The Truth, According to Lillian Storm

By WriterJC

**Hello fellow music fans! This is the E-article that you've all been waiting for--the truth behind the scenes with that absolutely dynamite-looking hunk that protected the life of the former VTV VJ Billie Rock. And of course, your VTV E-reporter aims to please!

Tom Ryan rolled over onto his back, opened his eyes and stared blearily at his ceiling. The bright illumination of the sun crept minutely through the slats of the blinds, sending hazy streaks of light through the dim apartment to reflect off of several days worth of clothing that was strewn about. At odds with the internal stillness, morning birds sang a lilting melody which permeated the darkened sanctum. Tom was firmly convinced that the birds were of the perverse variety, whose sole purpose was to interfere with the much needed rest of homicide detectives who had managed a sum total of less than 4 hours sleep in a span of 48 hours.

Dragging a pillow over his head, he determined that as it was his only day off, 8 hours or better of uninterrupted shut-eye was to be in his future. The divas of birdsong be damned.

An insistent tapping at his door blew that idea out of the water as well as made him realize that perhaps the birds didn't deserve sole responsibility for waking him. Snatching the pillow away from his face, he made a silent plea skyward that whomever was at his door would go away.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Who is it?" he bellowed, irritatedly running through a mental list of who might be disturbing him. Cassy, knowing that he'd been on loan to vice for the past week while she was on vacation, would have called first. Harry, having seen first hand the foul mood the vice stake-out had left him in would have called first. Hell, even the neighbor kids, who were always borrowing something would have. . . well, maybe they wouldn't have called first, but they would certainly have gone away by now. Instead, another round of knocking sounded, more insistent than before.

Grumbling beneath his breath, he threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. He didn't realize until he was halfway across the floor that he was dressed only in a pair of boxers, one sock and still sported the scruffy beard from vice. He was a third of the way back to his sleeping area before he decided that he didn't care and again headed toward the door.

Peering through the peephole, he noted a pretty, dark-haired woman, dressed fashionably in a black mini dress. Oval glasses with thick black rims sat perched on her nose, adding a quirkiness to her appearance. Under normal circumstances Tom might have asked her out based on curiosity alone, but today he was far too tired. He wanted her gone.

"May I help you?" He snatched the door open amid another round of loud knocking as he struggled to contain his impatience.

"You're Thomas Ryan." The woman brightly stated the obvious as she fumbled to her side for a small squarish purse. Moments later, she raised the purse to her face and pressed a decorative button. A brilliant flash caught Tom in already sleep-fogged eyes.

"Gotcha!" The woman beamed delightedly as Tom blinked in an attempt to regain what was left of his vision. "I'm Lillian Storm. VTV E-reporter at large. And I'm famous for those candid shots. May you all always be in the Eye of the Storm." She thrust out a hand in introduction, and looked completely baffled when Tom snatched the camera from her instead.

"Hey!" She objected, reaching for the camera. "That's my--"

Tom didn't hear the rest of what she might have said as at that moment, something zinged by his left shoulder and buried itself in the door. Instinctively knowing that it was a bullet, he threw his arms around the E-reporter and dragged her roughly to the floor of his living room before kicking the door shut with the one sock-clad foot. They both landed in a heap behind his sofa.

"Get offa me! Get offa me! Get offa me!" Lillian squealed. The fact that she was beating at his chest with her fists only registered peripherally in Tom's mind as he was busily entering cop mode -- searching the living room for his gun, and listening for sounds that the shooter was going to try again. Her struggles came to the fore, however, when one of her punches connected with his jaw.

"Ow!" Tom jerked his head back and it collided against the hard wooden corner of his sofa. Putting a hand to the sore spot, he groaned and rolled away from the woman. He got a wooden heeled shoe in his side for good measure before he saw Lillian's black-clad bottom as she crawled frantically toward the door, screaming for help all the way.

"Keep your voice down!" He lunged for her, pulling her back away from the door while fending off pummeling fists and jabbing knees. She got in more good hits than Tom wanted to admit to before he got both her arms pinned to her sides.

"Be still!" he ordered through gritted teeth. "Someone is shooting at us!"

Lillian's struggles stilled immediately and her eyes widened. "No way!"

"Yes, way!"

"Well call the cops!"

"I am a cop!" Tom shot back. "If you would stay put I can get to my gun and my phone without worrying about you running out there in the line of fire!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Lillian assured him. "Just do it!"

"Fine," Tom ground out beneath his breath before rolling away toward his sofa. The cordless was on the corner table as was his holster. He quickly grabbed both, calling in the shooting as he crept toward the window. Stooping, he peeked around the edge of the blinds and scanned the street. An older couple were out walking their dog. A young woman in a sports top and short-shorts was jogging. All the cars lining the parking lot and across the street appeared empty. Obviously, whomever had fired the shot was long gone.

Relaxing his guard, he turned to tell Lillian that the coast was clear. The brilliant flash of the camera dazzled his eyes yet again.

"So I can remember how you saved my life." He heard her explain while he was busy blinking more dark spots from his vision.

"Give me that!" He moved toward her and grabbed at the offending object.

"No." Lillian shook her head and snatched it out of his reach, putting it behind her back. "This is my camera and those shots are for my story!"

"What story?" Tom demanded.

"The one about you, of course. I sent you e-mail on it. I even followed up with snail mail. I made it perfectly clear in my communication that our agreement was binding and completely, irrevocably, unrepentedly . . ."

"Huh?" Tom stared at her disbelievingly, trying to make sense of the words that were coming out of her mouth. Maybe he was still sleeping and this was all just a bad dream. Rubbing his hands over his face, he closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them Lillian Storm would be gone and he would be in bed. He opened his eyes. Lillian was still in front of him, ranting for all she was worth. His apartment was in desperate need of cleaning and he wore only striped boxers, one argyle sock and a grimace. Things could not get any worse.

"Police! Freeze!" Suddenly the door burst open and two uniformed officers appeared, guns drawn. Lillian's rapid fire words escalated to a scream as she tossed the camera at Tom and raised her hands skyward.

As Harry and Cassy entered on the heels of the officers, Tom was forced to revise his opinion. The levels of worse could always find greater depths, and he was absolutely never going to hear the end of this.

**Sam and I hit it off right away. Within minutes we were gabbing like old buddies. He even invited a few of his friends over so that we could all chat . . . **

Cassy glanced up as Tom slipped sheepishly out of his bathroom. The boxers and sock had been replaced with Levi's and a casual button up shirt. The scraggly half-beard was blessedly gone, and his hair had been brushed into some semblance of order.

"Thought you got swallowed." She couldn't help teasing him as he looked around the apartment. Lillian Storm, Harry and one uniform were standing near the door. The rest of the crime scene team had cleared out just minutes earlier.

"Ha ha." Tom made a face at her. "Was trying to wash off the embarrassment of being shot at in my underwear by both a camera and a gun." .

"Well, considering what you were wearing, we should probably add the fashion police to our list of suspects. And, uh, should we put out an APB on the missing sock?"

Tom ignored her. "Anything on the bullet?" He pointed toward the front door which sported a circular gouge mark where the slug had been removed. "And what's she still doing here?"

Cassy glanced over her shoulder toward the E-reporter and chuckled. "You don't want to know."

"Cass?" Tom shot her a warning look. "What?"

"No, Tom, really. You don't want to know."

Tom sighed and sank down atop his bed. "Yeah, you're probably right. I don't think I have the energy for any more bad news." He looked up at her and offered a melt-your-heart smile. "So, how was your vacation?"

Cassy took in his slightly glassy-eyed appearance and the yawn he was struggling to stifle and decided to go easy on him. He looked completely beat. "It was restful," she answered his question. "Relaxing. We had a great time. Claudia sends her love."

Tom smiled his thanks.

"How was your week?" she asked. "Harry tells me you've been on the night shift with vice and haven't had much sleep."

"Wonder what gave him that idea?" Tom muttered.

"Well, he did mention a certain, shall we say, grouchiness on your part."

"I am not grouchy," Tom responded, irritably.

"Did I mention touchy?"

"I'm not. . . " Tom broke off in the middle of his sentence. "Well, maybe a little. Cass, you wouldn't believe this guy, Colter, that I ended up partnered with. What a piece of work. He was more concerned about his hair than about the operation. And if I have to hear another Miami Vice joke, I swear I'm going to be ready for a job at the post office."

"At least you caught the bad guy," Cassy offered, sympathetically.

"Yeah." Tom laughed humorlessly. "Emphasis on the I. At least he's stuck doing the paperwork."

"Serves him right," Cassy said, before gesturing behind herself toward Tom's door. "Unfortunately, we have this little incident to worry about now. None of your neighbors saw or heard a thing."

"No surprise there. The guy must have used a silencer or something; I never heard a gunshot. Funny thing is, if I hadn't been playing camera wars with Ms. E-reporter, I would have gotten it right in the old brain pan."

"So does this mean she saved your life?" Harry asked, approaching.

Cassy turned and grinned devilishly at the Captain. "Oh, good move, Harry." She ignored the wary look Tom sent her way. "That should soften him right up."

"Thank you, Sgt. St. John," Harry replied with his usual sarcasm. Then directing his next comment to his other detective, "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Thomas. You're going to be protecting Ms. Storm for the next few days until we find out who the shooter is."

"What?!" Tom demanded, rising from his seated position. "Harry. No."

"Thomas. Yes." Harry nodded his head slowly as if speaking with an especially difficult child.

"Harry, please. . . "

"Don't whine, it's unbecoming," Harry informed him.

"I'm not whining," Tom said.

"I was detecting a definite whine, Tom," Cassy spoke up helpfully.

"Thank you again, Sgt. St. John." Harry smiled in her direction.

"Okay, how's this?" Tom interrupted, casting disbelieving look from Cassy to Harry. "She was here when the shots were fired. She woke me up out of a much needed rest. Maybe she even set me up. Did you ever think about that?"

"Of course." Harry nodded. "I had her checked out while you were hiding in the bathroom."

"I was not hiding in the bathroom. I was just. . . "

"Unh unh unh." Harry waggled a finger. "Whining again. She's who she says she is. Besides, just look at her. She's terrified."

"Yeah. Terrified she won't get a story." Tom groused, sinking back down onto the bed.

"Be that as it may, do you know how many kids her network brings to this state, and thus this city for spring break? Far be it from me to have the mayor on my butt for letting some video TV reporterette get whacked on my watch."

"Nobody's trying to whack her, Harry," Tom responded tiredly. "At least not without just cause. I'm still seeing spots from that camera she kept shoving in my face. Besides, aren't you forgetting that this shooter was probably gunning for me? Wouldn't that be putting her into danger?"

"Ah, but that's the beauty of the plan." Harry smiled, obviously pleased with himself. "I'm having you put into a safe house while this investigation is under way. You can protect her there. That way, you're *both* out of the picture."

"What?!" Tom looked up sharply. "I'm not going to any safe house. Haven't you ever watched any cop shows? That's just like asking to be whacked."

"That is true, Harry," Cassy put in helpfully. "On the cop shows, I mean."

"Whose side are you on?" Harry demanded, turning on her.

"Oh, definitely yours." Cassy smiled sweetly.

Harry eyed her over the top of his glasses. "If there are no more objections--"

"Oh, I have objections," Tom put in. "But they just don't seem to be getting me anywhere."

"Right you are," Harry told him. "Now, since there are no *more* objections, it's time you move out to the safe house."

"Now?" Tom demanded.

Harry speared him with a look. "No time like the present."

"I'm beat, Skipper," Tom said. "I'll be useless for protecting little Miss Eye of the Storm over there unless I get at least a couple hours of sleep."

"Safe houses have beds, Thomas. And I thought you said she didn't need protecting."

"Well, she. . . I mean. . . It's not like. . . "

Cassy stepped in to rescue him. "Why don't I stick around a while so Tom can catch a few hours?"

"An excellent suggestion, St. John," Harry said as he reached into his front shirt pocket. "Here's the address. The keys will be in the usual place. Why don't you escort Ms. Storm to her hotel to pick up whatever she needs while the bodyguard here pulls himself together?"

"Sure thing, Harry." Cassy took the slip of paper from the captain's hand. Turning toward her less-than-pleased partner, she winked. "See ya later, Oscar."

~*~

The dark-haired man lounged casually on the cushioned deck chair. Large black sunglasses protected his eyes from the brilliance of the midday sun as he sipped at a brandy and gazed at on the gently lapping waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Peaceful. *La Paz*. Like the name of the fifty foot yacht upon which he sailed.

The gentle sound of waves against the hull calmed him, soothed his ragged nerves. They helped him think more clearly how best to move against his opponents. It was there, on that very deck that he concocted his most brilliant plans. *La Paz*, he decided, was his secret weapon and the ebb and flow of nature his most useful tool.

The soft electronic chirp of his cellular phone interrupted his musings. Setting aside the dark liquid, he picked up the phone. He didn't speak, simply waited, like a lion patiently observing prey, for the party on the other end to reveal himself.

His mouth twisted in anger. The words that he heard did not satisfy. "*Usted tiene un más oppurtunity. Seis horas. No mas. Utilicelo bien.*" The words spilled from his lips with quiet menace before he clicked off the phone. Despite the fact that the caller was not Hispanic, the dark-haired man knew that the caller understood the words that were spoken to him as well as those that had been left unspoken.

*You have one more opportunity. Six hours. No more. Use them well*. . . or end up dead like the rest of the pawns in the life and death game of power. Survival of the fittest and of the genetically superior.

The dark-haired man picked up his brandy and gazed at the peaceful ocean.

"This is it?" Tom dropped his bag by the door and gazed around the sparsely furnished living room. "Whatever happened to going to the one on Pacific? It's right near the beach."

Harry had to agree that the place looked and smelled as if it hadn't been aired out or dusted in weeks. "Must be a new acquisition," he muttered taking in the ratty decor. When he'd told Sullivan that he needed a place quick, he supposed that he should have expected something like this. Hoping to distract his detective, he changed the subject. "Looks like Cassy and Ms. Storm haven't arrived yet."

"Come on, you know women Harry." Tom wandered from the living room into the kitchen area. Harry could hear the soft sound of the refrigerator seal being broken as Tom continued to speak. "It takes them an hour just to decide what to wear."

"Good point," Harry agreed, deciding that a snack wasn't such a bad idea. Tossing his jacket over the back of the sofa, he headed toward the kitchen as well.

"You know, there's a shocking lack of food here," Tom called loudly as he stood up from his investigation of the refrigerator. "There's not even beer."

"Like I said, new acquisition." Harry told him. Then, when Tom visibly startled, "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you." He headed over to the refrigerator to take a look for himself.

"S'kay." Tom turned and started on the cupboards. The sound of slamming cabinet doors faded to the background as Harry spied a small tub of pimento cheese in the back corner of the refrigerator's second shelf.

"There is just no excuse for this!" Tom exclaimed from behind him, sending Harry's heart into overdrive. His head collided with a dull thud against the top of the refrigerator's inside.

"What?!" He turned, holding a hand against the top of his smarting skull.

"This!" Tom pulled out a squarish wrapped object and shoved it in his face. "Ramen Noodles. If this is what we're feeding the people who risk life and limb to be witnesses for the police, it's no wonder no one wants to come forward. Jeez." He tossed the small packet back into the cupboard and slammed it shut, seemingly oblivious to Harry's pain.

Harry seethed for several seconds, before moving toward the cabinet that Tom had recently vacated and snatched out a packet of the noodles. Oriental. His favorite. He went in search of a pot. Cocking an eye at the tall detective who was observing him in disgust, he raised a brow. "Want one?"

"Yeah, I'll take one."

~*~

Cassy focused in on the small slip of paper containing the address to the safe house. Mentally calculating the fastest route spared her several seconds of the E-reporter's questions. The shock of the shooting had worn off all too soon in Cassy's opinion. She liked the woman better when she was quietly shell-shocked. Quiet being the operative word.

"So how long have you and Sgt. Ryan been partners?" The woman's elbow rested against the base of the window as she held a hand against her head to prevent longish bangs from blowing into her face.

"A while," Cassy replied, noncommittally.

"Hmmm," Lillian murmured thoughtfully as she took in the scenery that flashed by the open windows.

Cassy stifled an irritated grinding of her teeth. She knew the question that was coming. It was only a matter of time.

"You're both attractive individuals, and there's an obvious chemistry. Was there ever a romantic entanglement?"

"Isn't that sort of a personal question?" Cassy asked, pinning her with glare.

Lillian shrugged slightly, her mouth twisting into a slight grin. "Probably. But the public wants to know."

"It's not the public's business."

"Hmmm." Lillian nodded and again focused on the surrounding scenery.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Cassy demanded.

"Doing what?"

"That sound. . . saying 'hmmm' and nodding after every thing I say."

"Oh that?" Lillian waved it off dismissively. "That's just a nervous habit."

Cassy eyed the woman suspiciously. She didn't believe her for a moment. Noting the name of the street ahead, she signaled and turned along the narrow road. Modest homes lined both sides of the street that ran parallel to the backside of an ancient strip mall. She brought the car to a halt in the driveway of one of the more unkempt homes on the street, careful to leave space for Harry to back out.

"This is it?" Lillian demanded. "I just left the Palm Beach Sunset Hilton . . . for this? Whatever happened to the glitz and the glam, the even the cops have Porches?" The woman gestured around Cassy's Boxter.

"Hmmm," Cassy murmured as she climbed out of the vehicle. "Go figure. Maybe you should check your sources."

~*~

"Got some on your . . . ." Tom pointed out helpfully around a mouthful of noodles. He gestured his fork in the direction of the once white fabric of Harry's shirt.

"Oh, just great," Harry muttered around his own fork full. The dark splatter spots stood out plainly on the starched shirt front. "Frannie's gonna think I went out for Chinese without her."

"Well, you can explain to her that this hardly counts as Chinese. I think the term "food" might even be a stretch."

"What are you talking about? Of course this is Chinese. And if it isn't food, explain why you're on your second pack."

"Give me a break. I was starving, okay? Didn't get to choose from much outside of bad coffee, stale doughnuts, really bad coffee, really really stale doughnuts and the kind of stuff that they make all those mylanta commericals for. It got a little old."

"Don't forget that you helped to bring down a couple players in Raoul Moreno's little drug empire."

"Yeah," Tom agreed softly, settling back in his chair. "Victor Nunez is without conscience and deserves to be taken down. But that kid, Enrique Morales. . . that kind of bothered me."

"How's that?"

Tom shrugged, not sure that he could put the nebulous feelings into words. "He just seemed like he didn't belong. Like he was scared, I guess. Reluctant." Tom gestured helplessly, unable to adequately explain.

"Of course he was scared. He was caught in the vicinity of enough drugs to supply the whole east side, and his fingerprints were on the gun that ballistics said killed Frank Stoner." "Yeah, logically I know that Harry, but. . . . Maybe it was the eyes. . . He didn't look like a killer, he just looked lost and. . . and innocent." Tom looked at his captain, gauging his reaction as he contemplated telling him the rest of what bothered him.

"Even good kids take bad roads, Sgt.," Harry told him. "Rehabilitation is up to the state. Both he and Nunez are being arraigned this morning. Not your problem anymore."

"Guess you're right." Tom morosely fished around in the bottom of his bowl for noodles that might have escaped his fork. He shouldn't, he decided, tell Harry the other thing that plagued him. It had probably just been a reflection of too little sleep and too much adrenaline--just a fluke. Maybe he should talk to Cassy about it. She'd at least had some experience in that area.

"Okay, Ryan, spill it." Harry's voice interrupted his musings.

"What?" He looked up to meet the older man's eyes and then immediately looked away.

"Spill whatever is bothering you. I know it's something, so don't try to avoid the issue."

"Harry. . . it's--it's nothing." Tom shrugged dismissively.

"It is something and I want to hear it right now detective."

Tom sighed. What did it matter anyway? He couldn't prove anything. Raising his gaze to the other man's, he opened his mouth to speak. But the motion was interrupted by the ringing of the door bell.

Tom started, then moved quickly to his feet to answer. "That has to be Cassy," he murmured, the relief in his voice not totally hidden. "Almost an hour to the minute. Did I call it or did I call it? Hope they didn't want any noodles. There's only one pack left."

~*~

Harry walked into the station wondering what it was that Tom had been about to tell him. With the arrival of Cassy and Ms. Storm, the detective had completely shut down, refusing to go into it--even when Harry had managed to corner him in the back room.

Fairly certain that it had something to do with the case he had been working on with vice, Harry decided to review the file. Aside from the fact that it was bothering Tom, he worried that the shooting might have been connected to the case as well. Nunez might have only been middle management, but bad guys had found lesser reasons for taking pot shots at cops. And there was nothing that troubled Harry more than for one of his officers to be hunted by the criminal element.

**Of all of Sam Bryan's friends, I would have to say that J. Saint-Clay was one of the most informative. Saint-Clay, also a professional protector, and Sam are very close. Like Sam, Saint-Clay was very open about the job they do. And also like Sam, Saint-Clay was very willing to speak frankly about the glamorous, very rewarding, non-stop-action sort of life they lead. . . **

Cassy sighed and flipped through another round of TV talk shows before rolling the kinks out of her neck. Tom had been sleeping for nearly three hours, and last she'd checked, hadn't showed any signs of waking--at least not on this side of the 21st century.

As if having to baby-sit Lillian Storm wasn't enough, there wasn't anything that remotely resembled real food in the house. Though she'd promised to do a grocery run when Tom awakened, her hunger was in the here and now. The thought of trying to cook up something with the ingredients available in the cupboard made her shudder. And calling in delivery was a no-no in the what to do when hiding out in a safe house book of etiquette. She wondered if perhaps she could sweet talk Harry into bringing something. Or better yet, Frannie. . .

The cessation of the soft sounds of Lillian Storm's typing brought Cassy out of her musings. She felt herself going on guard as the woman approached and settled on the sofa beside her.

"Candy?"

The sudden appearance of a Snickers bar under her nose nearly sent Cassy into squeals of ecstasy. But then she remembered that the hand that offered it belonged to the nosey E-reporter who was trying to trick her into giving away personal information about her partner. Allowing her suspicious gaze to rise to the woman's face, she opened her mouth to decline. The Donnor party had one another, she could somehow survive Ramen noodles and pimento cheese.

Lillian, noting the hesitation, spoke before Cassy could get the words out. "I promise, anything said while eating chocolate is completely off the record."

Cassy held the woman's friendly gaze for several moments before taking the offered treat with a soft word of thanks. The sweat aroma of chocolate and nuts made her mouth water in anticipation. Cassy could practically taste the nougat.

"You two care about one another a lot," Lillian said, tearing into the paper of her own candy bar and taking a wonderfully succulent-looking bite.

Cassy drew her distracted gaze from the woman's candy bar and looked at the inviting weight she held in her own hand. "No personal questions." Cassy said as she tried to mentally convince herself that she could return the candy bar if need be.

"I told you," Lillian said with a small, wicked looking smile as she took another large bite, "Off the record. I promised, remember?"

Cassy looked again at the still wrapped candy bar.

Lillian continued. "Besides, it's kind of obvious if you know what you're looking for--especially in his case. It's written all over him. But you, you're more reserved. One would have to watch you very carefully to see it. You're in lo--"

That was it. Cassy's resolve hardened and she resolutely handed the candy back to the other woman. "I don't think this is such a good idea. My and Sgt. Ryan's private lives are non of your damned business."

Lillian looked at her dumbly for a moment. "Look, I apologize. I didn't give you the candy to try to get you to talk or anything. And I swear, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. It's just that I could hear my stomach growling over the sound of Jerry Springer and his merry band of 'round-the-way-girls-in-heat. I figured we both could use a little pick-me-up, so I offered. Honestly, I'm just trying to make conversation."

Cassy eyed the woman suspiciously for several long moments before she retrieved the offered item. Tearing into the wrapper, she told herself that Lillian Storm wasn't really the enemy. She had a definite nose problem, but she wasn't the enemy. And she wasn't going to let one nosey reporter get between herself and a Snickers.

"Thanks for trusting me, Cass," Lillian said. "May I call you Cass?"

"No, but nice try," Cassy responded, savoring the sweet versus salty flavor of nuts, nougat and chocolate. Snickers had to be the perfect taste triangle.

"I have a cousin named Cassandra." Lillian was undeterred. "Everyone calls her Cass. But I'll bet Tom--"

"Sgt. Ryan," Cassy injected, plastering on her best fake smile. Lillian simply continued.

"--is the only one who calls you Cass. It's almost like it's a special name for you. Like a caress--"

"Ms. Storm," Cassy interrupted conversationally. "I would appreciate it if you could avoid comments of a personal nature."

"I apologize once again," Lillian said. "I'm a hopeless romantic. I see love everywhere. It's a flaw."

*I'll just bet. More likely you're just good at digging.*

Lillian continued to talk. Cassy was beginning to wonder if the woman ever ran out of words. "Okay subject change. Would you like to know why I decided to become a writer?"

Cassy was certain that she didn't, but she smiled and nodded anyway. At least that would, hopefully, get her off of the subject of she and Tom. Tom you owe me for this. Big time.

As if cognizant of her silent statement, Tom creaked open the door to the bedroom. "Cass?" he called groggily.

Cassy tried to quell the rushing feeling of warmth that flooded through her as Lillian Storm's words returned to mind. Like a caress.

Pushing herself up from the sofa, she moved in his direction. "Thomas. You up for good?"

"Yeah," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes as he leaned against the door jamb. His shirt hung open, his feet were bare and his jeans fit wonderfully.

The way he focused his hazel eyes on Cassy made her want to step into his arms and draw him into a hug. She knew from experience that his body would be pleasantly warm and soft from sleep. He would engulf her in the gentle security of a return embrace before running his hands slowly over her back. . .

"Cassy?" Tom's slightly raised volume snapped her back to the present.

"Yeah?"

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Fine. Need me to stick around?"

"Nah," Tom shook his head. "Enough manpower is being wasted on this case as it is."

"Just trying to keep you alive, partner," Cassy said. "I'm gonna hit the grocery store after I check in at the station. Call me if you need anything before that. Beer, Prozac, ear plugs, wooden stake, silver bullets. . . "

Cassy left the house with the sound of Tom's soft chuckling echoing in her ears. Singing back up was her own inner voice cursing one Lillian Storm for taking her thoughts--and hormones--to places that she had no business going.

Tom cupped hands full of cool water from the flow that poured out of the faucet. Bracing himself, he splashed the fluid over his face and ran his hands up into his hair. Standing, he contemplated himself in the mirror.

"Tommy, my boy, you look like hell." As he turned off the water and moved out of the bathroom, he started at the sound of a soft click.

Senses immediately on alert, he cursed himself for having left his gun in the bedroom.

*Click.*

The soft sound came again, immediately followed by a voice. "That should be a good one." *Click.*

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. It was probably just his own personal thorn-in-the-side taking pictures. He took another step in the direction of the living room to be sure.

Lillian turned as a board creaked beneath his feet. Her camera, already in front of her face, made a soft click and flashed.

Tom blinked, unable to believe he had been caught again. "You're going to have to stop doing that."

"I promise next time to ask permission," she said.

"Thank you."

"Can I take your picture, Tom?"

"No."

"See how wise it was of me to get the shots while I still could?"

"I could still have your film confiscated as evidence," Tom told her.

"What if it's digital?" Lillian asked. "How would you know that I haven't uploaded them to my lap top and sent them off to my office?"

"I don't know that," Tom said. "But I do know that because I'm a police officer in the line of duty you can't publish them without permission--and that's something you're not going to get."

Lillian eyed him thoughtfully. "I wouldn't publish then under any circumstances without your permission."

Tom held her gaze a moment longer. He moved farther into the room. "We need to talk."

"About the interview? I've already told you that--"

"It's not about any damned interview," Tom cut her off, irritably. Forcing himself to speak more calmly, he continued. "I think you should go back to New York or where ever. It's too dangerous for you to be here."

"I thought you didn't believe that anyone was after me. I heard what you said to Captain Lipshitz."

"I don't believe anyone is after you." Tom assured her. "But someone is in all likelihood after me, and staying here protecting you is preventing me from being out there doing my job."

"Can you guarantee, without any reservations, that someone wasn't shooting at me this morning?"

"Do you have any reason to believe that someone might be out to get you?"

"What? Do you want to hear about the maniac ex-boyfriend who says that if he can't have me no one can? Or the crazy building super who thinks that my apartment is his apartment? Or even the demented fan who sends me letters pasted with the alphabet carefully cut from various magazines?"

Tom gaped at her. "Can you give us names? Do you have restraining orders against them? Do you have a photograph that we could--"

"No, Tom. Stop." Lillian raised her hands. "My life isn't that fantastic. But it seems that's the only type of thing that will make you concerned. I'm sure you wouldn't find the run-of-the-mill lunatic e-mail I receive reason enough for you to waste your time."

Tom felt a slight edge of guilt. "It's not that I'm not concerned," he told her. "But this isn't what I do. I'm a cop; I go after bad guys."

"You protect people, too," Lillian insisted. "You protected Billie."

"Billie. . . Jill was an. . . a friend," Tom said, looking away.

"Yeah, and the then owner donated a sizable sum to the PB Police Dept. Well, I can guarantee you that the corporate entity that now owns VTV isn't going to do that. And we both know that I'd probably meet with failure in the past, present or future girlfriend department. So, why don't I just go, let you get back to your life so you can protect those worthy of your time. I'll just take my chances."

Guilt warred with the tiny voice in the back of Tom's mind that whispered that he was being played. If the voice was right, then Lillian Storm would be fine. . .if it was wrong, he would never forgive himself. . . and Harry would probably have his badge.

"You can have my things sent to my hotel later. I'll just take my lap top. If you'll call a cab, I'll wait outside. "

Tom wavered.

"One more picture for old times sake?" Lillian asked from the doorway, the camera already poised. Tom caught the gleam that lit her eyes moments before she closed one of them to focus through the lens.

His resolve hardened. "No. Sorry. Stay inside. I'll call you a cab." He turned away and went in search of his phone. As he reached the back room, he heard the front door opening. The first thought that popped into his mind was that it was another move intended to make him feel more guilty. But then a curse, and a scream, followed by the sound of a gunshot and a crash echoed through the house.

Tom grabbed his gun and was out of the bedroom between one breath and the next. There was the sound of a grunt and a body falling, before Lillian rounded the corner into the narrow hall and slammed headlong into him. They both hit the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Lillian crawled over him and ran screaming into the back bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Climbing to his feet, Tom stepped to the end of the short corridor and listened. No sounds eminated from the living room. He moved cautiously around the corner, gun drawn. The front door stood open, and a bullet hole marred the half-moon design that had been painted into the ceiling. A bloody lap top lay in the middle of the entry way.

Lowering his gun, he closed the door and locked it. Then, after giving the rest of the house a once-over, he headed back toward the bedroom where Lillian sat huddled in a corner, trembling.

"Is he gone?" she asked shakily.

"Yeah, he's gone." Tom went to her side and stooped beside her, checking her hair and body for wounds. Aside from a slightly skinned knee, he saw nothing that would merit the amount of blood he'd seen on the lap top. He met her eyes in confusion. "Are you hurt?"

"No." She shook her head, her wide eyes imploring. "I hit him with my lap top. Do you think he's going to come back and sue me for bodily injury or something? You think he'll sue the network? People do that you know."

Tom chuckled. "If he does, he'll probably be on the next airing of dumb crooks. Maybe you could get an exclusive." Placing a hand on her arm, he helped her to her feet. "I need to go double-check all the windows and phone this in. Are you going to be okay in this room?"

"Oh my God! We can't stay here." She shook her head vehemently. "He had a key! He was opening the door and I thought he was Cassy. " Tom stared at her. "A key? Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure!"

"Damn. You're right. We can't stay here. He'll probably be back. With friends. We'll go out the back door. When we're away from here, I'll call Harry and Cassy and they'll come pick us up. No problem. Okay?"

"Okay," Lillian nodded nervously.

As Tom and Lillian crept through the neighboring yards and headed for the back of the nearby strip mall, the sound of Latin music could be heard in the distance.

"Was the guy anyone you recognized?" Tom asked after he disconnected from his call with Cassy.

Lillian drew in a deep breath and released it. "No. I didn't really get a good look. The door opened and all I saw was the gun and I panicked. But. . . " she shrugged and looked away sheepishly.

"What is it?" Tom asked.

"I uh. . . well, since I thought it was Cassy, and she's part of this story too and all, I figured I'd. . . "

"You got his picture?" Tom gaped in disbelief.

Lillian nodded, frowning.

"That's wonderful!" Tom exclaimed. "When we get back to the station we'll have them developed and. . . " His voice trailed off at Lillian's distracted expression. "What's wrong?"

"I probably really made him mad," she said. "First I got him with my flash then I threw my lap top at him. You kinda remember a person who does that to you. There's probably going to be a contract out on my life. I'm going to have go into the witness protection program, change my name. And I really liked my name, too! And my job! Oh my God! I can't be an E-reporter on the run! I'll never get a pullit --"

"Whoa! Slow down." Tom attempted to ward off her growing hysteria. "First of all, I sincerely doubt he got a good look at you. He was too busy trying to blink off that flash and duck flying lap tops. Second of all, as soon as we meet up with Cassy, I'm putting you on a plane out of here. Until then, I'll protect you."

"You personally?" Hope shone in her teary gaze.

"I in the sense of the Palm Beach Police Department." Tom attempted a retraction. "Part of the job, remember? Protect. Serve."

Lillian grinned as she handed over her purse-cam. "My bodyguard. You know this is going to be really great. I've never had a real bodyguard before. I feel so special. So does this mean that if someone shoots at me, you'd throw yourself in front of the bullet, like in the movies. Like the secret service does for the president and all that? I really wouldn't want you to get. . . "

Tom groaned and tried to tune out the woman's chatter as they continued on toward the strip mall.

~*~

The dark-haired man heard the sound of a soft step, but completed the function in his spreadsheet program before he acknowledged his guest. The length of her stride, the smell of her perfume and even the seductive way the silk she wore ruffled against her skin gave away her presence. Eve would be of little use to him if there weren't more lethal characteristics behind her feline beauty.

His dark eyes touched her pale gold gaze minutely, before returning to his program. The carefully charted and planned growth of his business was on schedule. The next step in the preservation of his empire was underway, and he would succeed. One way or the other. It was time to find out which way. "What is it?" he asked.

"He failed you."

His fingers paused over the keyboard as he acknowledged the answer. "And your response?" he asked.

"His termination has been ordered."

He smiled, he had taught her well. He, Raoul Moreno, did not tolerate failure. Eve had never failed him. "And the other matter?"

"It will be accomplished within the hour. I will see to it myself."

He nodded his head, pleased. "What of the job that has been left undone."

"Denaio and Crockett."

Moreno saved the spreadsheet program and shut down the computer, checking that all of the protective software was in place. It wouldn't do to give Eve any reason to covet more than what she was receiving for her services. When the computer's monitor went black, he waved her over.

"Come closer my dear. A drink before you go."

~*~

Harry looked up from the pages of the file spread out before him to see Sgt. St. John strolling toward his office. There was a pensive expression on her face.

"Not you, too," he said as she entered his office.

"Huh?" She looked up distractedly, biting at a nail.

"Never mind." Harry shook his head. Maybe Ryan had talked to his partner about whatever had been bothering him.

Cassy's face brightened as she came around his desk and looked over his shoulder. "That the case Tom was working on with vice?"

"Yeah." Harry paused and looked up over his shoulder at her. She ignored the look, and continued to read.

"Do you mind?" Harry asked.

"Oh, sorry." Cassy smiled at him, then picked up the file and moved toward the seat on the opposite side of his desk.

Harry reached across the desk and snatched the file back with a hard stare over the top of his glasses. He then placed it between the two of them. Cassy simply smiled.

"Why isn't there a date of birth on Morales?" Cassy pointed to the empty slot. "Some Captain somewhere must be slipping."

Harry shrugged. "Guess Colter forgot to fill it in."

Cassy reached across him for a post-it note and jotted down a number. Harry watched her as she left the office and went toward her desk terminal. Moments later she returned with a date and slapped the paper down next to the file. Harry glanced over it, then did a double-take.

"That can't be right," he said.

"Why not?" Cassy asked, affronted.

"3-17-62. That would make this kid almost forty. I don't even think he's legal yet."

Cassy frowned. "That's the date, Harry. I just pulled it up."

"Do it again," Harry said, a nervous feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach.

Cassy shrugged and crossed to Harry's little-used laptop. Before she could enter a key, her cell-phone rang.

"St. John?"

Harry reached for the slip of paper and turned toward his own keyboard to search for the information himself. But the tone of his detective's voice stopped him.

"Tom? What?!"

"What is it?" He looked up at her, the search forgotten.

"Where?" Her eyes met Harry's worriedly. "I'm on my way." She clicked the 'end' button.

"*We're* on our way," Harry corrected, grabbing his sport jacket.

"What about the file?"

"We'll call Marge in records on the way. She'll take care of it. Now, tell me what's going on."

**Things changed however when we had to make a hasty exit from the hide-a-way. The bad guys had found us. We had to run for our lives, and Sam was wonderful through it all. Very resourceful, very cool, very protective. When he was in bodyguard mode, it was as if he was a well-honed machine on high alert. . . **

"We stand out like a sore thumb," Tom complained as he glanced at the eating, laughing, gyrating crowd which consisted completely of Latinos with the exception of two. "I hope Cassy gets here soon."

"Correction, *you* stand out like a sore thumb," Lillian said. "I'm part Spanish."

Tom looked at her, giving her features a closer look. Lillian raised her brows at him as she began to move to the sound of the Latin beat that seemed to be coming from someplace off to the right. The colorful banners and food stands made it difficult to see exactly where the speakers were located.

"You wouldn't stand out so bad if you moved," Lillian suggested. "Can't do anything about your height."

"Pardon me? Move?" Tom raised his brows questioningly.

Lillian rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. "Come on, white boy, let me show you a thing or two about Salsa dancing."

Tom carefully extricated his hand. "Uh, no. We're supposed to be looking out for Cassy and making sure we weren't followed. Not dancing."

"Well, if we *were* followed, they'll spot us for sure." Lillian said, pouting. "Come on, Tom. Dance. *Dance.* Feel the music. You know you want to."

Tom looked and her and laughed. She was just as bad as Cassy. "I have a better idea," he said as he glanced around the crowd of bodies. "We should go back behind the mall and wait." As he began to move in that direction, he spotted a movement at the corner of the strip mall. A dark-haired man dressed in slacks and a sport coat was directing three similarly dressed men. A breeze blew at the edge of the lead man's jacket, revealing a holster containing a very lethal looking weapon.

"Damnit!" Tom quickly grabbed Lillian's hand, turned her back toward the crowd, and began to dance.

"Please. Don't force yourself." She started to pull away.

"Shhh." Tom pulled her closer. "I think we've been followed. Don't turn around." He moved unconsciously to the Latin beat while scanning the area for a means of escape. There were four of them, and he was fairly certain that they were the type who would work for Raoul Moreno. There was no way he could take them all on his own.

"Skating," Lillian whispered to him.

"What?"

"There." She pointed toward a covered area and a sign written in Spanish and English. "Skate Rental. They won't think to look for us with skates on."

Tom wasn't crazy about the idea. He looked down at her mini dress. "I don't think so," he said, but continued to dance further into the crowd while trying to also keep a handle on the location of as many of the gunmen as he could.

"Come on, I know you can skate," Lillian prodded.

"How could you know that?" he asked.

"Research. You played hockey back in Boston. You know, you could join the celebrity hockey team. They donate a lot of their proceeds to the same children's charities you do. They're pretty nice guys--except Alan Thicke. . . but what can you do?"

Tom gaped at her. "First of all, how in the hell did you find out what charities I donate to?"

"The Internet," she said, as if it should have been obvious. "Lots of charity's contributor names are a matter of public record. Not the amounts or anything, but names and cities and states. Second of all?"

"Second of all, I'm not a celebrity."

"Yeah? Tell that to your 'net fans. There's even a mailing list. Right now you're sorta known as "Sam" --"

"Sam?" Tom cut in to ask.

"Yeah. According to Madame M, the mistress of the FriendsOfSam Estrogen Brigade, it stands for secretes animal magnetism."

Tom felt his face go warm. "You're making this up."

"Am not. You're an underground sensation, Tom. Face it. If we get out of this alive--and I know we will because you did such a great job with Billie--I'm still going to want my interview."

Tom blew out a breath, suddenly becoming exasperated. "Look, this is ridiculous. Bad guys are after us. They have guns--big ones, and they are looking to kill one or both of us. This isn't a game. It's not MTV. You don't get another token."

"Ouch." Lillian made a wounded sound. "You just had to mention the competition, didn't you?"

Tom laughed in disbelief, wondering if he was the only sane person in the conversation. On second thought, he decided he wasn't sane either because he was *having* this conversation while four bad guys whose clothing just screamed 'hit men' were after them.

"Cassy is never going to find us in this crowd," he murmured as he spotted a vendor selling plastic masks and face painting. "But if we grab a couple of masks, we'll blend in and we can find her."

Lillian followed his gaze. "I'm game."

Tom moved them into the group of children and parents surrounding the mask vendor. He continued to survey the crowds--having managed to keep a handle on the relative positions of two of the gunmen--while Lillian selected masks for the both of them. Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.

"So what made you decide to become a police officer?" she asked with studied nonchalance.

Tom simply shook his head and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. The woman was incorrigible.

"Is the adrenaline pounding through your veins in a heady rush of controlled energy?"

Tom ignored her and smiled at the giggling little girls nearby who seemed intensely interested in he and his companion. One of the girls gasped and whispered something to her friend. Tom decided that he didn't understand the female of species, large or small.

He quickly paid the vendor and allowed Lillian to slip the mask over his head.

"La Policia! La Policia!" One of the little girls began to giggle excitedly as he replaced his wallet in his pocket.

Tom groaned. Not only did he feel like an idiot wearing the mask, but he had just been made by a couple of seven year olds. "She must have seen my gun and badge when I went for my wallet. Let's get out of here before someone else notices." He touched Lillian's arm, urging her to move more quickly.

"Too late." Her steps faltered.

He looked up to find one of the bad guys standing 40 feet way, moving determinedly in their direction. Tom noted with growing horror that there were a number of civilians--most of them children--who surrounded him. In a shoot-out, one of them was bound to be hurt, or worse. His choices were limited.

A heavy-set teen, wearing baggy pants and a big shirt walked past, blocking the hit man's view. Tom seized the opportunity and grabbed Lillian's arm and moved quickly off to the left, ducking behind a nearby concession stand.

"We're going to have to run for it," Tom said as he ripped off his mask

"Run where?" Lillian asked, taking off her mask as well.

"This way." Tom was forced to wait for Lillian as she kicked off her shoes and stooped to pick them up. Sighing, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. As they dodged through the crowds, he pulled out his cellular and hit the speed dial button for Cassy's number.

"Where are you?" he demanded when she answered.

"At a traffic light waiting to pull into the shopping center. Why?"

"We've got a little problem with bad guys on our tail." Tom glanced around in search of a landmark. A large balloon advertising Puerto Rican beer caught his eye. "There's a Muhera beer balloon. You see it?"

"Yeah, can't miss it."

"We'll meet you there." As he clicked the 'end' button, he caught a glimpse of another of the bad guys ahead of them. In a quick motion, he dragged Lillian beneath the rear opening of the striped green and white tarp of a tent. The presence of stacks of the largest sacks of rice he'd ever seen just inside the tent brought him to a sudden halt.

"Oomph!" Lillian exclaimed as she collided with his back, unable to halt her momentum. "Warn a babe, wouldja?"

"Sorry, bad guys were coming," Tom shot back in a stage whisper as he helped her to regain her balance. "If you--"

The appearance of a short, motherly looking woman from around the stacked rice brought his words to a sudden halt.

The woman looked startled for several moments before breaking into a rapid-fire stream of Spanish words. Ducking around the stacked rice, all the time continuing to speak, she reappeared carrying several containers packed with what looked like beans and rice.

Tom took a moment to glance through a slit in the back of the curtains, but quickly dropped them shut as one of the gun men was still searching the area. Turning back to the woman with a wide smile, he looked on as she presented Lillian with the containers before looking at him expectantly. She continued to speak and eye him while Lillian smiled encouragingly and said "si". He wasn't entirely sure what the conversation was about, but when he caught the words "su esposa" -- Spanish for wife, he started to get suspicious.

He looked in askance at Lillian.

"Pay the woman," she muttered past a pasted on smile.

Tom grabbed a twenty from his pocket and offered it to the woman, expecting change.

The woman's grin broadened as she stuffed it in her fanny pack and again disappeared around the stacked rice. She returned within moments with several more containers which she shoved in Tom's arms.

"Gracias. Muchas gracias," Tom said as he tried to peek surreptitiously through the back curtain, hoping desperately that the coast was clear. It was. Muttering gracias several more times he ducked out.

"I think I just bought beans and rice under the table," he complained as he wound his way through the crowds, keeping an eye out for the gunmen.

"Well, I think you just got taken."

Tom rolled his eyes. "So what did she say anyway?"

"How should I know?" Lillian asked.

"You said you were part Spanish."

"Yeah, well, think of me as the part the doesn't speak the language."

"And the dancing?"

"I took a class. What's your excuse?"

"You got me." Tom grinned and shook his head. This was ridiculous. But at least they had reached the beer balloon. Now where the hell was Cassy?

"Got what?" Cassy appeared behind him.

"Never mind." Tom cast another look around before shoving the containers of beans and rice into Cassy's arms. "Let's get out of here while the getting is good."

Cassy looked in the rear view mirror as Tom filled them in on what had happened at the safe house with he and Lillian Storm. She noted that Tom no longer looked as if he wanted to strangle the woman.

"That must have been quite a shot," Cassy interrupted when Tom related the fact that Lillian had taken a photo of the intruder.

"It's reflex," Tom commented, grinning at the woman. "She certainly got me with it enough times."

"But not anymore," Lillian stated emphatically. "My camera is officially in police custody."

"We just need the film. You can have it back," Tom told her.

"It's okay, really," Lillian assured him. "I've got a spare."

Cassy stepped into the squad room as Officer Strathman escorted Lillian Storm out of the station. Tom stood looking on.

"Dodging bullets getting to be a little too much for her?" Cassy asked from behind him.

Tom turned. "Colter is dead, Cass. He was killed, execution style in his car."

"That's the cop you were working vice with? The one who helped you bring in Nunez and Morales?" She didn't like the idea that organized crime was out to get her partner.

"Yeah, he's the one." Tom moved to sit behind his desk. "Now that we know who the killers are really after, it's safer if we get Ms. Storm out of town."

Cassy nodded in silent agreement as she settled across from him. The way he stared distractedly toward the door told her that something more was bothering him.

"Colter have family?" She asked, thinking that he was worrying about the ones that the cop had left behind.

"Not that I know of," Tom said. "I really didn't know him that well. And now. . . now I feel bad about the things I was thinking."

"What were you thinking?"

Tom looked up sheepishly. "When we were arresting Nunez, Morales was hiding, almost in plain sight. There was no way Colter could miss him. In fact, I thought Colter looked right at him and then went on like he hadn't seen him. And then later, after I dragged Morales out of hiding and started to cuff him, Colter was acting kinda strange, like he was looking for reasons to let the kid go."

Cassy frowned, not sure what Tom was getting at. "Strange how? What was he saying? What was he doing?"

"It wasn't really what he was saying, it was how he was saying it. I know if I wasn't there, he would have let Morales go. I'd swear to it. But, looking at the kid, I kinda agreed with him."

Cassy was shocked. "What?! You wanted to let a criminal go?"

"No, I wouldn't have done it, Cassy. It was just -- there's something about the kid. His eyes, Cass. They were pleading. . . something. I don't know. I brought him in anyway and surprise surprise. His prints were on the gun that was used in the murder of Frank Stoner. "

"Well, we've been wrong about bad guys before, Tom. Some are just very good at pretending. Besides you can't know that Colter would have let him go." Even if he may have purposefully put misleading information in the arrest record.

"Yeah. I suppose you're right." Tom threw his pencil down on the table. "Marnie turn up anything up on the film?"

"Oh. Right. I was coming to tell you. She's run it through the film scanner, but you can't make out the guy's features because his hands are up. You find anything on the books about the thugs who were chasing you?"

"No. Didn't see anyone familiar. I should probably take a look at the picture. Maybe I'll recognize someone from the stake out."

"I don't care what you have to do. Get it done!" Harry yelled into his phone as Marge entered his office and placed a folder on his desk. He inclined his head in a gesture of thanks as she turned to leave.

"No that's not soon enough!" he bellowed as she closed the door behind herself. Her gentle closing of the door coincided with Harry's slamming down of the receiver.

Mumbling under his breath, he picked up the folder and glanced through the information contained within. A grin began to spread across his face as he read. "Marge, I love you."

Tom crept into Marnie's abode behind Cassy. He always entered the woman's lair with trepidation. He never knew when a compliment from the computer whiz would take the form of an off-color comment or something more physical. He was equally disturbed by both.

"Thomas." The woman drawled, turning a siren-like gaze in his direction. "Love the bearded wild desperado look. " She made a sound like a cat before turning back to her computer. "Just drives me wild."

Tom glanced warily in Cassy's direction, but didn't respond to the compliment. "What have we got?"

Cassy laughed at Tom's discomfort and moved toward Marnie's desk. "This is the shot." She pointed toward an image of a man attempting to shield his face with his arms and hold on to a gun at the same time.

Tom stared at the picture, frozen for half a second. The perfectly coifed brown hair could not be mistaken. "Cassy. That's Colter."

Eve moved lithely through the poshly appointed yacht as she escorted Enrique to his father. She knew that Senor Moreno would be pleased with her work. She had flawlessly taken care of Colter who was supposed to have shielded Moreno's son, while only arresting Nunez. Nunez was to have been the sacrificial offering after having caused Senor Moreno displeasure. Colter's failure had disappointed Senor Moreno as well. Neither of them would ever fail him again.

After she delivered the heir apparent, she knew that Moreno would ask her to take care of the loose ends left by the worthless band of gun-toting gorillas that had been hired. They couldn't capture one miscellaneous woman and a cop. If she were in charge of the operation, she would get rid of all of them. And she certainly wouldn't continue to try to train Moreno's sniveling kid. The boy was soft, and didn't have what it took to run an empire. He was Moreno's weakness and would no doubt be the death of him. She would simply bide her time.

As she entered Moreno's study, she waited to be acknowledged. As usual, he saved his work in his computer program and then engaged his security protocols. She smiled inwardly. She'd broken those codes months earlier.

"Ah, my dear." Moreno gestured her near. "I see you have returned my son to me."

"Yes, Senor Moreno." *Bailed him out, more like it*, she thought as she plastered a smile on her face. Thoughts of a future where this man would be out of her way flitted through her mind. "And the matter of the woman and the cop?"

Moreno smiled a pleased smile. "I trust that you can handle them."

Eve nodded in acknowledgement and left the room. "As you wish."

Tom and Cassy hurried into Harry's office to find him grinning over a file folder.

"It's Colter in the picture." Tom blurted as Cassy shut the door behind them.

"You sure?" Harry asked, the grin falling from his face.

"I spent 48 of the worse hours of my life with his hair and comb. I'd know it anywhere."

"Well, that explains why he lied on the arrest report. Guess who Enrique Morales is really."

Tom and Cassy shared a look.

"Not over forty, I'll bet," Cassy said.

"And right you are." Harry said. "I had Marge do a little research. Seems Raoul Moreno has a secret. Before he hit the big time in organized crime, he had a son. Enrique Morales Moreno. The mother raised him, but she died about a year ago."

"So that's why he looked so out of it," Tom mused. "He's probably not used to this type of thing."

"He knows enough to have been in possession of the gun that killed Frank Stoner." Harry commented.

"But that doesn't mean he did it, Harry." Tom said.

"Doesn't mean he didn't."

The ringing of Harry's phone interrupted the argument.

"Lipshitz." Harry picked up the phone. Then after a moment, he handed it to Tom. "It's for you."

Tom looked questioningly at his captain, but took the receiver. "Ryan."

He listened intently to the voice on the opposite end of the line, before muttered a hurried "thank you" and tossing the phone to Harry.

"That was young Enrique Moreno," he said, already headed for the door. "He called to warn me that a hit woman is trying to kill me and Lillian Storm."

**Sam Bryan, like a true hero, stood in the line of fire in order to protect my life before his own. Sam would say that it's all in a day's work. But I would say that it's the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me. . . **

As Lillian clicked off the blow dryer, she thought she heard the ringing of the phone. Unplugging the instrument, she moved to the bathroom door to stand. Nothing. She shrugged and moved out into her room to store the device in her overnight bag. As she did so, she caught a glimpse at her watch.

"Oh Crud!" she exclaimed, running around the room and gathering up the last of her belongings. "Crud. Crud. Crud. Crud. Crud." She just had to make it to the airport on time. The next direct flight wasn't until the next day, and despite what she might allow the network to think, she really didn't want to get killed for a story.

The first bullet had been as scary as heck, and the bad guy showing up on the doorstep of the safe house had freaked her out, but she drew the line at getting tangled up with the mob. Cement shoes did not go with her personal style. Besides, she was creative, she could work with what she had to write the story for her Tom Ryan article. And what she didn't have, she could certainly get out of Officer Timothy Strathman. He was a total cutie, and seemed to want to talk.

She frowned as she paused in the center of the room, one hand holding her hair in position. Tim should have been back from putting the rest of her luggage in the car by then. Maybe he's waiting downstairs, she decided, catching a glimpse this time at the clock/radio at the bedside.

"Grrr! Focus, woman, focus! Airport is our goal. Airport is our goal. Now where in the name of Mariah Carey did I put that hair clip?"

"They found Officer Strathman's car on the parking deck, but neither he nor Lillian Storm were in it. And Strathman still isn't answering his radio." Tom stated, pushing the 'end' button on his cellular as he and Cassy entered the posh lobby of the Palm Beach Sunset Hilton.

For all the beauty and opulence of the elegant lobby, the place was a policeman's nightmare. Large potted palms were interspersed with large-leafed plants and sofa groupings to form semi-private seating areas. Seating areas that could easily conceal the muzzle of a sniper's gun

Moving quickly around the lobby, Tom gave each of the occupied seating areas a once-over while Cassy went to speak with security. Taking in the mezzanine that protruded over one side of the lobby, he could only shake his head. From such a vantage point, a killer could easily pick off victims in the lobby below.

"I wonder what the guy who designed this place was thinking," Tom murmured as Cassy returned.

"I think he was aiming for the tropical paradise look."

"Well he hit on sniper's paradise. There are at least half a dozen places for a shooter to hide. What did security say?"

"She called down fifteen minutes ago to say she was checking out, but there was no answer when they checked her room phone."

"First busy, now no answer. Think she's on the way down?"

"Maybe. Want to give it a few minutes to wait and see?"

"No." Tom shook his head. "I think we should go up. Where's her room?"

"Fifth floor, A wing. Room 517." Cassy held up a keycard.

Several minutes later, the two detectives stepped out of the elevator on the ninth floor. As they did, the doors of the other elevator was closing. Cassy paused and looked thoughtfully back at the elevator briefly before continuing along the corridor.

They knocked once before she slipped the keycard into the slot. With a soft click, the lock released and allowed them entry. It took less than a minute to determine that the room is empty.

"She had to have been on the elevator that was going down when we got off," Cassy said, coming out of the bathroom.

"Let's go." Tom all but ran toward the elevators and pushed the down button. He looked upward. One elevator was on the penthouse level and the other was on the lobby level.

"Come on!" He pushed the button several more times. The penthouse level indicator moved to the fourteenth floor and stopped again. "Stairs," he declared, already running for the door marked as such.

He heard Cassy fast on his heels as he ran downward taking the steps two at a time. At the bottom he paused before easing out into the lobby. He saw Lillian then, heading toward the front door. Strathman was no where in sight.

As he looked beyond the E-reporter, he thought he saw the reflection of a tiny red light of a laser sight tracking Lillian as she moved closer to the door. In the space of a heart beat, he saw the shadowy figure standing on the mezzanine in the midst of the foliage of a large tree plant.

"Get down!" He yelled as he began running toward the young woman. She turned, just as he dove, knocking her off her feet. His head jolted as first he felt something zip a burning trail across his temple, and then collided with something hard and unforgiving. He and Lillian hit the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and potted tree.

"Police! Drop it!" He dazedly heard Cassy's voice ordering as, covering Lillian with his body, he attempted to aim his weapon up toward the mezzanine. Before he could focus, he heard a shot ring out. Then another before he saw a woman's body topple over the railing.

There was a startled gasp before voices erupted in chaos.

Tom felt Lillian stirring beneath him, and tried to push himself up and away from her, but his body didn't seem to want to cooperate. His vision yellowed and began to tunnel.

"Oh my God! You're bleeding!" He heard Lillian's shrill voice as if from a distance. He tried to blink through the haze that was settling over his mind as hands grasped his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. The slight jarring caused pain to explode in his head.

Squinting, he tried to focus on the image of Cassy that appeared above him. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't make sense of the sounds.

"I think something's wrong, Cass," he whispered breathlessly as he tried to lift a hand to his pounding skull. The hand fell back to the floor at his side, and everything faded to black.

"Feeling better, partner?" Cassy asked as she entered Tom's hospital room. He was propped up enjoying a serving of green Jell-O and what looked like it was supposed to be turkey and mashed potatoes. The white bandage on his left temple stood out in contrast to the growth of beard that was beginning.

"Besides the headache, I'm fine. Bullet just nicked me. I'm glad you were there to back me up."

"Me too," Cassy smiled. "By the way, Strathman is going to be fine. And I hear Moreno's kid came by to see you."

"Yeah. Turns out his mom never told Moreno about him. Just told him that he'd died. Then when his mom died, he found some old papers that suggested his father was still alive. So he went looking for him and found Moreno. Worse thing he could have done. Moreno started trying to groom him to take over. But the kid had a conscience."

"I guess the evil wasn't hardwired. But as for Moreno, we don't have anything on him. The evidence suggests that the woman killed Colter. So it looks like the great, bad drug dealer gets to walk again. The kid says he didn't know anything about the operation. Still, no way Moreno is going to let him live."

"I don't know, Cass. I got the impression that those two made some kind of peace. Enrique is leaving, and I think his father knows about it."

"No loose ends Moreno is going to let him just walk away?"

Tom shrugged. "I guess everyone has a weakness."

"I suppose you're right," Cassy said. "The woman took the fall for the murder of Colter, and new evidence has turned up implicating her in Frank Stoner's death. Nunez was killed in jail before he could make bail. No muss. No fuss. And Moreno will probably come out of this looking only slightly soiled."

"Knock-knock." A voice spoke from behind Cassy.

"Didn't mean to sneak up on you," Lillian Storm said as she entered the hospital room. "My plane leaves in a couple hours and I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you to the both of you for saving my life."

"Part of the protect and serve part of the job," Tom said.

"Spoken like a true bodyguard."

"Spoken like a true cop."

"To-may-to. To-mah-to. Either way, thank you both." Lillian reached out to shake Cassy's hand. She leaned over and kissed Tom on the cheek.

"What shall I tell your fans?" she asked.

"How about the truth?" Tom said, exasperated. "This story about people on the Internet is ridiculous."

"Arguing with you will only cause me to miss my plane." Taking a step toward the door she turned. "Thomas and Cassandra, it's been real. May you always be in the Eye of the Storm."

That's it for this week's report from Lillian Storm. E-reporter at large for VTV online magazine. May you always be in the Eye of the Storm^â**

*© Copyright 1999, Lillian Storm and VTV Productions.*

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To: (Madame M) madame_m@2die4.com

Subj: SAM

Body of Message:

Dear Madame M, as promised, a first look at the article. Thanks again for all your help.

Regards,

Lillian Storm

VTV E-reporter

VTV Productions, LTD.

Attachment: VTVarticle12118.html

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Marnie smiled as she began a new message.

To: friendsofsam@egroups.com

From: madame_m@2die4.com

Subj: The Article

Body of Message:

Hello fellow listmates. Be sure to check the official FriendsOfSam site tomorrow for new links. Also, awesome SAM pics have fallen into my hot little fingers. Keep on the look out. Also, follow the link below to the new article on our dear SAM.

Signed,

Madame M

Madame_m@2die4.com

The Original Friend of Sam. Eye of the Storm Insider.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

http://www.geocities.com/jackeescorner/sam/samindex.html

Fun Note: Madame M's email address and web page actually work. What can I say? I was a little bored. Check out the site if you're interested. J