Part 8

The medevac helicopter lowered onto the roof of the hospital, its rotor blades chopping into the late afternoon sky.

Two gurneys were loaded with the passengers. An endotracheal tube helped one of the patients breathe. A nurse ran alongside the gurney, squeezing the attached bag, forcing air into the older man's lungs.

On the other gurney lay a younger man, who looked around and watched the bag as it was squeezed. "Please, Dad. Hang on. Dear Lord, don't let me lose him," Peter prayed silently.

Both patients were examined in the emergency room and rushed to surgery. Kermit, Strenlich, and Blake arrived minutes later and were told of their friends' conditions. They sat in the waiting room, neither of them seeing the artificial plants that lined the wall or paying attention to the soft music that came from speakers in the ceiling.

A rapid clicking of heels echoed in the hallway. Annie Blaisdell had her arm looped through her daughter's, being guided to the men who held information on their family members.

The men stood when they realized who had walked into the small area. Each gave both women a hug. Tears and red eyes looked pleadingly into Strenlich's, silently asking for answers.

"How are they?"

"They're both in surgery right now. Peter isn't too bad. The doctor said his chances are good." Strenlich answered. He felt Annie stiffen as he hesitated to go on.

"Paul -- how is he?"

Frank Strenlich was thought of as a tough man. His Marine training and service during the Vietnam War had taught him that life was easy to lose. He had watched as friends had died serving their country, and had been thankful he did not have to tell the parents of their sons' death. That was left to the brass. As a police officer, he continued to lose friends and co-workers to death, but now he had to tell the widows and parents of the officers slain. He had hardened his heart against the pain during each visit. Now though, he faced his hardest job.

"Paul…" He hesitated, denying what the doctor had told them. He couldn't bring himself to tell Annie the doctor's prognosis. He started again. "The doctor said Paul is in critical condition. They took him to surgery. Blake found him under a pile of rocks and stuff. Said he also had pneumonia." He held her tight, feeling her shaking in her attempt to hold back her tears.

Carolyn let out a small gasp as Kermit comforted her.

The sound of doors opening with a hiss brought all heads around to see a woman in green scrubs coming toward them. As she approached the awaiting family and friends, she removed the blood-splattered mask from around her neck.

"Are you Mr. Blaisdell's wife?" The doctor asked, picking Annie out as the parent.

"Yes, I am. How is he?"

"I'm sure that your friends have told you that when Paul came in, he was in critical condition. He wasn't able to breathe on his own." The doctor watched as Annie nodded her head. "The surgery was only to repair the gunshot wound. From what I understand, the bullet was removed under non-sterile conditions, which could be one of the causes of his fever. Right now, he's on two antibiotics for the fever. He is septic, which means that the infection that was once contained to his lungs has now spread to his blood system. He's weak; dehydration and blood loss have taken a toll on his body. He did suffer from broken ribs from the rock slide. We'll know more about his chances of survival in the next twenty-four hours."

Annie felt her composure crumbling as the doctor explained what was happening to Paul. "May I see him?"

The doctor smiled. She had often seen family members give up on patients when the prognosis was bad, but these people before her were determined that Paul Blaisdell would live. "Sure. Give the staff a few more minutes to get him transferred and everything in place. A nurse will come get you."

"Doctor, could you tell us how Peter Caine is? He was also in surgery," Carolyn asked as she saw the doctor back up a step to leave.

"No, he was in the other suite. Dr. Miller is operating on him. I'll see if I can find out anything and tell you." The doctor turned and went back into the surgical area.

Moments later, the doors hissed open again, revealing a man who strolled toward the waiting people. "I'm Doctor Tucker. Are you Mrs. Blaisdell?" He asked Annie. He noted her sunglasses and her hesitant hand movement toward him, and he guessed correctly that she was blind. He extended his hand, grasping hers. "Hi. I understand you were asking about Mr. Caine. He is fine. He came through surgery without any problems. No permanent damage was done. He'll be moved out to a room in about thirty minutes and you can see him then."

"Thank you, Doctor," Annie said, releasing her grip as she felt Frank's hands on her shoulders.

Kermit and Blake went to Peter's room as Frank escorted Annie to ICU to see Paul. She knew they wouldn't let her stay with her husband, but she had to see him before they shut him away until the next visiting hours.

She didn't see the tubes that punctured Paul's skin, or the one that went down his throat. She didn't see the wires that monitored his heart and lung movements. Instead, she heard the machines that forced air into his lungs, the harsh steady sound breaking the quiet in the rest of the unit.

"Where can I touch him?" she asked, not wanting to pull out anything, but she couldn't fight the urge to touch Paul.

Frank guided her hand to Paul's face, then down his left side to his hand. "There is an IV in his chest, toward the middle," he explained. "Want me to stay with you?"

"No. I'll be fine here. I just want a minute with him." She wiped away the tear that slipped down her cheek. 'I have to remain strong. For both my men.' She listened for Frank's footsteps and heard them walk out of the small cubicle. "Honey, please come back to us," She whispered, afraid her voice would betray her as she felt his warm hands and chest.

A nurse came in, taking in the sad sight. She had gotten used to seeing wives hover over their spouses, but it didn't make it any less painful. "I'm sorry, but I need to ask you to leave. You can come back in a few hours."

"That's OK." Annie sniffed. She heard familiar footsteps approach her. "Frank, take me to Peter, please." Reluctantly, she let go of Paul's hand, then wiped away another tear.

Peter lay in bed, still groggy from the anesthetic they had used in surgery. Annie walked in, her red nose telling the visitors in the room of her emotional state.

"We'll go get some coffee, Pete," Kermit said as he, Blake, and Strenlich walked out of the room.

Annie stood by the wall. She didn't think her legs would hold out much longer. The trip here, the worry, and the stillness of Paul's body combined to batter the shields she had learned to erect earlier in her husband's, then son's, career in law enforcement.

"Mom, come on and sit down." Carolyn came over and guided Annie to a chair near Peter's bed. Carolyn had remained silent while the three detectives left, afraid one word from her would set off her tidal wave of tears if she spoke.

Hearing the soft voice, Peter fought to wake up and open his leaden eyes. "Mom? Carolyn?"

"Peter, we're right here. You need to rest." Annie reached in the direction of her son.

He grabbed her hand and attempted to pull her toward him. "How's…Paul?" His voice was hoarse, a side effect of the tube that had been put down his throat for surgery.

"He's still with us," she answered, not able to explain everything.

"I failed him…and you," Peter said softly, remembering Morgan putting a knife to Paul's scalp. "I'm…sorry."

"Shush, now. You did what you could. It's not anyone's fault, Peter. Kermit said if you hadn't distracted that man, he would have surely killed Paul," Annie answered, brushing back Peter's hair.

Peter squeezed her hand. Carolyn walked up to the other side of the bed and took his other hand. Peter knew in his heart that he had to be strong, but the feeling that he had let his foster parents down clung to his heart and in his mind.

In the snack bar, the three detectives sat around a small table, each drinking coffee and thinking about the same thing.

"Morgan had to have someone on the outside who planned this," Kermit stated his thoughts, not caring if anyone agreed with him.

"Yeah, but it's not in our jurisdiction," Frank replied, reminding him of the rules.

Kermit's dark glasses hid a fire of anger and anguish from the other two. His voice was the only thing that betrayed his emotions. "Paul and Peter ARE our jurisdiction. Someone paid to have Paul hunted down. Chances are, they WILL try again. I plan on stopping them before they try that again."

"As will I."

All three men turned to see Kwai Chang Caine standing in the doorway, his flute case and pouch slung over his shoulder.

When news of the tragedy got out, press from all over the state wanted to know what had happened and spread the word via TV and newspaper. They also printed the progress of Paul Blaisdell and his foster son, Peter Caine. The paper stated the family was thankful for the full recovery of their father, now moved to a private room and breathing on his own. Peter would be discharged in a few days.

Standing in her mansion, a lone woman threw the article into the blazing fire. "So, you have eluded me again. The third time is a charm."

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