“Frank, are you okay?” Fenton asked, looking anxiously towards his son when the shooting finally stopped.

Frank’s voice shook slightly as he gave his father a brief nod.  “I – I think so—” and then he saw his father’s hand, bleeding heavily.  “Oh my gosh!  Dad!  You’ve been shot!”

Around them people were milling and still screaming as Fenton looked at his hand and remarked wryly, “It had to be my right hand, didn’t it?”  He gave a reassuring smile to his pale-faced son.  “I’m okay Frank – it’s not as bad as it looks…”  He glanced around for his contact and sighed, “Can’t say the same thing about Ramon, though…”

Frank looked around and then balked; there was no mistaking it – Ramon, the informant, was dead.

Very, very dead.

* * *

“Jeepers, Hardy.”  Oscar Smuff’s voice sent Fenton’s skin crawling as he sat on the ground and let two paramedics treat his hand. He had been very lucky; one of the bullets that killed Ramon had only grazed him – although with all the wrapping the paramedics were doing of it, Fenton was beginning to wonder about that…. “What is it with you meeting contacts and getting them shot at—” he glanced down at the covered body and snorted, “or killed?”

“Shut up,” Fenton growled, really not in the mood to deal with Smuff, who had only now arrived on the scene.

Frank hovered nervously, very unnerved about the shooting and his father’s injury.

“Well, well,” Smuff mused, appraising the tall, dark-haired teen, “this must be little Frankie.  My, how he’s grown – chip off the old block, ain’t he, Fentie?”

“Go play in traffic,” the other detective hissed, praying for a freak lighting bolt to zero in on the checkered jacket-clad annoyance!

“What about the other one – Joey, isn’t it?  How come he’s not out here playing dick with his old man and big brother?” Smuff jeered. “Or is he still messed up—”

Fenton was on his feet in a second, grabbing Oscar and throwing him against the back wall – the paramedics scurried out of the way as Frank watched in shock. His father was furious!  “Leave it alone, Smuff – leave it the hell alone!”

* * *

“Fenton?  Is there a problem?” Chief Collig asked, hurrying towards the two men. He had been getting briefed by his guys when Smuff showed up.

“This piece of trash – that’s the problem!” Fenton growled, keeping the other man still pressed against the wall, mindless of the pain in his hand – fury overrode self-preservation.

“Oscar?” Collig addressed the other man, “What’s going on?”  He had no qualms that the ruddy-faced man had undoubtedly brought this upon himself, as Fenton was normally remarkably restrained around Oscar – as trying as he was!

“Nothing! I just asked him about his family and he flipped!” Oscar squeaked, looking at the Chief for help.  “He’s crazy—”  Fenton gave him another rough shake and then released him, stepping back and snorting angrily before grasping Frank by the elbow and heading him away.

“Let’s go and give Riley our statements,” he said, indicating the dark-haired cop who was talking to witnesses, “then get the hell out of here.”

Frank nodded, wondering what in the world was going on. He felt like he’d stepped into the middle of a movie but had no idea how much he had missed or what the movie was supposed to be about!

* * *

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Laura yelled as she quickly crossed the room, grabbed Gwynne and roughly pulled her off Joe. The teen had his eyes open and was trying feebly to push the woman away.

Taking a moment to reassure her son, and press him back on the couch, Laura whirled around – her pale blues eyes flashing with fury.

Gwynne shrugged apologetically, “I’m sorry—”

Laura cut her off, furious and not about to be intimidated by the taller woman.  “This is my 17-year-old son!  Not much more than a child – and you...you—”  She was so angry that for a few moments, she couldn’t even say anything!

* * *

Joe struggled to keep his eyes open, but it was so hard…and as he drifted off again, he heard raised voices – barely recognizing his mother’s.

* * *

“I couldn’t help myself,” the dark-haired woman said, her gaze loving and longing as she looked back at Joe.  Laura immediately moved, blocking her view.

“He is NOT Paul!” Laura growled at her. “Paul is dead!”  She was too angry to even feel the normal twist of pain she got whenever she mentioned her brother!  “My son might look like him – but that’s it! That is where it ends, regardless of what horse you put him on or—”

“I know that!” the other woman cut her off, her voice rising in indignation.

“Do you?” Laura cut back, not believing her for one moment, “Then how the hell can you explain what just happened? You were kissing my teenage son!”

“It was just a friendly kiss – motherly—”

Laura slapped her face, hard.  “How dare you?!” she hissed, fury replacing the blood in her veins.  “That was no ‘mother’s kiss’! How dare you!! This is my child!!”

Gwynne touched her cheek, her dark eyes narrowing dangerously. “You bi—” she started, but then stopped as there was a loud pounding on the front door – someone was here!

Quickly moving towards the door, Gwynne opened it and then stared at a tall, sandy-haired man that she didn’t recognize.

“Hi,” the man said smiling at her, “I hope you can help me—”

* * *

Laura felt a rush of relief as soon as she heard the man’s voice, and hurried towards the doorway – it was Sam Radley!

“Sam!” she cried, pushing her way past Gwynne and grabbing his arm, pulling him in out of the rain, “Please help me!  Joe’s been hurt!”

Instantly the smile was gone from the detective’s face as he strode into the living room and saw the supine figure stretched out on the couch. 

“What happened?” he asked as he took in the pale-faced, unconscious teen.

“He was thrown from a horse and hit his head,” Laura explained, lifting the bandage she had put on Joe’s temple to show Sam.

“Did you call an ambulance?” he asked, glancing around the room warily. Something was amiss; he wasn’t sure what – yet – but he had no intention of leaving here without Laura and Joe.

“Power’s down – so are the phone lines….I— I think he has a concussion,” Laura sobbed, her anger dissolving into fear for her son now that Sam was here.

Sam nodded and then crouched down next to the slumbering teen and gently shook him.  “Hey Joe, come on kid – you wanna open those baby blues so Uncle Sam can take a look?”

“It’s too dangerous to try and move him in this weather,” Gwynne stated, coming to stand behind the couch and ignoring the glare Laura threw her way. She did step back a bit though.

“Not if he needs to be in a hospital, it isn’t,” the man commented, feeling relief when Joe slowly opened his eyes. His relief was short-lived when he saw how uncomprehending Joe looked; the boy seemed to have trouble focusing on Sam. Hiding his concern, Sam’s voice was warm: “Hey kid, how you feeling?”

“Not…so good.”  Joe’s voice was barely a whisper, and the detective gave his chest a soft pat.

“Okay, well what say I get you and your Mom out of here?” he offered, tactfully leaving out any mention of going to the hospital, knowing how much Joe hated hospitals and not wanting to upset him. He wasn’t 100% sure, but – like Laura – he was strongly suspecting a concussion.

“Sounds…good,” Joe managed and then closed his eyes and drifted off again.

Sam gave him a brief smile and then stood up. Laura stood beside him as he fished into his pocket, pulling out his car keys.  “If you wanna go start my car, I’ll give Joe a hand—”

“Is that wise?” Gwynne cut in, “trying to drive him anywhere in weather like this?  At least wait until it stops raining!”  A crack of thunder resonated around them, punctuating her concern, but the man just shook his head.  He saw the slap mark on her face and glanced at Laura in surprise, but Laura was glaring at Gwynne and not looking at him.

“Wise or not, Joe needs to be looked at,” he responded, nudging Laura, who looked at him and saw the offered keys.

She squeezed Sam’s hand in appreciation as she took the keys, and the detective gave her a little nod and smile; reassuring her that he’d take care of things and get them out of here.  Laura trusted Sam with her life, and in this case, with Joe’s as well.

“I’ll start the car,” she said, not bothering to even look at Gwynne; stopping only long enough to grab her purse and the plastic bag they had brought their bathing suits in. ‘No swimming today’ she mused, heading towards the door.  And then she stopped and backed towards Sam as the door swung open and Blair Smart stepped into the house.  He glanced at the women and Joe before his gaze finally came to rest on the strange man standing next to the couch.

“And what exactly is going on in here?” he demanded; his voice as unfriendly as the look he fixed Sam with.

Sam tensed and held the newcomer’s glare.  “Nothing much.  We were just leaving.”  He moved slightly, putting himself closer to Laura so he could grab her at the first sign of trouble, while at the same time keeping himself between Joe and this guy.

“Who the hell are you?” the other man growled, but made no move to come any closer.

“Good question,” Gwynne chimed in, as if suddenly realizing she had no idea who Sam was either!

“Sam Radley, Private Investigator,” the sleuth introduced himself.

Blair scoffed as he looked at Laura.  “What, Fenton doesn’t trust you? He has a PI dogging your trail?”

Laura snorted, “Sam is Fenton’s partner, and I, for one, am damn happy to see him.  Now if you’ll excuse us, Blair, Sam is going to take Joe to the hospital.”

Blair stared at Laura and for one brief moment, the detective was worried that he was going to try something. The last thing he wanted was for this to get ugly.  Not that he was afraid of this guy, but he just wanted to get his partner’s family out of here with as little fuss as possible.  Besides, incidents created paperwork, and he wasn’t that anxious to spend the rest of the day talking to cops and filling out paperwork – especially when he needed to get the teen to the hospital!

Blue eyes narrowed angrily, Laura snapped at Blair, “Move.”

The dark-haired man hesitated for a moment and then moved away from the door, letting her pass. He looked at Sam.  “I’ll give you a hand with the kid.”

“No, that’s okay,” the detective declined as he roused Joe again and gently helped him up. Joe leaned heavily against him. “I’ve got him. But thanks for the offer.”  He wasn’t exactly sure what the other guy was up to – maybe he did genuinely want to help – but Sam wasn’t taking any chances or having this turn into a hostage situation!

Minutes later, he was making Joe as comfortable as possible in the backseat of his car. Then climbing into the driver’s seat, he put the car in reverse and backed away from the house. Sitting beside him, Laura was quiet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, turning the car around and pulling out onto the road; adjusting the wipers to try and accommodate for the heavy rain.  She sighed and shook her head.

“I just want to get away from here as quickly as possible.”

Sam nodded and they continued the drive in silence.

* * *

Gwynne stood in the doorway and watched the car disappear from view.  Blair came up to stand behind her.  “We had to let them go.”

She turned around and glared at him, “I don’t have to like it,” and then disappeared upstairs.

Blair shook his head, already knowing exactly where she had gone. Not her own room, that was for sure.

* * *

Gwynne threw herself down on Paul’s bed and cried – she had been so close!  And now he was gone. She had lost Paul…again!

* * *

“Damnit,” Fenton hissed as he pounded the dashboard in frustration. Frank, driving his father’s car because of the detective’s injury, startled and glanced across at the older man. ‘No doubts about where Joe gets his temper,’ he thought, thinking of the hot-headed younger boy; although their father was much better at controlling his.

“Not nice to startle the driver,” he chastised lightly, knowing his father was upset that his informant had been killed; losing their best lead.

“Sorry, son,” Fenton immediately apologized as he sat back in his seat and glared, accusingly, at his bandaged hand, “I just know Ramon knew something – he was too spooked not to!”

Frank pursed his lips and continued driving for a few more moments and then shrugged, “Well, maybe ballistics will come up with something from the bullets.”

His father sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair.  “Probably not. If we’re lucky the best we can hope for is to match it with the bullet taken out of the dumpster eight years ago.  I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the same shooter – too much of a tidy coincidence to think otherwise.”

“What?”  The teen glanced at his father – he hadn’t heard about this part.  “What dumpster?  What shooter?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, son – I thought I’d told you about all this,” his father admitted sheepishly.  Frank cast a concerned look his way. Something was definitely up; his Dad was never this unnerved – distracted!  He played a hunch.

“Dad, what’s going on? You said earlier that you dropped this case—”  He waited for his father to say something.

Fenton exhaled loudly and for a few moments, Frank thought he wasn’t going to answer him. But then his father admitted, “This was the one exception.”

Frank pulled into the driveway of their house and turned the car off. He twisted in his seat and met his father’s eyes.  “So what happened this time?  Why’d you give it up?”

The detective averted his gaze, laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. And then he dropped a bombshell on his son’s head.

“Because your brother tried to kill himself.”