slamming doors, jumping over furniture. I swear, he never held still. Even when he was asleep, he was moving. Now... now...." His voice broke on the word.

She moved into his arms, offering what little strength she had.

"Cassy, it's been three days now, and he still hasn't woken up." He hugged her tighter. "Why?"

"I wish I knew," she whispered.

"I'm just so damn afraid of losing him."

She pulled out of the comforting hug. "Hey. Wasn't it you who said that he won't give up on us?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Throwing my words back at me, huh?" He pulled in a deep, steadying breath. "It's getting harder to believe that each time I see him."

She took his hand, feeling the quiet strength in his grip. * Just like Tom.* "You can't stop believing that he'll get better. Tom won't give up, and we can't give up on him. You have to have faith."

"I'm trying."

"Well, try harder," she snapped. "You didn't raise your son to give up when the going gets tough, and you can't quit either."

"I know." He pulled in another deep breath and smiled.

"You're right. I'll keep the faith for Tommy's sake."

"Good." She turned to the coffee maker, watching the first few drops fall from the basket into the pot. She shuddered suddenly, seeing the slow, measured drip of the IV solutions running into her partner. *You're a great one for giving pep talks, St. John. When are you going to start believing yourself?*

Turning back to Lyam, her mind went back to the last time she and Tom had stood in this kitchen, sharing coffee.

Tom Ryan grimaced, forcing the coffee down his throat.

"How is it?" Cassy smiled brightly.

"Hot," he gasped out, trying desperately not to cough against the bitterness of the brew.

"Well, duh, of course it's hot. How does it taste?"

"Like no coffee I've ever had before."

"It stinks."

"That, too."

"Thanks for nothing, Ryan."

"Cassy, you've never been particularly adept in the kitchen. That's why you married me, remember?"

"Oh, is that why?"

"Well," he continued, flashing his brightest smile. "That and a few other things."

She blushed deeply, remembering the details of those few other things.' "You're hallucinating again. Your... cooking isn't that good."

"Oh yes it is." Reaching out, he snagged her arm as she brushed past him, pulling her up tightly against him.

She froze, momentarily caught up in the memories evoked by the feeling of his lean, hard body pressed against hers. "Down boy," she ordered, pushing him away. I invited you in for coffee; so drink up and get out."

His smile never faltered, but she could see the color change in his eyes. Pouring his full cup down the drain, he put the cup in the sink and walked out.

*Maybe I should have let him stay. What would have been the harm in a quick fling? Except it wouldn't have been a fling with Tom, he's not the fling type. If I'd known then.. would I have-*

A strong arm around her shoulders pulled her back to reality. She allowed herself a few seconds to relax into the embrace before breaking the silence. "Tell Tom I'll come see him tomorrow before work."

"I'll do that." Giving her a reassuring squeeze, Lyam dropped his arm and walked to the door. "You know, Cassy, you're the best daughter-in-law I've ever had."

She laughed at his words. "I'm the only daughter-in-law you've ever had. Besides, I'm an ex-daughter-in-law."

"Ex-daughter-in-law or not, you're still the best."

"Thanks."

"I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Cassy."

"Goodnight, Lyam."

Mechanically, she went through the motions of locking up and getting ready for bed. Slipping between the cool sheets, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling and fighting the memories of Tom lying in the bed beside her. Tonight she slept alone. And so did he.

The Lipschitz house was shrouded in darkness. Having a police captain on the block gave a sense of security to the other people in the neighborhood. They felt as if the badge protected them against harm. They didn't know that a badge was the flimsiest protection of all.

"Harry?" Fran's voice echoed through the darkened rooms.

"I'm in the living room, Frannie."

The soft scent of Chanel announced her presence. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?" She crossed the room and nestled beside him on the sofa.

I just couldn't sleep."

"Hesh, we've been together for a lifetime." She touched his arm gently. "What's wrong?"

"Every time I think about the shootingabout Tom...."

"You can't help thinking about Chris."

"Yeah."

She knew him so well. "And that's why you haven't gone to see him."

"No," he protested. "I've just been too busy with the investigation."

Her arms slipped around his waist. "Now tell me the real reason."

"I'm afraid, Frannie." He pulled in a long breath. "I'm afraid that I'm going to walk in there and find another empty bed."

"Tom isn't Chris. He's not going to die."

"We don't know that."

"No, we don't." She rested her head against his shoulder. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Harry, you need to stop living in the past. You're eating yourself up alive over this. It's got to stop. Chris wouldn't want this."

"I know." He sighed heavily, shifting position to take her into his arms. "It's just...."

"It's just that you care. Tom, and Chris, and all the others, are more to you than just officers under your command. You share in their joys and their sorrows. You're with them through all the phases of their lives.

"You're their captain, but you're also their friend. Cops are special people, they're a community--a family. And when one of the family is hurt, you all hurt."

His arms tightened around her, and she could feel his body trembling.

"This is my fault, Frannie. If I hadn't re-teamed Tom and Cassy-"

"Tom could still have been shot." She stroked his arm, taking the sting out of her words. "You're not God, Harry Lipschitz. You're a damn good police captain and one hell of a human being. You do the best you can for your people, but you are not responsible for everything that happens to them."

"I know, I know. In my head, I know, but in my heart.... It hurts, Fran, it hurts so badly. I don't know if I can take any more."

She kissed him. "I know. It hurts me, too. But we have to acknowledge that being hurt, or even killed, in the line of duty; is one of the truths that every cop, and every person who loves a cop, has to accept."

"Do you accept it?'

"In my head, yes. In my heartnever."

They sat silently, wrapped in their thoughts and fears.

Harry stirred. "Let's go back upstairs, honey, and try and get a little sleep while there's still some night left."

"And what about in the morning?"

"In the morning, I'm going to stop by the hospital and see Tom."

"I love you, Hesh."

"I love you, too, Frannie."

***********

Cassy's stack-heels clicked hollowly on the polished hospital floor. Everything here was so shiny, so clean. It was as if by presenting a gleaming, healthy exterior, death would be fooled into going away.

But death was never fooled. And God didn't make bargains. That was the first lesson she had learned as a homicide cop.

She'd just turned the corner to Tom's room when she saw the Ryans walk slowly out of the door, whispering together. Lyam held out his arms and she moved into his embrace. Pulling back, she asked what had come to be the ritual question. "How is he?"

"There's no change." Margaret's voice was heavy with unshed tears.

"Were you here all night?"

"Yeah," Lyam said, rubbing a hand across his face. "I've finally convinced Margaret to let me take her to Tom's for some food and rest."

Cassy nodded in agreement. "Good, you both look tired."

"Are you going to stay for a while?" Margaret asked.

"I can only stay for an hour." She looked away, ashamed at the small amount of time she'd actually spent with Tom since the shooting. "I have to go to work."

"That's all right." Margaret smiled tiredly. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Meg," Lyam spoke gently, "you need to get some rest."

"I dozed a little in the chair last night. I'm fine."

"Meg"

"No, Lyam. I don't want Tom to be alone when he wakes up."

"Okay, sweetheart." Giving Cassy a weary smile, he wrapped an arm around his wife and led her toward the elevators.

Gathering her courage around her, Cassy walked into her partner's room.

The respirator was gone, removed the day before. At least he was breathing on his own.

Easing into the chair placed at his bedside, she sat quietly studying his face. She used to love to watch him sleep. The lines of concern he wore so often during the day smoothed out. He looked younger, vulnerable, not at all the tough, seen-it-all homicide detective he presented to the world when he was on duty.

"You're a fraud, Thomas," she said quietly. "And so am I. I put on this big tough-cop act to cover-up all the insecurity inside. But you know that. You see through it all." She stopped, wiping away an escaping tear. "But you back me up anyway, and look where it's got you.

"There's a pattern here, you know. I'm only just seeing it. I screw up, and you get hurt." Reaching out, she took his unresponsive hand in hers. "It's going to stop, Tom. I promise."

She sat quietly for awhile, thinking, replaying in her mind those last few minutes in the warehouse.

"Hey," she continued, squeezing his hand. "I saw your parents a few minutes ago. They went out to get a bite to eatsomething other than hospital food.

"Oh, I almost forgot, we think we have a good lead in the case. We almost got him last night, Tom. He messed up and we almost had him. He'll mess up again, and that's when we'll get him."

Sitting back, she looked at Tom. Her free hand moved to his face, brushing the hair off his forehead. Someone had washed his hair, and he was freshly shaved. Her hand moved farther, tracing the scar over his right eye. That must have caused more worry for his parents. From the look of it, he'd probably come dangerously close to losing the eye. Her hand wandered down, caressing his cheek. More small scars peppered his face and neck, minor imperfections that marred the smooth surface of his skin.

"Tom, please, just open your eyes." She blinked against the sudden swell of moisture in her eyes. "You've been asleep long enough, Thomas. You need to wake up now." The tears fell. "For your parents," her voice dropped to a whisper. "And for me." Bringing his limp hand to her lips, she kissed it, finally giving in to the tears.

"Cassy."

Harry's quiet voice reached through her misery.

"Hi," she sniffed, brushing away the tears. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too." His smile was gentle as he bent to kiss her cheek. "Any word from the doctor?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him."

They sat together in companionable silence for a short time. Then Harry sighed. "I've got to get into the office."

"I'll come with you."

"No." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You stay here until the Ryans get back. Don't worry about being late." A crooked smile etched across his face. "I'll square it with your captain." With a soft squeeze to her shoulder, he left the room

They were together, just the two of them, holding hands. "You know," she laughed softly, "this is kinda like our first real date. That was really weird, do you remember? Here we'd worked together for all that time, been in and out of each other's homes, shared; oh, I don't know, must've been hundreds of meals, and all of a sudden we were like two shy teenagers. We sat at Hearts Afire holding hands and talking. You asked me to dance." She laughed softly, remembering how nervous she'd been. "I remember thinking that in all the time I'd known you, we'd never danced. I guess I never thought about you as the dancing type.

"Well, you sure fooled me. You were a wonderful dancer." She stopped, squeezing his hand again. "You still are. Wake up, Tom, and dance with me again, please."

His hand moved in hers. "Tom, did you just squeeze my hand?" She felt the slight pressure again. "Tom, can you hear me?"

A small sound escaped from his lips. His head moved slightly, his eyelids flickering open and shut.

"Come on, Tom, wake up," she urged, squeezing his hand again. "I know you're in there, Thomas, open your eyes." Her free hand stroked his face. "Please, open your eyes and look at me."

The eyelids flickered again, open and shut, like a butterfly's wings. Open and shut. And open.

She watched him intently, seeing the instant that recognition set infollowed by the pain of his injuries.

His head moved restlessly on the pillow, as if he were searching for something. Finally, he focused on her. "Cass...."

His voice was thin, raspy with disuse. It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. "I'm here, Tom." She groped for the call button, pressing quickly, off and on, to alert the nurse.

The woman answered the page almost instantly, entering the cubicle at a quick pace. "Mr. Ryan," she slowed and smiled warmly at the man. "I'm Gayle Richards, I've been taking care of you." Pulling out a penlight, she shined it in his eyes, noting pupil response. Then, taking his pulse, she counted slowly as she watched the rise and fall of his chest, measuring the respirations. Noting the numbers on his chart, she spoke quietly to him. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Tom," he stopped, licking his lips and swallowing against the dryness in this throat.

She reached for a small pitcher and poured ice chips into a cup. Taking a few out, she rubbed them against his lips, letting them melt into his mouth. "Your throat's going to be a little sore for the next few days, but it's nothing to worry about."

He nodded, acknowledging her words.

"Now, can you tell me your full name?"

"Tom," he licked his lips again and swallowed. "Thomas Patrick Ryan," he said slowly.

"Do you know where you are?'

He looked around the room, his eyes darting between all the equipment and Cassy's tear-streaked face. "Hospital?"

"Yes, that's good Mr. Ryan."

"How?" he began, only to be silenced by Nurse Richards's hand on his mouth.

"Shh, you need to get some rest," she soothed. "I'll page Dr. Franklin and he'll come by and talk with you. Until then, just lie still and try to relax." She turned to Cassy and smiled. "His pupil reflexes are normal and he knows his name, that's a good sign. Can you stay with him until Dr. Franklin gets here?"

"Sure." Cassy smiled nervously and turned her full attention to Tom as the door swished shut behind the nurse. "Hey," she said, stroking his cheek. "How are you feeling."

"Hurts," he whispered hoarsely.

"I know. It'll be okay, don't worry."

His brow furled in concentration. "..happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Warehouse. Followed you inside." He frowned again, rolling his head back and forth across the pillow. "Can'tcan't remember." He looked up helplessly. "What...?"

She licked her lips. It was time for truth. "You were shot. Murphy was in the warehouse. You spotted him, warned me down." She stopped, swallowing down guilty tears. "Then you stepped between him and me."

He nodded, trying to understand the words filtering through the fog in his brain. Turning his head he could see all the equipment in the small room, feel the pinpricks of the IV lines running into his body, feel the discomfort of other tubes running out. "Howhow bad?"

She could read the fear in his eyes. "It was bad, but you're getting better." His expression didn't change. "I swear, Tom, you'll recover without any permanent side effects. Look," she said, needing to steer the subject onto safer ground. "Dr. Franklin, he's your surgeon, he'll be here soon, and he'll answer all your questions. Your folks'll be back soon, too. They'll be so glad to see you awake."

"My parents?" He swallowed again. He knew it had to be bad if his parents were here. "They okay?"

"They will be once they know you're conscious."

"How long was I out?"

"Almost four days."

"Four?" He closed his eyes then, pulling in a steadying breath, more aware with every passing minute of the needles of pain in his chest and abdomen. Opening his eyes, a tear slipped out, rolling into the short hair at his temples. "Hurts, Cass. Hurts bad."

"I know." She squeezed his hand, aware that she was still holding it after all this time. "When Dr. Franklin comes, he'll give you something for the pain."

He nodded, too tired to do anything but lie there, holding her hand, enjoying the feel of her skin against his as the pain washed over him in waves. He was just giving in to the tide, when he heard the sound of rubber soles against the linoleum floor.

Pulling the tattered edges of his consciousness together, he focused on the man walking through the door.

"Hello, Mr. Ryan, I'm Dr. Franklin. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"Hurts."

"I know. I'll have the nurse bring you something for the pain."

Tom shook his head slowly. "Fuzzy, can'tcan't think."

"You've been unconscious for a long while. It's perfectly normal for you to feel that way." Franklin pulled a stethoscope from his pocket, turning to Cassy while he positioned the earpieces. "I'm going to examine him now. You'll have to step outside. Why don't you call his parents and let them know he's awake."

"Sure." Reluctantly, she let go of Tom's hand. "I'll be back soon," she said, brushing the stray hairs off his forehead.

"Okay," he whispered back.

Thirty minutes and two phone calls later, Cassy and the Ryans stood anxiously outside the intensive care unit. The doors swung open outward as Franklin pushed his way through.

"How's he doing?" Anxiety bled over into Lyam's voice.

"He's doing as well as can be expected, Mr. Ryan." Franklin's voice projected professional calm. "Why don't we go into the lounge, and I'll give you all the details and answer any questions you have."

Settling into the lounge, Cassy asked the question uppermost in their minds. "What about the bullet?"

"I'm hoping that by the end of the week we'll be able to go in after it."

"That's not for another four days," she protested. "Why are you waiting?"

"He's still very weak."

"But," Lyam interrupted, "you said he's doing well."

"He is, Mr. Ryan, but he's still not strong enough for another five to six hours of surgery. We just have to wait a while longer."

"But what if the bullet moves?" Cassy asked.

"Depending on the direction and distance, we may have to operate sooner if that happens." Franklin rose to his feet. "I've ordered some tests which will give us a better understanding of his current condition. Right now, let's just focus in on the fact that he's out of the coma and appears to be doing quite well."

Margaret came forward, taking Franklin's hand. "Thank you for everything you've done for our son."

"You're welcome, but I couldn't have done it without his help. He's a fighter. I'll check back later and let you know what the test results show." Shaking hands all around, Franklin walked away.

Cassy pulled her cell phone out of her purse. "I have to call in to the station. You two go see Tom. Tell him I'll be by to see him later." She hugged the Ryans and watched as they walked down the hall to see their son. Tossing her head and wiping her face, she turned her attention back to her job.

**********

Several hours, and no more leads later, Cassy returned to the hospital.

Tom's room was silent, save for the comforting sound of the heart monitor. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of his life.

Her heels clicked on the floor and his eyes opened. "Hi."

She smiled. "Hi yourself. How are you feeling?"

He lifted his hand toward her and she took it in her own. "Like I've been shottwice."

"I'm so sorry."

"S okay," he shrugged, immediately regretting the movement. Then his eyes narrowed as he focused in on her. "How're you?"

"I'm fine," her smile weakened.

"Don't lie, Cassy; not here, not now."

"Damn you, Thomas," she whispered, fighting the tears she refused to allow to fall. "I hate it that you know me so well."

He shook his head, a wistful smile flitting across his lips. "Not so well... if I did, we might still be married."

There was nothing she would say to that. Lifting her chin, she addressed his earlier statement. "Okay, so I'm not all that fine. I'm frustrated that Murphy got away. I'm angry that we can't stir up any leads. I'm mad at myself for letting Harry pull me off that stripper before I could make her talk. I'm...."

"Say it Cass, it won't be so bad if you say the words." His gentle voice broke through the defensive wall she'd erected between herself and her guilt.

"I'm mad at myself." She swallowed, blinking quickly. "Because I let you get shot."

"Let me?" His voice was incredulous. "How did you let me' get shot?"

"I let it happen, Tom!" Suddenly the room was too small; he was too close. "I went into that warehouse and made you a target! It's my fault!" She slammed her hand against the side of his bed. "It's all my fault."

"Look at me."

The soft command penetrated the fury she'd wrapped around her. Forcing herself, she met his steady gaze, surprised at the lack of anger in his stare.

"You didn't do this to me."

"I disobeyed a direct order. I went inside instead of waiting for backup. I"

"I chose to go in after you," he cut her off. "Me. My decision, not Harry's, not anybody else's, and certainly not yours. Me." He lifted his hand, gently grazing her cheek. "No more taking the blame. Cops sometimes get hurt in the line of duty. It's a fact of life. It happened. It'll probably happen again." His eyes closed for a moment. "I'm tired, Cass, too tired to fight with you about this. Just let it go, okay?"

She clasped the hand he'd lifted to her cheek. "Okay."

He smiled tightly, accepting her word. "So, how's the investigation going?"

"We almost got him last night, but he slipped away at the last second," she admitted ruefully. "He'll make another mistake, and when he does, we'll get him."

"I know you will." The slight smile was back, the one that made her feel that all would be right with her world again. "Just do me one favor?'

"What?" she asked with a trace of her old annoyance. She didn't want him to guess how deeply she was affected by what had happened to him. She didn't want to give him any ammunition in the skirmishes between them.

"When you do catch this guy, don't go playing Jane Wayne."

"Tom"

"Please, promise me." His voice was weaker; he just didn't have the energy to fight with her. His eyes drifted shut.

"Okay." Taking a deep breath, she lowered his hand, tucking it under the blanket. "I promise."

He nodded slightly, too tired to speak.

The door swished open. Tom levered his eyelids apart before his parents could notice that he'd been drifting off. He'd been out of it for four days, why was he feeling so tired now? "Hi, guys," he managed, forcing his mouth to smile.

"Oh, Tommy," his mother sighed, bending close to kiss his cheek. "I'm so happy you finally woke up."

"How are you feeling, son?"

"I'm tired, Dad." He couldn't force his eyes open any longer. "So tired...."

The door opened again and Nurse Richards walked in. "Okay everyone, you'll have to clear out now."

"But," Margaret protested, "he's only just woken up this morning."

"I know," Richards said briskly. "But being in a coma isn't the same as sleeping soundly. He's been through a hard time and his body needs rest so it can heal." Picking up Tom's wrist, she did a pulse check and noted the numbers on his chart. "I'm going to get an injection that will help him sleep. You'll have to say your goodbyes now." Turning on a crepe heel, she left the room.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," Lyam said gently as he patted his son's shoulder.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm kinda tired anyway." He took a long hard look at his parents. When had they gotten old? "You two look like you need some sleep, too. Go on, go back to my place and rest for a while, okay?"

"I don't want to leave the hospital," his mother said.

"Mom...."

"Tom's right," Cassy said. "You two need your rest, and I've got a case to solve."

"Bye, son."

"Bye, Tommy."

"See you later." He watched his parents walk out of the room, followed by his partner. "Cass?"

She turned back. It hurt to see him looking so ill, lying in that white hospital bed. "Yeah?'

"Don' forget... promise."

She smiled, feeling ashamed. For all the pain he was in, his first thought was for her. "I won't forget. I promise." She stood quietly for a moment, watching him succumb to sleep and then followed the Ryans out.

***************

The usual squadroom chaos greeted Cassy as she walked through the bullpen door. Phones were ringing, detectives and uniforms moved briskly back and forth through the open room. Moving quickly, she crossed to Harry's office, eyes studiously avoiding the island of quiet that was her partner's desk.

"Harry?" She leaned against the doorframe, waiting for his acknowledgment.

He glanced at her over the rim of his glasses. "I thought you'd be here later than this."

"I got chased out by Nurse Ratchet."

"How's he doing?"

"Better." A warm smile crossed her lips. "He's doing much better." She slipped into a chair facing his desk. "Any word from the surveillance teams?"

"Nothing."

"Damn," she swore, biting her lip. "He's messed up once. He's going to mess up again."

"And when he does," Harry interjected, "we'll get him. But right now we just have to wait." He grimaced, knowing how much she hated waiting.

"I'm going through the files again." Pushing up out of the chair, she moved toward his office door. "There's got to be something we've missed."

"Easy, Cassy," he warned. "We've got to make sure we've got a solid case against this guyno mistakes. We don't want to be accused of bias because a cop got shot."

She smiled tightly and nodded, knowing how easily the case could go under. *Not this time. I'm not gonna let that bastard get away with shooting my partner.*

**************

Dawn Harper looked at the reflection of the early night sky in her mirror. She always kept the curtains open on her bedroom window. Sitting at her dressing table, she could see her image surrounded by stars. The sight made her sigh and dream of the days to come. The days when she'd be dancing in a Broadway show instead of a strip club.

"And it's gonna happen, too," she said to her reflection.

"What's gonna happen, baby?"

The rough voice startled her. Jumping up, she spun around, ready to scream. The sound died in her throat as she recognized the huge figure in the shadows. "Patrick, what are you doing here?"

"Now, baby, is that any way to greet your lover?" He walked past her and stretched out on her bed. "Come here, baby, I missed you."

"You can't stay here," she protested, glancing toward the darkened street outside. "There're cops all over."

"I saw them," he sneered. Lunging up, he caught her by the wrist, pulling her back down onto the bed with him.

She pushed against him as he rolled on top of her. "Please, Patrick, it's almost six thirty, I have to go to work."

"You're not going anywhere." He ripped the halter top from around her neck. "We still have to finish our little talk from the other night." He settled himself more firmly on top of her, trapping her hands with one of his. "Now, lover, what did you tell the cops?"

"Nothing, I swear." She lay pinned under his greater weight. "I can't breathe."

"You're having trouble breathing? Okay, baby." He rolled slightly to one side, releasing her wrists and wrapping his fingers around her throat. "How's this?" he grinned, tightening his fingers until she no longer struggled beneath him. "So long, baby, thanks for the memories."

Easing himself off the body, he moved to the dresser on the other side of the room. Quickly rifling through the drawers, he grabbed the few pieces of good jewelry she'd owned. Stuffing them into his pockets, he left as silently as he'd entered.

Cassy checked her watch. *8:30pm, another whole day gone without a lead.* She knew the odds. The longer Murphy eluded capture, the higher his odds of getting away.

She paused just outside of the ICU. Tom was still here, the only patient left from the group that had been in the unit when he'd come in. People didn't stay long in ICU; it was a temporary stop. Patients either got better and moved to another floor or they died. Tom was the exception. Until Dr. Franklin felt he was strong enough to survive the surgery, the second bullet stayed in Tom, and Tom stayed in intensive care.

Taking a deep breath, Cassy put a smile on her face and walked into his room.

He appeared to be sleeping, but his eyes blinked open at the sound of her footsteps. "Hi."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he smiled. "The nurses have been taking turns doing that every half-hour."

She pulled a chair up to his bedside. "What have they been doing to you?"

"You name it, they've done it."

She smiled in sympathy. "Where are your parents?"

"I spoke to them on the phone." He smiled conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Got that pretty little nurses' aide to smuggle in a cell phone so I could call them. Told them not to come back until tomorrow afternoon."

"That's good," she agreed. "They've been here night and day ever since they brought you in here."

"I figured as much." His expression turned serious. "Cass?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep an eye on them for me, okay?"

"Sure."

"How's the case going?"

She shrugged, not wanting to admit the lack of progress.

He knew exactly what she wasn't saying. They weren't any closer to catching Murphy than they were before he got shot. "So who's Harry got you teamed up with now?"

"Harry."

Tom nodded slowly. "Makes sense."

"How so?" she challenged. She hated working with Harry and Tom knew it. Harry was a great boss, but a lousy partner. He never let her take the lead, and he never let her forget that he outranked her. On the other hand, if it wasn't for Harry, she wouldn't have Tom for a partner again.

"Cass?"

"Hmm?"

"You're drifting. I'm the patient; that's my job, remember?"

"So it is." She smiled at him, brushing the short hair off his forehead.

"Why does everyone do that?" he asked with a trace of annoyance in his tone.

"Do what?"

"Play with my hair?"

She shrugged, not willing to admit the affection that went along with the gesture. "Maybe because you'd look more like a grown-up with your hair not falling in your eyes."

"Yeah," he said disgustedly. "Right." He shifted position slightly and frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a stitch in my side. I'm fine." He looked around the small room, so he wouldn't have to look at the concern in her eyes.

He'd fallen in love with those eyes at their first meeting. No matter what look was on her face, or what words were coming from her mouth, he could always see the truth in her eyes. And he didn't want to see the truth now. He didn't want to see the fear hiding behind the blue depths. He knew that fear was for him, and he was afraid enough for the both of them.

Cassy watched him closely as he talked, seeing how his fingers picked restlessly at the blanket covering him. He was one of the most laid-back people she knew, but living with him, partnering him, loving him, had opened her eyes to his body language. He was scared, he'd never admit it, but he was. "So," she said softly, taking one restless hand in hers, "tell me how you're really feeling."

He gave her a wan smile. "Not so hot."

"What's wrong?"

Shrugging, he turned his face away from her. "It was close this time." His voice was so soft she could barely hear him. "I've had a lot of time to think, Cass. About my life, the way I've lived it." His eyes returned to meet hers. "The mistakes I've made. I've hurt the people I love."

"No."

"Yes. My parents, I see it in their eyes every time they walk in here. They hate that I'm a cop."

She shook her head. "They're very proud of you."

"Maybe, but they're scared. I'd never seen that before."

"Tom, it's only natural they'd feel that way now, after what's happened. But they're also very proud of you--of your decision to dedicate your life to helping others."

"Yeah, maybe," he said quietly. His eyes darted randomly around the room, looking everywhere but at her. "I hurt you, too."

Now it was Cassy's turn to look away. "No, if that was anyone's fault it was mine."

"Cass--" He hitched in a quick breath, reflexively squeezing her hand.

"What's wrong?"

"I--" He couldn't speak. Pain exploded through his lower back. His face paled and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

The pressure on her hand increased. "Tom? Tom!"

He was breathing faster, short shallow gasps.

"Tom, what's wrong?"

She was on her feet, scrambling for the call button.

His eyes rolled back and his grip on her fingers loosened.

"Tom!"

Two nurses ran into the room, shoving Cassy aside.

"His pressure's dropping. He's going into arrhythmia," one said. "Page Dr. Franklin."

"I'm here." Franklin burst into the tiny room. He did a quick visual scan of his patient and picked up the phone. Punching in an extension, he shouted into the receiver. "Get Webster and tell him to pull the team together in OR 3. We'll be there in one minute." Slamming down the receiver, he turned to the two nurses. "Get him down there now!"

An orderly joined the small crowd and helped the nurses release the locks on the wheels. Together they hustled the bed out of the unit, on its way to the operating room.

Cassy reached out, stopping the doctor in mid step as he followed his patient. "What's happening?'

"I think the bullet moved and he's hemorrhaging internally. We've got to go in and stop the bleeding."

"But you said he wasn't strong enough to survive the surgery."

"We don't have a choice now." He touched her shoulder in sympathy. "I'll do everything I can."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Then they were gone. She stood alone in the cold silence of the empty room. With a shaking hand, she dialed her captain's number. "Harry-"

"St. John," he broke in excitedly, "we just got a lead on Murphy. Meet me at General Savings and Loan, corner of Fifth and Brentwood." The line went dead as he cut off the call.

"On my way," she said dully to the broken circuit.

Running through the ICU, she nearly collided with one of Tom's nurses. "How..?"

"He's in surgery, that's all I know."

"My captain called." Cassy hesitated, torn between her desire to stay and her duty to go.

"I understand," the nurse smiled sympathetically. "I'll make sure Sgt. Ryan's parents are notified. We have the number where they're staying. You go do your job, Sergeant, and we'll do ours."

"You'll page me if."

"As soon as we know anything, I'll page you."

"Thanks." With a quick smile, Cassy was gone.

************

Fifteen minutes later, she was pulling the Mustang up alongside Harry's department vehicle. Throwing the car into park, she moved quickly to where he stood waiting.

"Where were you, Sergeant?" he snapped impatiently.

"Sorry, Captain." There was no point in telling him about Tom now.

"Dawn Harper is dead."

"When?"

"M.E. thinks about six-thirty, seven o'clock tonight. Her usual ride came to pick her up and discovered the body. It was still warm."

"Murphy?"

"Looks that way."

"I thought we had officers staking the place out."

"We did." Harry's face was grim. "They said they never saw a thing."

"Probably didn't," Cassy muttered. "Murphy's slick, damn him."

He thrust out his hand. "We found this on the floor next to her bed."

"A bank receipt." Cassy smiled knowingly. "So that's why we're here."

"Right. Dawn Harper banked at Palm Beach Savings, so why is this receipt on her floor?"

"Gee, I don't know, Harry," she smiled, pulling the door open and stepping aside to let him enter. "Shall we find out?"

"Sorry, Sir," a security guard said. "We're closing now."

Harry pulled out his badge and identification. "Not just yet."

Twenty minutes later they were back on the sidewalk.

"Interesting," Lipschitz muttered, looking at the slip of paper in his hand. "What would a bank receipt for Patrick Murphy's ex-wife's account be doing in Dawn Harper's bedroom?"

"Let's find out." Turning on her heel, Cassy moved toward her car. "I'll meet you there."

"Cassy!"

"What?"

"This time you wait for back-up. Understood?"

Her mood turned somber. "Understood." Looking up, she managed to avoid his eyes. "I need to make a quick call. I'll meet you there." She watched as he pulled the department car out into traffic. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed intensive care. "Hello, Ms. Richards, this is Cassy St. John. Still no word. Thank you." Disconnecting the call, she stuffed the phone in her purse. Disconnecting her heart, she got into the Mustang and roared off to meet her captain.

***********

By the time she got to Murphy's suspected location, several other squads had pulled into place.

Harry came up to her as she pulled into a parking space. "We've confirmed that he's in there."

"Looks like we're finally getting a break." She pulled her gun from her purse and checked the clip. "What's the plan, Skipper?"

"The apartment's on the second floor," he said quietly, walking up to the building's main entrance. "We've got two units covering the back and another two watching from that building across the street. He won't get away this time."

Together they made their way to the door of the apartment. Harry looked at his officer. "On three." He saw her answering nod as she positioned herself to one side of the door. "One, two-" On "three," he kicked the door open and they both lunged into the apartment. "Police, freeze!"

A noise from the back alerted them to their suspect's flight.

Cassy pushed past her captain. "I'll follow, call back-up." She was gone before he could utter a word of protest.

In the back hallway, she stopped, listening for the sound of heavy footsteps. She wasn't disappointed, she could hear the pounding steps and heavy breathing as Murphy tried to make his escape. She smiled tightly. *I know where you are, and I know where you're going. You won't get away this time, you bastard.* Swiftly, she followed her prey up the stairs toward the roof.

Murphy pushed through the heavy door leading to the rooftop. Everything happened so fast, he hadn't even had time to reach for his gun. Panting for breath, he paused, considering his options. A noise behind alerted him. Spinning, he saw Cassy, gun ready, standing in the doorway.

"Hold it right there, Murphy."

Sneering, he advanced on her. "You really think you can take me, girlie?" Slowly his hand moved toward his belt and the weapon tucked into the back of his waistband.

Her chin came up as she tightened her grip on her gun. "Go ahead, Murphy, go for it." His hand moved an inch and her finger tightened on the trigger. "Please, give me a reason to shoot you."

The door opened behind them and Lipschitz came out onto the roof, followed by several more officers. "Cassy."

She never moved, her whole being focused on the man in front of her. "Go on, Murphy, what are you waiting for?" Her voice was low, devoid of any emotion.

He was looking at his death, and he knew it. Slowly, he pulled his hands away from his body, dropping to his knees. "Don't."

"Why not?" she asked, moving closer to him. "You never gave your victims the option, did you?"

He began to tremble. "Please, don't shoot me."

She shook her head slowly. "You never gave my partner the chance, either." She moved closer, resting the gun between his eyes. "You shot him in cold blood." She began to shake. "You stepped up and pulled the trigger and shot him twice!"

"Cassy, no!"

Harry yelled, but it was Tom's voice she heard. Slowly, she took a step back, lowering her gun.

The uniforms rushed the kneeling man, dragging him to his feet, pulling out the hidden gun, and handcuffing him securely.

"Make sure he's Mirandized," Lipschitz ordered. "Then get him the hell out of here." He waited until Murphy had been removed before turning to his detective. "Cassy, you okay?"

She'd retreated to the other side of the roof, needing to put as much distance between herself and Murphy as she possibly could. When she'd put her gun away, she'd pulled out her phone and was just breaking the connection when he came up to her.

"Cassy?"

She looked up, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I went to see Tom this evening. We were talking and," she stopped, sniffing and wiping a hand across her wet face. "And he started hemorrhaging. Dr. Franklin thinks the bullet shifted. They were taking him up to surgery when you called."

"My god, Cassy, why didn't you tell me?"

"There wasn't anything we could do for him. All we could do was find Murphy and make sure he never hurts anyone else ever again."

"What did they say?" he asked, dreading her answer.

"There's no news. He's still in surgery."

Nodding slowly, Harry put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's get back to the hospital. Murphy can stew in lockup for a while."

"No." She spoke resolutely, pulling away from him and moving to the exit. "I need to see this thing through all the way. I'm going back to the station to book the creep myself. I'll see you back there." She was through the door before he could protest.

"You can't run away from this, Cassy," he said softly. "Sooner or later you're going to have to go back to that hospital and face the truth." Shaking his head tiredly, he walked slowly from the roof gathering his strength for the rest of the long night ahead.

Five long hours had passed since Cassy had left Palm Beach General. Five hours during which she'd caught a killer and seen to it that the legal net around him would bind him tightly for years to come. Five hours during which she focused on everything and everyone but the man closest to her heart. Five hours during which she didn't know whether Tom Ryan lived or died.

She couldn't run away any more. Offering up a silent prayer, she pushed open the door to the surgical waiting room.

They were all standing there. Dr. Franklin, in his surgical greens, looking weary beyond words, had his hand on Lyam's shoulders. The senior Ryan was holding his wife tightly against his chest. They were crying.

"Oh, God, no," Cassy whispered.

Lyam heard her. Turning his tear streaked face toward her, he held out his arm, beckoning her into the embrace.

Margaret lifted her head, looking at Cassy. "He's all right," she sobbed. "Tommy's all right."

Cassy moved into their arms and sobbed her relief and joy together with them. They clung together tightly, bonded by their love for a single man.

Dr. Franklin moved toward the door. "I've got to go and get him settled in. As soon as he's set, I'll have one of the nurses come and get you."

Cassy held out her hand. "Thank you, doctor, for saving him."

Franklin smiled broadly as he shook her hand. "He did all the work. He's a tough man, I wish all of my patients had his inner strength. Good night."

Lyam laughed. "Inner strength, wonder where he gets that from?"

"Pig-headed stubborn Irish, is more like it." Margaret smiled fondly at her husband, then turned to Cassy. "We know why you weren't here. The nurse told us. Did you get him?"

"We got him. He'll never have the chance to hurt anyone ever again," she said firmly. "Come on, Margaret, let's get our faces washed before we see Tom."

"Good idea," Lyam chuckled. "You two look like a couple of damp raccoons."

Margaret linked arms with Cassy, walking the younger woman from the room. "Oh, that Ryan charm," she said, laughing out loud. "It's a wonder I've let him live this long."

*************

The sun was shining through the hospital room window, painting gold streaks through Tom's hair as he slept. Cassy sat quietly, content to watch him. He'd roused slightly earlier, just long enough to say a few words to his parents and then drift off into a healing sleep. The Ryans had left to grab a few hours of much needed rest. Sleep would come easily now that Tom was out of danger. But she couldn't sleep, not yet. There were things she needed to say.

"I got him, Tom. He'll be put away for the rest of his life, Harry and I'll see to that for you.

"Good," he whispered, as his eyes slowly opened. "Now he won't hurt anyone else."

"Yeah."

Even through the haze of medication he could hear the disappointment in her tone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Squeezing his hand, she forced a smile.

"Gimme."

She couldn't fool him. "We didn't get him soon enough. He killed his girlfriend."

Tom's mouth tightened in dismay. "I'm sorry, Cass."

"Sorry? Why should you be sorry?" She stood and began pacing across the small room. "It's my fault, damn it. I lost him at the strip club, and he came back and killed another innocent woman!"

"She wasn't innocent." He pulled in a cautious breath, trying to gather his reserves for the fight to get through to her. "She covered for Murphy. You said so yourself."

She couldn't face him. She needed the anger to keep up the shield between them. Without it, she'd be forced to admit that he was right.

Tom sighed softly. They'd danced this dance before, and he just didn't have the energy to do it again. "Tell me how you caught him."

Cassy stopped in mid-pace. Turning to face him fully, she looked straight into his eyes. "Truth?'

He grinned. "Truth."

"We tracked him to his ex-wife's apartment. Harry called in the troops and we had the building cut off.

"Murphy heard us coming and he fled up the stairs to the roof. I followed him up while Harry called for backup."

"Alone?" The concern was clear on his face.

She ignored it. "I had him, Tom, dead to rights. I had my gun pointed right between his eyes." She stopped, watching his eyes widen at her words. "I didn't." She smiled at him and saw the tension leave his body. "I wanted to do it, Tom. I wanted to see him lying on the ground with the blood running out of his body."

*Like me,* he thought grimly. "But you didn't pull the trigger."

"No." She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I heard your voice in my head, telling me not to do it."

It was Tom's turn to look away.

"All I could think about was you, fighting for your life, while that bastard was roaming around free, hurtingkilling people." She turned back, searching his face. "Why? Why couldn't I do it?"

"Because," he said gently, "you believe in the system."

"The system." She nodded, giving a rueful laugh. "Yeah, I guess I do."

They sat together quietly for a while, until Tom felt he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Slowly he drifted into sleep. His last moment of awareness was the touch of Cassy's lips on his brow.

"Sleep well, Tom. I'll see you later."

He relaxed, letting sleep overtake him, secure in the knowledge that, for the moment, all was right with his world.

~finis~

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