Rykker finished pouring himself a drink as his brother and Kermit entered the room.

"Find out anything?" asked Sinclair.

Plopping down onto the nearest bar stool, Kermit added, "Hope you've got some good news for us."

"Where's Peter at the moment?" Rykker looked across at his brother.

"He's entertaining Miss Santana in the dining room. So what did you find out?"

"Laureano, or at least certain members of his organization, are definitely responsible for Lonny Stevens' and Jesse Ames' attempt on Peter's life. Paul got that much out of them. As we speak, they are searching for one Albert Blandero. He's the one the Ames kid identified as his contact."

"Hiring a couple of incompetents doesn't make much sense, especially those two," reflected Kermit.

"I'm not so sure." Rykker's eyes locked with Sinclair's.

"What do you mean?"

"It could be that they were never meant to succeed." He watched as understanding suddenly flashed across his companion's faces.

"Decoys." Both ex-mercenaries spoke at the same time.

Rykker continued, "They hire a hit man, a professional, but first they send in a couple of incompetents."

"Counting on them to fail," added Sinclair."

"We drop our guard…"

"And the professional steps up to bat," finished Kermit. "Damn!"

***

Raising the riffle, he nestles it comfortably against his right shoulder as his target steps out onto the porch, just behind the woman. His patience will soon bear fruit. Sighting down the scope, he waits patiently for the woman to step out of the way. He watches them hug and then a brief kiss. He is quite familiar with this particular cop's reckless disregard for his own safety and it is that very behavior he has been counting on to bring this job to a quick and successful conclusion. It will be an easy kill.

***

"You shouldn't be out here, Peter. Please, go back inside. I am perfectly capable of seeing myself to my own car."

"Haven't you heard, I am indestructible. Besides, a few seconds can't hurt."

"Well, I need to be going, so I will see you Friday. What time should I be here?"

"Is eight too early?"

"Not for me. I'll look forward to it. Now you get back inside, Caine."

***

He stands in the shadows, silent and lethal, watching the woman as she turns away from the man. He waits until she is clear of his target. Time slows. There is only the strong, steady beating of his heart as he applies a steady pressure to the trigger. And then it happens! In a split second of time, deep within his brain, recognition explodes and with cat-like reflexes, he pulls his shot. "Shit!" <Out of time!> He snatches up the gun case. No time to return the rifle to its carrier. He sprints for the spot along the lake's shore where his boat waits, hidden among the tall grasses.

***

The shot registers in her subconscious a split second before the resounding crack of the rifle shot becomes a conscious thought. Turning, she watches with horror as the scene before her begins to unfold in gruesome detail, clicking before her eyes like an old movie; slowly, frame by frame. Click…he's spinning away from her back through the doorway. Click…his body collides with the polished tiles of the entranceway with a sickening thud. Click…his right arm moves across his chest, fingers grabbing at his left shoulder. Click… shock and fear register in his hazel eyes. Click…Pain telegraphs itself through every inch of his writhing body. Somehow she finds her voice, screaming out his name. "Peter!"

***

"What does Paul say?" asked P.T.

"He talked to Donny Double D. Peter's snitch says the word on the street is that Laureano is calling the shots from his jail cell and has put out a contract on Peter. He's hired a professional. He doesn't know who it is, yet, but he is keeping his ear to the ground. Paul is…"

The rifle shot registered instantly. Springing to their feet while simultaneously drawing their guns, the three men sprinted toward the sound of the panicked female scream. Arriving at the open front door, P.T. and Rykker quickly slid Peter deeper into the safety of the entranceway. Kermit, jerking Delanie Santana back inside the house, slammed the door closed behind them with a swift kick.

"Peter?" Kneeling down, Sinclair gave the wound a quick perusal. Deciding that, although no doubt painful, the wound appeared to be blessedly superficial, he quickly waved off the other two ex-mercenaries with a, "It's not serious. Go! Go!"

Taking off at a dead run, Kermit and Rykker soon exit through the back door. The possibility of the shooter still being in the immediate area was remote at best, but they needed absolute confirmation. Reaching the backyard, the two men separated, melting into the canopy of trees on opposite sides of the house.

"Is he okay? Shouldn't we call an ambulance?"

"No. He'll be fine." Carefully lifting the bloody, singed edges of Peter's shirtsleeve with his fingertips, P.T. gently enlarged the hole in the damaged material .

Hissing through gritted teeth, Peter groaned. "Damn, that hurts!"

"Yeah, I know, kid, but it's not deep. Once we clean it out and get it bandaged, you'll be almost as good as new. Let's get you up onto your feet and into the other room."

Delanie did her best to assist Sinclair in getting the young cop on his feet. Finally upright, Peter began to waver alarmingly as dizziness washed over him. Dropping his head forward, he rested it against his grandfather's shoulder. Sinclair held him firmly, waiting for the vertigo to pass. As soon as he sensed that his grandson was stable enough, he and Delanie shuffled Peter into the adjoining room, just off the entryway, and carefully lowered him into the room's only chair. Sinclair tilted it back to a reclining position.

"Don't move. I'll be right back."

Delanie moved around the chair to take a closer look at the wound. "It doesn't look deep, but it is still bleeding a little."

"Well, it hurts like hell!" Moaning, Peter rolled his head away from her.

Reentering the room, P.T. placed the small tray he carried, containing various first aid materials, on the table next to the recliner. Picking up a small pair of scissors, he began cutting away the material with precision. It was not the first wound he had ever had to dress, but it certainly was one of the more emotional ones.

Suddenly, Fredricco swept into the room, wringing his hands. "Oh my god, oh my god! Mr. Peter! Mr. Peter! Are you dead?"

"Ricco, calm down! Obviously he is not dead."

"Oh, Mr. Sinclair. It was terrible! I am in the kitchen. I hear what I think to be a shot. I run out of the kitchen to see what has happened. I see everyone running to the door and then I see Mr. Peter on the floor. I think he must be dead! My heart, it almost stops!"

"Ricco, Peter is going to be just fine. It's not much more than a scratch. Now go back in the kitchen and….bake something!" He dismissed his agitated chef with a wave of his hand.

"I thank the angels in heaven for Mr. Peter's life, and President of these United States, and Mrs. Liberty Statue, and…"

"Ricco, now!"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Sinclair, yes sir. I go. Maybe bake something for…"

"Go!"

Whirling around, the wiry little chef sashayed out of the room as quickly as he had entered, his footsteps echoing off down the hallway.

Turning his head away from his grandfather, Peter focused on Delanie's face. "You okay?"

"Well, I'm not the one laying in a chair bleeding. God, Peter, you could have been killed! You scared the hell out of me! The whole thing scared the hell out of me."

"Like I said, I am indestructible."

"That is not funny, Caine!"

"I know. Ouch!"

"Sorry. Try to hold still. I'm almost finished."

"Where's Kermit and Uncle Rykker?"

"Checking the area. Okay, that should do it."

Struggling to move the recliner back to an upright position, Peter felt his grandfather's strong hand on his chest, holding him in place.

"Stay put."

"I'm okay."

"You were just shot, so don't even start with me! You are not going anywhere. If I have to tie you to that chair, Peter, I will. Now stay put!"

"Yes, sir, but what about Lanie?"

"I'm a big girl. I can find my way home by myself, Detective. After all, people are not shooting at me. Listen, I will call you tomorrow and see how you're doing and if you feel up to it, I will see you Friday morning for breakfast."

"Don't worry, I'll feel up to it. I really am sorry about all this, Delanie."

"Unless you shot yourself, I hardly think this was your fault, Peter. I'm just grateful you are relatively unscathed."

Rykker entered the room. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah, just a flesh wound."

Glancing at his brother, he received a confirming nod.

"He'll be okay. Find anything?"

"No, but not unexpected. Heard an outboard in the distance. The shooter probably had a boat tied up somewhere nearby."

"Is he okay?" Kermit came rushing into the room, concern clouding his eyes.

"I'm fine, Kermit."

"If no one objects, I think it would be best if I went back to my aunt's house now."

"Would you like one of us to follow you home?"

"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair, but I'll be fine." Bending down, she gently brushed her lips across Peter's forehead. "I'll see you Friday?"

"You bet. I'm really sorry about all of this."

"Stop apologizing, Detective." Delanie exited the room, followed closely by Sinclair.

Peter yawned. Rykker and Kermit watched his eyes slowly close. The young man's breathing soon confirmed that their wayward charge was asleep. Grabbing a throw from the back of the small, velveteen loveseat, Rykker spread it over the exhausted young cop. Both men quietly left the room just as Sinclair and Paul Blaisdell walked through the front door.

"Oh yeah, did I mention I called Paul?" grinned Kermit.

"I figured it out when he drove up just as Miss Santana was driving off. I was a bit surprised until he explained he had already been in route when you called him."

"A forensic team is on its way. Maybe they can find something."

Sinclair pointed back down the hallway at shattered shards of glass littering the floor. "My guess is, Paul, that the bullet is probably buried somewhere in that far wall, just behind the table where that vase was sitting."

"We're also pretty sure that whoever it was used a boat to get in and out. We heard the sound of an outboard in the distance when we were out checking the perimeter a few minutes ago. Have them take a look along the shore. Maybe in his rush to leave, the shooter got careless," added Kermit.

Expressions of relief quickly replaced deep lines of worry as P.T. and Blaisdell looked in on Peter fast asleep in the recliner. Turning, both men headed for the rec. room with Kermit and Rykker in tow.

Entering the room, Rykker immediately headed for the small bar and quickly poured himself a drink from a bottle he snatched from beneath its highly polished surface. "Anybody need anything?"

"Yeah, I'll take a beer, if you have one back there."

Rykker opened the door of a small refrigerator built into the wall behind him and extracted a can, sliding it across the bar straight into Kermit's waiting hands.

Popping the top, the detective took a long draw of the cold amber liquid.

"P.T.? Paul?"

"No thanks," responded both men.

Turning away from the window, Sinclair spoke, "Can anybody tell me what the hell just happened?"

"We know it was a pro," responded Kermit.

"Who missed," added Rykker.

Sinclair, shook his head. "Professional hit men do not miss."

"Unless he intentionally missed," suggested Rykker. "Not that that makes much sense."

"What the hell are we missing?" There was an unmistakable challenge in P.T.'s voice.

Running a hand through his hair, Paul took a deep breath, "Okay, let's take it from the beginning. Break it down for me, gentlemen."

"Miss Santana stated that she stepped out onto the verandah and Peter stepped out behind her, leaving the door open," stated P.T.

"When did she tell you this?" asked Paul.

"After I walked her to her car, right before you drove up. She swears he was no more than a foot away from the door. They discussed their breakfast date, hugged, kissed and she turned to leave, taking maybe two steps. She glanced back over her shoulder just in time to see Peter fall back through the doorway. She couldn't tell where the shot came from."

"But why did he take so long to take his shot?" queried Kermit. "After all, this guy must have spent some time hanging around, spying, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself."

"Obviously the kid and his lady have a history," said Rykker. "So from the time they stepped out onto the porch until she turned to leave, they were probably separated by no more than a foot or two…"

"Blocking Peter from the shooter's view," interjected Kermit.

"They hug, kiss, she turns and starts walking away," said P.T.

"Exposing Peter to the assassin," added Kermit
Rykker, continuing with their line of reasoning, spoke, "He squeezes off a shot; a sure kill…"

"But at the very last second, for some reason, he pulls the shot, only grazing Peter. The question is, why?" asked P.T.

"Well," Kermit said, "whatever the cause, it must have happened almost simultaneously with the pulling of the trigger."

P.T. and Paul declared simultaneously, "Delanie Santana!"

"You think the lady is the key?" Kermit's expression reinforced his tone of doubt.

"It's the closest thing to a lead we've managed to come up with so far. It's certainly worth checking out," stated Rykker.

"She seemed pretty hot for the kid, not to mention the lady is an Assistant District Attorney. How in the hell could she be involved?" speculated Kermit.

"Maybe she is not aware that she is," suggested P.T.

"Well, I have to get back to the station and see what information I can dredge up on one Delanie Santana. I'll let you know what, if anything, I find. Take care of my son." Blaisdell exited the room, heading for the front door and his sedan parked in front.

***

Opening the side drawer of his desk, Marco Tomaseli reached inside and pulled out a heavy glass ashtray resting on top of a stack of yellowed papers and slid it across to the man sitting opposite him.

"Put that damned thing out, you're stinking up my office. I thought you quit that nasty habit."

"I did." Leonardo Russo snubbed out his cigarette. "I started again. So why do you have an ashtray in your office, if smoking isn't allowed?"

"It makes a good paper weight."

"I know you didn't call this meeting just to discuss my health, so what's up, Marco?"

"I have a little problem, Leo, and I need your help."

"Must be serious, old friend. You know you have only to ask."

"Delanie is in town."

Surprise registered on Russo's face. "Have you talked to her?"

"I spoke with her last night and again this afternoon. You heard that Lanie is the new Assistant District Attorney up in Kerry County?"

"Yeah, I heard, but I thought it must be a rumor. So it's true. Rather ironic, don't you think?"

"She's a strong woman, Leo, and smart. My daughter has the ability to accomplish whatever she sets her mind to. I just wish she would set her mind to getting married and giving me grandchildren. I'm not getting any younger. "

"She staying with Abigail out at the lake?"

"Yeah. Why don't you give her a call. I know she would love to hear from you."

"I will. I've missed that girl." Russo's eyes narrowed. "I hope this little problem of yours doesn't have anything to do with Lanie?"

"Unfortunately, it does. Just before I spoke with my daughter earlier today, I received a very disturbing phone call from a man we both know who now sells his marksmanship skills to the highest bidder. Have you been following the Tony Laureano case, Leo?"

"With great interest. Frankly, I hope they nail that arrogant little bastard to the wall."

"I take it you have had some dealings with him?"

"Yeah, once or twice, why?"

"It seems that certain members of Laureano's organization recently bought the services of a hired gun to take out the cop that exposed his organization and is scheduled to testify at his trial."

"Peter Caine. This isn't the first time that cop's been in the news. He's a real hotshot."

"Is he clean?"

"Clean as a whistle. He's young, but he is also good at his job and tenacious as hell. Never underestimate that kid, he's a smart one."

"You talking from experience?"

"No, but I know a couple of people who have had a run-in or two with him. Is that what this is all about?"

"It seems that this cop and Delanie know each other. They met about five or six months ago while working on a high profile case together. She made it quite clear, when we spoke this afternoon, how she feels about this young man. My daughter had lunch today with this detective at his grandfather's place out at the lake. Seems she was standing right next to him when a particular assassin attempted to fulfill his contract."

Russo shot forward in his chair. "Damn, is Lanie all right?"

"Yes she is, physically, anyway. Scared the hell out of her. Fortunately, the shooter recognized her."

"Did he kill the cop?"

"He pulled his shot at the last second. Told me he hit Caine, but didn't think he had killed him. Lanie confirmed that the cop isn't seriously injured."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to protect my daughter, Leo, by whatever means necessary. I'm just glad my previous bodyguard recognized her and still felt enough loyalty to give me a call. He's been amply rewarded."

"And?"

"Tony Laureano has become a serious liability, Leo. He has no understanding of loyalty or respect. More importantly, he has no sense of family…..know what I mean?"

A look passed between the two men. Words were unnecessary.

Leaning forward, Marco Tomaseli rested his arms on the desk, eyes locking with his trusted friend. "Laureano is a man without honor."

"Consider it done, Marco." Russo stood up, heading for the door.

"Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"It's a package deal. It includes the cop. Let it be known that I would be deeply offended to hear of any contracts being put out on this Detective Peter Caine. I will not break my daughter's heart. I owe her that much."

Russo smiled. "Got it. You always were a softy, Marco."

"Oh, and another thing you should probably keep in mind."

"What's that?"

"That young hotshot cop happens to be the nephew of a man you and I knew back in our mercenary days and one to whom I owe a very large favor."

"Who?"

"Rykker."

"I'll be damned! He pay you a visit?"

"A couple of hours ago, but there is more."

"What?"

"The kid is also P.T. Sinclair's grandson. A man I worked closely with back before I smartened up and chose a much safer and more rewarding occupation. We have taken different routes in life, Leo, but I still consider him a friend."

"Russo's smile widened. "It truly is a small world, my friend."

"So it seems" Marco watched his long-time friend walk through the door, closing it behind him. He sighed with relief. Leo Russo was the one man to whom he would not only trust his own life, but that of his only child.

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