Peter Matthew Caine pulled his blue stealth into the parking lot of the 101st precinct and whipped the little sports car into the nearest open space. Switching off the engine, he sat staring straight ahead. Two uniformed officers passed directly in front of the car. The man nearest the Stealth smiled, giving a wave of his hand in recognition. Peter barely managed to acknowledged him with a nod. The officer and his companion continued on into the building.

Peter's brain was definitely on hold. He was absolutely exhausted, having just come off two fourteen-hour stakeout shifts with Chin in Chinatown and with little to show for the lost sleep. He hated stakeouts! He knew it was because the 101st was a bit short-handed at the moment, but that did not keep him from thinking he had been unfairly treated and feeling more than a little sorry for himself.

"Well if I don't, who will?" he muttered.

His Captain and foster father, Paul Blaisdell, had summoned him to report to his office at the end of today's shift. For what purpose, Peter could not fathom. He was too tired to wade through the possibilities. He had managed no more than six hours of sleep in the last forty-eight! Since his father, Kwai Change Caine, had walked off into the sunset leaving him standing heartbroken on a sun bleached Chinatown street almost four months ago, Peter's nightmares had returned with a vengeance! He rubbed a hand over his face trying to focus. He knew that even if he were at this very moment home and in his own bed he would still be unable to sleep. At least here and now, he did not have to face his nightmares. Peter ran a hand through his hair and opened the Stealth's door.

"Might as well get this over with."
Stepping out of the car, he locked the door and began walking toward the side entrance of the 101st. He was still a little 'pissed' at his foster father for giving him this assignment in the first place, but considering the less than satisfactory manner in which he had exited his Captain's office at their last meeting, he was not looking forward to this next conversation.

Paul sat in his office shuffling papers, awaiting his Detective's arrival. Checking his watch and figuring travel time, his son should be arriving at any moment. Paul's mind slid back to their last conversation here in this office just over 48 hours ago.......

****

Captain Blaisdell sat watching Peter make his way across the squad room toward his office. He sighed and ran a hand down his face as he observed Skalany swing around, catching the young detective by the arm. Paul did not need to hear the conversation to know why Skalany had stopped his foster son. It was to ask the same question she had been asking for the last four months, ever since Caine senior had decided to take a hike…."Have you heard anything from your father?" It was common knowledge that Mary Margaret was attracted to the Shaolin priest. His sudden departure had caught her off guard almost as much as it had Peter. Not that it had the same affect on Mary Margaret as it did Peter, but it was obvious that she felt more than a little hurt by Kwai Chang Caine's sudden departure without even a goodbye. Blaisdell saw his son give a negative shake of his head. Skalany said something and then turned around and sat down. Peter hesitated and then continued to make his way toward his foster father's office.

The young detective gave a short rap on the closed door and immediately entered.
"What's up, Captain?"
Giving Peter his sternest glare, Paul answered in an exaggerated tone. "Come in, Peter."
Having already plopped down in one of the chairs opposite the captain's desk, he grinned and uttered a soft, "Sorry."

Paul sat quietly staring at his son, knowing that with his restless nature it would not take long.
Unable to stand the silence any longer, the expected response was short in coming.
"What? I can't possibly be in trouble. I just wrapped up the Obermeyer case in record time!" His expression was one of uncertainty. "I mean, I'm not, am I?"

Paul's features softened. His young detective's expectation of being called on the carpet by his captain took him back to a time when this young man fidgeting in the chair across from him had been a gangly, 14-year old boy he and Annie had taken out of the orphanage and permanently into their home and hearts, especially their hearts. A boy who saw 'reprimand' written on every order or request Paul made of him. A time when Peter still believed every mistake, trespass, and misstep led directly back to the orphanage.

"No, Peter, you are not in trouble. In fact, I called you in here to congratulate you on how well and
quickly you wrapped up the Obermeyer case. You and Jody did a great job. I gave her my congratulations before she left on vacation this morning."

His son visibly relaxed, his face reflecting how much that simple compliment from his captain and foster father meant to him. A smile engulfed his face.
"Thanks,Captain."

"Well, you are both good detectives. Guess I should not be surprised. I just wanted you to know you did a great job. You made the mayor happy, which kept her off my back and for that I will be eternally grateful." Paul paused, buying some time by picking up and straightening the papers spread across his desk.

"As you know, Jody is going to be gone for a couple of weeks and Skalany is taking off a few days."
"Where is Skalany going?"
"That is really none of my business, Detective." Paul quickly raised his hand as Peter started to speak. "It is not any of your business either, Peter. As I was saying, we are a bit short handed. So, I am assigning you stakeout duty with Chin in Chinatown."

"What!?" The young man's face reflected his stunned disbelief.

Paul again held up a hand to silence foster son. "Sorry Peter, but Chin needs help and you are the only one available. It's just for two shifts." Giving the young cop yet another of his stern looks over the top of his glasses, he added, "That is an order, Detective!"

Peter sputtered, "Well if this is the way you reward a 'good job done,' I would sure as hell hate to see what you do for a screw up!"
"Peter…," Paul's voice held a warning.

Springing to his feet, the young man glared at his foster father.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way, Captain!" With that, Peter turned on his heel and left Paul's office none too quietly.

Paul continued to sit behind his desk while massaging his temples. He was getting one hell of a headache. To be honest, he had just pulled a dirty trick on the kid. Maybe he deserved this headache. He should have given Peter a few days off. "Heaven knows he could use it," muttered Paul. Or, at the very least, he should not have assigned him to stakeout duty. He knew his son hated stakeouts. He also looked as though he had not been sleeping lately. The nightmares were back, of that Paul was sure, but he wanted the kid out of the way and in a relatively safe place for the next couple of days. He had some business to attend to and he didn't want to chance Peter getting suspicious. It was a family matter and one that would directly impact his son. No, he'd had no other choice. He had to keep Peter occupied until he was ready for him to hear the news that would change his life.

****

Peter made his way through the precinct, taking his time. He was in no hurry for this meeting. But no matter how slowly he walked, or how many people he greeted, he eventually reached Paul's office door. He hesitated and then knocked softly hoping that maybe Paul had been called away before his arrival. He heard a quiet, "Come in." Taking a deep breath, he entered, ready to face the music.

Paul watched as his son entered and then stood quietly waiting. He suppressed the urge to grin. "Sit down, Detective."
He barely caught the softly spoken, "Yes, sir," and a slight smile formed on his lips. The kid was so damned easy to read. He sat staring across at his son until Peter began to fidget. Paul finally sighed and relented. After all, he could not very well keep his son on pins and needles forever.

"You look like shit, kid."
The statement totally caught Peter off-guard. It was the last thing he had expected from his captain. He wasn't sure how to respond, or even if he should make the attempt. He hated being at a disadvantage.
"Yeah, well, I'm okay."
"When is the last time you slept? Having nightmares again?

Guilt colored Peter's face. "Did you call me in here to check on my sleeping habits? You did assign me to stakeout duty. I haven't exactly been getting a great deal of sleep lately."
"Listen, son. I didn't want to assign you to that job, but with the lack of personnel, I had no choice." Paul felt a stab of guilt, but it had been necessary, or so he told himself at the moment.

Peter sighed. "I know. I'm sorry for the way I acted, Paul. I apologize. But I am beat, so if you could just tell me what this meeting is about?"
Paul took a few minutes to pull his thoughts together. He had already gone over what to say or not to say at this particular point in time.. He did not want to 'blow it.'

"It is the Obermeyer case, Peter." The captain quickly raised one hand to stop his son's impending question, as he stared at him over the top of his glasses.
"No, the Obermeyer case itself is still tied up tight. There is nothing wrong. I told you, you did a great job and I meant it. That still stands."

"Then what?" Peter's expression was still one of concern.
"There are just a few bits and pieces, or facts, if you will, I would like to share with you."
"Like what?"
"Peter, do you remember P.T. Sinclair?"

Staring at Paul, his exhausted brain searched for the information. "Oh yeah, the old guy that helped us rescue Kyle's fiancee, and now wife, back from those marauders. Your old mercenary friend. Nice guy. I liked him."
"He was not old!. In fact, he is not much older than I am."

"Oops, sorry, Dad. Didn't mean to hit a sore spot." Peter grinned. "You know I don't think of you as old. Mature, maybe, but not old."

Paul tried to keep a straight face, but with little success, as he pointed a finger at his son.
"You just watch it young man, or you might find yourself back on foot patrol."
"What about Mr. Sinclair? Is anything wrong?"
"No, he's fine." Paul tapped the eraser end of the pencil he held on the pile of papers now neatly stacked in front of him.

"Ever heard of Sinclair Enterprises?" Paul watched the wheels turning.
"Yeah, why?" Suddenly, his son's face reflected understanding. "Wait a minute! Are you telling me that your old mercenary buddy owns Sinclair Enterprises?"
"Yes. My 'old buddy,' as you call him, does indeed own Sinclair Enterprises, among other things."
"Wow! Who would have guessed! I certainly never would have from meeting him that one time."

"There is more. Terrence Obermeyer worked for Sinclair. Not directly, but the company that Obermeyer was running was a subsidiary of Sinclair Enterprises."
"Well why didn't that come to light during our investigation? I never found anything indicating such a connection."
"No, you wouldn't unless you dug a little deeper. Sinclair Enterprises has many companies under its umbrella. P.T. runs a pretty tight ship. He does his best to keep close tabs on all of his businesses."

"Well evidently not tight enough," interjected Peter. "Obermeyer's dead!"
"Due to no fault of Sinclair Enterprises or P.T. Sinclair. Obermeyer let down his guard and things got out of hand. You know that from the investigation. At one time he and P.T. were very good friends. That is why he put Terrence Obermeyer in charge of Hot-Spot Computers. Terrence brought about his own downfall. His death resulted from his own actions, the decisions he made."

The young detective's eyes widened. "You mean Obermeyer was also in the mercenary business?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. By taking over the management of Hot-Spot Computers, he was trying to make a clean break from his old life."
"Mr. Sinclair must feel pretty bad, losing his friend that way."
"He was the one who came to us. He put us on the trail and asked us to investigate. He suspected Terrence was into something dangerous and illegal. He was afraid the guy was in over his head, which unfortunately turned out to be true. P.T. was just trying to help him."

"He came to you? Why, because of your mercenary ties?"
"No, because we are good friends. I also knew Obermeyer. Although he was not a friend, I had come into contact with him over the years. You see, I know how easy it is under certain circumstances, when the right buttons are pushed, to take a wrong turn. Terrence Obermeyer had a family. I would have helped him any way I could, as long as it was legal. He deserved to go to jail for what he was involved in but not to die."

Paul watched Peter mull over what he had just said.
"Yeah, I can see your point, Paul. I think you may be giving too much credit to Obermeyer, but under the circumstances guess it's a moot point. I am sorry that Mr. Sinclair had to lose a friend, even if I do not think he was a very good friend. So, is that it? Is that what this meeting is about?"
"Partly."

"What is the other part?"
"P.T. is in town. I met with him yesterday afternoon. He is coming over to the house for dinner tomorrow night and I would like you to be there. He would like to meet you again and thank you personally for the great job you did in handling the investigation. And, of course," Paul grinned, "Annie and I would also appreciate your presence."

"Sure, I guess I can make it. What's for dinner?"
"Geez, Kid! You have a one-track mind. Is food all you think about?"
"When mom's cooking, absolutely!" Peter returned the grin.
"I'm giving you the next three days off, son. You've earned it. Consider it my apology for having to assign you to that stakeout. Go home, get some sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow evening at 7:00."

"Oh yeah!" Peter grinned.

Paul's grin widened. "Get out of here, I have work to do."
Peter rose from his chair and headed for the door. Just before closing it behind him, he popped his head back inside.

"You never did say what we are having for dinner and should I bring wine?"
"We are having pot roast, of course. About the only time we have it anymore is when you come to dinner. And yes, bring the wine. Now out!"

Peter gave his Captain a sharp salute. "Yes, sir!" Grinning from ear-to-ear he quietly closed the door to Blaisdell's office.
Paul shook his head, "Kid, someday!"

Leaning back in his chair, he reviewed the conversation he had just had with his son. "Well, that's one hurdle down. Just leaves the big one to go. Thank god you'll be there as backup, Annie." Sighing, Paul spoke aloud as he reached for the phone to call home. "I just hope Peter can jump that high!"

****

Two goons, looking quite out of place in their Armani suits, stood nervously observing the sleek black limo as it glided slowly into the warehouse. Doors flew open as four men in identical black suits burst forth from the car, one stepping back to hold open his door. Slowly, out stepped a weasel-faced man of medium height, slender build and impeccably dressed. He had the look of a 'dandy' about him.

Victor Morrow had been in the criminal business since his first stolen car at the ripe old age of thirteen. Before that, it had been petty stuff, which Victor simply considered to be part of his training for his present day success. He considered himself a successful, albeit illegal, businessman and at the moment he was a very irate businessman. In the last month he had lost a great deal of money and he was in this warehouse to see to it that the individual he held personally responsible paid for it….with his life! That person was the hot-shot detective of the 101st precinct, the one and only Peter Caine. That idiot Obermeyer had cracked in the end and brought the house of cards tumbling down around Victor's head. It was hard to believe that such passive, useless coward had ever been a mercenary. If the sonofabitch had not done him the favor of putting a bullet through his own useless head, Victor would have done it for him. Right now, though, he had a much larger problem in the form of Detective Caine. It wasn't just the money, although that was the largest part of it, but the fact that this cop had made him look bad in the eyes of his fellow businessmen and he simply could not afford to allow such an act to go unrewarded. Yes, it was pay-back time! Victor gave a slight twitch of his head and Arnie Hanson, one of the Armani suits, moved to stand before him.

"It was just like you said, Mr. Morrow. Peter Caine is a detective at the 101st. Turns out he is also the son of Paul Blaisdell, who is the Captain at the 101st. That makes him Caine's father and boss."

Victor's eyes narrowed. "No shit! I coulda figured that out on my own, you moron!."
"Sorry, Mr. Morrow," mumbled Arnie, as he avoided making eye contact.
"All I want to know is that by tomorrow morning the world will finally be rid of one smart assed cop by the name of Peter Caine!"

"I guarantee it, Mr. Morrow. We've been watching that guy for the last three days. We got it from a good source that tonight Detective Caine is having dinner at the Blaisdell house. When he leaves there, it will be his last road trip. This time tomorrow that cop will be just another traffic statistic."

Victor's eyes narrowed as he stared hard and long at Arnie, who found it to be very unnerving.
"He better not be among the living when the sun rises in the morning, Arnie! I want that little sonofabitch dead! You understand me?"
The gunman swallowed and shook his head. "Yes sir! It'll be done before the sun rises tomorrow. You can count on it, Mr. Morrow!"

"It better be! If you're successful, you and your little friends will be handsomely paid, but fail and they will be burying the three of you long before they bury Caine! Remember, it has to look like a simple highway accident."
Arnie shook his head, "Yes sir."
"If it does not, I am the one they will suspect first. The cops will be busting down my door, but not before they have measured you and your buddies for caskets. Just make sure it looks like a simple traffic accident. Think you can handle that?"
"Yeah boss, no problem. We've got the right vehicle to do the job. We have all the bases covered. We're ready!"

Victor stared at Arnie for a moment longer and then, without a word, turned and climbed back into the waiting limo. The warehouse doors opened as the car turned and exited the building, leaving the two henchmen staring after it.

Arnie felt the tension leave his body. "God, what an asshole!"
"What's wrong, Arnie? Big bad gun for hire afraid of that little weasel?"
"Shut your hole, Jase! We've got a job to do before the sun rises or you will find out for yourself what that 'little weasel' is capable of. Come on, let's get going. You better give Jimmy a call. Make sure he and his 'super' truck are ready. Tell him we will meet him out at the Blaisdell house at 6:30 sharp. Oh, and tell him to be careful! I don't want that cop or his Daddy tipped off. " Arnie chuckled.

"What?"
"Oh, I was just thinking. This is going to be a fun assignment. Can't wait to see what that monster truck of Jimmy's can do to that little toy-car that cop drives. Hell, it is almost too easy."
"It'll be just like another night at demolition derby. Only this time we already know who the winner is, that's all."
Grinning at each other, the two gunmen turned and exited the warehouse through a side door.

****

Annie Blaisdell gently placed the receiver back into its cradle and proceeded unerringly to make her way into the family room. Except for the dark glasses she presently wore, anyone observing her moving about her home would never have guessed that she was blind. A nurse's error during a short hospital stay at the tender age of 3-months had irrevocably changed her life. But in spite of it all, Annie Blaisdell's spirit was filled with light, which spilled over onto all who came near. She had no regrets. She had what she most desired. A loving husband, whom she adored, and three beautiful children; Peter, Carolyn and Kelly. Annie Blaisdell was an intelligent, capable individual and at moment she had a message to deliver. An important, life changing event was about to take place in the Blaisdell family.

Paul looked up as his beautiful, diminutive wife entered the room. Her very presence always managed to spread a glowing warmth throughout his spirit and never failed to bring a smile to his face. She had a calming affect on him. Just looking at her made him realize how lucky he was to have found this remarkable woman to share his life. He would be a lost soul without his Annie. She kept him centered.

"Paul, that was the Chief on the phone." Annie often referred to Frank Strenlich as 'The Chief' and he was, in fact, Paul Blaisdell's Chief of Detectives at the 101st. precinct He was also a long-time family friend.
"Frank said to tell you that the situation at the station has been resolved and Peter is now on his way. I'm still not sure why he was even at the station, considering it is his day off, but I'm sure we'll hear all about it when he arrives."

The other individual presently seated in the room gave a nervous chuckle. "Guess it's time to face the music."
Annie turned to face in the direction from which P.T. Sinclair's voice had emanated. She gave him a smile of encouragement.

"Remember, P.T., both of us are right here beside you. We will always be here for you and Peter. Tonight will bring about a major change for all of us, but Paul and I truly believe this meeting is long overdue and we will all work together through whatever difficulties arise out of tonight's meeting. Peter doesn't always accept change easily, but after he has had a chance to think things through, he usually comes to the correct conclusion. It's just that sometimes it takes a little time for him to reach those conclusions." Annie released a soft sigh as a gentle smile formed. Thoughts of her sometimes volatile, obstinate, but totally lovable son skipped across her mind.

"I would like the two of you to understand how much I appreciate everything you and your family have done for my grandson. You'll never know what it has meant to me these past years to know it was in your home that Peter lived and grew. He has grown into a wonderful young man and he has all those years of love and guidance to thank for that fact. Family is so important to a child, especially one with Peter's history. You gave him back his life. And you Annie, you gave him a mother's love. If somehow my daughter were able to know, I believe she would be so very grateful to you for stepping in and loving her son when she could not."

"What makes you think she doesn't know? Unfortunately, I never had the privilege of meeting your daughter and yet I feel a closeness to Laura. I can't explain it and I won't even try. I wish your daughter had lived to raise her son, but life is not always fair. It has been both a privilege and an honor to have been a mother to Peter all these years. I feel, somehow, that she entrusted him to us. I will be eternally grateful to your daughter for gifting us with her son."

Silence momentarily filled the room. A few minutes and a few swiped-away tears later, Annie spoke. "Now you two, when Peter gets here we are going sit down and have a nice meal together. My dinner has been on hold long enough and I am not taking any chances on it going to waste. Besides, everyone will be more relaxed and be in a better mood once my pot roast has been consumed. That comes with a guarantee."

Paul and P.T. chuckled, visibly relaxing.
"Yes, I wouldn't recommend getting between Annie's pot roast and Peter. It could get really ugly."
"I take it my grandson has a healthy appetite? Well he came by that honestly."
"Don't know about the genetic part of that equation, but I do know it has a lot to do with Annie's cooking."

Annie's head turned toward the door. "He's here. I hear his car turning into the driveway." Seconds later both men heard sounds of a car stopping out in the front driveway.
Annie made her way out of the family room, calling behind her, "I'll put my poor beleaguered pot roast on the table. Paul, you and P.T. retrieve our son and guide him straight into the dining room, please. There's no time to waste. Oh, my poor dinner!"

"Okay, let's go fetch your grandson. Then we eat!" Both men stood up and exited the room just as the front door opened and the pure energy that was Peter Caine filled the house.

"Mom, Paul? Sorry I'm late!" Spotting his dad and P.T. Sinclair entering the room, Peter came to a halt.
"It's okay, son. Frank called to let us know you would be a little late." Sinclair moved up beside Paul.

"You remember Mr. Sinclair, Peter."
Crossing the room, the young detective smiled and stuck out his hand. "Of course. It's good to meet you again, sir."

Sinclair reached out and gave his grandson's hand a firm shake. "It is also good to see you, again, Detective. I want to thank you and your partner for the excellent handling of the Obermeyer investigation. I appreciate it. I'm just sorry your partner isn't around for me to thank in person."

"Just doing our job, sir, but thank you. I appreciate the compliment. Paul told me about your connection with Terrence Obermeyer. I'm sorry you lost your friend. That's tough."
P.T. shot a quick glance at his old friend. "Yes, it is difficult losing a friend under such circumstances."

Annie's voice floated in from the dining room. "P.T., Paul, Peter, dinner is ready. Please join me before my pot roast is a total loss."
"Man, am I starving!" declared Peter.

The three men filed into the dining room, Paul and Peter taking their usual places and Sinclair sitting down directly across from his grandson.
"Do you need help, honey?" inquired Paul as Annie entered, carrying a tray.
"The only help I need is for you three to start eating."
"I see I am not the only lefty in the room." Sinclair eyed his grandson.
"Yep, us lefties are a rare breed, Mr. Sinclair. I would say that makes us pretty special, wouldn't you?"
P.T. laughed. "That's right, son, a special breed indeed."

The next several minutes were spent filling plates, along with exclamations regarding the table and it's contents. Dinner conversation remained neutral. At one point, Peter was asked to relate the situation back at the precinct, which had caused his late arrival. He was more than willing to oblige and was his usual animated self.
Peter Sinclair was more than content to listen to the young man's every word, his eyes drinking in the sight of his only grandchild. It was the happiest P.T. could remember being for a very long time. He became so caught up in watching the young cop that for a moment he even managed to forget what lay ahead. Nervousness and fear were set aside as his attention was totally focused on Laura's son sitting across the table from him.

Forty-five minutes later, with dinner completed, Paul and P.T. retired to the family room with cups of steaming coffee. Peter began clearing the table.
"Honey, you really don't need to do that tonight. Why don't you go relax with your Dad and P.T.?"

"Mom, it's my fault that dinner was late, not to mention I forgot the wine! The least I can do is help with dishes. You should not have to do them all alone."
"Okay, you can clear the table for me, sweetie, and then join your dad and P.T. I'm just going to put these into the dishwasher. It won't take long."

Twenty minutes later, Peter carefully made his way into the family room while intently focusing on not spilling any of the contents of the cup he was juggling. Conversation momentarily halted as he entered. Paul smiled up at his son. "Is your mom on her way?"
"Yeah, she's filling the dishwasher with soap. She'll be right in."

Carefully placing the brimming cup of hot chocolate on the small table next to his favorite chair, Peter lowered himself into his beloved rocker. Most people preferred the comfortable, overstuffed furniture in the room, but not Peter. The rocking motion had a soothing effect on his nervous, hyper nature. He never bothered analyzing it, just enjoyed it to the fullest.

"Will you be staying in town long, Mr. Sinclair? I understand you and Paul go way back?"
"Yes to both questions," replied the ex-mercenary in an amused tone. "I have known your Dad since our Navy days. That's where we met. You could also say that is where our careers really began. We ended up in a special forces unit together. Once out of the Navy, we sort of drifted into the same business."
"That would be the mercenary business?"
"Yes, it would indeed."

Paul sat quietly listening, watching the two men. He glanced up as Annie entered the room and sat down on the arm of his chair. Paul's arm snaked around her waist. She, too, was listening and "watching" in a way only Annie was capable of doing. His wife seemed able to see more blind than most sighted people. He knew, as Annie did, that the purpose of this night, of the last several weeks, was about to reach its final conclusion. A picture of a hurdle suddenly flashed across Paul's mind.

Peter grinned. "I bet you could tell some stories about the Captain."
"Yep, I certainly could, but then he could also tell plenty on me!" P.T. smiled at Paul and a knowing look passed between the two men.
"Hey, anything you told me would be held in the highest of confidence." Peter's face radiated delight.
His foster father hurmphed. "Yeah, right! Forget it, kid! You've already got enough stories to hold over me."

"Well since you'll be staying in town for awhile, Mr. Sinclair, you and Dad can catch up on old times. Take a walk down memory lane. Where will you be staying?"
"Please, son, do me a favor and call me P.T. Mr. Sinclair sounds rather stuffy, not to mention old! I am old, but I would rather not be reminded. Humor an old man and help him keep his illusions."

His grandson's gaze rested on his face and a smile began to twitch at the corners of his mouth
"Okay, Mr. Sinclair, P.T. it is. I certainly wouldn't want to be held responsible for the demise of a man's illusions." Peter's smile widened.

Sinclair sat mesmerized. That smile. It was Laura's! God, it brought back memories. Watching his grandson was like watching his daughter. He suddenly recalled the earlier conversation he'd had with Paul in the Blue Jay café. "I'm sure Caine would agree with you. He often said Peter was his mother's son." The priest had certainly been correct! Suddenly, he realized all conversation had ceased.

"You okay, Mr. Sinclair, uh, P.T.?" asked Peter.
"Yes, I'm fine." He gave the kid a smile. "Guess for a moment there I took a premature walk down memory Lane. Sorry. To answer your question Peter, I'll be staying at my home on Lake Muir, just outside of town. I purchased the Patterson house early last year."
"Oh wow, that's a nice place. Has a great view of the lake."
"More coffee, P.T.?" Interjected Paul.
"Yes, I believe I will have one more cup, thank you."

Paul took the coffee urn Annie had retrieved from the kitchen and filled Sinclair's cup.
His wife declined a refill. She never drank more than one cup of coffee after dinner.
Peter was still working on his hot chocolate. The marshmallows had just about reached the consistency he liked. Looking across at the older man, he spoke. "I think maybe I see a marathon of reminiscing on the horizon. Bet you two have some great stories." Grinning from ear-to-ear, he looked over at his foster father and winked.

"Oh I'm sure Paul and I will find time to relive the good old days." P.T.'s mind was now racing. The moment he had been waiting for had finally arrived and the ball was in his court. Paul's earlier words flashed through his mind, "We are probably in for some fireworks."

"What I am really in town for, Detective, is to visit my grandson." The anticipation in the room was almost palpable.
"Oh, you have family in town. That's nice." Peter was unaware of the charged atmosphere in the room. He continued drinking his hot chocolate. He was tired and his stomach was comfortably full. The gentle rocking motion, in combination with this particular room, holding so many memories, had a very calming affect.
"Yes, it is. I have a younger brother who keeps a place here in town. He travels quite a bit and has homes in several cities. You have, I believe, already met him. His name is Rykker."

Those words instantly brought Peter out of his lethargy. "No shit!" Suddenly remembering Annie's presence, he quickly added, "Oh, sorry mom."
"Apology accepted, honey."

"Small world! You two certainly don't look alike," mused Peter. "And your last names are different."
"Different fathers. Long story." Sinclair waited, watching the younger man's face.

Looking at his foster father, Peter asked, "Did you know Rykker was related to Mr. Sinclair? Sorry, forget I asked that question. Of course you do. I guess the mercenary world is smaller than I thought."
"Especially amongst the good guys," added Paul.
"What is your grandson's name, P.T.? Maybe I know him. Does he work for Rykker?"

Tension filled the room. For the first time Peter noticed the quiet stillness of his foster parents; their lack of participation in the conversation. He felt the charged atmosphere surrounding him, but misunderstanding the reason, he misread the implications.

"I apologize, sir. It really is none of my business. Finding out Rykker is your brother caused a lapse in my manners."
"It's okay, son. Feel free to ask any questions you like and I'll do my best to answer them. You do have every right."

Peter's frown deepened and then his expression faded into one of puzzlement, his eyes darting between his foster parents and P.T. Sinclair.
"I beg your pardon? I don't think I understand."
Paul interjected, "Just hear him out, Peter."

"Something's up." A sudden blanket of unease settled over him. He wasn't so sure he liked this sudden turn in the conversation.

Sinclair quickly glanced at Paul and then his gaze shifted back to his grandchild's face and in that instant he knew this was going to be the most difficult thing he had ever done in his life. He had anticipated this moment for what seemed like a lifetime and now that it had finally arrived, the tough mercenary, P.T. Sinclair, was just plain scared. Taking a deep breath, he began his story.

"Up until a few years ago, Peter, I also had an older brother. He too had a different father. Three brothers, three fathers. Jack's father was killed in a riding accident when he was three. My mother and father were married two years later. They parted company, fairly amicably, shortly after my fourth birthday. My mother met and married Rykker's father a year after her divorce and he was born a couple of years later. In spite of our age difference, or maybe because of it, he and I are about as close as two brothers can be."

Peter's eyes never wavered from the ex-mercenary's face. "I don't understand why you are telling me this, Mr. Sinclair."
"Honey, please, let P.T. finish," encouraged Annie.
"Yes, son, please let me finish before I lose my nerve. I promise, you will understand where I'm going with this in a few minutes."
The young detective remained silent, his body tense, as he concentrated on the ex-mercenary's words.

"I've been married only once in my life and that marriage produced one child, a daughter. My wife, Alexandria, died in an auto accident when our daughter was five years old. Alex was the most beautiful woman, inside and out, that I have ever known. We were soul mates. After she died I wasn't sure I could go on without her, but I had my daughter to consider and I was forced to make important life decisions at a time when I felt least able to make them. I was positive of one thing, though, and that was that I wanted my daughter to have a family, the very thing I could not provide for her. I was being drawn deeper into the mercenary world, a fact that would have put her life in great danger. So, as hard as it was, I made the decision to place my daughter in the care of my older brother, Jack and his wife Mary. They had lost their only child, a son, several years prior. I knew they would love my daughter as their own and could provide her with a stable home and a warm, loving environment. I always financially provided for my child and spent as much time with her as my job permitted. Please, believe me, Peter, I loved my daughter with all my heart and soul. Her death was absolutely devastating."

The room was deathly quiet. Peter had not moved a muscle during Sinclair's narrative. Now, the young man's eyes narrowed, as they bored into P.T.'s. Softly he asked the question everyone else in the room had been anticipating. He had finally reached that last and highest hurdle.

"What was your daughter's name, Mr. Sinclair?"
Silence filled the room. Annie and Paul held their breath.
"Laura," whispered P.T., and then more forcefully, "My daughter's name was Laura Catherine Sinclair. Her married name was Laura Catherine Caine. Your mother, Peter. I am your grandfather."

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3

Back to author's index      Back to Story index