The office doors had been locked, signaling the end of business hours. Employees had already left; their only thoughts now were a warm meal and relaxation with their families.
Again, the small group met with each man taking his seat at the table. Two chairs remained vacant. Benson, they knew, would arrive soon. A visitor sat smugly to the right of Benson's hand.
A door opened, allowing Benson to enter. He took note of all those present and nodded his head. "Very well, gentlemen. The game is proceeding, though we do have some problems. I applaud all of you for your endeavors. Let me point out though, a mistake was made today, but went unnoticed by the police. Wilkerson will not be back; he has paid for his mistake. I would encourage you all to be more careful." A glare from his dark eyes cemented the message in each man's mind.
"This is Mr. Stiles. He will be assisting me with the game. Consider him my second in command from here on out. His orders, like mine, will be followed strictly. Now, Mr. Spagler, I need your report on Ms. Blaisdell."
"She will be moved to a private room tomorrow morning. Her mother is staying with her, along with some detective from the 101st. He wears sunglasses both indoors and out, though I was unable to get a name."
Stiles let out a sigh, one that would get everyone's attention. "That would be Kermit Griffin. Be careful of him."
Benson nodded his head in agreement. "As you know, Alexa and her family disappeared just after Mr. Blaisdell left the city. Our contact in Washington states he has no new leads. Blaisdell is the only one who knows of the young woman's whereabouts. That is why Mr. Stiles is here. He will be in charge of extracting the information from our - guest."
A low mumble went through the men, each smiling at the plan to get back at the man who had at one time or another been a hindrance to each of them.
"Now," Benson continued, his deep voice capturing everyone's attention, "you each have a job outlined before you. Read it, memorize it, and put it in the paper shredder as you leave. Thank you, gentlemen and our next meeting will be in two days." With that, their leader turned to leave, Stiles falling into step behind him.
Peter stirred. Dreams and nightmares caused him to struggle from the darkness of sleep.
The gentle rub at his forehead comforted him, reminding him of his previous lover. Maybe the brands and Jordan's leaving were a dream. He took a deep breath to smell her gentle perfume. Instead, the smell that greeted him was a faint hint of Old Spice.
"Mmmmm." Peter continued to struggle to wakefulness, his subconscious curious about the familiar odor. His eyes slowly opened, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear the haze that had settled there.
"Are you going to wake up?"
"Paul?" Peter couldn't believe his ears. The voice was one he had decided he'd never hear again. "Of course you're not Paul," he continued, his head throbbing from the knock he had received earlier.
The touch stopped. The voice continued, "Glad to see you wake up." Paul didn't respond to his son's last statement. His first priority was to get Peter up. "Come on, you need to sit up." Standing, Paul helped Peter to sit up, his back braced against the wall.
Peter looked around, his vision clearing, though the room was only dimly lit. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind, willing his muscles to relax and his head to stop hurting.
"Are you OK, son?"
"What are you doing here?" Peter responded to Paul's question, licking dry lips.
Paul sat down next to Peter. "I guess 'how are you' and ' glad to see you' are out of order."
Using a skill his father had taught him not so long ago, Peter used his inner eye to diminish the darkness and see the man he'd thought of as a father more clearly.
What he saw startled him. Paul had lost at least twenty pounds, pounds the man could not afford to lose. His eyes were sunken into their sockets, underlined with dark circles.
Peter reached out, touching Paul's hand, and willed his chi, his inner strength, to Paul.
Feeling the warm tingling sensation, Paul reached over with his other hand, pulled his son's sleeve up and saw the tiger burned into Peter's flesh. A few scabs remained along the feline's body where the cauldron's raised areas had burned in more deeply.
"When did this happen?" Paul indicated the tattoo.
Not daring to release his hold lest this man leave him again, Peter answered, "About six months ago. Now, you have to answer my question. What are you doing here?"
Deciding against a humorous response, Paul replied, "I came back home. I finished what needed to be done but when I got to the airport, I was met by a man who brought me here."
A moment of silence between the two men was interrupted when the door across the room opened. A flood of light poured from the outside into their cell.
"Turn the lights on," Benson commanded and his order was instantly obeyed. "Well, how are our guests?"
"What do you want, Benson?" Paul asked, spitting his words out vehemently.
"What I wanted all those long years ago, Blaisdell - money, power, and no loose ends. As you can see," Benson walked over to the two captives, unconcerned that the only exit from the room remained open, "I have the money. I say let there be light, and there it is. I say feed and water our guests and voila, here it is."
A dining cart was pushed into the room. On it sat two plates covered with a silver domed lid, a basket of bread, and two glasses of iced tea.
"See? Money and power go together. Come, come, eat up and I'll tell you about those loose ends." Benson waited and watched, his grin becoming broader as neither Peter nor Paul made an attempt to touch the food.
"Not hungry? Well, I'll leave this. You'll see that there is a knife and fork. There will be a search and if anything is missing but the food and drink…well, the consequences of stealing are dealt with harshly, I'm afraid. Now, let me re-introduce an acquaintance of ours. He is going to help clear up the loose ends. Mr. Stiles, would you come in, please?"
The tall figure of the ex-mercenary and former SWAT commander entered. "Detective, or should I say, Master, Caine and Paul Blaisdell. How are you?"
Jessie came back to the hospital to take Annie home. She had grown fond of the older woman who came three times a week to the day care center to read stories from the Braille books Annie had saved from when Kelly was a toddler.
During the visits, Peter would come at lunch to take both women out to eat, then he'd teach the kids and adult workers Tai Chi. Afterwards, he'd take his mother home, then go off to the YMCA to teach the basics of basketball and hockey. Jessie and Peter had dated twice since Jordan's departure from the new Shaolin's life. Taking private meditation lessons from the handsome man had brought them a little closer.
Entering the hospital room, she noticed that neither the bespeckled detective nor the weary mother had changed positions. Annie still sat in the chair, holding Kelly's hand, and Kermit perched on the small ledge at the window.
"Annie, let me take you home."
"No. Peter'll take me home when he gets back. I'll stay here," Annie answered as she squeezed Kelly's hand.
"Annie, let her take you home. There may have been a problem in Chinatown." Kermit walked over to her. "I'll stay with Kelly until he comes back.
Annie stood, feeling Kermit's presence in front of her. "You don't really believe that, do you? I sure the hell don't."
Her swearing took Jessie by surprise. "Annie…"
"Don't try and placate me either, Jessie. Someone has tried to kill my daughter, and now Peter is missing, so don't try and tell me he's out helping someone. You know damn well that he'd be here when Kelly woke up. Find him, Kermit. I don't think I can handle losing another person in my life." Her anger faded, leaving only anguish. "If you leave, Kermit, who will be here with Kelly?"
"Karen's on her way. I called her earlier."
"I thought that is what you went to do. It's not that I don't trust other officers, I'd just prefer that if Kelly woke up, she saw a familiar face." With that said, Annie stood, ready to go home.
Leading her out of the room, Jessie looked back. "I'll stay with her tonight. I don't think she should be alone."
Agreeing, Kermit took Annie's seat and began his own vigil, hoping Karen would get here soon so he could go find his friend.
Annie had been home only a few minutes when the phone rang. "Hello," she answered, struggling to be pleasant.
"Is this Paul Blaisdell's residence?" the caller asked.
Too tired to listen to a sales pitch, Annie answered, "Yes, but we aren't interested in buying…"
"Excuse me," the voice interrupted. "I'm with Southwest Airlines. Mr. Blaisdell forgot to pick up his bags at the terminal and we were calling to see if maybe he got the wrong luggage or something."
Stunned by the news, Annie didn't answer for seconds. "Wh-when did his plane get in?"
"Um, yesterday afternoon, from Atlanta, ma'am. We'll hold his luggage at the service desk if that's all right."
"Yes. Yes, thank you. I'll get it in the morning." Pressing a button, Annie disconnected the line. "Jessie, take me back to the hospital."
Confused, Jessie stopped Annie. "What was that all about?"
"I'll tell you when we get to the hospital." The determined woman walked to the foyer closet and retrieved her coat. She didn't have to wait long before Jessie escorted her back out to the car.
Kermit and Karen listened as Annie explained her phone call. When she had finished, Karen sent officers to canvas the hospital and airport.
Paging Dakota, she had him meet Kermit and review the films from the airport. If this turned out to be someone from Blaisdell's past, his friend would be able to recognize them. Karen stayed at the hospital with Annie, guarding both mother and daughter.
Mary Margaret and TJ were called to search around the hospital area for Peter or anyone who might have seen him. Neither thought they'd find anything due to the lateness of the hour.
An hour later, Kermit called back.
"What have you got?" Karen asked as she answered the phone.
"Paul's luggage had his flight number on it. We saw him meeting another man, then leaving with him. They've got copies of the security film printing out now. We're going to the precinct to put it over the wire. See if we can't put a name with this face. Heard anything from Peter?"
"No. Wait, Skalany just came in. I'll call you back later." Karen hung up the phone as Mary Margaret indicated she needed to talk with the Captain privately after greeting Annie and Jessie.
"Annie, we've got a lead on Paul. I'm going to speak with the detectives outside so we won't disturb Kelly."
Annie was one seldom or easily angered. Paul had once told her that was one of the many reasons he loved about her. Now, though, she felt heat rise to her forehead as she listened to the Captain murmur to Skalany to go outside. "Captain Simms, never once did I tell my husband how to handle his officers or their cases, but let me make one thing perfectly clear. This is my daughter who has been shot. That is my son and husband who are missing and I WILL NOT be kept in the dark about the investigation. Do I make myself clear?"
Simms looked at the petite blonde woman before her, seeing the woman's determination would not be shaken. "Very well, then. Detective, will you give me your report on the investigation into the disappearance of Peter Caine?"
Mary Margaret had felt her own cheeks grow warm from Annie's words, but knew enough about the woman to know that she could handle what little news they had found. "We found some employees out back where they smoke. They work the twelve-hour shift and remember seeing Peter. One said that Peter looked like he was trying to catch someone, then went around the corner. Being curious, the fellow walked down the sidewalk and saw Peter being helped into a sedan. He didn't think anything about it since Peter had been running and had shouted the man's name. The name he shouted was Paul."
"Now that your wife and daughter have been placed under police protection, we will have to find another way to make you tell us what we want to know." Stiles watched while a man pinned Peter's arms behind him as another man entered the room and tied a rope around the captive's legs.
"How did you get out?" Paul asked, anger building on top of his feelings of betrayal.
Stiles never looked at Paul; instead, he continued to watch Peter being bound. Inside, he felt power over the one man who had always stood in his way. This was not about Benson, though the partnership with the businessman had brought Blaisdell to him.
Ignoring Paul, Stiles kept his attention on the younger man. "I've heard a lot about your martial arts skills, so I thought we'd take every precaution to ensure you stayed with us." Turning to look at Paul, Stiles sneered wickedly, enjoying the guilt that he was causing and going to cause his enemy to feel. "I don't suppose your son has told you about your daughter, or why he was at the hospital."
Paul attempted to refrain from shooting a look of concern to Peter and one of hostility to Stiles. There was no sense in giving the man more of what he wanted - to hurt Paul and his family.
"Go ahead, tell him how she was eating with you when she was hit in a drive by shooting. Terrible, it used to be that brothers always protected their younger sisters." Stiles had turned back to Peter, trying to goad the once volatile young man into anger. When his goal was not met, he continued, "What? No defense of your actions, or shall we say, the lack of action? Did you know that bullet was actually meant for you? Yes, it was." Stiles' white teeth stood out as he smiled. He could see the wall of acceptance Peter had built slowly crumbling.
Paul shot up from where he sat, but the man who had tied Peter's legs together prevented Paul from advancing on Stiles. "What do you mean, the bullet was meant for Peter? You mean to tell me you had my daughter shot?" Paul's tan features darkened; even in the room's dim lighting, Stiles could read the signs of steadily less controlled anger on his once commanding officer.
"We'll do whatever it takes to get you to tell us where Alexa is. If that means killing everyone you know, Paul, we'll do it," Stiles explained matter-of-factly. He then walked back to Benson, who handed Stiles a high powered rifle.
Turning around, Stiles brought the weapon up and checked the chamber for ammunition, then lined up the sight, aiming it at Peter. "I've wanted to do this for a long, long time."
Peter stood still, trying to empty his mind of his newfound knowledge that Kelly was in the hospital because of him. He tried to concentrate on the weapon Stiles had lowered to his side.
"I did some research on this Shaolin thing. I understand you can make any weapon burn the person holding it. Let me mention, though, before you attempt that little trick, that Hugh there," Stiles motioned toward the man beside Paul, "will kill him if this rifle so much as misses its mark. Understand?"
Stiles watched as the fire of anger blazed in the hazel eyes and was pleased with himself. "Now, you remember that school bus incident, don't you, Paul? You remember the one where Peter's father took out several of my men because I told them to put a bullet through Peter's leg? I didn't like being made a fool of and I believe the boy needs to have that lesson taught." Without hesitating, Stiles aimed the rifle, pulled the trigger, and watched as Peter Caine fell to the floor as the bullet tore through clothes, skin, and bone and out the other side of the leg to embed itself in the wall five feet away.
Pushing past his guard and the man who had held Peter's arms just before the bullet was launched, Paul knelt beside the writhing figure of his son. Paul then took off his jacket and placed it over the two wounds, attempting to stop the bleeding. "Why should I give you information if you kill Peter?"
"Because, sooner or later, someone will leave your daughter or wife alone. And Carolyn should be coming back with her baby and husband. Maybe we can arrange to meet them at the airport like we did you."
"You bastard."
"We'll see if you can cooperate in about an hour. If your son still lives and you still don't give us the information we seek, then I'll shoot his other leg." With that, Stiles and the two bodyguards left the room, locking the door behind them.
Paul removed his belt, placed it around Peter's thigh just above the wound, and pulled it tightly, using it as a tourniquet.
"I-I'm s-sorry," Peter stammered as he tried to control the pain and bleeding as Lo Si had taught him. Feeling Paul's fingers running through his hair, Peter relaxed his mind and slowed his breathing, sending his chi down the proper meridians and channels.
Watching the grimace of pain leave Peter's face, Paul relaxed himself and then thought of the hour they had before Stiles returned. "We need to get out of here."
"I-I have a-an idea," Peter said, trying to keep that delicate balance between relaxation and sleep. "Th-there's one p-person I-I can reach, but only wh-when she's at rest. We've been pr-practicing together."
Watching Peter grow quiet worried Paul, but seeing Peter's breathing slow and even soothed some of his fears.
When the hazel eyes opened again, Peter smiled. "She was a-asleep."
"You mean you talked to her with your mind?" Paul knew Caine could do a lot of odd things; now his son could as well.
"Yeah. Mom and Jessie are a-at the hospital." Peter's stumbling words were slowly disappearing. "Kelly is fine."
Hoping Peter was right, and that somehow Peter had gotten through to this unknown woman, Paul encouraged his son to sleep. When Peter didn't yield, Paul decided Peter needed to know why he had left. The older man was more aware of Peter's feelings and frustrations and if they didn't make it out of here alive, he at least needed his son's forgiveness.
"Kermit told me about Rebecca," Paul stated after several minutes of silence had passed.
Peter had waited for an opening to appear. An opening in which to find out why this man had left his home and family for so long, without word of his whereabouts. He had tried to bury the old pain he had been carrying since Paul had left. Caine had tried to fill the void Paul's absence had left, but it wasn't the same.
"Tell me about her?"
"She died." Peter struggled to control his emotions. The teachings he had learned not so long ago slowly slipped from his mind.
Paul heard the hurt and anger in those two simple words and it stung him. "I know. I'm sorry I wasn't here when…"
"Then where the hell were you, Paul? Tell me that!" Peter lashed out; his ability to remain calm shattered as he listened to the man who had helped him through puberty. The man Peter would have asked to be his best man. The one man Peter felt he could be himself in front of.
Taking a deep breath and using it to brace himself against the storm of words, Paul decided to start at the beginning. "Remember when I told you about Alexa?" Paul watched as Peter slowly nodded and swiped at the moisture filling his eyes. "When I said I had to go clear the decks, part of what I meant was that I needed to find her and tell her what had happened. When I came back from the Ukraine, you were in the Academy and living on your own. You didn't know about the sleepless nights I stayed up, afraid to close my eyes because all I could see was those people getting shot down in cold blood. I knew someone on my team had sold us out. I wished then, and now, that I had figured it out before so many lives were ruined."
"So you had to do this on your own? You couldn't tell me? You didn't…didn't…" Peter was unable to voice the thought that was in his heart.
"Didn't trust you?" Paul finished for his son, reading the question in the man's face. "Peter, I trust you with my life. I just couldn't trust myself with your life."
With those words said, Peter reached out mentally and physically and knew Paul told the truth. He began to answer the question about Rebecca at greater length. "I loved her so much, Dad."