She glanced up and smiled, as she listened to Fenton chatting with the police officer who was currently guarding them inside the house. And two more outside, she thought ruefully, watching the crime scene – namely our whole front yard!

Someone could have been killed last night, she realized again, feeling a sudden flutter of panic rise inside. We could have all been killed, for that matter! She’d seen how close a bullet had come to Frank…to FRANK! – her cherished firstborn, who had been innocently standing in their front doorway. The more she thought about that, the more upset Laura became. She always told herself that she was accustomed to the idea of Fenton and the boys being in danger, and indeed, she thought she was accustomed to it. But this all-out, frontal attack on their very doorstep – no, she didn’t like it at all, and it had frightened her a great deal. But I won’t say anything to Fenton or the boys, she vowed to herself.

But, her thoughts continued their turbulent path, to shoot at all of us like that! We were so lucky that no one was killed – or even hurt. She had not missed how close another bullet had come to Michael and Erica Ranson – more than one! For there was a bullet hole in the passenger door of Michael’s car, as well as the one punched through his jacket front….

A sudden deluge of coffee on the table made Laura realize that her hand was clenched convulsively on her cup, and she was shaking so badly she’d spilled the hot beverage. Very carefully she set the cup down, and mopped up the mess with a paper napkin, trying to calm herself. You weren’t hurt, Laura. Frank wasn’t hurt. Michael and Erica weren’t hurt. Everything is all right. But she was suddenly very grateful for the police presence around her house.

Fenton came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, then took a good look at his wife. He reached to put a hand on her arm, then changed his mind, moved over and put his arm around her instead.

"Laura, honey – you okay?" Fenton smiled encouragingly, and hugged her tightly; gently kissed her cheek.

"Yes." She managed to return his smile, not mentioning the spilled coffee. "I’m fine. A little spooked, maybe. But I’ll not let that stop me. And I’m not going to sit around worrying, today. I’m going out to Andrea’s. And we’re going to do some shopping – together." She laughed a little. "Unless you want to start going hungry, Fenton, or eating out at every meal, I have to go buy some groceries!"

He chuckled. "Well, that’s about as good a reason as any. But Laura—" he looked at her with his dark eyes full of love and concern, "I want you to take one of the police officers with you as a guard. Maybe he could drive you to Andrea’s, and accompany you two on your shopping trip."

"But—"

"I’m sorry, honey – but since I still don’t know who those men were after…" Fenton’s gaze was pleading. "You’ll do it for me – won’t you?"

She nodded, not bothering to argue the point any more. She knew that he was entirely capable of forbidding her to leave, if he thought it was serious enough. At least I’ll be getting out for awhile. I hate not being able to go where I want, when I want. "All right, darling. I guess I can put up with a few inconveniences to keep you happy." Inwardly, however, Laura was continuing, For awhile, anyway, but there’s only so much I’ll put up with, for so long. I’m not going to stay in the house for the rest of my life, that’s for sure!

Unaware of her rebellious thoughts, Fenton nodded approvingly, satisfied that she wasn’t going to be taking unnecessary chances. "It’s actually a good thing that you’re getting out of the house for awhile, love – especially going somewhere they might not expect." But do they know about Andrea Bender? What kind of resources do these people have, anyway? "I’ll go see if I can arrange it."

In a few minutes, Fenton returned. "All set. Ready to go?"

Laura nodded, folded the newspaper, rose to her feet and set her coffee cup on the counter next to the sink. "Yes."

Fenton escorted her outside and introduced her to one of the police officers who’d been working on searching the grounds for further evidence from last night’s shooting. "Laura, this is Jeremy Isaacs. He’s going to drive you to Andrea’s and then escort you two wherever you’d like to go."

She smiled at the young police officer, who was tall and sandy-haired and freckled, and almost painfully thin. "Good morning, Officer Isaacs. I feel like the President’s wife, with a Secret Service escort!"

"Y-yes, ma’am, Mrs. Hardy," Isaacs stammered, drawing himself very straight. He glanced apprehensively at Fenton, as if to say Am I doing this okay? He was obviously in awe of the famous detective and his own current posting. "Good morning, ma’am."

Laura was reminded of her earliest encounters with Fenton himself, as a rookie police officer in New York, and she had to restrain a laugh. She couldn’t hide the twinkle in her blue eyes, however. "Jeremy – may I call you Jeremy? My name is Laura. Please, call me Laura."

"Yes, ma’am – Laura." Jeremy was still standing stiffly, but he managed to smile now. "I’m – honored – to be working this case, ma’am, and that Mr. Hardy asked me to drive you, Mrs. – uh…Laura."

Well, he may be a rookie, but he’s certainly polite! And it seems he likes the family, so I can tolerate him, she thought, amused in spite of her irritation with the whole situation. And I know Fenton wouldn’t let me go with him if he didn’t trust him, after all. It was interesting to note that Jeremy Isaacs didn’t look much older than Frank. Well, that made sense, if he’d gone to the police academy right from school. And he had that same, fresh-baby-faced look that Joe did. Looks too young to be wearing that gun, she mused. Well, so did Fenton! "Shall we go, then?"

After Isaacs and Laura had departed, Fenton went back into the house, intending to make some phone calls. He had barely seated himself at his desk in the den, however, when the telephone rang.

"Hardy residence."

Fenton wasn’t surprised to hear from Ranson; he had said he’d call. The thing that surprised him was the tense, jerky cadence of Michael’s words and tone. Well, the man had probably just returned from giving his statement at the police station, and people were often tense after paying a visit to that place.

"Michael – how are you this morning?"

"All right, I suppose," Ranson said reluctantly. "I just finished up giving the police my statement from last night."

"And Erica?"

"You’re okay with leaving her alone?" Mr. Hardy ventured, surprised at Michael’s sudden change in attitude about keeping Erica guarded at all times.

"All right." Fenton thought for a moment. "There’s a nice little coffee place called ‘Papa Joe’s’ – all right, Michael, stop laughing," he broke off to say, chuckling himself. "Our son’s not named for it. They have the best coffee in town, for my money – and plenty of privacy, to boot."

Fenton told him how to get there, and Michael assured him he’d find the place. "I’ll be there in half an hour." Ranson said, and hung up abruptly. Thoughtfully, Fenton replaced the receiver…and then opened a locked desk drawer and proceeded to load his .357.

Thirty minutes later, Fenton drove up to Papa Joe’s, and saw Ranson’s Mercedes convertible parked in front. He parked a few spaces away, and went into the little coffee shop, which was filled with enticing aromas. But the morning-rush crowd had long departed; it was peaceful and calm inside.

Michael was seated in a booth by the window. He was dressed casually this morning – the most casual clothes Fenton had yet seen him wear, chinos and a green polo shirt – but although he had ‘dressed down,’ for the occasion, Michael looked anything but relaxed. Instead, he looked downright edgy. He was staring out the window, and smoking a cigarette in short, jerky puffs. From the looks of the ashtray, it wasn’t his first. Fenton wondered if Ranson was armed, this morning. If he was, it wasn’t visible…perhaps in the pocket of his jacket, hanging off a hook next to the booth? Or maybe he used an ankle holster?

"Morning, Michael." Fenton slid into the seat opposite, and beckoned the waitress over. He ordered a cup of coffee and a muffin, and then leaned back and made himself comfortable as she departed. "How’s Erica feeling this morning?"

"I think she’ll be fine," Ranson replied. "Her cousin’s watching over her. She was still in bed when I left; I thought it was best to let her sleep for awhile. She didn’t get to sleep until about 4 this morning; she was too upset."

"I didn’t realize she had relatives in this area," Mr. Hardy commented quietly. He was surprised that the Ransons weren’t staying with Erica’s family, if they were so near.

"We aren’t really that close," Michael said uncomfortably. "We don’t see them all that often. I probably wouldn’t have even contacted them while we were here – except for what happened. I decided I needed some help." He grinned ruefully. "After all, I’m not a resident of Bayport, and I can’t just call in police protection for her, like you can!"

The waitress brought Fenton’s order, and refilled Ranson’s cup. With an apologetic grimace, Ranson stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette.

"Sorry," he said, and handed the waitress the ashtray. "Take this away so I’ll stop," he requested. "Erica’s always on me to quit, but – when I get stressed…"

"It’s hard," Fenton sympathized. "I smoked a pipe for a time, so I understand." He sipped at his coffee, then began buttering his muffin, hoping that his calm demeanor would relax the jittery Michael Ranson a bit.

"Fenton," Michael burst out abruptly, "I want to get these people, whoever they are, who tried to kill us last night! Kidnapping was bad enough, but now it’s gotten worse – drive-by shootings, for God’s sake!"

"So do I." Fenton gave Ranson a long, steady look, and resumed his task with the muffin.

Michael sighed, and appeared to be debating something with himself for a few moments. At last he leaned across the table and spoke again. "Look – I know I’m not the nicest guy in the world. I’m no angel, and I’ve been around." He sighed again. "I do have enemies. In my line of work you can’t get ahead without making a few along the way. I know I have the reputation for playing hardball in the business world—"

"Yes," Mr. Hardy commented quietly. He’d seen and recognized this ruthless quality in Ranson the first time they’d met. Not necessarily bad, but….

"But I never thought I’d made anyone mad enough to go after Erica!" Ranson finished desperately. "Me, maybe – but not her!"

"Is that why you carry a concealed weapon?" Fenton asked, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. "Because of who might go after you?" He wondered if Ranson would answer his question.

"I’m licensed!" Michael said defensively. "I’m licensed to carry concealed! And if you can’t see that I should, after what’s happened…!"

"Take it easy," Fenton said soothingly. "I was just making sure." He returned to the former subject. "I’ve made more than a few enemies as well," he remarked. "It happens in my line of business too. And although I do realize that you’re sure it’s you and Erica these people are after, Michael, I would like to remind you that it just as easily could be Laura and myself." He smiled a little at Ranson’s look of embarrassed contrition. "But whoever they’re after, we need to stop them…right away." He frowned in thought. "Maybe we have a foe in common – someone we’ve both offended in some way?"

"How would we find out?" Ranson demanded. "Is there any way to do that? We can’t just sit here and play ‘Do you know..?’ until we come up with someone that connects!"

The older man chuckled a little and shrugged. "I’d like to think there’s a way we could, but it would be a pretty long shot. I sincerely doubt that I could remember every person I’ve ever offended, apprehended, locked up, or ruined in some way. After 20-odd years as an investigator, it would be a pretty daunting task."

Michael nodded gloomily. "My time line doesn’t go as far back, but the list is extensive, all the same." He took a gulp of his coffee. "So – what do we do, then? Lock both our wives up until this all blows over? I don’t know about your wife, Hardy, but I know Erica isn’t going to put up with it!"

"I agree," Fenton smiled. "Laura already is getting cabin fever."

"So," Ranson persisted, "how do we get these guys out into the open? Set a trap? Try to get them to come after me, or you?"

Mr. Hardy didn’t reply immediately. He sighed quietly and sipped at his coffee, thinking hard. Ranson waited with ill-concealed impatience, but managed to remain silent.