Jade:  Who did this?

Ryan:  Young Riain, if I'm any guess at all.

Jade:  Your...

She stopped herself before she could utter the word.

Jade:  ...the boy?

Ryan's precious copy of Joyce had been ripped in half, the pages 
scattered from one end of the room to the other.  A small sculpture of
Jade's, unfinished, of Munchin lying in Ryan's hands, had been flattened.
Munchin herself appeared on the stairs, crying piteously.  She was limping
toward them on a horribly mutilated pae.  A scrap of paper had been, quite
literally, pinned to the loose skin of the little cat's back.  Ryan scooped
her up in loving arms, removed the note and flung the cruel pin away from
them into the corner.  He crumpled the note and sent it after the pin.
Jade burst into horrified tears.

Ryan:  Back to the truck, wee Jade...Munchin...

Jade was trembling and Ryan pulled her close.  She took strength from
his hard body and hard voice.

Jade:  Ryan, they might have been here while we were...

Ryan:  So they might have, aingeal...but they will pay.  For wee Munchie,
for your sculpture, for our home.  I promise you, the whelp will pay.

It took days to repair the damage to the house.  Bill and Deb FedExed
replacements for their destroyed belongings, down to a new copy of
Ulysses for Ryan and more modeling clay for Jade.  The only thing that
could not be put right within a matter of days was Munchin.  She remained
at the vet's office, recovering from an amputated leg.  It had been the
only way to save her.  When they went down to have the truck repaired and
to check on Munchie, a storm kept them stuck in town for two days.
It was early morning when they returned, the truck with a new set of 
brake pads and a front axle.  They were exhausted and trudged up to bed, 
so exhausted that the idea of foreplay was the farthest from their 
minds.   It only took a few short minutes and they were in bed, cuddled 
around each other, a small fire going.  Jade was mostly asleep when the 
phone rang.  Unfortunately for the caller, a very tired Ryan was the one 
to answer.

Ryan:  What in bloody hell ye want?

Deb:  Ryan, that you? 

The sound of the wind and the crackling of a weak cell phone line was 
making it hard for him to make out what she was saying.  His demeanor 
changed when he sensed her tone.

Ryan:  Speak up, lass, I can barely hear ye

Jade turned and looked to him in concern, mouthed a 'what's going on?' 
but he waved her off.

Deb:  I was bringing Jade's paintings up from Lubbock... they finally 
arrived from Indianapolis... and I got very very stuck in a snow bank.  
You're closer than Bill... Ryan, is there any way...?

Ryan's answer was instant.

Ryan:  I am on my way, love.  Hold tight.

He hung up, rolled out of bed.

Jade:  What's going on, Ryan?  

Ryan:  Deb got her arse stuck in the snow bringin those paintings up the 
mountain.

Jade:  Ah, shit.  I thought they had that road cleared though...

Ryan:  Take a look outside, aingeal.  It's snowing and howling like a 
banshee outside.  She more than likely got caught in it.

Jade started to get out of bed, but he pushed her back, leaned forward, 
and gave her a long, deep kiss.  When he disengaged, she was stunned to 
silence.

Ryan:  You'll keep yourself here and be stayin warm.  Get up in about an 
hour or so and make us some tea.  We'll need to keep the lovely Deb 
warm.  She might be snowed up here until further notice.

While he spoke, he dressed, and by the time he was finished, he looked 
like a snowman again.  A tall, Irish snowman.  Jade giggled.  Ryan gave 
her a lopsided grin.  Anyone else, and he might have had a less pleased 
response.  

Jade:  My arctic Cuchulain... off to do battle with the snow.

Ryan grinned wide, not the first time she'd equated him to the Irish 
hero.  

Ryan:  I'll be back before ye know it, aingeal.  

Jade:  You'd better be.  I can't get warm in this bed, otherwise.

Ryan departed, and in minutes, his side of the bed grew cold.  She 
sighed, got up and dressed and went downstairs.  She built the fire to a 
roar, for it was, indeed, snowing hard outside, and cold enough inside 
to make ice cubes on the kitchen table.  As Ryan had asked, she started 
a pot of water to boil and gathered a few tea bags and mugs, arranged 
them on the table.  While she was waiting, she decided to get some work 
done.  In the corner of the living room, she had set up her easel and a 
small table beside, where paints, brushes, and painting knives were 
scattered.   An unfinished painting sat on the easel, the paint still 
wet.  She stared at it, studying it, trying to figure out where the 
problem with the color was.  If she finished this one by the end of the 
week, it would be dry enough to accompany the rest of the pieces to 
Columbus, where, hopefully, her show would be a huge hit and she'd sell 
enough work to start paying Bill and Deb back for all their generosity.  

If she hadn't been boiling water at that moment, she might have heard 
the door.  As she studied the painting, several things happened very 
quickly.  

As the tea kettle started to whistle, her shoudler jumped as if someone 
had dealt it a hard blow with a closed fist  For some reason, the artist 
in her noticed the dark red stain on the painting that she hadn't put 
there... but somehow, it worked.  Instinct took over and she grabbed the 
knife she had been using to apply paint to the canvas the morning 
before, still stained with dark blue pigment, and spun around, throwing 
it fluidly and hitting the black-masked man who stood inside the door 
frame in the neck.  Blood spurted and he clutched at the blade, dropping 
the gun, which held a wicked silencer.  Jade took up the gun and pushed 
him aside, her senses coming alert.  

They had been found.  The names he had mentioned the night before came 
to her mind.  Cecily... Riain... Her shoulder started to burn, and she 
felt the wetness down her arm, over the fingers which secured the gun.  

"Neil?" The voice, and the name, were not familiar, but she swung the 
gun up in the direction it came from as another figure came into view.  
Two slugs in the temple, and she wondered, how many more bullets did the 
gun have left?  No time to check.  She hoped that the clip had been full 
before the first round fired.  

The house was eerily quiet, save for the tea kettle screaming in the 
next room.  Abruptly, it cut off, and she could hear nothing... nothing 
but the sound of the howling wind.  How quiet it had been... scrape of a 
chair.  The kitchen.

Jade crept as lightly as she could, bare feet against the cold packed 
earth, and picked up the sounds of another, somewhere behind her.  There 
were two... she prayed that one of them would be Ryan, come home from 
the dig.  But... it was too soon, too damn soon.

With the gun in a defensive position, she swung around the corner, the 
pistol in front of her, but no one was there amidst the breakfast dishes 
and the table and chairs.  But it had grown too quiet.  Rustle of paper 
to her left, and a slight figure stood.  She reached out and clubbed him 
in the temple, and as he fell, he fired his gun.  The silencer made a 
quiet sound as the bullet left the muzzle and she pulled back just in 
time.  Jade aimed again, not wanting to fire but seeing no choice, when 
her left leg gave out from underneath.  She grabbed at her thigh as the 
pain pounded into it, almost as an afterthought.  Before Jade even 
looked behind, she turned and fired twice more.  The figure fell away, 
blood staining the recently whitewashed wall.  

Black-hooded Man:  It would be best, cunt, if you were to drop the gun.

----

Ryan swore against the truck, pushing with all his strength as Deb 
jammed on the gas.  The truck budged, and he leaned into it more.  The 
exhaust was starting to work on his head, and he felt dizzy.  

That was when the feeling hit. 

Pain.  In his shoulder, his leg.  As if he'd been shot at close range.  
His instant reaction was to turn and search for the assailant, but there 
was no one.  His second was to feel for the wounds, which, again, there 
were none.  

His next thought was instant.

Jade.

He pushed again, and, miraculously, the truck sprang free.  Deb leaned 
out the window.

Deb:  That did it!  Gee thanks, Superman!

Ryan climbed into the passenger side of the truck, a grim look on his 
face.

Ryan:  We need to get back to the cabin.  Now.  

His shoulder still throbbed dully, and he rubbed it.  They were about 
five minutes, on a good day, away from the cabin.  He pondered running.  
But no, if it were just his imagination... 

Deb:  You pull something?

Ryan:  No.  I fear something is amiss.... could be nothing.  But hurry, 
lass, neverthless...

-------

Jade's eyes darted to the man she clubbed.  He was on one knee, staring 
at her with piercing dark eyes.  His voice was familiar, she had seen 
this one before.  He had kicked her... pulled her by the hair, to look 
into his eyes.

Jade aimed the gun at his chest.

Black-hooded Man:  You'll not kill me, lass.  

The last word was spat, as if it were poison on his tongue.  He reached 
up to his face with one hand, grasped the black mask, and pulled it from 
his head.  

It was Ryan.

No, this was not true.  The face... was much younger.  This man was in 
his early twenties, while Ryan was approaching fifty.  Yet the eyes were 
the same dark, piercing quality, the jaw strong and sharp, the mane of 
dark hair thick and long.  It fell around his shoulders as he stuffed 
the mask into his jacket pocket.  

Her hand shook.  It shook as he stood up, as he took a step forward.  
She knew... it was Riain.  Ryan's son.

Jade:  I'll kill you.

Riain:  You'll not, little cunt.  

His voice, so much like Ryan's, was cold. But he softened it when he saw 
the recognition in her eyes.  

Riain:  Give me the gun, little one.  I'll not hurt you.

Jade hesitated, the pain in her limbs encumbering her, and that was all 
he needed.  Riain lept forward, and she pulled the trigger.  The gun, 
unfortunately, did not buck in her hands.  There was no faint report, no 
blossom of red between his eyes.  Nothing.  It was empty.  Of course, 
this did not stop him.  Riain grabbed the weapon with one hand and 
slammed into her forehead with his open palm with the other.  Leaped 
atop her and pinned her to the floor, his boot grinding into her 
shoulder.  Jade heard herself howl as she fought to stay conscious, the 
pain from her shoulder darkening her senses.  

Riain:  Now, little cunt, we shall see who dies and who does not.

Jade heard him slam a new clip into the gun, felt the pressure on her 
shoulder and chest release.  She opened her eyes to watch him disengage, 
stand over her and sneer.  Riain raised the gun as she tried to sit up.  
She could imagine herself standing and rushing him, snatching the gun 
away and pummeling him into oblivion, but dizziness swept over her and 
everything became too heavy to move.  

He smiled coldly as he fired, hitting her in the lower abdomen, not the 
heart or the head, a cruel shot.  He laughed as she heard him walk away, 
the door slam shut behind him.  She felt time pass strangely, strength 
slowly ebbing out of her, but she gathered what remained up, grasped the 
gun, and pulled herself towards the phone.  She had barely begun when 
she heard the door open again.  

She pushed herself against the wall, braced herself, nearly slipping in 
the blood that coated the floor, her shoes.  Her belly started to scream 
fire.  Riain had left her to bleed to death, but he'd come back, maybe 
just to laugh at her some more.

She'd be damned if she let the little fucker come near her again.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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