"Hey, Skalany -- wait a minute!"

Peter watched her turn and smile at him half-heartedly. One arm wrapped around her waist, she lifted her free arm and weakly waved good-bye. Her lips moved, and though she spoke too softly for him to hear, he knew what she said.

*Trust me, Partner.*

Peter leaned back against the cold wall with his neck arched. His head scraped against the rough brick and he blew out a deep breath. Skalany told him Caine talked to her before he said goodbye, but she didn't mention exactly what he'd said and Peter just assumed... He straightened his body and rubbed his temples.

*Why did I talk about that damn picture?*

Peter knew that he upset Skalany and he thought he knew why, too. His own pain blinded him and he didn't pick up on Skalany's distress until he completely unloaded what was crushing his heart. In the process it seemed he broke unintentionally broke Mary Margaret's heart, too.

And stronger than her heartache, he felt her urgent need to get away and to be alone with her feelings. It wasn't his place to deny her that. He knew what it felt like to need space to cry. What could he have done? Followed her around all night and tried to baby-sit her? Just the idea almost made him laugh; Mary Margaret Skalany would have none of that!

What's the worse thing that could happen? Her car was being fixed so he knew she couldn't drink and drive. Peter guessed she'd go home; maybe she'd get good and drunk. In the morning Peter would stop by the precinct and make sure she was all right. His father would want him to watch out for her, but he'd do it to reassure himself.

Not for the first time he wondered why, of all the women in Chinatown, his father would choose to date his partner. Though he'd never wanted her as anything other than a friend she owned a special place in Peter's heart. Before today he'd doubted that she was aware of that fact, but after their moment together in the precinct, Peter knew he had a home in her heart, too.

*Skalany and my father,* thought Peter with a sigh. As he walked into Delancey's, he acknowledged that he felt ambivalent and sometimes even jealous about their relationship. He'd been without his father for fifteen long years and there were still times when he didn't want to share him - still days when he wanted his dad all to himself. Sometimes he became a grieving child again and wanted endless reassurance. Sometimes he felt like a confused adolescent, struggling to cope with life outside the temple, feeling lonely and abandoned by his *dead* father.

And now, Caine had left him again.

~~~

*Whoa - time to end the pity party, Caine,* he told himself, and wound his way through the crowded bar, stopping along the way as friends wished him well. With every step he took his uneasiness grew. Finally he reached the table with Kermit and Jody.

"Hey, kid, pull up a chair." Kermit looked around. "What took you so long? Mary Margaret talk your ear off? Where is she, by the way?"

Peter swallowed. "Skalany's not here. She said she was tired and needed some time to herself."

"What? How long ago?"

"It's been about fifteen minutes."

Kermit squeezed Jody's arm and stood. "Let's get out of here."

Once outside, they huddled by the door of the packed bar.

Kermit asked, "Did she say where she was headed?"

"She said she was going home," Peter answered.

"What did you and Skalany talk about?"

When Peter finished his account, Kermit frowned and shook his head.

"Where, Jody? Where would she go?" Kermit asked.

"What the hell is going on?" Peter exploded. "Is Skalany in some kind of trouble?"

"We have to split up," Kermit continued, as if he hadn't heard Peter. "Jody--"

Peter grabbed Kermit's arm. Kermit stiffened as he snapped his head toward Peter. "I've had it with being ignored," Peter shouted in his face, "and I want some answers -- now. Is Skalany being threatened? Or stalked?"

Peter felt the tension bearing down on them like a giant, thirsty sponge, absorbing their energy and confusion and hurling it back as fear and anger. Then he studied Kermit - his friend's face was dark with rage as he stared at Peter's fingers, clamped tightly around Kermit's upper arm.

The young Shaolin took a deep breath and released his grip on Kermit. The detective stepped back, his face and movements a study in control. He shook out his arm and smoothed the creased sleeve.

"Peter, I remember asking you to escort her to Delancey's." Kermit voice was tight with anger as he spoke with lethal precision. "A simple request. I don't know--"

"Back off, Kermit," Jody interrupted. "Peter has no idea what's going on."

"That's right!" Peter clenched his fists in frustration. "And *Peter* would sure love to know. Jody, please. Tell me."

The blonde detective faced him. "The truth, Peter," Jody glanced briefly at Kermit then again at her one time partner, "is that we don't really know. But we have reason to believe she's being followed."

"Why? Whatever it is, you can trust me."

"This time, Kid, you'll have to trust us." Kermit's voice was calm, and his demeanor was all business. "Detective Powell, go to the precinct. Tell them to let you know if she shows up there, then go back and wait at Delancey's. Peter, check her apartment." Kermit fished in his pocket and pulled out keys. "I'll roam around town. I have a few ideas up my sleeve. We'll check in with Jody in an hour."

Kermit looked up and examined the cloudless sky. "It's a clear one tonight," he looked at Peter and then Jody, "and it's a full moon, too. We have a lost lamb out there. Let's find her before the wolves eat her alive."

Although both places had to be checked, Kermit knew Mary Margaret did not go home or back to the precinct. He cruised the streets in his Corvair and stopped at a few local cop hangouts. His mind kept working on the problem, reviewing every option. *Where would she go? * He figured she wanted to hide, but he had to find her. Damn. He'd promised Caine he would watch out for her.

As he drove, he had an idea. He called Jody at Delancey's.

"Did you find her?" Jody asked, almost shouting, he guessed, to be heard over the din of the jammed bar.

"No," Kermit answered tiredly. "And neither did you. But I have an idea. Do you know where Skalany was stationed before she was transferred to the 101st?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do." Jody said, giving him the information.

Kermit grinned. "Bingo! I think I know where she is."

"Where are you going? You might need some back up!"

*Not this time,* thought Kermit, and he ended the connection.

~~~

Bill Foster could hardly believe his good fortune. He smiled as he downed another Kamikaze, the featured drink at the little Irish pub named Kelly's.

Irish ballads wailed from the jukebox and a few of the patrons played pool. Bill used to be a cop who worked with Mary Margaret Skalany and Kelly's had been the precinct's local hangout. Since then the establishment had changed hands and had become run-down, but the atmosphere was mellow and the lights were kept down low.

Bill had always thought that Mary Margaret was a classy lady - tough, and a good cop, but not afraid to show off her feminine assets. He was shocked but delighted when she walked into the bar, and immediately he whisked her away to sit with him.

"Another round, Jimmy," Bill declared to the bartender. They sat at the bar; their chairs pushed closely together, his arm loosely draped around the back of her barstool. They laughed about old times and shared old stories.

"I don't know how you handle the pressure, Mary," Bill said as he stared at his fresh drink. "I know I couldn't. That's why I switched to mall security. Less hassle, less pressure."

"Didn't you quit being a cop to stop drinking, Billy?" Mary Margaret asked as she downed her third vodka laced with lime.

Bill thought about it. As a cop he had hit the bottle to often to quiet his demons. For a couple of years after he quit his drinking slowed but now he drank as much or more as he ever did.

"But this is different, Mary! Tonight I'm drinking because I want to. You know, to have a good time. Back then, I had to have a drink! Nowadays, I can stop anytime I want."

"Sounds good to me, Bill."

Mary Margaret flashed him a dazzling smile, and Bill stared at the slender, chestnut-haired woman. God, she's even more beautiful than I remember! Bill knew he still looked pretty decent, with his blond hair, blue eyes and lean six-foot plus frame. True, his divorce had aged him a bit, but he believed he had a good chance with his old partner. And he was quite pleased to notice she wore no ring on either hand.

Bill moved his arm and let it settle on her shoulders, hooking his hand around her arm and squeezing gently. Mary Margaret gasped and stiffened. Immediately, he let go.

"Sorry Mares." Bill said, looking down and feeling sheepish.

"It's all right, Bill. But you have to know that's not where we're headed tonight. Do you get it? Because if you don't, I'm out of here."

It was then Bill took a really close look at her, and noticed her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes.

"I understand, Mary. You look like you've had a bad day. You wanna talk about it?"

Bill watched her eyes fill with tears, and he felt sorry for her. Soothingly, he said, "I'm sorry I brought it up. If you just want a friend to help you forget, then I'm your man. Why don't we leave here?" Bill stood and grabbed his jacket. "I'll take you to nice place where we can get something to eat. Maybe listen to music. No strings attached." He meant every word of it, but he was still optimistic. After all, the night was young and full of possibilities.

Mary Margaret nodded her head. "Good idea, Billy. I haven't eaten since lunch. Let's hit it."

She tried to stand and swayed, so she quickly sat again. "Oh, boy. Got up too quickly. Let's try that again."

This time, Bill gently held his hand at her elbow and supported her. She teetered a bit, but managed to put on her coat and pick up her bag. Bill had been drinking heavily too, but he knew how to pace himself. He guided her out of the room and toward the side exit. He pushed open the heavy wood door and they stepped out into the cold air.

Mary Margaret looked up at the starry sky, looked down at the ground and said, "I think I'm going to toss my cookies."

Feeling helpless, Bill watched her, wondering what to do. He didn't feel the gun slam savagely against the side of his head. Silently, he dropped to the ground.

~~~

Mary Margaret heard the approaching footsteps and thought it was Bill. She waved her hand to motion him away when a fist rammed into her ribs. The blow winded her and she fell to her knees, clutching her side. Through the haze of pain and nausea she made out boots kicking Bill in the back and side as he lay unconscious. Two rough hands yanked her to her feet.

She was restrained by two men in ski masks. The taller one squeezed her so hard that she winced in pain. "Does it hurt?" he hissed, "Enjoy it. You won't be feeling anything soon enough."

The shorter of the two stared at her, his meaning obvious even through the ski mask. The taller one spoke again. "Don't even think about it. Our orders are clear. Let's take her out of sight and do it."

"Pity," the shorter one sneered.

"The pity is that I can't just kill you and then wipe the mess up with your face." The menacing voice drifted out from the shadows. "Unfortunately, I'm a police officer, and we have rules about these things."

Kermit appeared in the darkness and slowly walked closer. His gun was drawn and aimed at the shorter one. Before they could say anything, Kermit kicked the gun out of the shorter one's hand; the man screamed as his wrist shattered with an audible crack. "But I don't like following rules, moron, so don't pick it up. And I will kill you, Shorty. Believe me, nothing would make me happier."

Shorty cradled his injured hand. The taller man held his gun to Skalany's head. "Okay, cop. Try anything else and I'll shoot."

"So, you think you're a tough customer," sneered Kermit. "You're going to kill her anyway, so tell me, why should I wait to kill you?"

Mary Margaret seized her opportunity and elbowed the tall man's gut then knocked the gun out of his hand. Struggling for control, they both fell to the ground, Mary Margaret on top.

Keeping an eye on Shorty, Kermit kicked the gun away, pulled Skalany off the tall man and then jammed a foot on his chest. Mary Margaret retrieved the dropped gun and aimed it at Shorty so Kermit could fix on taller one. With everything relatively stable, Kermit pulled out his cell phone out called in for backup and an ambulance, adding quietly, "Call Jody and tell her the lamb is in the fold."

~~~

Interlude: Caine

It was late afternoon, and I returned to Kermit's apartment after procuring a ticket to France. The flight would depart early in the morning. Kermit was correct: I was exhausted from the events of the past few days. The upcoming journey could prove to be long and strenuous. I should use the time to rest.

But as I lay on the living room floor, I could not sleep, for serenity eluded me. Blood raced through my veins and I was unable to slow its rapid pulse. I could not embrace nor dispel the endless images that flashed through my mind. With a sigh, I permitted myself to indulge in introspection.

For four years I lived in this city, yet I did not accept it as my home. I offered my assistance to friends, but seldom asked for their help in return, for I was unwilling to risk causing them harm and bearing the weight of further loss. So I acknowledged that by shielding myself, I often appeared aloof and uncaring; my silence implied lack of trust and indifference to opinions.

I could no longer lay still; my mouth was dry and my body was unusually warm, as if gripped by a fever. I rose and walked to the small window in the kitchen. Gripping the sill, I stared at the single tree within my view and thought back to the time when I first came to this town. I was drawn to a vibrant woman who freely gave me her friendship. As time passed, she kept her heart open and recently her love helped save my life. Yet until last night I kept her at arms length and loved her without warmth. Indeed, in all my relationships I did not give myself fully -- not as a lover, not as a friend...not as a father to my only child.

*Peter.*

I closed my eyes and lay my burning cheek against the cool plate of glass.

I was ready, finally, to consider my Peter, my beloved son. Lo Si told me that when he took the brands, Peter faced his fear and uncertainty with honesty and strength. I saw him standing bravely in the loft when I told him of my journey to France, and...and when I said goodbye. His voice strong and steady, his eyes clear and dry, he did little to betray the fact that once again, I broke his heart.

In my life I have also endured heartache and fear, but I cannot say I have faced them with the same courage and honor as my son.

Confronted with yet another perilous mystery, I have chosen to go off on my own rather than enlist the aid of those I love. But this time, as Peter might say, my heart is not in it.

I meditated, studied the sacred writings, and consulted the wisdom of my master. I quoted passages of the Tao that supported my conclusions and logically justified my decisions. Yet my heart bled sorrow that took shape and form in the hot tears that wet my cheek and streaked the windowpane. Was there no writing, no consult or contemplation that would counsel me differently? From somewhere deep inside me, I heard the whispered plea, *Kwai Chang Caine, it is time to cease your wandering. Look deep into the eyes of the son who loves you and you will find your answers there.*

Emotionally exhausted, I made my way to the living room and collapsed on the sofa. Time passed in a restless state of agitated sleeplessness. Then stillness fell upon the room and blurred figures emerged from the silent shadows. Gradually, the images sharpened and I saw my grandfather, Kwai Chang Caine, as a boy, seated and talking to his teacher, Master Kan.

Master Kan said, "Deal with evil through strength--but affirm the good in man through trust. In this way, we are prepared for evil, but we encourage good."

"And is good our great reward for trusting?" asked young Caine.

"In striving for an ideal," answered Master Kan, "we do not seek rewards. Yet trust does sometimes bring with it a great reward-even greater than good."

"What is greater than good?" asked young Caine.

Master Kan answered, "Love."

The vision roused me from my fitful slumber. I attempted to reflect on it and determine its significance, when my contemplation was disrupted. I focused my attention and I could feel impending terror -- it belonged to Mary Margaret. I had to go to her at once.

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