It had been an interesting ride home, and there were times during it when I thought I would have been safer in the center of the brawl at the Corner.

Just after I’d angled left onto the 35W ramp from 4^th Street I noticed the big Lincoln fall in behind me. My first instinct was to go back to the Corner, but that would have involved negotiating the service alley. I was safer in the Excursion. Instead I called Bill and told him what was up.

Who? Everyone with a vested interest was getting their ass beaten. One did not call out representatives of the Justice Department for private matters. Who did he think he was going to enlist?

I had forgotten who he’d mentioned in his conversation with Three. By the time I reached my turn onto the gravel farm road I’d forgotten most everything but the vehicle close on my tail. When I saw another big sedan parked by the roadside, my heart sank. I was certain Cole had called in a second carload of playmates. It seemed confirmed when the vehicle turned down the road behind me, but it had placed itself between Cole and me and I saw with relief that it was a Farmington PD squad.

And so I had felt perfectly safe in going directly to bed. I had chased the Boy into the daybed in Bully’s room and had settled down myself with no more concern than I’d have felt if Bill had been beside me.

A good fight always cranked Bill up and this had proved no exception even if his bad leg had made him an interested observer rather than an avid participant. He’d wakened me when he came in and there’d been a light in his eye I’d been unable to ignore.

I was relieved when it became obvious that he’d spent himself because I couldn’t take anymore. He eased me down and I stretched out beside him. He’d been keeping something in reserve. And as I lay there wound up tight, every nerve quivering delicately, feeling the honest sweat drying, I heard a noise. It was a very deliberate sound, and it came from a dark corner of the room.

He had come awake instantly, and though it was nothing that surprised me anymore, it still amazed me. It was the icy tone of command, pure Annapolis, that got my attention. I felt Bill’s hand rest on my exposed thigh, making himself a wall between the voice and myself. It was stone steady, just as was his voice.

Cole’s came out of the dark like soft death.

Bill’s hand squeezed my thigh muscle, hard and brief, and I closed my mouth.

No questions as to how he got there, no demands for or of anything other than what he’d said, no nonsense and dangerous.

The voice was even, with a hint of amusement. It was dark as hell; he sat in a shadowed corner, and it scared the hell out of me when he went silent for fear that he might be moving. In the dark, anything seemed possible.

He never tensed and I stayed silent.

Bill said nothing. While he had made great strides with his recovery, gaining some weight and building his muscles slowly back into shape, he and I both knew that one week was very little time in which to prepare for the usual knock-down, drag-out fights that Bill was accustomed to being in the midst of.

I shivered. He was referring to the fact that pretty much everyone had ‘participated’ in the New Year’s festivities to excess and they were all sleeping it off at various points around the house, some rather deeply. Everyone, except for Sam, and I had no idea if he was home or not; and, of course, no way to alert him without tipping off Dr. Evil in the corner.

I felt Bill’s protective hand slide ever so slowly off my hip and underneath me like a stingray cutting silently through deep water.

I swear, I could feel Cole grinning like a mad bastard.

Direct challenge. Bill’s hand was behind my head. My guess was that he was fishing for the gun, which any fool would assume would be unloaded, courtesy of Our Man George.

I heard a faint click under my head, which ominously accompanied the warning, that Cole registered as well, because he leapt to his feet and went directly for the bed. Bill’s arm flew, and I heard a thick thud and a grunt of pain.

Cole kept coming.

He caught Bill in a bear hold and both men rolled off the floor. I heard grunts and groans over the scuffling. The only thing that stopped me from getting help was that they were between me and the door.

I watched as they fought, and saw, as they rolled into a patch of moonlight, that Cole was on top, a knife protruding from his left shoulder.

I didn’t think, I simply acted.

I seized my hardcover copy of "The Entire History of the Western World from A to Z, (including essays from James Thurber, Studs Terkel, Dave Barry, and Justin Hayward)," and slammed Georgie upside the skull. He yelped and it gave Bill the split second he needed to pull the knife out of Cole’s shoulder and press it roughly to his Adam’s apple.

Cole stilled entirely, frozen over Bill.

Cole grinned, white teeth harsh in the near darkness.

Cole’s reaction was instant. He slammed one stone fist into Bill’s leg and pushed him aside. He paused only once to look at me, face thrust into the shaft of moonlight coming in from the window. He was grinning; he ran the tip of his tongue across the gleaming, too-white surface of his teeth, a menacing gesture. His voice was rock-bottom.

Cole slipped out through the door to our bedroom and, after a brief hesitation, followed to see if he’d left. Looking back, it was a foolish gesture—he could have been waiting for me anywhere in the house—but I walked through the living room unharmed and parted the drapes to see the taillights of the Lincoln disappear down the drive.

I went back to Bill.

He was sitting up on the floor, rubbing his leg and cursing a blue streak. I kneeled beside him.

As quickly as he’d snapped at me, his voice softened.

He had, in fact, torn three stitches loose, but as he’d said, the area was healed enough for them to be coming out in a few days anyway. I’d watch the wound, and if it started to swell up, I’d make Sam drag him in.

Bill, with less effort than I’d expected (as usual), got to his feet.

I climbed into bed, and five minutes after he left, Bill returned and slipped into bed beside me.

I pondered asking him what he did, but I decided I didn’t want or need to know. I’d ask him later. At that moment, all I wanted to do was find safety in his arms. When I woke up, he was in the next room taking a shower. I dressed and went downstairs to see what was up.

Elmore let himself into the kitchen, stuffing a grimy rag into his pocket. He had a smudge of grease on the end of his nose and a shit-eating grin on his face.

At the moment, he was trying to repair the Black Moon, but Elmore was preparing a 1987 Camaro for the upcoming racing season. That particular hummer had come in on a flatbed, and lately I’d heard a full-throated roar that Elmore swore was the same vehicle testing its chops. Wonders rarely ceased around Rancho Strannix.

I was busy brewing something approximating coffee for Tom. Bill and Sam were devotees of a concoction closer in composition to magma than coffee. They each followed the proportions suggested on the containers of coffee I was constantly purchasing. Eight cups yield, eight generous scoops of coffee. I’d asked Sam once why he didn’t just forget the water and eat the coffee straight. I’d got the Sam-growl and he’d stalked off to do his coffee and cigar thing on the deck.

I started chucking coffee into a fresh filter. I’d bought a new coffee machine recently, with a twelve cup carafe, and I stopped at twelve scoops of ground. Then I said the hell with it and threw in a few more. Tom was plainly in need of fortification.

The stuff smelled wonderful as it cooked, I had to admit. This witches brew would have all the palatability of a bucket of hot tar, but hey, it had a great aroma.

Bill came in, hustling as quickly as his newly re-injured leg would allow. My black Chinese tilt-mug dangled from his fingers. Sam was right behind him with an equally barren coffee mug. They made a beeline for the machine.

My best Melinda Dillon in ‘A Christmas Story’ imitation. The ringing tones worked. They halted in mid-stride, but turned to look at me as though I was some kind of new species of goat.

Bill glanced out the window, taking in the steam billowing off the water and the obviously recumbent form hidden by the moisture.

Sam’s face twisted in to one of his infrequent leers of amusement.

Trav? Trav?? What the hell was that all about? Trav?

I was spooling up, I could feel it, but not stop it. All the left over energy from two encounters with Cole in one night had me lashing out at everyone.

Bill studied me briefly.

I even sounded sullen to myself. Bill wasn’t fooled.

Wasn’t what? A baby? At least as tough as he was? Hell, I’d seen him, Sam, Ryan, even Elmore pull all-nighters on little more than sheer stubbornness and a strong coffee or tea.

Bill waved me silent, wearing a crampy expression.

The tone said more than the word. I trudged upstairs.

Tom was almost fully recovered when they rolled back in, and everybody was raring to go. They sent out for pizza and sat down to play five card stud. Jade stationed herself in the dining room with a squirt bottle in case there were any cigar-like lapses of judgement.

The conversation went everywhere, apparently. It started with who made the best pizza ever. It went from there to what a lousy place the dining room was for poker—can’t see this or do that...

Jade got him squarely in the ear with the squirt bottle.

Then it went to Quint’s car and things really got crazy. The children loved sitting among the big, noisy men. Nuala, as usual, perched on Elmore’s knee while Tom’s large hand rested quite gently on Mick when not handling cards. The kids were eating it up, especially Three, perched beside Bill. It was a perfect game of ‘dozens,’ during which they’d determined there was no such thing as pizza outside Chicago and Bill desperately needed a game room with a real card table and a lock on the door so they could smoke and Jade wouldn’t shoot them with water. Now it was the turn of Quint’s beloved car.

He bore the abuse stoically, right up until the opportunity to get at Bill presented itself.

Quint grinned, realizing he’d hit a tender spot.

Bill sent her a sour look. She smiled, sweet and innocent, back at him.

Bully grinned and slapped Bill on the back. The evil glare never left Bill’s face.

That got his attention. Jade giggled. Sam pretended, quite obviously, not to have heard it. Bully grinned. Quint continued.

Elmore smiled gently and rested a big hand on her head, completely unaffected by the testosterone that surrounded him.

The card game drew on into the night, with the children falling asleep first. Jade put them to sleep and she and Ryan followed them to bed. The men started dropping off slowly, saying their peace and crashing in various places around the house. I finally gave up around 1am and left Bill, Sam, and Elmore playing poker for cookies.

Bill tossed four white chocolate macadamia nut cookies into the pile and sighed.

Elmore grinned widely as he spread his hand out on the table.

He winked and Bill noted the time. 3:20 am. It was about time they all dragged their ancient asses to bed. He was feeling drained and had emptied more beer bottles than he should have. Elmore departed, about a dozen and a half cookies richer.

Time passed slowly. They played five games without saying a word before Sam broke the silence. They’d both had just enough beer to give them loose tongues.

Bill looked up from sleepily examining a raisin in an oatmeal cookie.

Bill went on the defensive instantly.

Sam shrugged.

Sam indicated Bill’s white hair.

Bill dropped his eyes to his cards, busied his hands.

Sam backed off. He didn’t care to have a fight on his hands. He played one more game and excused himself, leaving Bill in the kitchen by himself.

In the meantime, I had gotten tired of waiting and went back downstairs, on a mission of sorts. I found him sitting at the table, bottle of warm beer half-drank, his head resting in his arms, asleep.

He was awake instantly. Tense, then relaxed when he knew who it was.

He gathered up the beer, finished it off, and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin. He followed me up to bed.

I waited until he was undressed and standing next to the bed, setting his alarm, before I told him.

He sat down beside me, big body virtually looming over mine.

He sat back slightly.

I held out the key to him and he took it, examining it.

He looked up at me then, and smiled solemnly.

He half-smiled at me, the look on his face was always the same when he was going to tell me that I didn’t need to know.

I stared at him questioningly until he gave it up.

My tone was dry. I had no love for the people who had sent my boy home in such evil shape, and probably wouldn’t for quite some time to come.

Bill growled. He hated it when I looked out for him.

He smirked, placing the key on the table and turning out the light, his eyes never leaving mine.