Harry's Winter

(Chapter 2)

By: resauthor

There was no way Harry could protect his wife from the truth. "Joey refuses to let up. He won't be happy until everyone I care about is destroyed. He blames me for the last six years."

"Why can't you just arrest him and be done with it?"

"It's not that easy," he explained. "I don't have anything to charge him with."

"Is he responsible for what happened to Rita?"

"I believe so."

Frannie took a moment to digest what he was saying. "First things, first," she said, in a valiant attempt to get the focus off Joey. "Let's go check on Rita."

Following his wife, Harry steeled himself for his first view of Rita lying hurt in a hospital bed. All of the detectives working under his command were special, but something about Chris Lorenzo and Rita Lance had turned them into more than co-workers or friends. They were like family, and when one member of a family hurt, the others shared in their pain.

Entering Rita's room, he approached the bed and forgot everything but his concern for her.

"She'll be okay, Hesch."

He clung to Frannie's words. Rita looked so fragile - so small amidst the sterile white linens and bright orange blanket. His hands tightened around the metal bed rail. Joey would pay for this. He would pay for Paul and Andrea being hurt six years ago - he would pay for the murders he orchestrated in New York City - but most of all he would pay for daring to turn his revenge on Chris and Rita.

"Captain?" Chris was standing on the other side of Rita's bed.

"Yeah?"

"What's going on? What is all this about?"

"Why did you go to that motel this morning?" Harry answered Chris' question with one of his own. His head shook sadly, his eyes never left Rita's face. "I asked you to leave it alone. Just this once, why couldn't you listen?"

"We wanted to help," Chris said. "Joey called last night and offered us the name of the shooter in the Smith murder if we'd meet with him at the Dolphin Harbor Pier."

"That's his style. I tried to warn you."

"We turned him down flat." Chris sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Rita's arm, missing the surprised glance from his boss. "But when we found the note he slipped into the morning paper, we thought we could handle it. We wanted to help," he repeated softly.

….

Two hours later Harry was seated at his desk, combing through Murphy's preliminary report on the Smith murder, hoping to uncover some small detail that had been overlooked. He glanced up to find a grim-faced Derek MacNeill standing in the open doorway. "What did you find?"

Derek pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto Harry's desk. "We found this note in Chris' apartment."

Witnessed you in action Sunday night. Silence is costly. Will contact you soon.

"The handwriting appears to match Thorson's registration card at the motel. The lab will try and pull prints."

"I'm a little lost here," Harry confessed with no small amount of sarcasm. "You think Chris had something to do with both the Smith and Thorson murders?"

"We have a witness who claims to have seen Chris in front of Smith's apartment the night he was killed."

"So, Chris pops this Smith guy for tagging after his girlfriend. A theory that is ridiculous, at best, but I'll humor you for now. So - why shoot Thorson?"

"Evidence at the crime scene indicates that Rita was attempting to handcuff Thorson when he went ballistic. One theory we need to consider is Chris shooting Thorson to protect his partner."

"With a throwaway gun? What other bright ideas are you working on?"

"Murphy's partner, Carter, is trying to connect Thorson to the Smith case. If what he suspects is true, Chris might have wanted Thorson dead to cover his tracks."

Harry leaned forward over his desk. "You actually believe Chris is capable of shooting not one, but two people in cold blood?"

Derek shrugged. "Look, Captain, I admit this is completely out of character, but the evidence is piling up and I have to proceed according to departmental regulations. If Chris is innocent, he'll be exonerated."

"Chris is innocent. Can't you smell the set up here, MacNeill? The stench is so strong I can barely breathe."

"For what purpose?"

"You're the hotshot detective - find out. Ignore the politicians and go with your gut." Leery of pushing Derek too far, Harry changed tactics. "What do you plan on doing while you wait for the lab results?"

"I'm on my way back to the hospital. Chris will have to be brought in for questioning."

Harry's jaw tightened. This next move from IA was to be expected, but he had hoped for more time. "Have you tried to contact Chris yet?" he asked.

"No, I thought I'd break this to him in person." Derek retrieved the evidence bag from Harry's desk. Keeping his eyes focused on the incriminating note, he added, "Of course, by the time I get to the hospital, he might be gone. In which case, I doubt I'll be able to catch up to him before morning."

The underlying message surprised Harry. "You don't plan on broadcasting this yet?"

"That aspect was left to my discretion and I don't feel it's necessary at the moment. Chris is not considered a flight risk as long as Rita is in the hospital."

Harry shook his head in amazement. "You guys in IA are real sweethearts, you know that?"

"Yeah. I know." Derek offered a sardonic grin. "I guess I should get going and leave you to your work. You probably have a few phone calls to make."

….

"No. Absolutely not," Chris struggled to keep his voice down as he paced the hospital room floor with his cell phone pressed to his ear. His expression remained hard and uncompromising. He was not leaving Rita's side until he knew she was okay.

"You don't have a choice, Chris."

"I am so tired of that phrase, Cap."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

"Do you trust me, kid?"

Trust? Chris was silent for a moment. Harry and Fran Lipschitz had enriched his life and Rita's from the moment the older couple had arrived in Palm Beach. Professional respect had led to personal friendships, and personal friendships had slowly evolved into something even more solid and enduring. Did he trust the Captain? "Of course," he answered honestly.

"Derek is on his way to the hospital. One way or another, you have to leave Rita long enough to straighten this mess out. I can help, but if IA gets to you first, we'll lose too much time and end up drowning in red tape."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Let me talk to Frannie."

"She went down to the cafeteria to pick up a sandwich. Threatened to force-feed me if I refuse to eat whatever she brings back."

"Me, she starves. You, she tries to fatten up." The Captain's voice was loaded with affection, but he rushed to add, "Frannie can stay at the hospital with Rita. Do you know how to get to George's place?"

"Sure."

"I'm on the road now. I'll meet you there in fifteen."

"I don't know, Cap."

"Rita is in good hands, Chris. You can't be of any use to her if you're tied up in interrogations, or worse yet, locked up. Frannie will contact us the instant Rita wakes up."

Chris did not want to leave Rita's side, but his options were disappearing fast.

"You'll need a car," the Captain was saying.

The door to the room opened and a sympathetic face peeked in.

"No need for a car." Grabbing the door handle, Chris jerked the door open so quickly, the visitor stumbled forward. "I'll be there, Cap," he promised before disconnecting the call.

"Chris. Buddy." Cotton Dunn stepped cautiously towards the bed. "I just heard. How is she?"

"What are you doing here, Cotton?" Chris whispered. After a quick glance at Rita, he grabbed the impish con man by the shirt sleeve and hustled him back out into the hallway.

"I stopped by the station and heard the news."

"I need a ride across town," Chris interrupted, holding up a hand to silence Cotton as Frannie approached carrying a plastic-wrapped turkey sandwich and a can of soda. He filled her in on the Captain's phone call and extracted a promise from her to call him immediately if Rita's condition changed.

Mindful that Derek would be there soon, he returned to room 204 for a private good-bye. He eyed the heart monitor, taking comfort in the steady flash of numbers. This was not the first time Rita had been hurt in the line of duty, but despite the doctor's reassurances and the encouraging test results, it never got any easier. Leaning on the bed rail, he ran a finger over the IV needle taped to the back of her left hand. He slipped his hand under hers. Her engagement ring had been removed and was safely tucked away in his wallet.

"I won't be gone long, Sam," he promised, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Chris?" Frannie had entered the room silently. "I'll be right here, sweetheart. She won't be alone for a minute."

It was hard to drag his eyes away from the woman he loved more than life itself. "You'll call me the minute she wakes up?"

"I promise."

Chris squared his shoulders and touched Rita's cheek one last time before turning to Fran and enveloping her in a brief, but enthusiastic hug.

"I'll be back."

Cotton was waiting impatiently in the hallway, holding a half-eaten sandwich.

"Let's go," Chris headed for the stairway.

"Chris! Slow down. I've got news for you about those two thugs who came into the club last Saturday night." Cotton had to jog to keep up. "It took hours and hours of hard work, not to mention finely honed detective skills and true genius, but I finally found out where they're staying!"

"Let me guess," Chris shouted over his shoulder. "The Triple Z Motel."

Cotton paused on the landing between the first and second floors. "How did you know that?"

Chris shoved open the door leading to the hospital parking lot, not bothering to answer. If there had been time to spare, he would have wrung Cottons neck. "Beauty" was less than ten steps from the exit, parked at an angle across two blue-lined handicap parking spaces. He held out a hand for the keys. They were exiting the lot by way of a driveway on the far side when he caught a glimpse of a dark blue department issue sedan parking in a space close to the building. If Derek spotted them, he didn't let on.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief. He was anxious to hear what the Captain had to say and more determined than ever to untangle the weird happenings of the last few days so he could return to Rita's side.

….

"I had two detectives scouring the city for you yesterday," Harry stormed. "Where the hell have you been?"

Chris watched Cotton squirm in his seat, knowing exactly what it felt like to be on the wrong side of the Captain's temper.

"I was getting Chris the information he wanted. Took me all night to find somebody who'd talk about the two walking refrigerators who came into the club and threatened me. I finally found a guy who's looking to collect two Gs from another guy on Front Street, and the guy on Front Street has a cousin who owns a car rental agency over on Main. The cousin literally ran into our two guys in the parking lot of the club Saturday night. According to him, he apologized for bumping the older of the two, but they almost took his head off anyway."

Elbows resting on George's dining room table, Harry Lipschitz pressed his fingertips to his temples. "So, you found something?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying." Cotton was smiling triumphantly. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are staying at the Triple Z motel registered under the name of Thorson."

"We know that already, Dunn! Chris and Rita were there this morning."

"But you do have to admit it was pretty impressive work on my part."

George Donovan was holding a cold beer when he walked back into the dining room from the kitchen. "You sure I can't get you one?" he asked Chris. He was quick to shoot down Cotton's hopeful look with a glare. "Coffee will be ready in a few minutes."

"Any luck on the legal issues, George?" Harry questioned.

"We've got nothing, Harry. As of right now, Joseph Greene is a free man."

Harry did a quick update for George's benefit. "Dunn traced the two men who questioned him Saturday night to the Triple Z motel. Joey's phone call to Chris ties Thorson and our unnamed suspect to the Smith case. When I head back to the shop, I'll take Cotton to the morgue and see if he can identify Thorson as one of the men from the club."

"The morgue?" Cotton wrinkled his nose in disgust. "No thank you. They store dead people in drawers at that place."

Chris couldn't help smiling. "Squeamish, Cotton?"

"Dead people don't make good marks," George pointed out.

Cotton managed to look insulted. "Very funny."

"Back to business, gentlemen," Harry cut in. "We don't have much time."

Chris had a sudden thought. "Can you describe the smaller of the two men, Cotton?"

"Sure."

"About my age?"

Cotton gave Chris the once over. "Yeah, about your age."

"How about hair color?"

"He was wearing a hat. One of those fedora type deals. A little overdone, if you get my drift, but anybody who wears that kind of hat nowadays is looking to make a strong statement anyway."

"His hair Cotton." Chris' reminder was a little sharp, but he had a hunch and was impatient to have it validated. A quick glance in the Captain's direction showed he was following the line of questioning.

"He did tip his hat to one of the dancers," Cotton muttered, deep in thought. "But you know what the lighting is like in a nightclub. His hair was dark, maybe brown or black, and cut short on the sides." His eyes widened. "Come to think of it, he looked a lot like you, Chris."

Chris locked eyes with the Captain, then George. "Proof of a second suspect."

"Time for you to take a hike, Dunn."

The Captain's comment came as a surprise.

"I thought I was a part of this team?"

"Police business, Cotton." Chris reached for his wallet and pulled out two twenties, handing them to Cotton. "Why don't you run down to Renee's and pick up sandwiches for everyone. We should be done by the time you get back."

After a minimum of arguing and a great deal of ego-stroking, Cotton was on his way to pick up the food, guarantying the remaining three men at least thirty minutes of privacy.

As soon as the front door closed behind Cotton, Chris turned to the Captain. "I need to know everything."

"I realize that now, but it's difficult to know where to begin."

It was a scene reminiscent of their last discussion in the Captain's office, painfully reminding Chris of his partner's absence. "What happened in New York?"

"As I explained yesterday, Joey was taken into protective custody by the Feds, but what I failed to mention was that a couple of days before his deal with them was signed and sealed, I gave two of my detectives the okay to pull him in for questioning on a recent hit. The victim was a known customer of Victor Cartwright's.

"Joey was slick as usual. Paul and Andrea were young detectives and fairly green. They both had backgrounds in Vice, but no real experience dealing with someone like Joey. Since we weren't prepared to charge him, he was back out on the streets within a few hours. For the next two days, he made my life a living hell, taunting me with details of past murders. Joey is smart. He always managed to get this information to me in a way that couldn't be traced."

Chris listened to the anguish in Harry's voice. "Nobody else knew about this?" he asked.

"I appealed to the federal authorities, but without proof, their current case against Cartwright was a priority." Harry cleared his throat. "If I had left it there, I could forgive myself. If I hadn't let my ego get in the way, no one else would have been hurt."

"It was your sworn duty, Cap," Chris tried to assure him. "To do any less would have been wrong."

"Duty doesn't seem so important when you end up with two young detectives undergoing surgery for gunshot wounds."

"Paul and Andrea?"

"Courtesy of Joseph Greene."

….

Frannie Lipschitz glanced up as the door to Rita's room opened and a nurse walked in. There were at least two dozen long stem red roses in the expensive crystal vase she was carrying.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

"They certainly are." Frannie smiled despite her bewilderment. The dramatic display of affection seemed out of character for Chris.

"There wasn't a card," the nurse informed her. "I suppose they're from Sergeant Lorenzo."

"They're engaged to be married."

"Trust me, everyone here understands that Sergeant Lance is engaged to that handsome young man. He mentioned it so many times, it's probably written on her chart by now."

"Chris is a bit overwrought today." Which might explain the flowers. Or not. Frannie stared at the velvety red petals with foreboding.

Unaware of the flower's impact, the nurse smiled as she checked the setting on Rita's IV. "You mean he isn't normally so protective?"

"Oh, he's like that all the time. He's just usually sneakier about it. Rita isn't the type to put up with being pampered."

"Wouldn't bother me in the least."

"I know what you mean," Frannie agreed. Harry was very good at pampering.

"Can I get you anything?" the nurse inquired, bringing Frannie's thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"No, I'm fine," she responded, "thank you anyway." As soon as the nurse slipped out the door, Frannie dialed Harry's cell phone number. Thankfully, he picked up before the second ring. The tone of his voice worried her, but she had to ignore that for now. "Two dozen red roses were just delivered," she blurted out.

She could hear Harry asking Chris about the flowers. Harry must have handed over the phone because it was Chris' voice she heard next.

"Was there a card?" he asked.

"No card."

"They aren't from me, Fran."

"I was afraid of that."

Muffled voices could be heard in the background.

"Hesch?"

"I'm here, Frannie. As soon as we hang up, I'll call the precinct and have them send over a uniformed officer to stand guard outside the room."

She felt surprisingly relieved. "Who do you think sent the flowers?"

"I have no idea, sweetheart, but we're putting our heads together over here and hopefully we'll be able to figure it out."

"I'll have the nurse remove them from the room." Frannie lowered her voice. "There hasn't been any change in Rita's condition, Hesch. I'm getting worried."

"Don't lose faith, Frannie. Chris and Rita have been through a lot together. They'll get through this, too."

Hearing her Harry say it out loud, made all the difference in the world. She gripped the phone tightly. "Be careful out there, Harry Lipschitz. I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

By the time Fran hung up the phone, she was feeling a hundred percent better. She buzzed the nurse's station and smiled as she instructed the surprised woman to remove the impressive floral arrangement. Never one to waste perfectly good flowers, no matter who the sender was, Fran suggested they be split up and passed around to any patients who needed a little cheering.

….

Chris paced George's living room, too wired to remain sitting at the table. "We need someone to try and trace that flower delivery. Did Frannie say which florist they were from?"

"No," The Captain muttered, dialing the precinct.

Chris listened as his boss left instructions with Dale Murphy regarding security for Rita's hospital room. After adding a request to fax photos of Smith and Thorson to John Grady in New York, the Captain surprised Chris by asking Dale to find out who was responsible for sending the long stem red roses to Rita.

"Why have Dale do the trace?" he asked as soon as the Captain hung up.

"If those flowers are in any way connected to Joey Greene, Dale will find out. I've already explained the New York connection to him. He knows that Joey is part of an old case and is probably behind both the Smith and the Thorson murders."

"Sounds like you explained a lot more to him than you did to us," Chris stammered, surprised at how disappointed the news left him.

"Out of necessity, Chris," Harry explained. "He's the primary on the Smith case. Not only was it my duty to tell him everything I know, I honestly think he'll be able to help. We can trust him."

Chris tried to understand the Captain's rationale, but it was difficult. "Yet, you felt no responsibility to the truth when Rita and I came to you yesterday?" Standing in front of the man he considered one of his closest friends in the world it was hard to separate personal hurt from professional common sense.

The silence in the room was deafening.

George cleared his throat in the background. "The way I see it," he began cautiously, "we have two choices. The quickest way to wrap up this mess is to find Thorson's partner. Chris and I could focus on tracking him down. If he looks as much like Chris as everyone seems to think he does, it shouldn't be too hard for our witness to pick him out of a line-up. With two murder raps hanging over his head, he might be willing to give us Greene if we cut him a deal."

Chris turned away and dropped down onto George's couch. "And our other option?"

"Murphy is still working on Smith's background, but it looks like we've got ourselves another New Yorker. This can't all be a coincidence. John Grady mentioned a buzz on the streets up there. Maybe he can connect either Smith or Thorson to Greene's activities before he moved to Palm Beach. If not Greene - maybe this involves Cartwright. At this point, it's impossible to say where it will all lead."

"You're right, George," Harry cut in. "We have a lot of work to do." After a quick glance in Chris' direction, he turned to George. "I'd better get back to the shop and give John a call. We'll start working on the New York angle. Tell Cotton to swing by after he's eaten."

"Sure," George nodded. "But why don't you stay a little longer? He should be back any minute with the food."

"I'm not really hungry." Harry checked his watch. "I figure we have a twelve-hour window before Derek starts breathing down our necks. Good luck on this end. Be careful."

Chris nodded in response, but he remained silent. His thoughts were in turmoil and before he could gather them, Harry was out the door.

"You didn't give him much of a chance, Chris." George's tone held a note of disapproval.

Chris frowned before offering a hesitant, "Yeah, I know. I'll give him a call just as soon as we hear from Fran."

"It isn't easy, you know."

"What?"

"Keeping a reign on all you young hotshots. Think about how he must feel having to admit he made a mistake in the past."

"We all make mistakes, George."

"But when you're a man like Harry and you're in a position of authority, you don't cut yourself any slack. It must eat at him every day, thinking those detectives were shot because of the way he handled Joey."

The Captain was a strong leader, always so sure of himself, so good at making snap decisions. More importantly, he was a good man. It was hard to imagine him burdened by self-doubts, especially over decisions made half a decade ago. "Those detectives that worked with Cap in New York - did they survive their injuries?"

"Honestly, I don't know. He's never mentioned them before today."

"Why are you involved in this, George?"

The question seemed to surprise the Assistant District Attorney. Embarrassed, he shrugged. "We're all on the same side, Chris."

"And?"

"And if it were my job on the line instead of yours, I know you'd do the same for me."

"You're getting soft, George."

George smirked in disgust and disappeared into the kitchen.

Chris pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the small black object, willing it to ring with news about Rita. He shouldn't have left her.

….

Rita's mouth was dry, dry as a desert, and licking her lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper didn't help much. Focusing inward, listening to the sounds of her own breathing, she tried to get her bearings. No doubt about it - her head hurt, and any effort to lift her eyelids only increased the pain.

Frannie's response to her moan signaled a return of the outside world.

"Rita? Can you hear me, Sweetheart?"

Helplessness was not a condition Rita Lance tolerated with patience. A second attempt to open her eyes was partially successful. She glanced around the room with half-raised lids. Lifting a hand to her head brought attention to the IV. Her engagement ring was missing. Why was she in the hospital?

"Welcome back, Sweetheart." Frannie gently guided her arm back down to the mattress.

"Where's Chris? What happened, Fran? Is he all right?" Her voice sounded strange; her words slightly slurred.

Frannie poured water into a cup and held it to her lips, but Rita was agitated and couldn't manage more than a quick sip.

"Take it easy, Hon," Fran murmured soothingly. "I'll call the nurse."

"Fran, please." Fran wasn't telling her something. Was Chris hurt? Try as she might to recall everything that happened in the motel parking lot, her head was still pounding and her memories were fuzzy.

"Chris is fine, Hon. I swear it. He's with George and Harry right now. They're going to fix everything."

"What do you mean 'fix everything'?" Rita tried to sit up.

Her question went unanswered as a man whose name tag identified him as Dr. Portman entered the room accompanied by a nurse. The next half hour was spent responding to Dr. Portman's questions and trying to convince him she was perfectly fine. The good doctor was determined to keep her in the hospital overnight, for observation, he claimed. But Rita was just as determined to return to the outside world. Overcome by a growing sense of urgency, she knew she had to find Chris.

"You need rest, Sergeant Lance."

"My CAT scan was fine. You said so yourself."

"Yes, your CAT scan was fine, but you were unconscious for nearly seven hours, which is something we cannot dismiss lightly.

Rita ignored the doctor's frown. "This is not my first concussion, Dr. Portman. I know enough to take it easy. Frannie will help me get home. Right, Fran?"

Strangely enough, Frannie had moved away from the bed and was frantically dialing her cell phone. She responded with a distracted nod, but Rita could tell she had no idea what she was agreeing to. Dr. Portman was not impressed.

Rita swung her legs over the side of the bed, bracing herself as a wave of dizziness struck. Taking a deep breath, she held out her left hand to the doctor. "Can we get rid of this as soon as possible." She'd hate to have to pull the needle out by herself, but she'd do it if necessary.

"Sergeant Lance!"

The sound of the doctor's raised voice got Frannie's attention. She eyed Rita with concern. "What are you doing, Honey?"

"I'm leaving against medical advice," Rita said matter-of-factly, wincing as the IV was removed. The heart monitor was next.

The doctor was shaking his head. "If you insist on doing this, Sergeant Lance, I can't stop you; but I strongly suggest you have a friend or family member stay with you for the next twenty-four hours. I'll prescribe a painkiller for the headache."

Painkillers - those would be good. Once the headache was gone, she could concentrate on staying awake long enough to help Chris.

"I tried Harry's number," Fran explained as soon as the doctor left, "and I tried Chris', but I keep getting their voice mail.

"Maybe they're talking to each other."

"I'm sure you're right." Fran moved closer to the bed and brushed the hair back from Rita's face, fretting over her like a mother hen. "Are you sure it's a good idea to go home so quickly?"

"We aren't going home, Fran." Rita set her feet on the floor, testing her balance before attempting to walk. "Why is Perkins standing outside the door?" She had recognized the uniformed officer the first time the door swung open.

"I don't think you should be rushing around like this, Hon."

Rita found her slacks folded and stacked neatly on a shelf in the mini-closet, along with her undergarments. Her blouse was missing, but her vest was there, and she could make do with just that if necessary. She began to dress. "Can you tell me anything about what happened at the motel? I don't remember much."

"The guy you were trying to handcuff knocked you unconscious right before he was shot. He's dead."

"And the other suspect?"

"I think he got away..."

As soon as Rita finished buttoning her vest, she reached for her shoes. "Try Chris' number again." Bending over and straightening up too fast was not such a good idea.

"Derek MacNeill was here this morning," Frannie offered, her expression worried as she dialed the phone.

"Derek works for Internal Affairs." Rita moved around the room restlessly. "We need to get out of here."

"I know you're worried," Frannie said, "but you've been hurt, Hon. You need to go home and rest."

"I've been resting for hours," Rita interrupted, wishing she knew where her weapon was. "If the Captain were in trouble, wouldn't you do anything you could to help him?"

"Of course."

"He is in trouble, Fran, and so is Chris." Something about Fran Lipschitz's expression assured Rita that this was not a big surprise. "Frannie? What do you know about Joseph Greene?"

Frannie paled. "I'll try Harry at the precinct."

….

Dale Murphy entered Harry Lipschitz's office with a quick, perfunctory knock on the metal door frame. "Got a minute, Captain?"

"What do you have?" Harry asked.

Dale handed over the fax he had been holding. "Surprised?"

Harry read the name a second time before attempting a response. Surprise was too mild a word. "This is not possible."

"It's not the name you expected?"

"God, no." Harry stood up and walked around his desk, unable to take his eyes off the report. "Are you sure this person sent the flowers?"

"Absolutely. The purchase was made with a corporate credit card, but it was simple enough to trace. I don't think they were trying to hide anything." Dale dug through his jacket pockets for a moment, then shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "What do you want me to do with the information?"

"I need to think about this." Harry patted his growling stomach without realizing what he was doing. Each time it looked like they were making real headway, another wrench was thrown into the works. "Before I forget," he added, "I spoke to John Grady a few minutes ago, and he dug up some history on Thorson. Nothing that ties him into Greene or Cartwright yet, but Thorson definitely hired out to the highest bidder."

"I figured as much."

"We're getting closer," Harry said, trying to sound positive as he returned to his chair. All they needed now was time - time to connect the dots that would undoubtedly clear Chris and prove Joey's involvement.

"Can you spare another minute, Harry?"

Harry glanced up. Dale Murphy rarely called anyone by their first name. The man was looking worried - another rare occurrence.

"There's something that's been bothering me," Murphy continued.

"Take a seat," Harry urged. "What's up?"

Sitting on the edge of a chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, the gravely-voiced, gray-haired detective wasted no time in speaking his mind. "I know that Jack Carter talked to MacNeill about Lorenzo."

"Derek mentioned as much. Your partner seems to think Chris is guilty of murder. Any idea why he feels that way?"

Murphy shrugged and leaned back. "You and I have been working the streets for a long time, Harry. Palm Beach can't compete with New York City for excitement, but we get our fair share of trouble. I've seen it change people, alter their ability to make the right decisions."

"I don't follow."

"Carter is acting strange. He's on edge, jumpy. The shit has hit the fan, and something tells me Carter has had a hand in it."

Harry didn't like where this was going. "You got proof of this?"

"I've been working side-by-side with the man for nearly six years, and he's been complaining about not making enough money since day one. If someone got to him, that's probably how they did it."

"Are you saying the complaints have stopped?" Harry's expression was strained as he leaned forward. Jack Carter was a good detective despite the huge chip that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his shoulder. He was a hard-working, trusted member of the homicide department.

After a heavy pause, Dale Murphy answered in a regret-filled voice, "Not a grumble in over two weeks, but it's more than that. There's a look in his eyes that wasn't there before the Smith murder."

Harry exhaled slowly. "You think this ties into Lorenzo somehow?"

"I didn't make the connection until we traced the weapon found at the scene this morning. Jack and I were backup for Lorenzo on that bust two weeks ago. We were at the suspect's home for at least an hour after he was carted away."

"Was Jack ever alone in the house? Did he have access to the gun in question?"

"I don't know, Harry." Dale Murphy stood up. "I'm not a baby-sitter. I don't hold Carter's hand on the job and he doesn't hold mine. Theories, I got. Proof, I don't."

"I'll have to contact MacNeill."

Murphy nodded and headed for the door just as Harry's phone started ringing. "I've never betrayed a partner's trust before, Captain. It's a god-dammed awful feeling."

Harry nodded in grim understanding as he picked up the receiver. It was the switchboard.

"Mayor on line one, Captain Lipschitz. Your wife on line two."

No real contest there.

"Frannie?"

"Hesch, I've got news about Rita."

Frannie's emotional outburst ended as suddenly as it began, and he didn't know whether to feel happy or scared. He needed more information. "What, Frannie? What's going on?"

"Captain, it's Lance."

A huge, invisible weight was immediately lifted from Harry's shoulders. Damn, it was good to hear her voice. "How are you, Rita? What did the doctor say?"

"I'll be okay, Cap. Where is Chris?"

Lance and Lorenzo: two peas in a pod, two halves of the same whole, and he felt mighty protective of both. "He's with George right now. They're following up a lead."

"George?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "Donovan is risking life and limb to do a little fieldwork."

"Frannie tells me IA is involved."

"Until an hour ago you were the only witness, other than Chris, to our look-a-like's existence. Derek has a bunch of cockamamie theories, but now that you're awake, we'll be able to sort through a few of them. Did Chris ever mention receiving a note from Thorson?"

"Who is Thorson?"

"The suspect you were trying to handcuff. A note was found from this guy when IA searched Chris' apartment. Derek is trying to use the note to connect Chris to Thorson's shooting. The gun used belongs to a suspect you two arrested a few weeks ago."

"Somebody has a pretty good set-up going."

"That's what I told McNeill, but I'm not sure he bought it. He wants to bring Chris in for questioning, which is why we need to find out as much as we can about this second suspect before morning. Cotton is waiting for me downstairs right now. If he can ID Thorson, we'll know we're on the right track."

"Cotton? You're losing me, Cap."

Harry could hear the exhaustion in Rita's voice. He felt guilty laying so much on her all at once. "We're on top of it, Rita. You rest up, and I promise to keep you updated."

"No way, Cap; I'm on my way over to Donovan's."

"You must be crazy if you think I'd allow that! Stay right where you are, Lance. That's an order."

"I'm fine, Cap. I've been poked, and tested, and lectured. I'll be careful."

"Rita, you don't understand. Chris and Donovan are probably on their way to talk to Greene right now. If he's behind all this like we suspect, he might slip up and tell them something he'd never tell me. In the meantime, John's working in New York to tie both our dead bodies to Greene and Murphy has come up with some new information that could blow this case wide open. Your job is to stay in bed and let your body heal."

The phone in Rita's room started ringing.

"Rita?" He tried to get her attention but knew she was gone when he heard her answer the other phone.

"It's Fran again, Hesch. Rita grabbed the other phone. We're hoping it's Chris. I've been calling him for the last ten minutes, but haven't been able to reach him."

He could hear Rita's voice in the background. Whoever she was talking to, it certainly wasn't her partner.

"Just don't hang up, Frannie," he instructed. "Is Officer Perkins still there?"

"He's right outside the door. Don't worry about anything on this end. We'll have him follow us to George's place."

"I forbid you to get involved in this, Frannie."

"I'll call you back, Hesch."

"Frannie! No!" But it was too late. His wife had disconnected the call. His delicate, fragile, wife who belonged far, far away from the Joey Greene's of the world. Line one continued to flash impatiently. It was time to explain a few things to Joey's new friend - the mayor.

….

Rita sat on the side of the bed, waiting for the caller to speak. Answering the phone with a hopeful "Chris?" hadn't been the most professional thing to do, but she wasn't feeling all that professional at the moment, anyway. The long pause assured her it was not her partner on the other end of the line. She tried a less personal greeting. "Hello?"

"Sleeping Beauty awakens." The voice was low and smoothly accented. "This is excellent news. Talking to your partner would have been a disappointment for everyone involved."

"Who is this?"

"I have important information for you, Bella, straight from the horse's mouth. Or should I say the Wolf's?"

"Vincent Adesso?"

"Si. Our paths cross once again, Sergeant Lance.

Her reaction time was slowed by fatigue; she could not think of a thing to say in response.

Vincent didn't seem to notice. "I speak to you today as Anthony Cartwright's godfather. He is the son of Victor and Adele, who was my only sister."

Victor Cartwright, the man Joseph Greene had been prepared to testify against, had a son? She did not recall the Captain mentioning a son. "Is Anthony somehow involved with Joseph Greene?"

"Bah! In many ways, Anthony is much smarter than either I or his late father. He does not involve himself in vendettas, choosing instead to leave the past in the past. But my memory is not so short. When I found out that Greene was headed for Palm Beach, I did a little research. I also sent two associates to keep an eye on the situation."

John Smith - one of them had to be Smith. "One of your employees was following me," she accused, trying to mentally sort through the events of the last few days. The nurse had re-entered the room. Rita automatically downed the two little white pills that were held out to her.

"His instructions were to observe and protect you," Vincent corrected.

"Where exactly are you calling from, Mr. Adesso?"

"That is a question I cannot answer."

Rita glanced over at Fran. "Why should I believe anything you tell me?"

"To believe, or not to believe, is a decision you will have to make for yourself. What I can tell you is that although Peppino and I are currently visiting relatives out of the country, I try to stay abreast of what is happening to my loved ones."

Vincent obviously planned to tell the tale in his own way. There was nothing she could do but try and keep up. "I'm not one of your loved ones, sir."

"No, you are not, Sergeant Lance, but I hope you will consider it your good fortune that we currently share a common interest - making sure Joseph Greene pays for his actions."

Rita picked up a pad of paper and a pen from the table next to the bed.

"According to Anthony," Vincent continued, "there was bad blood between Victor and Joey dating back to an incident that took place a year before Victor's arrest. It is quite possible that Joey was working with the FBI long before he turned on Victor."

"But Victor is dead now. Why go after Captain Lipschitz? Why doesn't he just disappear and enjoy his freedom?"

"Why does any man choose the path he chooses? I cannot answer your question other than to speculate that your captain's involvement complicated the Cartwright case. Joey never expected to be in custody for six years. I know the way this man thinks. He will try to destroy your captain by first hurting those around him. The more complicated the revenge, the happier Joseph will be. I have said too much already. Be careful out there, Sergeant. Greene is on borrowed time. Stay out of the line of fire."

"Before you hang up, can you tell me who shot Thorson?"

"Joseph has gotten creative in his old age. With all the talent he had to choose from in New York, he chose a man who, with a little cosmetic help, resembles your partner. If he hadn't ordered the death of one of my men, I might be impressed."

"I need his name, Mr. Adesso. It is imperative that we find him as soon as possible."

"Ramon Del La Torre. According to my sources, Greene is keeping him close, purposely flaunting his secrets right under your captain's nose." Vincent went on to give her Greene's Palm Beach address.

One aspect of Vincent's involvement still bothered Rita. "I don't understand why one of your men was following me. Why would you care what happens to me?"

"As I tried to explain, Cara, my original intent was to keep an eye on Greene for my own purposes. When the time was right, I planned on paying him a personal visit. Sergio, the dead man known to you as John Smith, spent two weeks following the pig around. It became obvious to me that Greene's plans included both you and Sergeant Lorenzo. You ask why I care? I have not forgotten what you and your partner did to save my son, Sergeant Lance. He was nearly lost to me. I always repay my debts."

Rita heard a child's voice in the background.

"I must go now. A fax regarding Sergio will be sent to your precinct. His family will want to escort his body home."

"Certainly. I'll make sure the information ends up in the proper hands." Before she could thank him or say anything more, the call was disconnected. She turned to Fran. "We have to go. Now."

Frannie was right behind Rita as she opened the door. "Shouldn't we wait for a wheelchair? I don't think you're officially discharged yet."

Office Perkins was a few yards away speaking into the two-way radio pinned to his uniform front. Rita held a finger to her lips and pulled Frannie back into the room, waiting for the door to close before explaining. "I need to get to the Greene residence, Fran."

"I have no intention of letting you leave this hospital without me." Frannie was five-feet-plus of indignant female.

"You have to stay here, Fran. The Captain would kill me if I let you get involved, and I wouldn't blame him." Rita searched for her purse, sighing in relief when she found it on the top shelf of the closet. Her cell phone and shield were inside the small handbag, but her gun, unfortunately, was not. She felt extremely vulnerable without it.

Returning to the door, she peeked outside one more time. Perkins was still standing in the same place, not too far from the second-floor nurse's station. The door to the stairs was in the opposite direction. She felt Frannie bump into her from behind. "Give me your car keys, Fran. As soon as I get clear, I'll call the Captain and explain."

"Get moving, doll," Frannie ordered, sounding more like a pint-sized Mafiosa than a housewife. "Either I drive or you hop back into that hospital bed."

"Frannie..."

"Didn't you just tell me that Harry was in trouble? Get moving or give me Greene's address and get out of my way."

Rita studied her companion's expression for a moment. Fran did not appear to be bluffing. "You can drive, but only if you promise to follow my exact instructions once we get to Greene's house." As soon as the captain's wife nodded her agreement, Rita threw caution to the wind and dashed across the hospital corridor. She pushed on the stairwell door and held it open for Fran, who was right behind her. Leading the way downstairs to the parking lot, Rita prayed she wasn't making a huge mistake by allowing Frannie to accompany her. Not that Frannie was giving her much choice.

….

"Run that by me one more time, George." Harry Lipschitz gritted his teeth and swore under his breath.

"I lost contact with Chris about thirty minutes ago."

"Where the hell are you?" Harry asked with a growing sense of anxiety.

"I'm parked two houses up from Greene's place. Chris was supposed to climb over the back wall and contact me once he made it inside, but I haven't heard from him yet."

"You're supposed to be questioning Joey." Harry's sedan rounded another corner, tires squealing. "Why isn't he using the front door?"

"We tried doing things the right way, Harry, but we couldn't get past the butler. He says Joey is indisposed and hasn't been out of the house all day. If Chris can get inside, he might be able to come up with a name for our second suspect. Proof of a connection to Thorson would nice, also."

"Evidence doesn't do us any good if it's inadmissible in court, George. I've been trying to reach Chris by phone since I left the precinct. Why isn't he answering?"

"I don't know. He has his cell with him." George leaned forward to peer through the windshield of his car. A silver, four-door sedan had turned off the street and was traveling slowly up the long circular driveway to Joseph Greene's home. The brake lights flashed as the car approached the first curve.

"Do you know if Rita contacted Chris before he went in?"

"Rita's awake?" George sighed in relief. "Thank God."

"He doesn't know?"

"I don't think so. Hang on a minute."

The driver of the silver sedan sped up again, rounding Greene's driveway without stopping at the front door. George's eyes widened in disbelief as the car returned to the street and made a right turn, passing within just a few feet of him. There was no mistaking the identity of the diminutive driver.

"We have another problem, Harry."

….

Chris moved silently through Joseph Greene's garage, cursing himself for having dropped his cell phone as he scaled the back wall of the property. His lifeline to the hospital - and Rita - had slipped out of his jacket pocket, landing in an overgrown hibiscus bush as he straddled the ten-foot-high stucco-covered wall.

After scaling the wall, breaking into the garage had been child's play. Detached from the elegant two-story house, it was situated at the rear of the lot. It was empty at the moment, except for a few packing boxes. Chris' goal was to somehow work his way from the garage to the main house without being detected. George, who was completely against the plan, was parked up the street, handling surveillance of the front door. It was a moot point - without a cell phone, George would not be able to contact him, and vice versa.

Chris moved closer to the large roll-up doors. A row of decorative windows ran across the top, allowing him a clear view of two vehicles parked near a side-door entrance to the house. The vehicle closest to the garage was a late-model black Jaguar. The other, a dark green SUV. The rear of the house could also be seen. Two sets of French doors bordered an elaborate patio setup, but those doors appeared shut tight at the moment. Whichever way he decided to go in, he would probably have to wait until dark.

A sound from the driveway drew Chris' attention. The sun had started its slow descent in the west, creating long shadows and deep corners both inside and outside the empty garage. Unable to identify the threat, he moved away from the window and took cover behind a large box. After entering the garage through the side door, he had forgotten to lock it and could now see the door handle turning. Crouching down, he drew his weapon and waited in silence.

….

"Captain Lipschitz? Derek, here. Murphy's hunch paid off. I just finished up at Jack Curtis's house. He admits to stealing, then selling, the weapon that killed Smith."

"Damn." Harry shook his head as he listened. If Curtis was so unhappy with the job, or so desperate for money, why didn't he seek help through the proper channels? "Can we tie the payoff directly to Greene?"

"Not yet, but I'll be handling Jack's interrogation once we get to the station. He claims to not know who bankrolled the $10,000 he received from Thorson; swears he didn't know his actions would result in another officer being framed. They supposedly blackmailed him into planting the note in Chris' apartment. I'm not sure how much of his story I buy, but he did admit to a meeting with Thorson and an accomplice whose description should clear Chris."

"Good work, O'Neill." Harry sped through the streets of Palm Beach. "We know Thorson was hired muscle out of New York, working for anyone willing to pay his price. I'm on my way over to see Greene right now, and I'm betting we'll be able to connect those two together soon."

As soon as the call from Derek ended, Harry dialed his wife's cell phone number. "Frannie," he shouted, as soon as he heard her pick up, "what have you been up to? And don't even think about lying to me because I have an eye witness."

"Now, Hesch, don't go getting yourself all upset."

….

Chris remained in the shadows; his eyes trained on the side door of the garage as it opened just wide enough to allow a slender figure to slip inside. He blinked twice, not quite sure whether to believe what he was seeing. "Sam?"

A split second later she was in his arms.

"How did you..?" He hugged her fiercely. "Are you okay?" Stepping back, cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her before she had a chance to answer.

He felt her hands glide up his arms before they wound around his neck. No other woman had ever touched his soul the way she did. Brushing his lips over hers as they stood in the middle of Joseph Greene's garage, he took comfort in the strength of her response. She would be fine - she had to be. "Why didn't you call me?" he murmured, as soon as they broke apart.

"Frannie tried. I tried. We couldn't get through."

He pulled her with him into a dark corner and kissed her again, sinking his fingers into her hair. You shouldn't be here," he groaned.

The desire in Rita's eyes was laced with concern. "I know where I belong, Chris, and that happens to be right here watching your back."

Chris shook his head, realizing how pointless it would be to argue with her. "Where's Fran?"

"Don't worry about Frannie. She's on her way to the shop. What's our big plan?"

He had almost lost her, and she was talking about plans. His hands tightened around her waist, keeping her body flush against his. His fingers pressed against warm skin, and he suddenly realized her shirt was missing. She had come straight from the hospital. "I plan on slipping into the main house as soon as the sun sets," he informed her. "You are going to stay right here until I return."

Green eyes glittered with mischief. "Black bag job? I can't wait."

Chris frowned. Was she purposely misunderstanding him? "I'm going in alone," he repeated sternly.

"The man we're looking for goes by the name of Ramon Del La Torre. He could be inside the house right now."

"Which is exactly why you should stay here."

The sound of an engine startled them both into silence. Chris peered through a garage door window. A car was entering the driveway from the street, rounding the curve towards the front of the house instead of proceeding straight on the side road that led to the garage.

"Captain Lipschitz just showed up," he informed Rita. "Do you have your phone on you?"

"Yes, right here."

"Call George. Maybe he knows what Cap is up to."

Rita dialed George Donovan's number and proceeded to have a short, but a very informative conversation with the Assistant District Attorney.

"John connected Thorson to New York, and Cotton has identified him as one of the men from Dream Girls."

Chris turned to her. "Which means Cotton can identify Del La Torre and connect him to Thorson and Smith. You never did mention how you found out about Del La Torre?"

"Long story. I'll explain later."

Rita sounded exhausted. He searched her features for any sign of pain. "I assume he's the one who looks like me?"

"So they say." She was standing on tiptoe, trying to see out the window. "Let's get out of here while Cap distracts them."

"Not so fast."

"Christopher, we're jeopardizing the case against Greene by being here."

"Yeah, yeah, I understand that, Sam. But now that Cap has shown up, I don't think we should go too far. You know how he gets when it comes to this guy. Let's check out the rear of the house." Rita followed him to the side door. Before stepping outside, he removed the small gun strapped to his ankle and handed it to her. "Take this."

"Thanks." Rita smiled as she palmed the weapon.

"And before I forget," Chris reached into his pocket. "I have something that belongs to you."

Taking hold of her left hand, he brought it up to his lips before returning her engagement ring to where it belonged. "Stay close," he murmured, stepping out into the fading daylight.

….

"Tell your employer I insist on speaking to him."

"I'm sorry, sir," the fastidious butler repeated in a dry monotone, "Mr. Greene is indisposed at the moment."

"This is a police matter, Bucko, and unless you want to be servicing masters by the name of 'Bubba' in the near future, you'll quit obstructing justice and tell your employer Captain Harry Lipschitz of the Palm Beach PD is here to see him."

Harry's threat drew an immediate response. "Mr. Greene is not in residence. He departed by taxi a few hours ago."

"Where was he headed?"

Straightening his shoulders, and regaining a little of his snobbish attitude, the butler replied with a haughty, "He didn't say."

"Any guesses?"

"No."

A door slammed somewhere in the house, and Harry eyed the manservant suspiciously. "Who else is here?"

"The cook."

"And?"

"Maybe a maid."

"I'd like a tour of the place."

"Unless you have a warrant…"

"I can get one." Harry pulled out his cell phone. "Or you could invite me in of your own free will. In which case, I might not look too closely into your involvement in this matter. By the way, spell out your name for me. I'll need it for my official report."

After studying Harry's expression for a few seconds, the butler backed up into the tiled hallway. "Right this way."

'Lurch' was cooperating at last. Harry followed his reluctant host through the ground floor of the large home. The living room, dining room, and library were empty, but the kitchen was not. An unidentified male was departing by way of the back door.

"Hold it there, Buddy!" Harry rushed past the butler, but the man was heading for the dark green SUV parked in the driveway. Harry drew his weapon as he shouted, "Palm Beach PD. Step away from the vehicle."

Harry's instructions were ignored. He took aim but was saved from having to fire, when Chris appeared out of the shadows and grabbed the suspect by the shoulders, forcing the surprised man down to the ground.

"I got you this time," Chris muttered, using his body weight to prevent any attempt at escape. "Ramon Del la Torre, you are under arrest for the murder of John Smith." As soon as the suspect was handcuffed, Chris yanked him back on to his feet and turned to the Captain. Rita crossed the driveway to join the party.

"You recognize this guy?" Harry smiled as he asked spoke. It was good to see the dynamic duo together again.

"You betcha," Chris responded, holding his prize by the scruff of the neck.

"You'll never make this stick!" Ramon Del La Torre spat out.

Rita tilted her head to one side. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say you look a lot like a guy who took a shot at me earlier today. What's the penalty for trying to kill a cop these days?"

"If I had been trying to kill a cop, lady, you'd be dead."

"Read him his rights," Harry snapped. He returned to the house as Rita did the honors. His stiff-necked guide had been waiting impatiently in the kitchen. After a quick walk-through of the remaining rooms, Harry returned to the driveway. George had joined the group, and Del La Torre was sitting in sullen silence on the ground, his arms still handcuffed behind his back. It was uncanny how much the man looked like Chris, although on closer inspection, there were more differences than similarities. What other surprises did Joey have up his sleeve?

"A unit will be here in five to pick him up," Chris informed his boss. The Captain had been reassuringly calm so far. But then again, Greene was nowhere to be found. "Once we get back to the station, maybe Ramon will change his mind about talking to us."

"Check this out, Cap." Rita indicated a small pile of weapons that had been placed on the hood of the black Jaguar. Frisking their suspect had resulted in the confiscation of two handguns, a silencer, and a six-inch switchblade. "Do you think he has permits for any of these?"

Hands placed on his hips, Harry stared at the man on the ground. "Carrying a concealed weapon is the least of this guy's worries."

"You've got nothing on me," Del la Torre hissed. "I'll be out on bail in less than twenty-four hours."

"I don't think so," George chimed in. "Not with eyewitnesses who can place you at the scene of two separate murders."

"Besides," Rita added. "You might live longer if you're locked up. I say 'might' because you just never know who your cellmate could be connected to these days."

The suspect looked unsure of himself for the first time. "What are you talking about?"

Rita had filled Chris in on Vincent's phone call. He decided to play along. "Killing John Smith earned you one powerful enemy, my friend." Bending down, he whispered, "Who do you think gave us your name and told us where to find you?"

"Let me tell him, Chris. I want to see the look on his face when I mention Vincent Adesso's name."

Ramon Del la Torre whipped his head around to stare at Rita. "You lie," he accused with frightened eyes.

"Victor Cartwright was his brother-in-law. The first man you shot had been sent to Palm Beach by Mr. Adesso. I guess you didn't catch the tattoo on his arm. He was here to track Joey's movements."

"No!"

"Greene set you up," Harry stated bluntly. "You go down for the murders of Smith and Thorson while he continues to live the comfortable life of a free and prosperous man. Consider yourself lucky. Thorson's sacrifice was more costly. If you manage to avoid the death penalty, you'll be in prison for the rest of your life, but at least you'll be alive."

A patrol car entered the driveway, dramatically lighting the small drama playing out in Joey Greene's driveway.

"Get him out of my sight," Harry ordered.

"Wait!" Ramon struggled with the uniformed officers escorting him to their car. "I want a deal."

"Don't even think about it, Harry," George said. "We've got him solid on two murder raps."

Chris had seen the wink George threw in the Captain's direction, but the suspect hadn't.

"I can give you Greene," Ramon shouted as he was forcibly guided into the back seat of the patrol car. "I ain't going down for that nut job. You keep Adesso away from me, and I'll talk."

"You may be asking the impossible," Harry responded. "Rita?"

"I don't know, Cap. I'm not exactly friends with Adesso."

Chris walked over to the patrol car and leaned on the open rear door. "Where is Greene right now?"

"I want assurances," was all Ramon would say.

"If Adesso finds Greene before we do, your bargaining chip is gone."

Ramon swore under his breath. "Palm Beach PD. He said something about meeting up with the wife of an old friend."

"Frannie!" Harry's reaction was immediate. He took off running in the direction of his car.

"I'm with Cap," Chris shouted to Rita.

Rita grabbed hold of George. "Let's get moving, George. I need you to drive."

….

Chris kept one hand braced on the dashboard as the Captain's car sped into the two-story parking structure attached to the PBPD. Phone calls placed while on route to the station had confirmed their worst fears. Frannie was nowhere to be found inside the building, and she was no longer answering her cell phone.

"Do you see her?" Harry asked, slowing down as he drove through aisle after aisle of parked cars. "If he touches one hair on her head…"

It wasn't until they reached the uppermost level, that they spotted Frannie's silver sedan. It was parked against the far wall, under a light pole sporting a broken fixture.

"That's Frannie behind the wheel," Chris stated quietly, knowing it was not necessary to point out the shadowy figure sitting next to her. He scanned the deserted rooftop. No more than a half dozen cars were parked on this level, giving Joey a clear view of any approaching vehicles. He waited for the Captain to suggest a course of action.

"He shot out the security camera," Harry growled, stopping the car approximately fifty feet from his wife. "Let me handle this."

"Dammit, Cap, we've been through this before!"

"Chris…"

"Why can't you trust me?"

"I trust you with my life," Harry countered, keeping his eyes trained on the front seat of Frannie's car. "Don't ever think otherwise."

"And I trust you with mine," Chris immediately responded.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, kid." Harry fell silent as Joseph Greene emerged from the car and walked around to the driver's side, a gun clearly visible in his hand as he opened the door for Frannie. She followed her captor's directions, stepping out of the car to stand in front of him. His wife was being used as a human shield. "This is my fault," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Fran is fine for the moment," Chris pointed out. "Greene won't do anything out in the open like this."

"You don't know him the way I do."

"Gentlemen," Joey called out across the concrete lot, "please step out of the car and place your weapons on the ground."

Chris used Harry's phone to call Rita, keeping the small cell phone in his lap so Joey would not be able to see what he was doing. As soon as she picked up, he spoke quietly and clearly. "We found Fran on the upper level. Joey is with her."

"Harry, my patience is wearing thin. Your lovely wife and I have waited long enough for you to join us."

"Take it slow, Cap," Chris whispered, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. The expression on the older man's face was murderous. After a brief moment of unspoken communication, Chris pushed open the passenger door and stepped out of the car. He placed his weapon on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry do the same.

"Frannie?" Harry called to his wife. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Hesch." Her voice sounded strong, but the strain she was under showed in the way her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.

"Your wife and I have had a very pleasant visit," Joey said as he slowly closed the distance between them. He stopped when they were a car's length away. "How is your partner doing, Sergeant Lorenzo?"

Eyes narrowed in anger; Chris remained silent.

"Have you ever wondered why so many of the people around Harry end up getting hurt?" Joey asked. His right hand rested on Frannie's shoulder with the barrel of his gun pressed firmly against the side of her head.

"Cut to the chase," Harry demanded. "You're standing in the middle of a police station parking lot with my wife as your hostage. What are you trying to prove?"

Joey laughed and guided Fran a step closer. "I don't have to prove anything anymore. It is you who will be burdened by proof in the future.

Chris sensed a movement along the far wall, back in the direction of Frannie's car. Someone had used the outside stairway to reach the third level. "I don't understand something," Chris stated loudly, determined to keep Joey's attention away from whatever was going on behind him.

"Chris…"

"Let the boy talk, Harry. What are you so afraid of?" Joey tightened a hand around Frannie's arm, enjoying the immediate reaction on her husband's face. "What can I explain for you, Sergeant Lorenzo?"

"You say the Captain is responsible for hurting a lot of people, but from what I can tell, you certainly weren't one of them. You're living in a mansion located in one of the most amazing cities in the world. What do you have to complain about?"

"Youth!" Joey responded with a disgusted shake of his head. "It's wasted on the young. Don't you agree, Cherie?" he added, whispering the comment in Frannie's ear.

Chris moved closer to the Captain, ready to restrain him if necessary. They had to allow their rescue party as much time as possible.

"Give me a break," Frannie shot back. It was all Chris could do to stop a smile from sneaking out.

Joey was less than amused. "I used to think you were a worthy opponent, Harry Lipschitz, but you've lost the fire. The last six years have made you soft. Maybe it's this city; maybe you're just old."

"And I used to think you had outsmarted me," Harry responded with a look of pity, "but I know better now. You're angry because nobody wants to play your game anymore. We've all moved on with our lives, but you're still stuck on your own sense of importance. Maybe if you had been less self-absorbed, you would have had time to find a woman of your own. Maybe you'd have something better to do than living your life through old hatreds and revenge."

"You owe me, Harry." Joey was clearly annoyed. The gun he held was now aimed at the Captain. "When I'm through with you, you won't ever be able to forget this day."

"We have Del La Torre in custody," Chris threw in, trying to get Joey's focus off the Captain. His efforts were useless. They were like two old dogs ready to square off in battle.

"Del La Torre is a fool. I should have ordered Thorson to kill him instead of the other way around." Joey continued to stare at Harry through narrowed eyes. "I assume he'll be properly punished?"

"Del La Torre shot Thorson on your orders," Harry accused. "He's admitted as much already."

"Good help is hard to find these days," Joey commented philosophically. "I'll have to remember that in the future."

"Spare me the clichés and let go of my wife," Harry ground out as he took a step forward. "This has gone on long enough. You tried to hurt me by framing Chris; it didn't work. Don't you get it? The old days are over. Your petty little mind games don't impress anyone anymore."

"Your self-righteous attitude is just as annoying now as it was back in New York. Your little detectives follow you around like you can do no wrong. But I know better."

"That's it!" Frannie shouted, startling everyone. She shrugged out of Joseph Greene's hold and turned to face him with fire in her eyes. "How dare you talk about Harry that way! You'll never be half the man…"

"Frannie!" Harry rushed to grab Joey's right hand, forcing the gun up and away from his wife.

"Fran!" Chris shouted at the same time, lunging forward to take hold of Frannie Lipschitz and pull her away from Joey just as a shot rang out. He hustled her into Harry's car, retrieving his gun on the way. A second shot was quickly followed by a third. "Keep low," he shouted as she took cover on the floor of the back seat. He turned, intent on helping the Captain, but the Captain was gone and Joseph Greene lay bleeding on the ground, shot twice from behind. "Cap?"

"Harry?" Frannie called out to her husband, sounding scared.

Screeching tires shattered the deadly silence, followed by a flood of headlights as a half-dozen marked and unmarked vehicles joined them on the rooftop.

Chris was frantically searching the area around Frannie's car when Rita caught up to him.

"Who fired?" she asked breathlessly.

"I thought it was you or George." He glanced at the exit to the stairway. The shooter could have easily left the roof by way of the concrete staircase. Rita seemed to have come to the same conclusion. She signaled her intent to cover the left as he moved to the right of the exit. He held up a finger to start a silent three-count.

"One… two…"

"I don't care what Frannie says, I'm having steak tonight."

Chris cautiously leaned over the stairs and called down, "Cap?"

All he could hear was a lot of huffing and puffing.

"You need help, Cap?"

Harry appeared on the second story landing. He glanced up with a grimace and waved a finger at his two detectives. "Protein is important." He continued his ascent without another word.

"Are you hurt?" Rita asked.

"Just my pride. I got outrun by that stuffed-shirt butler of Joey's." As soon as he reached the top, he bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees, as he tried to catch his breath. "Ten years ago, I would have had him. Where's Frannie?" Harry asked, suddenly serious.

"She's all right," Chris assured him. "She's back at the car."

"Excellent," Harry sighed. He glanced sideways at Rita. "Any idea why Joey's butler would race all the way over here in Joey's Jag just so he could shoot his employer in front of three witnesses?"

"Vincent Adesso admitted to sending two of his men to Palm Beach. We know John Smith was number one; maybe the butler was number two."

"If he does work for the Wolf," Chris said, "we'll have a hell of a time trying to find him."

"I still don't get it," Harry confessed as he started walking back towards the action. "If Adesso's reputation is to be believed, he isn't the type to leave behind witnesses."

"You might call this a gift," Rita informed her boss.

"Or payback," Chris threw in, trying to be helpful.

Harry stopped in his tracks and placed his hands on his hips. "Don't tell me another one of these guys has a crush on you. First, it's roses, then it's a favor. The mobster-with-a-heart-of-gold routine doesn't fly around here."

"It's not like that, Cap," Rita responded defensively.

"You should be in bed." Harry softened as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Turning to Chris, he added, "It's your job to see that she gets there. I'm going to check on my wife."

"Do you think he'd snap my head off if I thanked him for that order?" Chris placed an arm around his fiancée's shoulders.

"Chris," Rita said, her voice filled with impatience, "he thinks Vincent sent those flowers because..."

"Relax, Sam. The Captain barely realizes what he's saying right now, and I know the feeling. Once he has Fran in his arms again, all will be right with the world."

Rita continued to frown as they walked back in the direction of Harry's car. She paused and turned to face Chris. "What do you mean, you know how he feels?"

Oblivious to the noise and commotion just a few feet away, Chris pulled her into his arms. With the side of her face resting on his shoulder, his words whispered through her hair, "All is right with the world, Sam."

Uniformed officers were swarming over the rooftop as Chris and Rita returned to Harry's car. George had helped Fran extricate herself from the back seat and was currently talking to Harry, who had his wife wrapped tightly in his arms. Rita rushed over to check on Fran, but Chris hung back a little, hoping to get a better look at Joey Greene - not an easy thing to do as the crowd surrounding him grew larger. Shot twice, once in the shoulder and once in the lower back, he lay on his side, unconscious in an ever-widening pool of blood.

Chris recognized the woman kneeling by Joey's side. She was one of the department's more experienced MEs. Glancing around, he realized just how many of the department's personnel had responded to the sound of shots being fired. The tightening in his chest was impossible to ignore.

Damn. He was getting soft - just like George. He shot a glance in Rita's direction. Her face was caught in the glow from an overhead streetlight. She was smiling as she hugged Frannie Lipschitz, her green eyes alight with the caring and compassion she constantly showed to others. Nothing wrong with being a little soft, he decided.

"Chris."

Finding the Captain at his side was a surprise. "Hey, Cap. Joey doesn't look too good right now."

"An ambulance is on the way."

"I figured as much." Chris shoved his hands into his pockets. "About that black bag job."

"Forget about it."

"Forget about it?" He glanced at his boss with raised eyebrows. Maybe there was some truth in all that nonsense about aliens. "Who are you, and what have you done with my captain?" he couldn't resist asking.

Harry frowned. "Look, Chris, I gotta say this before we go back inside and things get crazy. What you did tonight…"

Chris waved away the words. "Please, Cap, you don't have to say anything."

Harry set a hand on Chris' shoulder and forced him to meet his eyes. "Thank you for saving Frannie's life. You pulled her out of the line of fire."

"Cap, I…"

"Don't argue with me. I just want you to know how much what you did means to me."

Chris nodded, not quite sure what to say in response.

"Looking back over the last few days, I realize that I should have told you about Joey a long time ago." The Captain was looking unusually miserable, considering the outcome. "I guess I was afraid of losing your respect - and Rita's."

"You've always had our respect, Cap. That will never change."

"I'm not perfect, you know."

"Never assumed you were."

"There's something else I feel I should say."

Chris rocked on his heels, wondering what was coming next. "What is it?"

"You and Rita…"

"Yeah?"

"You both mean a lot to us - Fran and me. I know things didn't start off that way, but over the years it's like you've become, well, you know. "

Chris grinned. "Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"Sure. We feel the same way."

Harry nodded in understanding. "I'm glad we had this talk."

Chris grinned. "Me too."

"We'd better get started on the paperwork."

Now that was a thought capable of wiping the smile right off Chris' face.

"I don't suppose we could leave that for tomorrow?"

Harry pointed towards an approaching figure. "See that man?"

"Yeah."

"That's the mayor."

"Really?" Chris peered closer. "I think he's gained a little weight since the last time I saw him."

Harry ignored the comment. "And behind him is the Police Commissioner. Joey had been in contact with both, trying to stir up trouble. They're going to want answers."

"Ugh," Chris groaned at the thought of spending most of the night behind his desk. "And here I was thinking I'd be able to follow orders and take Rita to bed."

"I don't think I worded it quite that way," Harry laughed, "but if you give me an hour now, you can come in late tomorrow to finish up."

One hour writing preliminary reports, and the pay off was a long night in the arms of the woman he loved. It was an offer he couldn't refuse. Chris turned his attention to the paramedics who were putting their equipment away. Joey had been pronounced dead.

….

Chris was standing behind his desk slipping into a dark blue sport coat when the Captain walked out of his office. A lot had happened in the seven days since the shoot-out with Joey Greene in the PBPD parking lot - all of it good. Internal Affairs had been quick to clear Chris of any wrongdoing, Del La Torre had been officially charged with two counts of murder, and Rita had been ordered to take a few days sick leave.

"Hey, Cap," Chris called out, straightening the collar of his coat. "What's with the big smile? You and Frannie have something special planned tonight?"

"Every night in the arms of the right woman is special, kid." Harry approached Chris' desk with a twinkle in his eye.

"Amen to that," Chris agreed with a laugh.

"Guess who I was just talking to on the phone?"

"Who?" Chris perched on the edge of his desk and studied Harry's expression. No doubt about it, the Captain was practically giddy.

"Paul Gardner. You remember me telling you about Paul and Andrea, the two detectives I worked with in New York?"

"Yeah, sure. How are they doing?"

"You'll never believe it. They're d.o.t. c.o.m millionaires."

"D.o.t c.o.m millionaires?" Chris silently mouthed. "What in the world is a d.o.t c.o.m millionaire? I don't get it."

Harry peered over the top of his glasses. "Don't you ever use a computer at home?"

"Sure. I get email, I check the scores."

"Paul and Andrea did a lot more than that after they quit the force. Paul says they wanted to stay partners, so they started up an online private investigation service. The damn thing took off like a rocket, and they've never been happier."

"That's great, Cap."

"I wonder what prompted him to call out of the blue like that?" Harry's voice was a mixture of curiosity and relief.

Chris grinned. With John Grady's help, tracking down the two former NYPD homicide detectives had been easy. His unexpected request that they contact their former boss had been agreed to with enthusiasm and affection.

"What about you, Lorenzo? You have the next few days off, right? What do you and Rita have planned for the long weekend?"

"Rita has a follow-up appointment with Dr. Portman this afternoon. If all goes well, we'll probably head over to Sanibel for a few days."

"Whatever you two do, have fun. And if Rita gets the okay from Portman, tell her I said we need her back here on Monday."

"She'll be thrilled to hear it, Cap. Thanks."

….

It was just after 5 pm when Chris arrived at Rita's front door. The lively sounds of Salsa music were interspersed with raised voices, both male and female. He let himself in, then froze.

"Christopher!"

"Mother?"

"Close the door, Chris," Rita called out from the kitchen. "We don't want the neighbors complaining." His fiancée entered the living room carrying a wine bottle and several long-stemmed wine glasses. "Did you say hello to everyone?" she asked pointedly as she opened the wine.

"I haven't had a chance. They're still dancing."

Chris couldn't take his eyes off of his mother as she guided homicide detective Dale Murphy through the sensual steps of a Samba. Murphy was mesmerized by the movie star in his arms. Chris recognized the expression; he had seen it on the faces of a hundred different men over the years. They fell for the image immediately, not bothering to take notice of the real woman and all her flaws that lay beneath.

"Here you go," Rita spoke soothingly as she placed a half-filled glass in his hand. Her voice dropped lower, "Get that shocked look off of your face. You're going to make Murphy feel bad."

"But I am shocked." Chris took a long sip then grimaced and stared down into the glass of red wine. "What is this?"

"Your mother brought it from France."

"Figures."

"Be nice."

"Am I in the right apartment?" Chris closed his eyes tight, then opened them again. It didn't help. His mother, dressed in a white, form-fitting, designer dress was shimmying around the living room floor with the eternally rumpled, never-anything-but-grouchy Detective Dale Murphy. "What is going on here?"

Rita led him over to the table, away from the dancing couple and their laughter. "Murphy stopped by to see how I was doing, your mother happened to be here, and before we knew it, we were talking about dancing."

"Before you knew it? Since when does Dale Murphy discuss dancing? And why was my mother here in the first place?"

Rita picked up a sheet of paper from the table and eyed him suspiciously. "She was here to drop off the list she promised you."

"Oh." The current song ended, and his mother rushed over, saving him from having to reply.

"It's so wonderful to see you, Darling," Anna murmured, framing his face in her hands and kissing his cheek. She accepted a glass of wine from Rita. "I'd like to make a toast," she announced.

Chris groaned inwardly and cast a quick glance at Dale Murphy - poor guy. His mother should come with a warning label tattooed onto her perfect, porcelain-skinned forehead.

"To weddings," Anna was saying, showering an adoring smile on her son and his future wife.

"To weddings," Dale Murphy repeated.

Rita lifted her glass of iced tea. Her eyes were filled with laughter when they met his, and he suddenly realized that she was enjoying herself.

"Let's get out of here," he urged, whispering into her ear.

"We can't just leave."

"Look at them," he insisted, "they'll never know we're gone."

Anna was once again deep in conversation with Murphy. What those two had in common Chris couldn't begin to guess, but they looked happy enough, and he wanted his fiancée all to himself. "What did Dr. Portman say this afternoon?" he asked.

"He signed my release."

"Thank you, Dr. Portman." After a week of worrying and watching for any signs of residual pain Rita might be experiencing, it was a huge relief to hear she was given a clean bill of health.

Rita leaned into him to whisper, "Does this mean your self-imposed moratorium on lovemaking is now over?"

Chris slipped an arm around her waist and glanced down at the neckline of her dress. He had been so thrown by her unexpected guests, he hadn't noticed the new red dress she was wearing. It was fairly modest from this angle. The scoop neck and long sleeves didn't reveal much, but as his hand slid over her hips, he realized just how figure-hugging the spectacular little creation was. Every little dip and curve was emphasized. He leaned backward for a good look at her legs. The hem-line was damn near illegal.

...

"Well?" Rita was grinning. The hand on her hips tightened.

"Let's go into the kitchen, and I'll give you my answer." Chris' voice was gruff, the look in his gorgeous blue eyes - passionate and hungry.

"Down, boy," she murmured, her gaze narrowing as she returned the look.

"Chris?"

"Yes, Mother?" His eyes never left Rita's as he answered.

"Dale and I are going out for a drink."

That got his attention.

"You don't mind, do you, Lorenzo?" Murphy was actually looking a little nervous.

"No. You two have fun." Chris managed a smile as he removed his hand from Rita's back, and held it out to Dale Murphy. "I've been meaning to thank you for all your help on the Greene case. I'm sorry about Curtis."

"Don't be. He made his bed, now he has to face the consequences. You take care of her," he grumbled, pointing at Rita.

Rita smiled, remembering Murphy's earlier expression when she had answered her door and greeted him with an affectionate hug. Once the shock wore off, convincing him to stay a while had been easy. The fact that he and Anna appeared to hit it off, did not surprise her.

"Rita," Anna said, stepping forward to give her a quick squeeze. "I'll call you on Monday. We can talk about the list, maybe check out a few reception halls."

"Leave 'em be, Annie," Dale interrupted, taking Anna by the hand, "Neither one is an idiot. If they need your help, they'll ask for it."

Surprisingly, Anna laughed and squeezed Murphy's arm. "You're right. Sorry, Kids. I've got a suite at the Hilton this trip. I'd love to hear from you, Rita."

They talked for a few minutes longer. The older couple seemed to be in a hurry to leave.

The minute the door closed behind them, Chris walked over to the stereo and turned down the volume.

Rita swallowed her disappointment. She had hoped for a more romantic response to their finally being alone. For all his bravado talk about seducing her, Chris had spent the last week treating her as if she were fragile - as if she might break. Now that the headaches and nausea were gone, she wanted to resume her life and her relationship with the man she loved.

"I couldn't wait to leave work tonight," Chris said, head bent down as he sorted through a stack of CDs.

Rita crossed the room, not sure if she had heard him correctly. "Anxious for a few vacation days?"

Chris removed the Salsa CD and slipped a new one in before turning to meet her stare. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. "Anxious for you," he finally responded in a husky voice. He touched a finger to her lips, tracing their outline.

Rita shivered as his mouth moved closer to her throat. She recognized the soulful voice and mellow sounds that filled the apartment. Nothing like a little Tony Bennett at sunset to soothe the soul and deepen the intimacy of the moment.

"It's been a long week," Chris murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive area behind her ear. "I missed you at work."

"Want to know what I missed?" She ran her hands through his hair and brought his mouth to hers before he could answer. The kiss she had been anticipating ever since his return home started off slow as if Chris were still being careful about hurting her, but as her tongue slid past his lips, she felt a little of his control slip.

"Dance with me," he murmured when they finally broke for air. His left arm encircled her waist and he pulled her closer, swaying gently with his face buried against the side of her neck.

Rita tipped her head back, allowing him better access to her throat. He released her hand and slid an open palm down her side to the swell of her hip. She felt his arousal brush across her lower stomach.

"We could leave for Sanibel first thing in the morning," Rita suggested as they continued to move in time to the music.

Chris had both hands under her dress, gliding over her legs, toying with the tops of her thigh-high silk stockings. "Too tired to travel tonight?" he asked, a sliver of worry back in his eyes.

Rita grinned and brushed her fingers across his lips. "No, but if I can talk you into coming to bed with me now, I can promise you a beautiful sunrise in the morning."

"So basically, you're bribing me to hop in the sack with you.

"Is it working?" She pushed his jacket from his shoulders. It fell to the ground unheeded.

"You'll never have to ask twice, Sam." The words were an exhale of breath across her left cheek.

"That's what I was counting on."

Chris sought out her mouth and kissed her hard. She reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head before tossing it to the side. Chris slipped the red dress over her head as they guided each other toward the bedroom. Rita's shoes landed near the couch. They fumbled past the dining room table until a sheet of white paper caught Chris' eye. Keeping one hand on Rita's bare waist, he reached for his mother's list.

"Don't!"

Chris looked at her with surprise.

"Trust me. You don't want to read that right now." She stared into his eyes, not realizing how thoroughly sexy her damp lips and tousled hair appeared to him at that moment.

"I don't?" Chris pressed a kiss to the base of her throat. "Who could she possibly want to invite?" he asked as his mouth moved lower.

"Do you trust me?" Chris lifted her as if she were weightless. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist; her arms slid around his neck. A damp mouth closed over a lace-covered nipple and she groaned.

"I trust you more than I trust myself," he whispered against her skin, "but I don't trust my mother to make an omelet."

"We'll deal with her tomorrow," she promised as he carried her across the threshold into her room.

Chris just smiled and kicked the bedroom door closed.

THE END

Classic Moments

2000

Might be pointless to keep repeating this, but feedback by PM or Review is greatly appreciated.

...

Final Thoughts: Writing 25 stories over a three year period is one thing, but revisiting those stories all at once over a five month period is another and can lead to some interesting questions. For example, based on just my own old stories, I have recently found myself asking -

Is fresh fruit with toast the only breakfast Rita knows how to prepare?

Does anyone ever go back and pick up the jacket/dress/shirt/blouse that falls silently/unheeded/unnoticed to the floor during foreplay?

Do women still wear pantyhose? Nylons, I am embarrassingly aware, is a very outdated word!

How did we live without smart phones?

Is Rita's apartment one story or two? I've written it both ways.

What is a horizontal version of a roundhouse kick? Is that really a thing?

Why is Rita the one always getting a concussion in my stories? Sorry about that, Sergeant Lance.