"Take this to the lovely Mrs. Carlton." Clarence handed the payoff to his armed assistant and enjoyed a long deserved gloat. He'd pulled it off. Sarah Carlton had been more than happy to point the police in the direction of her husband....for a price.

Clarence propped his shiny Italian shoes up on his desk and stretched out in his glory. With the skills of a true puppet master, he had maneuvered Mrs. Carlton into just the right state of mind to clear not one, but two players out of his way. Now, their territory--and their cut of the rewards--belonged to him.

"And she wasn't a bad lay, either," he mumbled to himself. Life was good. Bon Bon Hai had showered him with praise, which was a rare treat. Breathing deeply the scent of success, he closed his eyes and thought about his new Mercedes. The BIG Mercedes.

But his cruel satisfaction wasn't meant to last.

Timidly, a tall, blond aide rapped on the door as it swung open. "Excuse me, sir, but--"

"Greetings, Cuz!" Blood Lao swaggered through the door, cutting off the introduction. Draping his arrogant form over a leather arm chair, his filthy clothing did nothing to blunt his caustic edge. "Miss me?"

A volcano of emotion shot from the older man's dark eyes. The shaky aide, not wishing to be a dead messenger, bid a hasty farewell, slamming the door behind him. Clarence fairly leapt over the desk toward the ghost come back to haunt him. "WHAT the hell are you doing here?"

Blood shrank back and toned down his attitude as Clarence's hot breath called his bluff. "Say, man...uh..." he stammered as Clarence pinned him between two angry arms. "Some freak was followin' me all over Beijing. I was with some homies and the psycho wrecked us, man. Car was toast in the river."

"And you have nine lives," Clarence growled down into his cousin's face. "How lucky for me." Shaking the chair with his fury, he pushed himself away and began to pace.

"Uh, yeah, man," Blood straightened, trying to appear less the coward. "There were four other guys. I guess they all drowned or something. I got out and didn't stop runnin' till I found a way to get back here."

"Well, my boy, you just jumped your happy ass out of the frying pan and into the fire." And Clarence could see his own anatomy sizzling as well. "Did you forget your little shooting spree last year? Huh?"

"They got NOTHING on me, man." His confidence was building. "I should have stayed around and taken out those stinkin' cops who were after me. It was YOUR idea to ship me off to that shithole homeland you're so proud of." Hoping for a common thread of sympathy, he added, "You know how hard it is to get smoke there? I haven't had a buzz in six months, man. Sucks."

"Well, this outta give you a buzz, Henry." Clarence paced his frustration out across his Persian rug. "That Griffin chick got better. Bullet in the head and now she's walkin' and talkin'."

The cloud of cowardice descended once again on the hard edged teenage face. "She finger me? Did she say she saw me?" Popping to his feet, the boy planted himself in his cousin's path. "You gotta help me, Man! I can't go back there and I ain't gonna rot in jail bein' some old con's date!" He grabbed Clarence's silk shirt and hung on.

"Get off me!" Clarence peeled off the now-sweating fingers. "Who knows you're here?"

"Nobody, man." Blood smoothed the wrinkled fabric in apology. "Came straight here from the boat."

Taking a whiff, Clarence groaned his disgust. "Well, you didn't take time to shower, that's for sure." His head began to pound. After a moment of silence, he let the shaky teen off the hook. "You're in luck, kid. Mrs. Griffin's brains got a short circuit and she doesn't remember a thing....yet."

"Great!" Blood practically glowed with savage enthusiasm. "Just pop her and I'm home free."

A sharp slap knocked the young man to the floor.

Clarence descended on the boy with a vengeance. Henry had become a cancerous thorn in his side. All his dreams were in jeopardy because of one stupid boy. Pinning the boy to the floor with a well placed knee in Blood's stomach, Clarence rained down into the frightened face. "You screw this up for me and you're dead! Hear me?! I'll handle this and you'd better keep your ass as far out of the light as you can get it until it's done."

Blood held his hands up to ward off the barrage of fists pounding away at his body. "Stop it! Okay! I'll do whatever, man."

Climbing off his cousin's body, Clarence wiped the rage and sweat from his brow. "Nobody finds out about this! Especially my boss. You got it?"

Blood rattled his head up and down as he climbed to his feet.

"I'll take care of this."

"I knew you'd take care of me man!" If there was one thing that Clarence Choi would honor, it was family. No matter what. The boy felt secure in that knowledge.

Blood was beginning to calm, as a well-dressed arm grabbed the thin fabric of his tee-shirt and pulled him nose to nose with spewing venom.

"After this, I own you. You understand that, boy?!" Clarence soaked in the smell of fear, understanding the great pleasure Bon Bon Hai must have in smelling it so often. "You're mine. You'll do whatever I ask up to and including suckin' the shit off the bottom of my shoes if I tell you to. Got it?!"

"Sure, man. Anything." Blood Lao fell silent, recognizing the danger in giving an incorrect response.

Clarence shoved the young body toward the door. "Get down to the basement. There's an apartment there. Home sweet home for you now."

Blood stumbled quickly out the door as Clarence went for the phone -- and a delicate campaign of damage control.

*****

Kermit came home from work in reasonably good spirits. His wife was back, their daughter was once again bonding with her, and all was right with the world. Still, he didn't want to take chances with Savannah's recovery. He refused to work overtime unless it was an emergency. He didn't want to risk the chance that Savannah might desperately need him and find him inaccessible. Their elderly neighbor was an excellent watchdog and checked in on Savannah throughout the day--an arrangement made privately between she and Kermit, so as not to disturb his wife's fragile confidence as it was taking root. The nurse no longer came everyday, a fact that had seemed to help Savannah feel stronger.

Before he entered his front door, Kermit carefully locked all negative emotions under the masque of his face. It was occasionally an effort to do this; but for now Savannah could scarcely bear her own burdens, much less his. Just as the green lenses of his sunglasses filtered out minor annoyances, Kermit's strong features would hide his anger and pain from the sight of Savannah's green eyes. He'd blown his cover twice with her over the Peter Caine issue. He wouldn't do it again.

Opening the door, he instantly realized that his 'happy face' would do little good today.

His heart plummeted through the floor as he saw her. She was on the couch, arms wrapped around herself. She was just sitting there, still as a statue, holding herself. Her expression was a curious mixture of astonishment, confusion, and worry.

He walked carefully to Savannah, put his briefcase silently on the floor, and touched her shoulder gently with a loving hand. "Savannah?" he asked gently. "What happened?" She stopped hugging herself and let her arms fall loose, but still waited for him to walk around the couch and seat himself next to her. "Are you all right?" Stupid question, Kermit knew, but he had to start somewhere. "Is it Kat?"

"Kat's in her bedroom, playing," Savannah whispered. "Kermit...."

"What happened, sweetheart?" He took her hand and rubbed it.

"I found something," she continued in a very soft voice. Then she let loose a borderline-hysterical giggle. "Actually, I found some _things_! A LOT of things!"

"What?" Kermit was still completely in the dark.

"Guns."

"Oh," Kermit sighed. He directed his gaze to the floor. He wasn't looking forward to this one. He had just hoped that it wouldn't have come so soon.

"There are guns everywhere, Kermit," Savannah explained. "I found the first one while making the bed. I reached behind the h-headboard to hold on and found one. I decided to start doing housework and I find guns!"

Kermit nodded. He knew exactly which gun she meant, tucked behind the bed on a hidden ledge. "I know."

"It was locked behind a little door but it was there. Then, I found one in the kitchen when I was looking for the measuring cups. I found one in the bathroom. So then, I really started to look. I found one in the laundry room, in the living room, and some r-rifles in the garage...." She turned to look at him, her eyes welling up with tears. "Why, Kermit? Why are there so many guns?!" Her voice was escalating so he pulled her to him and held her comfortingly

Then it came. She cried a bit into his jacket as he held her, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words. Finally, she pulled back for his reply.

"Why?" she asked again, softly.

Kermit kissed her forehead briefly before continuing. "You won't like it, Scarlett," he warned her, "but you need to know. I wasn't always a law-abiding cop. Remember," he paused, dreading this conversation, "I told you I was a mercenary?"

Knitting her brow together, she asked, "You've told me that before, b-b-but what does that mean? It's just another word for a soldier, right?"

Searching for words to fall into her frame of reference, he answered, "A soldier for hire. People have a cause and need men to carry it out so they pay."

She almost laughed. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was. I've made lots of enemies, Scarlett, both then and now as a cop. There are a lot of people out there that would love to...um...."

"...kill you," she finished, holding him closer. Her emotions were churning with fear...for all of them.

As if reading her mind, Kermit said, "I'm sorry. I wish I could change things but I can't. The only thing I can do is to be prepared for the possible. It is possible, Savannah. I won't kid you. I've done everything I could to keep you and Kat safe. It's one reason I'm such a fanatic about the alarm being turned on when you're here alone." Her silence grew, so much so that Kermit tried to look at her face. It was still buried in his chest. "Savannah? Please talk to me."

"These things you used to do, this mercenary stuff," she asked haltingly, "did you...did you...kill...?"

"Yes." There was no point in evasion now.

"How many have you killed?"

Why was always the first question? Kermit wondered, remembering that Savannah's father had asked the same thing. "I don't know," he answered. "I can't even remember the number of wars I've been in. Vietnam was the first."

Savannah remembered his comment about how many hospital stays he'd had and shivered. "What made you give it up?" Savannah was looking at him for the answer to this one.

"To tell the truth, I'm not sure," Kermit said thoughtfully. "I could give you lots of partial reasons, like I was sick and tired of it, my mentor offered me a haven to rest in and I grabbed it, but there's really not one thing that stands out as a reason. I don't know why."

"Maybe you wanted to find yourself."

Kermit hugged her tightly. It was just like what she would have said before the shooting, when she knew him and his soul. She knew him so well. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry you were scared but know that I would do anything - ANYTHING - to protect you."

She understood this much already. He'd been protecting her emotionally for months. The idea that he would defend her physically came as no shock. "I know that," she whispered and stroked his cheek. Trying to reassemble some of her small but growing supply of fortitude, she changed focus. "What about Kat and all these guns? This isn't safe. Not with a child in the house."

Leaving her briefly, he retrieved one pistol from over the entertainment center. "See this band around the barrel that loops over the hammer, here?" Kermit traced the thick rubber loop encasing the firing mechanism and covering the end of the .38.

"Yes."

"Pull on it."

Obeying, Savannah tried to remove the safety device. "I can't do it."

Taking the weapon from her small hand, he said, "That's right. When you have all your strength back, you'll be able to remove it, but there's no way a child could get this off. And, without removing the band, the gun won't fire." Taking another weapon from behind the bookcase, he directed her attention to the plastic covering blocking the trigger. "See this? It's a similar device, only it prevents the trigger from firing. To open it, you have to hold this pin in on both sides and slide this catch backward simultaneously." Watching her attempt the motion and fail, he explained, "A child simply can't do it, but an adult can if they've been trained."

"Okay, that makes me feel a little better." That coupled with the fact that all the items she'd discovered were out of reach....for now. "What about as she gets older, Kermit? She's growing every day and-"

"I'll do what ever it takes to keep her safe, Scarlett. I've got a friend of mine who has a some unique carpentry skills and we've already talked about a few *built in* tricks he'll construct for me when my hiding places are no longer suitable. Slots in the wall and hidden panels here and there." She was right. Kat was growing and had the curiosity of her namesake.

"Do it now." It was a command. Plain and simple.

"Fair enough. I'll call him first thing in the morning." Kermit agreed, hoping this would be the end for the moment. It wasn't.

Eyes bright with the glow of new information, Savannah asked, "Do I know how to use those guns?" Knowing the truth had calmed her. Uncertainty had been frightening.

"Yes," he replied, then quickly added, "you did once." She had been reluctant to learn about the firearms at first, but being Kermit's wife precluded any dislike of violent weaponry. With a small child in her care and the threat of vicious retribution an ever-present Griffin reality, she basically had no choice. With her typical devotion to detail, Savannah had studied at her husband's side and learned to handle her own firearm. That, coupled with the martial arts training she had taken with Caine, had made Kermit's fears ebb in regard to her ability to defend herself.

That was a lifetime ago.

This woman had no such training or skill, just as before she fell into his world. "Would you like me to show you again?" he offered, watching for her response.

Weighing the consequences silently, she paused for a moment. Then, the light of decision sparked and she answered, "Yes, I would. If this is our life, then I have to know these things."

Squeezing her hand, he concurred, "You're right. I'll teach you this weekend."

Watching as she got slowly up from the sofa and tiptoed down the hall to check on their daughter, Kermit felt that familiar sadness invade. He hated that she had to know "these things." Hated it with a red hot passion. Hated the violence that existed only to beget more. Hated the violence that existed to victimize gentle people like her and force them to develop vile skills and thick skins and distrust.

He hated it but it was reality. His and hers.

*****

"Here, Scarlett. Put these on." Kermit instructed his wife as he slid a set of muffling headphones over her ears. He'd just spend an hour drowning in questions from Savannah about guns and loading and firing. One thing was certain. Once she decided to learn something, Mrs. Griffin was nothing but thorough.

At her frown, he laughed and remembered saying the same words long ago. "Yes, it will flatten your hair."

Pawing playfully at his arm, she smiled and readjusted the protective gear. "You think I'm that vain?" Savannah giggled and blatantly fluffed her hair in the reflection of his green glasses.

"Oh yeah," he teased, then handed her a weapon. The police firing range was relatively empty for a change. A fact that made the ex-mercenary a great deal more at ease with his student. Having no idea how Savannah would react to the sound of gunfire, this privacy was a blessing.

"Here's your .38," he said, carefully handing his wife the weapon. Her gun. The gun he'd bought for her to carry because of his disgusting life. The gun she'd learned to use and relearned to use. He laid the hard, cold metal in her soft, warm hand. Accepting the fact that it was necessary to even the odds. She could face a life and death battle with this as her only defense. Just as she had in front of the precinct. In front of the precinct, alone. Without him at her side. Without....

"Do allow me to correct you, my dear," she said and wrapped her hand around the stock. "It is a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson, .38 Special, air weight, with shrouded hammer." Punctuating her dissertation with a wink from behind her protective goggles, she turned toward the target at the end of the range.

"Show off," he whispered, and moved in behind her. She had the .38 held firmly in one hand, with the other beneath for support. Building a circle around her with his arms, Kermit helped support her still-weakened limbs. "This is fine for target practice, but if you ever have to pull this, you'll want to bend your elbow and hold it close to your side." Tugging her tiny wrists back toward his wife's body, he plastered the run to a point at her waist. "Harder for someone to take it away from you this way."

Intellectually, she absorbed the information, just as she had assimilated the specifics meticulously shared by her husband about the firearms they owned. It was easier to learn without connecting the newly-obtained knowledge with its fundamental purpose: killing another human being. Quickly voicing her curiosity, she turned slightly to his cheek as it brushed her temple. "Have I ever pulled a gun on someone?"

"No." He could feel her body relax at the information. Signaling the worker controlling their alley to set the target, Kermit once again extended her arms. "Use the sight and line up the target. Once you have it, squeeze the trigger. Don't jerk." Slowly releasing her from his grip, he stepped back slightly.

The muscles stretching through her back began to tense, to tingle. The gun was level with the center of the bullseye. She was ready. *Ready, set, go!* The thought bled into action as the delicate finger eased backward to pull the trigger.

Once. Twice. Then more. The shots pumped in a hazy flash of energy from the barrel. Exploding into a paper imitation of flesh.

Somewhere in the fantasy gun battle, a face appeared. Smiling. The flash of metal glinting in noon day sun. Someone yelling, "Welcome back!" Real but unreal. There, then gone. Dissolving images fading in the face of thundering sound and light.

"Nice job!" came the enthusiastic call over the loudspeaker. With lightning speed, the target flew back along its track toward the student and teacher.

"He's right, lady." Kermit pulled the paper victim into his hands. "Kill zones every time."

Kill zone. The woman stared blankly at the target. The sound of bullets pinging over concrete. "Get down!" echoing.

"Scarlett?"

With a word, the fragile image of blur and sound was gone. Jolting back to reality, Savannah re-animated. "That's good, right?" She knew it was. She didn't like it, but hitting the "kill zone" was the goal.

He'd seen the flash. Some image fleeting through her eyes. Saw her desperately reach to grab the memory then release it. He'd seen it countless times before and tried to help her twist fingers into the tangle and hold it still.

Not this time. The images this exercise could evoke were all bad. He said to himself that she wasn't ready to chase them and ignored the signs. *For her,* he thought and sped by the moment.

"Yeah. That's good," the detective confirmed, taking the empty weapon as she peeled off the headgear. "You get an A plus."

Smiling up at him, Savannah shook off the intangible memory and let the joy of being near her husband pale the harshness of firearms and bullets. "So, Green Man, do I get a smilie face on my report card?"

Letting a crooked smile spread over his rough features, he drifted into the flirtation. "Why don't I put it elsewhere?"

Both grinning, they left the range and called it a day.

*****

Peter Caine was having a good day. He'd actually gotten a good night's sleep and managed to process a mountain of paperwork down to a single file. Leaving his car behind, Peter was enjoying the bright sunshine as he walked toward the comforts of the New Orleans Cafe and his lunch date.

A date. It seemed like a lifetime ago since he'd felt free enough to focus any attention on a woman. Carrie Windom was blue-eyed distraction with legs up to her neck and a nice habit of sparkling at his one liners. *Funny what you find at the dentist's office,* he laughed to himself.

By the end of his semiannual teeth cleaning session, Miss Carrie Windom, perky dental hygienist, had been confirmed for lunch. Detective Peter Caine had spruced himself into a new shirt and cologne and was about to spend a welcome hour flirting his way into Carrie's good graces.

Walking with a long-missing spring to his stride, Peter allowed himself to enjoy the day and his life. Half of Carrie's appeal was that she didn't know him. Not really. She wouldn't comfort or pry or accuse. She was freedom in a short skirt. Amen.

Rounding the corner, Peter focused on his goal at the end of the block. He had lured Carrie into meeting him at this new Creole place with some sly remark about the "healthful advantages of spice." When she didn't groan, he knew he had her.

A bright purple awning jutted out from the entrance of the restaurant. A light breeze ruffled heavy gold fringe, bringing relief from the building noontime heat. Peter checked his watch and walked faster. Scanning the group near the street for his long-legged date, he caught sight of another familiar blonde.

He slowed his pace, light giving way to dark in his mood. His steps grew more leaden with each second. Still, he continued to walk toward her.

Savannah Griffin stood just a little apart from the crowd. Poised near the street, she leaned heavily on a polished wooden cane. For a second, Peter prepared to turn and wait for her to leave. In the hesitation, she turned look down the street and caught his eyes.

The look on her face stopped his retreat. Waves of disappointment and sorrow poured from her expression. A thick sadness reached out to him, drawing him into her pain. He moved toward her, slowly.

When the recognition dawned, Savannah forced a thin smile to her lips. The beautiful face couldn't hide the heavy burden in her eyes. At Peter's approach, she pulled her hand from the pocket of her pale yellow dress and reached out to him.

"Hello, ...Peter." She spoke slowly and quietly.

"Hi, yourself." He touched the hand briefly, unprepared for the assault of her grief. It took a moment of analysis, but he was positive that he sensed grief. "Why are you out here all alone?"

Quickly withdrawing her hand and discreetly brushing away something from her cheek, Savannah answered, "Kermit went to get the car. I had a check-up and he thought I'd like this place." Increasing the mask of her smile, she asked, "Are you meeting someone?"

"Yes, but I'm early." Peter controlled the onslaught of her raging emotions to his mind. "Not meaning to pry, but is something wrong?" He watched her cheeks turn pale pink.

"No. I mean, kinda. Well..." Her voice cracked and she shot another quick glance out into traffic. "It just didn't g-go the way I planned."

Peter felt the stab of pain once again. "What did the doctor say?"

Savannah avoided his eyes. Blinking back a tear, she didn't pull away as Peter found her hand once again. "Well...I remembered something. Something about our trip to P-Paris." She looked up into Peter's eyes, hurt coloring words that should have been happy. "We were planning to have another baby. I asked if we could do that now and....well....they don't think it's a good idea." The tear escaped and rolled down her face. "Somethin' about seizures and kidneys and blood pressure....too dangerous, they said....I'm just..." The words caught in her throat and she silenced the sounds.

"Just what, Savannah?" Peter fought the resurgence of his own paralyzing guilt. Another piece of her life had been destroyed. Another piece Peter had taken from her.

"Just so...so sorry for Kermit." Savannah dug down into her purse, struggling to hold onto it and the cane. Peter released her hand and held the bottom of her purse so that she could retrieve a handkerchief. "Thanks."

"Don't be sorry for Kermit, Savannah. He--"

"He's stuck with damaged mer...chandise." She mopped away the loose tears running down her cheeks as strangers looked on at the odd exchange. "I remember how happy he was....wanted another baby...and now...I can't give him one."

"Look, doll---....Savannah," he corrected quickly, "the man is grateful to have you alive. That's all he wants. Concentrate on yourself for a while. Don't worry so much about what other people may want and not want. It doesn't matter."

She nodded, focusing on her hand in his to avoid his eyes.

Peter wanted desperately to reassure her. Forcing a smile, he said, "I saw the way he looked when he first laid eyes on you, lady. The man was hooked. Nearly took my head off when I asked who you were."

"At the precinct?" She looked up again.

"Yeah," Peter caught the brighter look in her green eyes, "Big bad merc sniffs a flower and he's gone." She laughed. "Look, he loves you. You have each other and Kat. It's more that what most people have."

Savannah stood a bit straighter. Her smile, a bit more relaxed. "My head knows that, but my heart just needs to get the message." Stuffing her handkerchief back inside her purse, she said, "I'm sorry to dump this on you right here in the street, b-but it just seems like...I mean...like we're friends. Right?"

Before he could respond, a green blur screeched to a halt at the curb. Kermit Griffin exited the Corvair and slammed his door in a release of anger. Stalking around the car and up to the curb, he growled in a barely veiled attack, "What do you want?"

Peter backed away a few steps, as Kermit positioned himself between them. Savannah's eyes grew clouded with confusion and turmoil once again. "I was just keeping your wife company while you were gone."

"Go keep somebody else company."

Peter watched Kermit wrap a possessive arm around Savannah's shoulders. "No problem." Peter caught sight of his date rounding the corner. The blonde tossed up a friendly wave which he returned. Focusing on Savannah and trying to dispel any discomfort, he said, "Take care of yourself," and followed Carrie inside the restaurant. He only looked back once, as a faint scream echoed through his thoughts.

Kermit guided Savannah to the car and opened her door. The tension in his hold betrayed the fury inside. "Kermit..."

"I want you to stay away from Peter Caine." He took hold of her cane as she eased herself down into the front seat.

"Why?" She looked up with more fire that he'd seen before.

"Because I asked you too."

"That's what you s-said before. It's not an answer." Her words were cut off by the firm seal of the door as it closed.

Kermit made his way around the front of the vehicle then planted himself behind the wheel. He moved for the keys, then stopped. Taking in a ragged breath, sheered by frustration and fury, Kermit turned to his wife. Taking her hand, he softened his voice. "Do this for me. It's all I ask. Stay away from him."

"I don't understand why you won't talk to me about him. Who is he? What did he do to you?" Savannah grabbed hold of his hand in a pleading grip.

"I'm sorry. You just have to trust me." Pulling his hand away, he started the engine and ended the conversation.

******

The night air was a warm bath over her skin as Savannah sat outside under the stars. It was two in the morning and, as usual, she was wide awake. The cycles of sleep were still irregular for her, even months after the coma had released her into consciousness. Many nights, she eased out of bed as Kermit slept and sat on the sofa to study her stack of readers from the rehab center. She was up to ninth grade level already and advancing quickly.

Tonight, the readers held no interest. Her life was coming back in jagged hunks of memory. Important events of her life mingled with tiny fragments of the ordinary. Sitting on the deck, flowing back and forth with the breeze in her large wooden swing, she tried to knit the pieces together in some kind of order. They appeared in no chronological order, the pattern of memory being quite random and seemingly spurred by the present.

Sitting beneath the clear night sky, Savannah tried to order the memories. Fishing on her grandfather's pond as a child. Her senior prom. Beall Street clubs she frequented. Meeting the love of her life.

That memory brought a smile to her lips. Having that moment of frantic attraction back was so dear. Remembering making love to him for the first time. Feeling that precious jewel of creation between them was comfort as well as memory. It was still there. Even though the whole of their lives together was out of reach, that feeling was the same. The same tonight as it had been nearly three years ago.

If only the rest would return. The encounter with Peter Caine had left her more discouraged than ever. Kermit's reactions when he'd seen them together had been borderline aggressive. The anger was evident. The reason, out of her comprehension. Surely, the reason must be locked in her memories...somewhere.

Getting up to pace through the gentle push of summer wind in her hair, she tried to force once again. The shooting took place in front of the precinct. A drive-by, Kermit had told her. Random. Summoning her focus, Savannah pictured the location. She had seen the building from her car window as Kermit drove past. Plain stone and mortar sparking nothing but the senses of the present.

Closing her eyes, she tried to place herself there. Kat had been with her. Probably carried, because she was so little. Were there others? She had no idea. Were others injured or killed? Another blank. So many blanks. Like the blank surrounding Peter Caine and her husband's blatant fury at the mention of his name. Kermit could fill the blanks. He could.... but he wouldn't.

Focus! Again, she moved though the night air and pretended to walk up stairs she never touched. When had the shots begun? Did she hear them? Imagining the sounds that she heard on the firing range, she constructed a scenario. She had fallen down over Kat to protect her, Kermit had said. It was sickening to think about. This child, a child she loved so fiercely, in the path of a bullet! It made her angry, blotting out all else.

What little she had built within her mind disappeared behind the wall of emotion. "We'll build new memories," Kermit had said in the hospital. Pulling her thin cotton robe more tightly around her body, the woman tried to accept this as comfort. If it all remained a blank, at least they were there with her. A husband. A child. Both welcoming her with scars and shattered memory.

Sleep was still out of reach for the moment and Savannah eased back into the darkened kitchen for a drink. Leaving the door open, she padded around the room on bare feet, knowing that she had more fitful hours remaining. "At least it's nice outside," she mumbled to herself. Space and freedom were precious commodities to someone denied them for so long.

Pulling a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, she began to pour a glass when the peaceful shroud of silence was crashed down around her in the moonlight. Time warped into slow motion, as the sounds of a table leg scraped over the floor. Glass shattered crisply against tile as a vase tumbled from its perch.

A man's figure loomed in the faint glow of the moon through the open patio door. Savannah screamed, cornered in the dead end of the kitchen with the lone intruder blocking her path. Hand raised, a flash of light glinted off metal in his hand.

"KERMIT!!!!"

The shriek pierced through the air as another figure plowed into the intruder. Tangled in a mass of shadow, the two crashed into the living room. Sounds of powerful blows connecting with flesh filled the sanctuary of their home.

Moving on reflex, Savannah dove for the light switch, illuminating the battle raging in the next room. Kermit fought with the large ragged man, flipping back and forth over the rug. Trading thunderous punches punctuated with guttural sounds of wind escaping tortured diaphragms.

KAT! Her first thought. Savannah ran toward the hall, grabbing the phone on her way. What number?! In her fog of memory, the information came. 911. She dialed in the panicked stumble to get to the baby's room.

"HELP! I need h-h-help!" she yelled into the phone as an emergency operator picked up the line. Looking into Kat's room, she found her safe and whole. Miraculously still sleeping.

<Calm down, ma'am. What's wrong and where are you?> The voice was calm. Asking for information.

They were on their feet in the living room. Plowing one foot through the air, the intruder kicked Kermit square in the ribs. The force of the blow, driving him back over a chair and onto the floor, left him fair game for the attacker. Diving heavily through the air, the man met a retaliatory strike to his gut as Kermit drove his foot upward to stop his advance.

"S-s-s-avannah Gr-gr-griffin! A m-m-man in our home!" She quickly locked the door to the nursery, then positioned herself in front of it to protect her daughter. "Please s-s-send someone! Hurry!" Savannah stammered into the phone

<Someone's on the way, ma'am,> the voice comforted. Having already identified the location of her distraught caller via computer ID, the dispatcher knew it was the home of an officer with the 101st precinct. <What's happening there, Savannah?> the woman asked, trying to make contact by using her first name.

"F-f-ighting. K-k-kermit is fighting with him. Hurry!" She held the receiver in a sweaty clutch. Watching the bloody battle before her. The intruder's tattered clothing waved around as he fought with her husband. His shaggy brown hair was loose and dirty and the wild look on his face spoke of an animal's fury.

<Where are they in the house?>

"L-l-living room. In front."

<Is the man armed?>

There had been something in his hand. "I th-think so. Knife maybe. Please te-te-tell them to hurry."

<They'll be there any minute. Are you away from them, Savannah? Is there anyone else in the house? Can you get out of the house?> The dispatcher could hear the sounds of furniture crashing and knew her caller was at risk.

"N-n-no...." Savannah stammered into the phone. "I h-h-have to p-p-protect my little g-g-girl...." She wanted to hide in Kat's room, wanted to escape the horror. Something wouldn't let her leave Kermit alone in his battle -- even if she were nothing more than a witness. The shock and terror paralyzed her, cementing her where she stood.

<Savannah, first get into a safe place. Then take a good look at the assailant. Can you describe him?>

Savannah, wincing involuntarily, gasped as the man threw a lamp at Kermit, who was still unable to get to his feet. Kermit's hand brushed the lamp aside upon contact. It smashed to the floor as the man flung something else at him then reached into his pocket. Once again, something glittered in the semi-darkness.

"Kermit...." Savannah choked out. She could see her husband groping frantically underneath the couch. He was searching for one of the guns that she hadn't found, obviously. She prayed for his fingers to grab hold of it as the man advanced.

A screwdriver clutched in the man's fist plunged forward as the he rammed toward Kermit's position on the floor. In one fluid motion, the detective reached the concealed weapon, withdrew it from its cover underneath the couch and fired upward into the assailant. Poised to stab the deadly weapon into Kermit's chest, the villain's body hesitated in a nauseating arc as the bullet splintered his chest then exploded through his back. Momentum threw his limp flesh against the delicate floral wallpaper in the kitchen. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking his clothing and running in tiny rivulets through the grout around shiny squares of blue tile.

Savannah watched the dead eyes as she slid to the floor in unison with the horror played out before her. Breathless and wordless in her shock.

Kermit, still operating in mercenary mode, stalked carefully over to the body in his bare feet, gun held at the ready. Pointlessly checking for a pulse, he shoved the intruder's head to send the corpse crashing rudely to the floor. One last blow for good measure. His hand then searched the body for any identifying clues. The sirens blaring down the street snapped him back from killer.

"Savannah?! Where-" Before he could finish the call, he saw her, slumped against the wall in the corridor. The dispatcher's voice still calling from the phone in her hand, his wife sat dazed and staring at the bloody scene in her kitchen.

Oh God...she saw it. Kermit swallowed his disgust. She had seen him kill, had seen him attack. Now, she knew what kind of violence he was capable of. Savannah had seen him in 'that self' before but that was another Savannah. This one had no first-hand knowledge of his life.

Gathering her tightly to his chest, Kermit grabbed the phone. "This is Detective Griffin. The assailant is down and the back-up is in the driveway."

<I heard a shot, Detective. Should I send an ambulance?>

"No. He's dead. Send the coroner." Briskly shutting off the phone, he felt her tremors begin. "It's all over, Scarlett. We're safe." Savannah shuddered in the warmth of his arms as pounding began on their front door.

"Open up! POLICE!"

Unwilling to leave Savannah but not wanting to expose her to further shock, he opened the door to Kat's room. "Go stay with Kat," he ordered gently. "Don't open up unless I say."

She grasped onto his hand, not willing to let him go, until the pounding sounded again. "Ok-k-k-kay," she stuttered.

Kermit tried to give her a reassuring, loving nod as he shut the door. With her safely encased within. He then turned, strode across the room and opened the door to reveal two uniformed officers. One of whom immediately pointed a gun at him. "Put the gun down, sir. Now!"

Kermit sighed as he relinquished the weapon to the other officer. He had forgotten to put it down. "I'm Detective Griffin," he said, "I live here, that is my gun and the assailant is there." He inclined the assailant's position with a nod of his head. "He attacked my wife."

"Savannah?" the officer asked, checking the call-in sheet.

"Yes." Kermit stepped by to allow the officers inside to examine the area.

"Where is your wife, sir?" the officer asked.

"In the nursery with our daughter," Kermit told him. "I'll give you the information you need."

The other officer entered cautiously, surveying the damage. "We need to see your wife, Detective."

Mary Margaret Skalany shoved her way through the door behind the young officer with T.J. on her heels. "You just let me do that, Officer. I'll take her statement." Kermit was upright and obviously in one piece so she spared him the inquiries. "Where is she?"

Kermit nodded in the direction of the hall. "Nursery. She wasn't hurt."

The dark-haired woman disappeared, leaving T.J. to handle the scene.

"Excuse me, Detective...uh..., " the first officer read the information on the badge T.J. readily offered, "Kincaid. The 101st is Chinatown. This is our jurisdiction." The tension in his voice at being effectively pushed aside by the first detective was evident.

With a conciliatory grin and pat of the young man's shoulder, T.J. dismissed him with a touch more tact than Mary Margaret had employed. "I understand that, Officer.....Riley. But this is one of our own. We'll handle it."

Pacified with the polite dismissal, the two young uniforms went outside to secure the scene and direct the others arriving.

Kermit was now seated at his kitchen table. Taking a minute to observe his colleague, T.J. absorbed the odd scene. Kermit Griffin, shirtless and in dark blue sweat pants. Barefoot. The assailant had landed a blow or two to his face, evidenced by a thin smudge of blood at the corner of his mouth. Most people would look vulnerable in such a position. Not this guy.

Walking over to examine the body, he commented in an almost light tone of voice, "Nice shot."

"Nice target," came the blunt response.

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