"Where is Peter?"

Turning away from the window, P.T. answered, "In the kitchen harassing Fredricco the last time I saw him, Kermit. Delanie Santana is expected for breakfast anytime now. She is heading back to Kerry after her stop here."

"I wonder how involved those two were during that case they worked?"

Sinclair couldn't keep from smiling. "From what I've observed, involved enough. I didn't realize you found my grandson's love life so interesting."

"I don't, but I might want to write a book some day. She could be a short chapter, or possibly an entire book."

The chiming of the doorbell echoed softly through the room.

Kermit glanced down at his watch. "That must be her now. She's punctual."

Faint voices drifting into the room verified Delanie Santana's arrival.

"Have you talked to him about keeping his butt in the house? Next time he might not be so lucky."

"I talked to him. Believe me, after being shot he definitely has a better appreciation of why he should confine himself to the house. I'm expecting Rykker and Paul to show any minute now. From what Paul said over the phone, I think we may finally get some answers."

"God, I hope so. Not that baby-sitting Peter isn't a thrill a minute, but I do have a life outside of Caine and I would like to return to it in the very near future."

"Good morning, gentlemen." Rykker and Blaisdell strolled into the room.

"Tell me you bring good news." A definite note of pleading could be detected in Kermit's voice.

"We will let you be the judge of that." Clearing his throat, Paul Blaisdell thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "It seems that Delanie Santana was born right here in our own fair city thirty-one years ago. Her birth certificate makes for an interesting read, though. She was born Delanie Tomaseli. Santana was her mother's maiden name."

Questioning eyes meeting Rykker's, Sinclair received a quick affirmative nod.

"Was?" asked Kermit.

"Delanie's mother died in an accident when she was nine," said Paul. "Her Aunt Abigail pretty much raised her after that.

Kermit's eyes narrowed. "What am I missing?"

"Ever hear of Marco Tomaseli, Kermit?" asked Sinclair.

"Holy crap, The Marco Tomaseli? She's his daughter?"

"That's right," confirmed Paul.

"Does Peter know?"

"I'm sure if he knew, we would have heard about it by now, Kermit. So I think I'm safe in saying the answer is no," answered P.T.

Paul continued, "The cause of her mother's accident was a car bomb. My guess is it was meant for her husband. Apparently, he took her death pretty hard. Didn't have a whole lot to do with his daughter after his wife died and pretty much left the raising of his only child up to his sister-in-law, the woman we know as Abigail Von Morten. She is Delanie's mother's older sister. The kid didn't find out how her mother really died until well into her teens. Since then she and her father have had a somewhat tenuous relationship."

"Well she certainly has chosen a life style at opposite poles from her father's - living in another city, working up to Assistant District Attorney, using her mother's maiden name. Wonder what her old man thinks about that?" speculated Kermit.

"Make no mistake, Kermit. The 'old man' loves his daughter," answered Rykker.

"The point is, Peter is off the hook," said Paul. "Word on the street has it that if anyone even thinks about putting out a contract on one Detective Peter Caine, they will find themselves answering not only to Marco Tomaseli, but to Leonardo Russo."

"A couple of real heavy hitters." Kermit arched his brows, giving a low whistle. "But exactly where does Leo Russo fit into all of this?"

P.T. looked across at Kermit. "Leo Russo is Delanie Santana's Godfather."

"This just gets better and better, but what about Laureano? That little s.o.b. doesn't strike me as the type to just buckle under, and I doubt the fool has enough brain matter to realize who he's going up against. I can't see him just letting it all go."

"Paul, would you like to do the honors?" asked Rykker.

"At five O'clock this morning, Tony Laureano was found hanging from the bars of his cell. It's a mystery as towhy the man would want to wrap his own shirt around his neck, tie it to one of the cross bars above and behind his head, and then lift himself almost six inches off the floor. A full investigation is under way but the explanation is beginning to look rather elusive."

"Maybe he was just one hell of an athlete." A grin slowly curved across Detective Griffin's face. "Guess that answers my question, though."

"About what?" inquired Paul.

"Whether or not he realized who he was dealing with. Moot point. What about his sidekick, Lionel Casteanos?"

"Singing like a bird." Blaisdell smiled. "Oh, and I should mention that several of his top thugs have simply disappeared and can't be located. We're assuming they left town in a hurry."

"Well hot damn!" Kermit's eyes briefly touched on each man in turn. "I guess we can consider this case closed - done, finished, history! Pete's safe, Laureano has been neutralized, and his entire organization is going down hard. It doesn't get much better than that!"

"No, it certainly doesn't, now does it?" agreed Sinclair.

"You going to tell Peter, I mean about Delanie Santana?"

Paul shook his head. "No, Kermit, we're not, The young lady is working hard to establish a life separate from her father's. We can't very well hold who her father is against her. It's up to her to tell Peter. Besides, my gut's telling me that Delanie Santana had more to do with these most recent developments than anything we did. Well, gentlemen, I need to get back to work. P.T, would you like to break the good news to our problem child once his lady friend leaves?"

"It would be my pleasure."

"Come on Kermit, you can ride back to the precinct with me. Your job here is finished." Walking out into the hallway, Paul headed for the front door.

"Right behind you. Well gentlemen, it has certainly has been interesting, but I am looking forward to getting back to watching nothing more complex than a computer screen, which doesn't talk back!"

"Thanks for everything, Kermit. Aside from the circumstances, it has been a pleasure working with you again. Stop by anytime."

"No thanks needed, P.T. Peter is important to me, too. I might take you up on that invitation sometime soon, though." Turning, Kermit hurried from the room to catch up with his Captain.

"Well, little brother, it's too early for wine. What do you say we have Ricco serve us up one of those fine imported teas you are always extolling? Put on a little jazz, prop our feet up and stare out at the lake for a couple of hours. We might even experience the joys of boredom for a change. I feel like I could sleep for a week. We are getting too damned old for this, Rykker."

"Oh yeah!" agreed the ex-mercenary.

***

Standing at the water's edge, Peter bent down and picked up a relatively flat pebble. With a quick side arm fling he sent it skipping across the calm surface of the water.

"Am I invited?"

Swinging around, the young cop admonished, "I wish you wouldn't do that, Father!"

"I apologize, my son. I did not mean to startle you."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited to your party. Were you not expecting me?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. I thought you might be busy, you know, helping people as in 'Come to Chinatown and ask for Caine?'"

"You believe I would choose to not attend a celebration held in honor of my son's birth?" Caine, tilting his head slightly to one side, rested a questioning gaze upon his only child.

Shrugging, Peter looked away. "Maybe. I know how much you are needed, that's all. Besides, we never made a big deal about birthdays at the temple."

"I see." Caine stood watching his son's eyes flit between the surrounding trees, the ground, the sky, and his own feet - anywhere but at his parent. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, "Peter, we must talk."

Peter's gaze returned immediately to his father's face. "Oh? About what?"

Caine chose to remain silent for several seconds as he watched his son's body tense in anticipation. "You have been avoiding me, my son. You did not wish to spend time with me in Chinatown this week . You have not been to my residence since my return."

"Avoiding you? No. I'm just giving you some space, that's all."
"Space?" Caine watched Peter shift from foot to foot, his eyes focusing on his feet. He jammed his left hand deep into his pocket while holding the injured right arm close to his side. The man, so much like the child. His son's fidgeting behavior brought to mind a much younger Peter.

At last, he looked up to meet his father's inquiring gaze. Peter's next words were tinged with sadness. "I had a lot of time to think while you were off on your walkabout. I know now that it was my fault that you left…"

"Peter…"

"No, let me finish. You are a Shaolin priest, Father. You make a real difference in people's lives. The inhabitants of Chinatown depend on you being there for them. They need you. I'm a cop and I know that you hate the fact that I carry a gun. I spend my days on the mean streets of Chinatown knee deep in bloodshed and violence. I finally realized something while you were off finding yourself. It's me. I am the stone around your neck."

"My son…" Caine took a step forward.

"Don't." Peter raised a hand, stopping his father's advance. "Please, just hear me out. The last thing I want to happen is for you to feel that you have to leave this city to find the peace you crave. You took vows as a priest to help others. I realize I have no real control over what you decide to do, whether you go or stay, but maybe I can make it easier for you to choose to stick around this time. That means giving you your space instead of burdening you with my problems. The last thing you need is me dropping in at all hours, complicating your life. I bring chaos when you seek peace. Your home is your sanctuary and I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that it stays that way. The only way I can see to accomplish that is to stay out of your way."

"Peter, that is not necessary. I would be honored to have you visit with me in my home. You are my son. Spending time with you brings me great joy. You are not to blame for my leaving. It was not my intention to hurt you so deeply when I left, my son."

Peter stared at his father intently for several seconds. "Why don't I believe you?"

He saw the question in his son's eyes before it left his lips. Cringing inwardly, he could do nothing but wait until the damning words were spoken.

"Answer me this, Father. Can you honestly stand there and tell me that you did not intend to leave the city that day without telling me? Without so much as a goodbye, or even maybe a 'Hey, maybe I'll drop by sometime, Peter my son, and we can take in a ball game or something?'"

And there it was, lying between them like rotting flesh. The answer a rabid dog tearing at him, laying bare his cowardice, exposing his shame. His son stood waiting for confirmation or denial. Waiting quietly to hear his father speak the hurtful words that would bruise his heart. He allowed the silence to lay between them like a heavy stone. Finally, calling upon his Shaolin training, he dug deep inside himself and found, as he must, the courage to gaze into that precious face and speak the words that would forever condemn him, even in his own eyes. Two small words with the power to expose. "I cannot."

The pain flashing across that beloved face tore at his soul. Peter's quiet, softly spoken words only deepened his shame.

"That's what I thought." And then his son was shaking his head. "Doesn't really matter, though. I made a promise up on the mountain before Laureano's men pushed my car over the cliff and by damned, I will make good on my word, Father, even if it kills me!"

The words echoed through his mind, his lips unable to utter them aloud, lest it give them more power over him. <That is exactly what I fear most, my son. The specter of it stalks me by day and invades my dreams by night. It holds my heart hostage with its enduring threat. The fear of losing you drove me from this city and it is that same fear that brought me back. Even now I cannot speak of it for it would cripple us both.>

"And now if you'll excuse me, I have guests to greet." Peter brushed past his father, heading back toward the house.

Kwai Chang Caine turned, his eyes following the young man's progress. His words were barely a whisper. "I will wait for you, my son." He sighed. "When you are ready. I will not leave you again."

***

Approaching the back steps, Peter stopped as a Lincoln Town Car pulled into the driveway, coming to a stop just a few feet from where he stood. Abigail Von Morten, exiting the driver's side, vigorously waved one pudgy hand in his direction.

"There's the birthday boy! Happy birthday, Peter!"

"Thank you, Abigail."

Opening the back door of her car, she called out to him, "Would you mind helping me with this cake, dear?"

"I would be happy to." Walking around to the door behind the driver's seat, Peter bent down and reaching into the back seat, extracted what proved to be a surprisingly heavy cake box. "Germaine's?"

"None other. I wouldn't think of buying anything but the best for you, young man. I checked with your grandfather earlier in the week. He told me that insufferable little man who dares to call himself a chef would be away today and so I asked him to allow me the honor of providing the cake for your party. I think you will be pleasantly surprised, Detective. At least, I hope so."

"I'm sure it is a splendid cake, Abigail. I appreciate your thoughtfulness." Walking around the front of the car with the large cake box in his arms, Peter glanced up just in time to see Sinclair walk out onto the verandah.

"Welcome, Abigail."

"Thank you for inviting me, P.T. It is definitely my pleasure and I am so glad you allowed me to provide the birthday boy's cake."

"Well, it was very generous of you to offer."

Peter approached the steps just as Rykker rounded the side of the house.

"Need help, kid?"

"No thanks, I've got it." Shifting the box to his cast-covered right arm, Peter tried to get a view of the bottom step, which was effectively being blocked from his line of vision by the cumbersome box. Lifting his left foot to take the first step up, his sneaker caught the lip of the bottom step, causing him to stumble. The heavy cake shifted inside its box. Reaching across his body, he made a grab for the box just as the end tipped upward causing it to slide across the hard, smooth surface of the cast. His left foot, in an attempt to follow the twisting of his upper torso, bumped hard against the side of the step. His right foot remained rooted, unable to follow the left and it was in that split second that the young cop's fate was sealed. The angle of the tilt and the speed of the sliding box suddenly increased rapidly. In a last ditch effort to prevent the impending disaster, Peter made a desperate grab for the suddenly mobile box, which literally took on a life of its own as it flew up and out of his arms, flipping at the apex of its arch. The cake immediately exited the box and dropped to the ground just ahead of the young cop. Instinctively, Peter drew his injured arm in close to his body, while putting out his left hand to soften the impending impact of his fall. His knees contacted the ground a split second before his arm, which then catapulted him forward as it buckled.

For several seconds there was total silence.

Peter lifted his face from the heavily frosted cake, spitting and sputtering.

Rykker slowly lowered himself in front of his nephew and rested forward on his toes. "Welcome to the club, kid." Reaching out, he gently wiped frosting and bits of cake from Peter's eyelids. "Take it from an expert. It works best if you breathe through your mouth and blow out through your nose."

Peter struggled to raise his head high enough to gaze up through bleary eyes at his uncle's hovering face. He could hear Abigail's voice coming from somewhere behind him.

"Oh dear! Are you all right, Peter? You poor thing!"

Snorting to clear his nostrils and spitting cake, he finally managed to answer. "The cake is delicious, Abigail."

Bending down, P.T. took hold of his grandson's arm, being careful of the cast. Across from him, Rykker took hold of Peter's uninjured arm. On the count of three, they heaved the kid up onto his feet.

"I think you are going to need a shower before you greet your guests, son. Abigail, would you please excuse us. I think it best that Peter strip down out here before he goes into the house to get cleaned up. Everyone is around back. Perhaps you would like to join them?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course. I'm so sorry about your cake, Peter."

"Not half as sorry as I am, Abigail."

Quickly climbing to the top of the steps, the lady soon disappeared around the side of the house.

"Keep an eye out, would you? I wouldn't put it past her to peek around the corner," he muttered.

"She's not the one you have to worry about, Detective Caine."

Swinging around, Peter declared, "Delanie! You're here! I mean….I thought….I didn't think you would…"

While Detective Caine attempted to form complete sentences, Delanie Santana moved to stand directly in front of the struggling young cop. Mere inches separated them. She could feel the heat of his body.

"And miss this?" Raising herself up onto her toes, she softly touched her lips to his. Pulling back ever so slightly, she gazed up into his eyes as she slowly ran her tongue around her lips. "Mmmm, you taste delicious, Detective Caine," she whispered.

"You'll get cake on your clothes," he murmured, his warm breath brushing across her parted lips. Lowering herself, her eyes never left his face. "I'm a big girl. I'm not afraid of a little cake, but considering your track record, you should be." She grinned up at him, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. "Let's see, this is what, cake number three?"

Opening his mouth to speak, she placed a finger against his lips. "Not to worry. Knowing your reputation, I brought a backup cake - straight from Germaine's Bakery in Kerry, but don't tell my aunt. She would be devastated to learn that your chef is correct. Now, you better go get cleaned up, Caine. Your guests are probably wondering where you are."

"Want to help?" He grinned.

He looked so damned sexy standing there with cake covering his face. Once again she rose up onto her toes. Delanie placed her face next to his, her softly whispered words for his ears only. "I brought a very special birthday cake for later, Peter, when we are alone. It's from one of the specialty shops in town. I believe the word the clerk used was sensuous. I'll be glad to help you clean that one off." Dropping back down onto her heels, she grinned up at Peter's astonished expression, which quickly melted into that silly, crooked grin of his that always threatened to turn her insides to jelly. There was definitely a glint of promise in those warm hazel eyes. The hot flames of desire flared deep within the core of her being. <Whoa, Delanie, get a grip! It's time to make your exit, girl, before you do something rash and embarrass yourself, like ripping off his clothes right here and making mad passionate love to him. Oh, you have no idea, Caine!> Her smile held an exquisite promise as she gazed up into that gorgeous face. "Right now, I think it's time for you to get changed and for me to rejoin the rest of your guests. I will see you around back, Detective Caine."

Rykker, stepping forward, gripped his nephew by the arm. "Come on, Romeo, it's the showers for you."

P.T. moved up beside her. Thanks for coming Lanie."

"Thank you for inviting me."

They watched until Rykker and Peter disappeared into the house.

P.T. offered her his arm, "Miss Santana, shall we join the party?"

Delanie hooked her arm through Sinclair's. "I would be delighted."

Both disappeared around the side of the house.

***

Stepping from the shadows, Kwai Chang Caine stared up at the back door through which his son had only moments ago disappeared. "Yes, my son, I will make time for us. I will not lose you."

End

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