CharmingPawse 317 WideningGyre We've Gotta Get Out

by wanderingchat

Cat and Alex are forced to bring their relationship out of the closet, leading to health conosequences for Cat. Gemma comes face to face with a hidden part of her past that makes her desparate to go to Belfast with her men. Margaret Murphy has an ephihany about Stahl while the club gets ready to head to Belfast and retreive Abel.

The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my imagination. Any similarities to real persons are pure coincidence.

Love and thanks go to the DH, who is very much alive and well; along with my best friend and my 'unofficial' god – daughter for being part of my family. Also, much thanks to the members of , , the Indy Tarts and Tartans Gerard Butler fan group, SOA Forums, Watchers of Anarchy, Kim Sisk (author of Sapphires and Whiskey), and my Facebook and Twitter friends for their support. A big thank you for those readers who have written reviews and listed me as a favorite author here at FanFiction. Net.

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

Charming Pawse

Book III

Chapter 17

Widening Gyre

We've Gotta Get Out of this Place

Windover grinned at his camera operator and driver after completing his call to Cat Marshall. "This is starting to be fun!"

"You just like to aggravate Pesta!" The cameraman chortled.

"Well, turnabout is fair play! He aggravates me!" Windover laughed, reaching for the little used two way radio microphone attached to the dash. "Unit two to base!"

His call was met with static. Windover waited a couple of minutes, then keyed the mic again. "Unit two to base! This is Windover reporting in from Charming!"

The camera operator snickered at his friend. "Pesta's gonna shit a brick for that one!"

"I can only hope so!" Windover grinned.

Seconds later, the radio roared to life. "This is base. Are you nuts, unit two? Why are you using the radio?"

Windover hurriedly thought up an excuse. "Um, sorry, base. Forgot to charge the cell phone."

"There's supposed to be a charger in the van!" Pesta retorted. "Are you trying to let every other media outlet in the area know what you're doing?"

"Apologies, base. The charger isn't in the van. I looked. Believe me, it's not like I want to sabotage our exclusive on Mrs. Trager - I mean Ms. Marshall!"

The camera operator's body was shaking with repressed laughter. He held both hands over his mouth to keep the assignment editor from hearing him. Windover himself was grinning from ear to ear, imagining the sour expression on the assignment editor's face.

"You could've fooled me!" Pesta spat over the air. "Are you set up to catch the target?"

The camera operator snickered again. 'I can't believe he's trying to salvage the secret! Any assignment editor worth their salt started scrambling to get this covered as soon as Windy said that gal's name! That is, if they were listening!'

"Negative, base. We tried the house, no one's answered the door at the house. I went to Charming Pawse, the staff said she's due in any minute, so we're getting ready to set up in there."

"Unit two! Are you trying to give everything away on an unsecured channel?" Pesta howled.

"Oops! Guess I'm out of practice in using the two - way," Windover replied, sounding for all the world as if the mistake was a genuine one on his part.

"Just get in there and get as much as you can before the rest of the locals get over there. Base out." Pesta sighed in frustration. He knew Windover had deliberately let the cat out of the bag, but he couldn't prove it.

Windover replaced the mic on the dashboard, then picked up his cell phone from the center armrest where he'd left it. He pressed Cat Marshall's number and waited.

"Cat speakin'!"

"Mission accomplished!"

"Gee, I'd love to be a fly on the newsroom wall when your assignment editor heard y'all spew the intel over the airwaves!" Cat laughed.

"It was quite entertaining on this end. My cameraman was laughing so hard I thought the van was going to fall apart!"

"Well get your butts on in here and set up. Pete will show y'all where. Tig and I are in the office, but I'd rather y'all stayed out front."

"No worries, Cat. See you in a bit."

"I take it that's our cue?" The camera operator inquired.

"It is," Windover replied, gathering his coat and sliding out of the van.

The pair met at the van's sliding back door. The camera operator gathered up his portable camera and the light case, while Windover picked up his reporter's notebook and the wireless microphone.

Windover waited while his co - worker locked the van, then they walked the short distance to the coffeehouse. The bell tinkled a cheery greeting as they entered, and Pete waved at them.

"Hey, Mr. Windover! Miss Cat said to show you where to set up. She doesn't want the media interfering with the customer flow."

Windover made a point of glancing around the empty interior. "We'll try to be inconspicuous in the crowd."

"This is the lull between busy periods. Believe me, it picks up at lunchtime," Pete grinned. He led them to the platform near the front windows where the open mic and movie nights took place.

"This area will work best," Pete added. "It's away from the entry, and there's enough natural light that you guys won't need your lamps."

"You don't mind if I check to make sure?" the camera operator inquired. He hated it when civilians tried to tell him how to do his job!

"Be my guest," Pete replied amicably. "Been an interestin' mornin' ever since the petition came out."

"I can imagine!" Windover stated. "Any idea who sent the tip to the local media outlets?"

"Off the record?"

Windover nodded. The camera operator rolled his eyes, then lifted his camera to his shoulder so he could run a test video. unbeknownst to Pete, the camera had a built-in microphone, perfectly able to pick up ambient noise. The camera operator knew it would pick up Pete's comments just as well as the wireless microphone.

Windover wasn't paying attention to the camera operator's activity, thinking he was just running a test of the lighting. It never occurred to him that his co - worker was taping the audio of his conversation with the coffeehouse manager.

'Not that we'll use it on air,' the camera operator consoled himself. 'I've worked this gig long enough to know that having proof of 'off the record' information can make the difference between working and being on the unemployment line.'

"We can't prove it, but Miss Cat thinks it might've been Jacob Hale," Pete filled in the reporter on the council member's reaction to discovering the petition, and the phone call he made from just outside the coffeehouse. "Everyone in town knows that Croucher is Hale's lap dog," Pete added. "It seems real co – incidental that the area media would get a 'tip' about Miss Cat within a few minutes of the petition being out."

Windover nodded reflectively. "I can see why you would think that."

"Believe me," Pete continued, "Miss Cat is really grateful that you warned her."

"Why is that?"

Pete wondered if he might be saying too much then shrugged inwardly. Windover was considered good people by his employer. She had set up this whole thing with the reporter's help. "She's got a check up at the hospital for her injuries today. The last thing she needed was a nasty surprise."

"Like a horde of journalists camped out on her front lawn," Windover grinned.

"Exactly," Pete nodded. "I'm surprised you're the only one here."

"That won't last very long," Windover assured him, pointing out the window as another news van pulled up in the 'pick up parking only' space.

"Oh man! You think they would've learned from last time!" Pete moaned, hastening to the door to ask the driver of the van to move to the parking lot down the street.

The camera operator for Channel 10 waved Pete off. "Relax, kid. Just gonna unload my equipment. Don't want your boss reading me the riot act again!"

Windover's camera operator stuck his head out the door and called out, "Hey, don't bother with the lights. There's plenty of natural lighting where they want us to set up. I've already run a test."

Though they worked for competing channels, both camera operators were good friends. The Channel 10 cameraman knew he could trust the other's word. "Thanks, man! That shit weighs a ton!"

Channel 10's reporter stood next to the camera case while the camera operator returned to the van and drove to the parking lot. He parked their van next to Channel 2's and jogged back to the coffeehouse entrance. He didn't ask his partner why she didn't take the camera case on into the building. Union rules forbade reporters from carrying camera equipment. The most the reporters could carry was the wireless microphone and their own notebooks.

Channel 10's reporter greeted Windover with a nod. She didn't want to let on that her assignment editor had heard the radio conversation between Windover and his own assignment editor, and had sent her to Charming. She wasn't happy with the assignment until the crew was half way to Charming from Stockton, and she'd received a call informing her of the nature of the story.

"I'm surprised you didn't get pulled off the story after the stunt you pulled on the radio," she remarked idly, staring longingly at the counter. The reporter wished for nothing else but a fresh, hot cup of coffee.

"They can't prove I did anything wrong," Windover replied, signaling Pete for two black coffees.

"Comin' right up, Mr. Windover!" Pete called out, setting out two large stoneware mugs with the 'Charming Pawse' logo on them.

'Hope Miss Cat notices this! Might as well get as much free publicity from this as we can!' He poured out the coffee and accepted a large bill from the Channel 2 reporter.

"Keep the change, Pete," Windover pointed to the kitty jar when the employee started to count out his change. "And be sure you don't give any freebies away to the rest of us jackals!"

"And have Miss Cat scalp me bald-headed?" Pete laughed. "I don't think so!"

"If I were in your shoes, I'd double charge us for taking up space."

Pete shook his finger admonishingly at the reporter. "Now, now! No can do, Mr. W! Miss Cat would really get hissed off then!"

Windover grabbed the mugs and carried them over to the area where the cameramen were setting up their tripods and cameras. He handed one of the mugs to his colleague.

"Thanks!" She inhaled the enticing aroma before taking a sip. "Next round's on me!"

"I guess we have to serve ourselves," Windover's camera operator grumbled to his comrade.

"Hey, you guys have a union, we don't!" The Channel 10 reporter remarked. "It won't hurt you to buy your own coffee!"

"You're all heart, lady!" Her camera operator gushed sarcastically. He and Windover's camera operator walked to the counter to place their own orders. When Pete began counting out their change, the camera operators pointed to the kitty jar. "I'll be sure to make our co - horts fill this thing!"

"Wow!" Pete grinned and decided to start another fresh batch to brewing. The refrigerated case had been restocked after the morning rush.

"So where's your boss?" The Channel 10 reporter called across the room to Pete.

"She's probably in the office," he replied.

"Then shouldn't you tell her we're here? Maybe we could get some advance information!" The reporter griped.

"Miss Cat knows you're here. She'll come out when she's ready, and not a minute before!"

"Not even for her buddy?" The Channel 10 reporter prodded in a snide tone, glancing archly at Windover.

"Not even for the Good Lord himself! Miss Cat is her own person and answers to no one!"

"I'll bet!" The reporter remarked. "Not married to a Neanderthal like that biker!" The reporter looked like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey, waiting to see Pete's reaction to her comment. 'If she's kept the secret from the entire town all this time, she's bound to have kept it from her staff! This will be great!'

To her consternation, Pete and Adrian, who'd been wiping down tables during the exchange, merely smiled benevolently at the reporter and shook their heads. "Tsk, tsk!" They murmured in unison.

Another news van pulled up to the 'pick up parking only' parking area. This time, the camera operator for Channel 59 jumped out of the passenger seat and opened the van to remove her gear. Once the door to the van slid shut, the driver sped off to the parking lot down the street.

"Well!" Adrian remarked to Pete. "Nice to see they don't have to be told twice!"

"Yeah, maybe there's hope for the media yet!"

Pete looked up at the security camera and winked. He knew Miss Cat and Mr. Tig were watching the security monitor in the office and had heard every word. It looked like they just might pull this off after all.

---

Ernest Darby glared at the cordless telephone lying on the table. He'd kept the basic landline service for his mother, who refused to have anything to do with learning his cell phone number. 'I really need to disconnect that damn thing!' he grumbled. He decided not to answer it. No one he wanted to talk to would be calling the landline. It was either a political pollster, or some other asshole that he didn't want to deal with.

The phone continued to ring, insistently demanding to be answered. Whoever was calling was determined to get him to answer. Darby was tempted to let the phone continue ringing. He couldn't find the 'off' button on the ringer. He finally pushed the 'talk' button and growled, "This better be damn good!"

"It'll be better than the tip you gave me about SAMCRO," Hale replied amicably.

"Hey! It was legit!" Darby protested, wondering to himself how in the Hell Jacob Hale had found his unlisted number.

"Really?" Hale sneered. He knew better than to antagonize Darby when he wanted the former gang lord to do a job. Hale couldn't help himself, he wanted to make Darby squirm for making Hale look stupid to the SJSD.

The sheriff was quite annoyed with Hale after his officers, in tandem with CPD, were unable to find a single joint - much less Oxy or any other illegal narcotic - on the SAMCRO property. The search turned up plenty of tools, tires, and car parts in the garage, and a lot of legal liquor in the clubhouse, but no drugs.

"Look, I saw Jax Teller and that doctor girlfriend of his holding out large bottles of drugs to the Jefferson Clinic's head doctor!" Darby protested. "He took two gym bags off Jax, I really doubt he was givin' the doctor dirty workout clothes!"

"That may be true," Hale admitted. "Maybe it was a one - time foray for SAMCRO into your bailiwick."

"What?" Darby had no idea what that term meant. He got along well for a high school dropout, but certain big words that high and mighty people like Zobelle and Hale liked to throw out went straight over his pate.

"Nevermind. I've decided to give you a chance to redeem yourself," Hale continued.

"And why would I care to do that?" Darby snarled. "It's no skin off my ass whether you trust me or not. Maybe I don't like you!"

"At least you're honest, Darby. I'll give you credit for that," Hale snorted. "Meet me tomorrow morning in the parking lot behind Lumpy Feldstein's gym. We'll talk then."

Hale hung up before Darby could utter a denial or acknowledgement. 'He'll show up, if for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity if nothing else.'

Darby glared at the now silent phone and hurled it across the wall. The phone broke into pieces from the impact. 'Now I've got no excuse not to shut off the damn line! Mom's gone, no sense hangin' on to the damn thing.'

Darby dialed the phone company from his cell, maneuvered through the menu options, and found himself on hold. While he waited for the next available customer service rep to assist him with his very important call, Darby considered whether he would take Hale up on his offer.

'Didn't seem like an offer, more like a command. Maybe I'll just show up long enough to remind him that I don't jump when he says so. I might not be leading the Nords anymore, but I'm still due respect - even from Hale!'

---

T O, President of the Grim Bastards MC, thumbed the cut off switch to his Harley's engine and dropped the kickstand, settling the bike on it. He listened to the ticking engine for a moment, looking all around Lander Jackson's property.

The front yard was neat and well-kept, but the back yard could easily pass for a set right out of the old 'Sanford and Son' TV show. There were motorcycles, parts, and a beat up pickup truck that actually ran. Lander was always tinkering with something. The fence was tall enough that his neighbors couldn't see the chaos and complain about it.

The street was quiet for Oakland. There were no vehicles running up and down the street, though the cross streets were busy. T O knew the owners of the few parked cars and trucks, neighbors of Lander who were well acquainted with him as well.

T O didn't see any suspicious vehicles parked on the street, but the nagging concern that had brought him to Lander's continued to plague him.

T O couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Lander never failed to answer the phone whenever Tee called, no matter how late the hour. 'Never until today,' T O mused, scanning the neighborhood again for anything suspicious before he dismounted from the bike.

Lander and T O were closer than blood brothers. They'd known each other since before kindergarten, when T O's family had first moved to the neighborhood.

They'd played together and ran with the same crowd from the minute they met; played basketball in high school and won the state championship their senior year. They'd served in the same Army unit and been discharged at the same time.

It was only fitting for Lander to become Tee Oh's SAA when he founded the Grim Bastards. He trusted Lander to always have his back, which a VP might not always be able to do. His only fear in offering the post to his brother was that Lander might feel slighted.

"Man, it's more fun being the enforcer than the right hand," Lander assured him, accepting the 'Sergeant at Arms' patch before enfolding his friend in the 'bro hug double back tap'. "I'm honored to have your back."

Tee had felt his throat close up with emotion and found it difficult to reply. He returned the embrace with gruff affection, then went on to select his VP and secretary with Lander's help.

Though not as big as some area MC's, the Grim Bastards quickly acquired a solid reputation as guys who could get things done. Later, the Grim Bastards formed an alliance with the Sons of Anarchy that had proven lucrative for both sides.

Now the club was looking forward to the new arrangement between themselves, SAMCRO and the Mayans. Clay had suggested the Bastards take on the job of muling Alvarez' heroin shipments to Stockton.

That job had originally belonged to the Calavarez MC, but SAMCRO had managed to steal the shipment right out from under the inadequately prepared Calavarez. Alvarez had readily handed the work to the Bastards when Clay returned the entire shipment, much to Hector Salazar's shame.

"You'll regret interfering, negra!" Salazar had spat at Tee as he prepared to leave the meet.

The Sons had already reached their bikes when they heard Salazar's threat. They glanced warily back at the tableau. Tig started to move forward to help out Lander, but Clay restrained him with a low growl. "Let them handle this, Tig."

"Tell it to someone who gives a shit, esse," Lander retorted, placing his solid frame between the Calavarez Prez and Tee. "We're a lot smarter and better than a lot of cucharachas on two wheels!"

Tee smothered a grin at Lander's remark. It wouldn't do to fan the flames of Salazar's temper any more than it was necessary.

Salazar's face had gone beet red at the obvious slur in Lander's retort. The short, wiry Calavarez President's hands clenched into fists at his sides and he inched forward until he was nearly nose to nose with Lander. "You only think you're so much better than us!" He spat. "Maybe we'll just see how good you really are!"

Alvarez quickly slid between Lander and Salazar, pushing the Calavarez leader forcibly away from the Bastards' SAA. He hissed a torrent of angry Spanish at Salazar that Tee took to mean "Back off, motherfucker!"

Salazar eyes burned angrily at Alvarez. He spit at the Mayans President, the wad of phlegm landing just in front of the toe of Alvarez' snake skin boots.

Tee wondered for a moment if Salazar really was stupid enough to take on Alvarez in front of two other – and much larger – clubs. The odds were definitely not in Salazar's favor.

Alvarez didn't react to the spit wad that had been aimed at him. He stared coldly at Salazar before he finally glanced down at the mess in front of his feet. Slowly and deliberately, he pushed dirt over it as if it were offensive to him.

He looked back up at Salazar and spoke again in Spanish, his voice low and menacing. Salazar made a threatening move towards Alvarez, but was quickly restrained by his own VP and SAA. They wrestled him back to their small group of riders, screaming at Alvarez in Spanish.

Salazar shook himself free from his officers' restraining hands and stormed to his bike. He gave a terse command to them in Spanish, and his club mounted their bikes.

"This isn't over!" Salazar screamed in English before he started his bike and careened away from the meeting place. Gravel spewed in his wake. His club followed at a respectful distance so they wouldn't get hit by the small rocks.

It never occurred to Tee that Salazar would try to extract further retribution from the Bastards. Salazar would be a fool to do so after being taken down so eloquently by Alvarez. That and the earlier humiliation he'd suffered from Clay at the pit and during that meeting would be more than enough for any other man to live down.

'At least it never occurred to me until now," Tee mused to himself.

The yard and house were quiet. Too quiet for Tee's liking. The baby mama's car was gone, but that wouldn't have prevented Lander from coming out to see who'd pulled up in front of his house.

Lander's failure to come out to holler a greeting to him screamed trouble with a capital 'T'. His concern deepening, Tee withdrew his gun from the shoulder holster hidden under his cut. He'd rather be safe than six feet under.

He advanced cautiously towards the back door, his eyes scanning the yard much like he had done in Kuwait during the Gulf War. 'Stay alert, stay alive' was ingrained in him.

Tee made it to the back door unscathed and paused to one side of the open door. The silence inside was deafening. He quickly stuck his head past the door frame with the gun stuck out in front of his chest

He couldn't see much inside the kitchen, but his move didn't draw any fire. That didn't necessarily mean it was safe. He knew Lander's house like he knew the back of his hand. Just to the right of the back door was a small ante-room. Tee leaped past the door frame into the ante-room. He was relieved not to have drawn any gunfire again. 'The intruder could be waiting for me to let my guard down.'

He breathed slowly and deeply, holding the barrel of the gun to the floor. He wanted to call out to Lander, make sure his friend was OK. He knew if he did, whoever or whatever lay in wait would pinpoint his location. 'Dammit, Lander! Where are you?' Tee thought wildly, straining his ears to hear the slightest sound.

He stretched the gun into firing position again before poking his head around the door frame. What he saw made his blood run cold. Tee lowered the gun and stumbled across the floor to the kitchen table, sinking into the chair opposite his SAA.

Lander would never greet him again in that easy-going way of his. The handle of a knife rose from the back of his head, which was face down in a puddle of milk, blood, and cereal.

"Ah, damn!" T O cried aloud. The gun fell from his nerveless fingers, clattering to the floor. He knew no one would attack him; the assailants were long gone.

Hot, angry tears slid down T O's cheeks as he gazed at his friend's body. There were numerous exit wounds visible on Lander's back. Some asshole had emptied at least one entire clip into him.

T O glanced down at the tablecloth for a moment. The two numbers etched in his friend's blood made his own blood boil. 'I'll kill that wetback if it's the last thing I do!' He vowed.

He pulled his cell from his jeans pocket, but the phone fell from his suddenly nerveless hand onto the table. He needed some liquid courage before he called SAMCRO and his own club.

He stumbled across to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the first bottle he saw. He carried the quart of Jack Daniels back to the table. He uncapped the bottle and took a long swig from the bottle, nearly choking as the whiskey slid down his throat.

T. O. set the bottle on the table with a loud thump that sounded deafening in the silent house. He wanted nothing more than to ride out to find Salazar and string the bastard on a limb by his balls. He owed that much to Lander.

On the other hand, he owed the Grim Bastards more as their Prez. Retribution for his SAA would have to wait awhile. He needed to call the baby mama and tell her to keep the kids away from the house and he needed to call his club with the sad news.

First and foremost, he needed to call Clay and get SAMCRO's help with bringing Salazar to justice. He sighed and upended the bottle of Jack Daniels, allowing several hearty gulps to slide down his throat. The whiskey didn't burn as badly; he hoped he wouldn't be able to feel anything, physically or otherwise, before long. He put the bottle down again and picked up the cell to begin placing the first of many calls.

---

Alex followed his wife into the office, placed the contraptions on the desk, and settled into the chair next to it. He glanced at the security monitor, over the desk, noting that Windover and another reporter and their camera men were already set up in the customer area.

"You're boy's here, and some broad. Kinda small turnout baby."

"Don't worry love, more will come," she assured him, laying her leather portfolio on the desk.

"Got any muffins back here?" he asked hopefully, sniffing the enticing aromas in the air.

"You can't be hungry!" she cried in despair. "Y'all just ate -"

"- a few hours ago baby!" Alex finished for her.

Cat shook her head. "I don't see how y'all can eat so much and stay so fit!"

"Metabolism, baby!" he laughed, assuming a woebegone, hungry look guaranteed to melt her heart.

"Yeah, I've heard that song and dance before!" she scoffed. "It's a male conspiracy, that's what it is!"

"Rut roh, Mr. Tig! She's figured us out!" Adrian announced from the doorway. "Now what're we gonna do with her?" He held a tray laden with two large ceramic coffeehouse logo mugs and a plate of confections.

"Not a damn thing!" she growled, giving both men 'The Look'. "If all y'all know what's good for you!"

"She's got us there, Adrian!" Alex laughed.

"Hey, you're the one that married her!" Adrian retorted, setting the tray on the large desk. He set the black coffee and muffin beside Alex, and the other coffee and scone in front of Cat.

"What's this?" Cat inquired, glancing at the plate of small square confections Adrian placed on the desk.

"Snacks," Adrian grinned. "I figured Mr. Tig would be hungry."

"Good thinkin', brother!" Alex nodded approvingly. "But what are they?"

"The newest addition to the confection line up," Adrian explained. "Cheesecake squares."

Alex gazed hungrily at the plateful of square inch confections. "Now that's what I call a cheesecake shot!"

Cat rolled her eye at the Heavens. "Who made 'em?"

"Miss Anna. She brought 'em by earlier, thought we could try 'em out before we sell 'em. Find out which flavors will work best."

"She didn't have to do that!" Cat protested weakly.

"She wanted to. She said it didn't take very long to make all the different varieties."

"Are y'all gonna sell 'em to our guests?"

"If you want us to, Miss Cat. I already put these on your tab for the day."

Alex dug out his wallet and extracted a large bill, handing it across to Adrian. "Apply this to the tab, and put whatever's left in the kitty," he instructed in a tone that warned Adrian and Cat not to protest.

"What flavors are there?" he asked, eyeing the squares. There were all colors and textures on the plate, one group of squares looked like it might have Snickers bars in the ingredients, but he couldn't be certain.

"There's chocolate chip, raspberry swirl, cherry, blueberry, lemon, and several of the berry flavors with white chocolate."

"No surprise there," Alex grumbled.

"Now, now, love! Don't pout. There's also some Snicker Bar cheesecake squares!" Cat pointed to the very quartet he'd singled out.

Alex sighed with relief and grabbed the samples in his hand, popping one in his mouth. His eyes closed as he chewed, savoring the flavors that danced on his tongue. "Damn! That's almost better than your muffin, baby!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied wryly. She gazed at the tempting morsels and shook her head. "I'd better not. Those look loaded with sugar."

"Most of them are," Adrian admitted. He pointed to a few squares set aside from the others. "These white chocolate ones are made with that sugar substitute you prefer."

Alex grinned and gave Adrian a thumbs up. "Good job! Thank Miss Anna for thinkin' of that."

"I will," Adrian promised.

Adrian dubiously eyed the two wooden contraptions on Cat's desk. "Maybe I should leave you two alone," he muttered, beginning to back towards the door, holding the empty tray in front of him for protection.

"Y'all are gonna leave me alone with that fiend?" Cat grinned.

"I'd better, since he brought some of his toys in here!"

Alex had just popped another cheesecake square in his mouth. Hearing Adrian mention sex toys made him start to choke.

"Serves y'all right!" Cat growled, easing up from the chair to thump him on the back so he wouldn't choke to death. She glared at Adrian and added, "And you're no better!"

"What'd I do, boss?"

"Those aren't sex toys!" she retorted, pointing with her chin at the wooden contraptions. "Those are props for dealin' with the press!"

Adrian blushed to be caught with his mind in the gutter. "Oh, yeah! That."

"Yeah, that,' she mimicked. "Go tell Pete to come back to the kitchen in a couple of minutes. I wanna run a couple of things by him."

"OK, boss!" Adrian turned and fled from the office.

Cat pushed the coffee cup within Alex's reach. "Take a sip to wash that down," she ordered dryly.

Alex did as she instructed, swishing the brew in his mouth to moisten the partially chewed confection. He swallowed and drank some more of the coffee. "Thanks, baby. You're a life saver!"

"Don't y'all forget it!" she grumbled. "Enjoy your food, but don't scarf it down like someone's gonna steal it from y'all." She picked up her own coffee cup and limped out of the office.

Pete was waiting in the kitchen for her. He glanced in concern at her as she limped into the kitchen. "You OK, Miss Cat?"

She nodded, leaning against one of the bar stools. She was already too tired to raise herself onto the seat, but wasn't about to let Pete know that.

She reached into her coat pocket and withdrew the two labeled cassettes. "Go ahead and put the first one in now. You know when to play the second."

Pete nodded, accepting the cassettes from her. "I'll take care of it, MIss Cat."

"Somethin' else I need y'all to do, darlin'. This will take a little fancy fingerin' by y'all, but I think you can handle it."

She told him what she wanted him to do when she and Alex entered the front area. She gave him the name of the song she wanted and the CD it was on.

"No sweat, Miss Cat. I'll be ready," he assured her. He was worried about her, though. He didn't like her pale appearance. She looked worse than when she'd first left the hospital.

'I'm glad she's seein' the doctors today. In the meantime, I'm gonna see to it she doesn't overdo!" He took her hand and laid it in the crook of his arm.

"What's all this? Y'all tryin' to make Tig jealous?" she grinned.

"Nope. Just trying to get you to take it easy," he admitted, escorting her back to the office.

"It's just a few feet away!" she protested.

"All the more reason to let us take care of you," he replied. "Save your energy for when you really need it."

"How can I refuse such gallantry?"

"You can't, so don't even try," he smiled back.

---

Lyla was shaking so hard that she had difficulty safely controlling the Prius. She finally pulled over to an empty curb, threw the gear into 'park' and turned off the ignition.

She lowered her head to the steering and started to cry. Everything had seemed fine that morning until she'd ventured into the clubhouse, then things had turned to shit in a big hurry.

Her hand stung and was a bit swollen from striking both Opie and Ima in the face. She'd expected Opie's face to be hard, but as slender as she was, Ima's was also as hard as steel.

'I'm surprised I didn't break any bones!' Lyla mused, rubbing her stinging palm on her thigh. Her hand moved from her thigh to her stomach. There wasn't any baby bulge there, but she sensed the little one's presence in her womb.

'Six weeks pregnant. Still time to do something about this before it's too late,' she reminded herself. 'I don't dare go through insurance, Opie will find out. I don't know that I even want another child right now!'

She thought of Opie's children, how precious they'd already become to her. 'We've only been together for a short amount of time! It just doesn't seem fair to dump a child on Opie this soon!'

There was also the matter of Opie not liking her profession. He'd certainly made that clear the other day! If he found out she was pregnant, he'd force her to give up her porn career. By the time she'd be able to return to work, she'd be too old to work in the industry.

Lyla had tried to save money from her retainers and royalties. Somehow, there never seemed to be enough.

'Oh, be honest with yourself! You couldn't save money from blowing it up your nose!'

She scoffed. One of the advantages to being with Opie was that he'd helped her overcome her addiction to crack. It had been difficult, but she'd done it.

She had to smile through her tears in recalling how instrumental Opie had been in getting rid of her dealer. Not having him around made it a lot easier to avoid buying crack. Once her former dealer spread the word about Opie, none of the area dealers were willing to sell to her.

'Is it right for me to make this decision about the baby without telling Ope? Maybe it's what he needs. If it would lift his spirits, I'd be willing to carry the baby to term, even if it meant never filming another porn flick!'

She checked her watch. She had time to go home and think before she had to pick up the kids. She'd have to go back to the compound to get the Caddy anyway. 'Maybe I'll tell Ope about the baby before he leaves. That might help me make up my mind.' The thought helped her calm down enough that she could drive back to Opie's house. She started the Prius, checked for traffic behind her, and pulled back onto the street.

---

Darby felt more like a dignified human being than he had in a long time. There was something satisfying about throwing Jacob Hale's money back in his face and walking away.

As Hale had expected, Darby had shown up for their meeting and listened to what Hale had to say. He'd taken the envelope of money, and had indeed gone to talk to Lumpy, but that was all he did. He didn't try to scare his former friend and mentor, which Darby knew Hale was paying for.

He wished that Lumpy had been a little more willing to listen to reason. Hale wasn't going to back down from his wish to acquire the gym. Darby knew that Hale would just find some other thug for hire to do the dirty work once he refused to take the job.

His other regret was in ever letting himself become swayed into being against Jews when he joined with the Nords. He loved and respected Lumpy, something a Nord wasn't supposed to do.

Darby had taken boxing classes from Lumpy from the time he was in Cub Scouts until he dropped out of high school. Lumpy had been a combination father figure and mentor to him, and had been openly disappointed in his decision to drop out.

"I'm not good at schoolwork, Lumpy!" Darby had protested. "The teachers just keep passin' me to the next grade to get me outta their hair!"

"I know dat learning is difficult for you," Lumpy replied. "But tings vorth having in life don't alvays come easy. The harder one vorks for the tings dey vant, the more dey appreciate them."

"That's OK for you, Lumpy. You're set in life. I've gotta make a way for myself, and the only way I can do that is with the Nords."

"Bah! A gang of no goods selling dope? You're better than dat, Ernest!"

"Not anymore, Lumpy," Darby replied softly. "I'm sorry to disappoint ya, old man, but this is what I've gotta do to survive."

Lumpy placed his hand on the young Darby's shoulder, staring intently into his eyes. "I'm not disappointed in you, just saddened by dis choice you've made. Are you sure you vant to follow dis path, Ernest?"

"I'm sure, old man."

A deep sadness descended on Lumpy like a shroud. "Den dis is goodbye."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Darby hadn't returned to Lumpy's gym for decades after that confrontation. Though the Nords had often wanted to harass the Jewish community of Charming, Darby had fought against the idea every time it came up. When he took over leadership of the Nords, his first act had been to declare the Charming Jewish community off-limits.

With the Nords disbanded and after nearly dying in the Caracara fire, Darby didn't expect to be welcomed back like the Prodigal Son. He'd gone to Lumpy out of a sense of duty.

'Maybe I should take this to CPD,' Darby observed. 'That stubborn old Jew is in danger!'

He seriously considered the idea, then put it out of his mind. There was no way that Chief Unser would take his word against Jacob Hale's. Not after everyone on Main Street had seen them chummy up the day of David Hale's funeral.

'It wouldn't surprise me to find out LOAN has a finger in this. It smells like the type of shit Zobelle would pull!' Darby thought as he climbed painfully into his SUV. 'I've got a bad feelin' about this!'

Jacob Hale watched Darby's retreat with shocked surprise. He couldn't believe that Darby had turned him down! 'So much for LOAN vouching for him!' He complained to himself. His fingers absently fingered the envelope Darby had tossed in his lap.

He watched as Darby painfully climbed into the dark SUV and drove away. Lumpy Feldstein's gym was the only thing preventing Hale from owning the entire Liberty Street business district. Once he had the gym secured, demolition could begin and he could start raking in the money from investors.

He wasn't worried that Darby would rat him out. Nobody in law enforcement would believe him. 'Unser won't bite the hand that feeds him! Not as long as I dangle the carrot of keeping CPD intact in front of him!'

Though having Darby coerce Lumpy Feldstein into selling would've sated Hale's appetite for poetic justice, he was content that his other scheme was still on track. He couldn't wait to see the evening news to see Cat Marshall's political aspirations blow away like dead leaves in a windstorm.

He was damn near tempted to buy an advance copy of the newspaper just to read what the Tribune, the county's evening paper, had to report on the matter. 'Nah. Why waste the money? I'll get the paper delivered tonight. Hell, half the enjoyment of a feast is the anticipation!'

The anticipation was tempered somewhat by the need to have to choose a replacement for Darby. Hale contented himself with the fact that the list of hired thugs was lengthy. He'd find someone who would fit his needs.

---

Alex chowed down on the cheesecake squares while he looked over the wooden cross beams his wife had built. 'That woman's full of surprises!' he thought, picking up one to closely inspect it.

'She did a good job, but I can make this easier for both of us!' he observed, wiping his hands on a paper towel Adrian had supplied before untying the twine from the cross beams.

It wasn't a difficult job. 'These aren't tied very securely. Good thing I checked 'em!' He switched the lengths of twine the way he wanted them, then secured them snugly to the cross beams. When he was done, each cross beam had a long and short length of twine attached to it.

He looked up in time to see Pete and Cat enter the office. He frowned to see that his wife was leaning heavily on her employee's arm. Not, as she anticipated, because he was jealous, but because it emphasized to him just how weak she was feeling to allow Pete to help her.

Alex didn't want to embarrass her in front of her employee nor scare Pete by remarking on her weakened condition. Instead, he returned the cross beams to the desk and grinned, "'Bout time, woman! Was about to come lookin' for ya!'

He inclined his head slightly at Pete, who nodded back to show he understood why Tig wasn't making a big deal out of the situation. Pete held the desk chair out for her so she could sink wearily into it.

Cat sighed inwardly with relief to be off her feet for a bit. Her good eye closed as she leaned her head against the back of the chair. "Thanks, Pete!"

"No worries Miss Cat. All will be ready when you are."

"We'll be keepin' an eye – no pun intended – on the monitor, but if we don't get anyone else here in another 10 minutes, we'll start then."

"OK," he went out to the stereo system, and placed the first tape in one cassette player, the second in the other. He started the first player as soon as the current selection on the CD player ended.

Alex grinned when he heard Alice Cooper's 'Elected' stream from the speakers. "Settin' the mood, baby?"

"Uh, huh," she grunted. "What were you doin' with the cross beams?"

He told her what he'd done and why, adding, "It just seems easier to work with. You're no damn puppet, anyway, so it's just for show."

"Whatever works for y'all, love. I appreciate that you're willin' to do this in the first place and with no practice ahead of time," she sighed.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! When you're good, ya don't need practice!" He joked.

"You're cute," she retorted.

They remained in companionable silence after that, sipping on their coffee. Cat took an occasional nibble on her own cheesecake squares. It didn't appear to Alex like she was making much progress.

He decided to allow her to relax, and continued watching the monitor. It irked him that the message behind the music seemed to go over the heads of the majority of the gathering reporters, except for Windover. 'At least he's caught on!'

Minutes later, Cat stirred into a semi – erect posture and reached for one of the cross beams. "Time to get in costume!" She remarked with a hint of her normal upbeat demeanor.

"Lemme help ya with that," Alex offered, taking the twine from her hand and tying the short lengths around her wrists, then bending to tie the long ones to her ankles. Though the temptation was hard to resist, for once he didn't molest her.

Alex slid his sunglasses over his eyes and stood up, taking the cross beams in both hands. "Stand up, baby. I wanna make sure the twine won't trip ya up."

Cat quietly complied with his request. She held her good arm at the same height as the injured one that lay in the sling.

Alex held the cross beams over her head, noting that he could comfortably hold them at his shoulder height. He only had to loop the twine binding her ankles a couple of times over the cross beams to make sure she didn't get entangled in the strings.

"We OK?" She inquired, glancing up at the monitor.

"All clear." He also glanced up at the security monitor. The reporter contingent had grown while they'd gotten ready. Now there were all the television reporters, one photojournalist from the newspaper, and a radio reporter in the customer area.

"As they say in show biz, love, 'break a leg!'"

They ventured out to the main part of the back area. Pete remained stationed next to the sound system, prepared to switch the music when the time came.

"You ready, Miss Cat?"

"All set, darlin'." She affirmed.

"OK, as soon as this tune is over," Pete informed her, preparing to make the switch in sources. He had one hand on the tuner switch, and the other on the CD player to start it the second Bob Dylan's 'The Times They Are a Changin'' ended.

Pete quickly moved the tuner selector from Cassette 1 to CD while the other hand hit the 'play' button on the CD player. As he instantly hit 'pause' on the cassette player, the first guitar notes to Blue Oyster Cult's 'Don't Fear the Reaper' filled the store.

Alex rolled his eyes under the protective lenses of his sunglasses. 'Cat and her musical messages! Kinda fittin'. I like the way she thinks!' He allowed a wry smile to cross his face before they moved to the entrance leading to the customer area.

---

Hector Salazar strode haughtily towards his club after parking and dismounting his motorcycle at the bike rally. The Mayans were sponsoring the rally, which was a community gathering for fun, food, music, prizes, and harmless motorcycle drag races.

Salazar didn't just walk to the table his club had commandeered; he strutted like a proud male peacock. His demeanor was nothing like his SAA's, who'd arrived just a bit before him. Where Salazar was calm, cool, and collected, his hefty right hand man looked and acted as if he'd seen a ghost.

'Who knows what a man sees when he kills another?' Salazar mused. He personally had seen nothing but the multiple bullet holes they'd shot into the rival outlaw's body. That, and the blood and brains that oozed past the knife Salazar had plunged into the outlaw's skull.

Salazar had felt deeply satisfied when he pushed his knife into his victim's brain. It would send a message to the President of the Grim Bastards; that siding with SAMCRO and taking Calvarez work was hazardous to one's health.

His VP stepped in front of him, halting his triumphant stride to join his woman at the table. "What took you so long, esse? Alvarez has asked about you and the SAA all morning!"

"You sound like an old woman!" Salazar hissed, staring insolently over the VP's shoulder at Alvarez' back. The Mayans leader was standing with a group of his officers.

One of the Mayans noticed Salazar looking at them and said something to Alvarez. The Mayans Prez turned around and stared inquiringly at Salazar. The Calavarez Prez merely nodded at Alvarez before deliberately turning his back on the Mayan leader.

Salazar's VP was horrified at the obvious snub. "Esse! Are you loco?"

"Do not question me!" Salazar hissed angrily. "I don't answer to Alvarez or anyone else!"

The VP refused to back down. "Alvarez wasn't pleased that you weren't here when this started. This event is important for the community. He kept asking where you were!"

"You told him you didn't know, si?" Salazar shoved his VP out of his way.

"Si. Alvaraez wasn't happy with that answer."

"Tough shit! His happiness or lack of it is none of my concern!" Salazar snarled.

"Maybe it should be!" The VP countered softly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been in a nasty mood ever since we voted in favor of patching in with the Mayans."

"Bah! You're a bunch of scared women! Luisa is a better man than most of you!" Salazar spat vehemently.

"That's the other thing. You think we voted to become Mayans to get out from under your joint control. It was never personal, esse. It was business. The Calavarez can't survive on our own. We needed the Mayans, but you've done everything you can to shit on the relationship!"

"We don't need the stinkin' Oakland club to tell us how to run business! We did okay on our own!" Hector reminded his VP.

"You mean you and Luisa did OK. As a club, the Calavarez is a laughingstock. We have no clubhouse, we haven't patched new members in over a year. Sure, you lose the president's seat, but as a whole, we could've gained so much!"

"You talk too much!" Hector replied coldly. "I suggest you shut your mouth before I shut it permanently!"

"That's always your answer, Hector! Kill whoever gets in your way and damn what comes after! What you did this morning is going to come back on all of us, just wait and see!"

"Hah! Like you have the balls to make it happen?" Salazar laughed grimly. "Get outta my sight! You make me sick!"

The VP shook his head and wandered away from Salazar towards the beer vendor. 'Hector is turning muy loco. He's going down, and taking the club down with him!

That same thought was shared by the patched Calavarez sitting at the table. They'd listened intently to the conversation between Prez and VP. Their SAA acted like a zombie. He wouldn't talk about the hit. He merely moaned and tried to find comfort in beer.

All the patched members were upset that Alvarez had denied them the patch over. They'd voted in good faith because they knew to a man that their small club was dying a slow. painful death. Joining the mighty Oakland Latino club gave them hope.

Salazar had fought them tooth and nail, despite the majority vote. He'd made every job Alvarez gave them hard to carry out by short staffing the assignment. Now Pozo was dead at the hands of SAMCRO and the lucrative heroin escort trade had fallen into the hands of their rivals.

The Calavarez were not pleased that Salazar had killed their rival's SAA. That it had been done in the man's own home was appalling. They all felt the same about that action. A cardinal rule with all outlaw MC's was that attacking a rival at his home was off-limits. They had the same reaction that they voiced to their Prez, 'It's like shitting where you eat; it's just not done!'

Salazar had focused that hate filled, rabid gaze on them all and literally dared any one of them to rat him out to Alvarez. "Any one of you macho enough to defy me, go now and do it!" Salazar had taunted them the night before. "I dare you to walk out that door!"

None of the members had moved a muscle. No one ratted a brother, even if the brother was crazier than a rattlesnake. The chances of anyone leaving the house alive at that moment were slim and none. Luisa stood at the back door with the shotgun in her arms, ready to open fire. Salazar stood directly in front of his club with his revolver drawn and pointed at the floor. They'd all heard the ominous 'click' of the safety being unlocked.

The patched Calavarez sneaked looks across the park to Alvarez, waiting to see what he planned to do about the situation. Like their VP, they wondered why Alvarez was allowing Hector to get away with his disrespect.

Alvarez frowned at the blatant public snub he'd received from the Calavarez Prez. Instead of coming directly to him to explain the reason for his tardiness, the Calavarez leader had barely acknowledged Alvarez. Salazar had even dared to turn his back on Alvarez!

"Want me to bring him over?" Alvarez own SAA inquired quietly.

"No. Let him think he's cock of the walk for now. I have a feeling that he's not going to be a problem much longer," Alvarez rumbled. He carefully removed a cigar from the inner pocket of his cut and prepared it for lighting.

"I'll be glad when we're rid of his excrement filled presence!" The SAA spat.

"Soon." Alvarez promised.

"It can't happen soon enough for me!"

'I agree, compadre,' Alvarez mused. 'The times are changin'.'

---

The reporters knew something of interest was about to happen from the music coming out of the sound system. Innocent bubblegum hits from the 60s and 70s had played when they'd first entered Charming Pawse.

The mood music soon changed to songs with political leanings, starting with the Alice Cooper classic and continuing with Kid Rock, John Mellencamp, CSN, Buffalo Springfield, Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan.

Though they appeared to Alex as if they didn't catch on to his wife's musical message, it was making an impact with them. They had already read the petition that was strategically placed throughout the coffeehouse.

The petitions gave more validity to the email the 'concerned Charming citizen' had sent their respective stations. Most of the reporters' mouths were salivating like Pavlov's dogs after the bell rung.

When 'The Times They Are A - Changin'.' came on, Windover knew Cat and Tig would soon make their appearance. He casually wandered over to his camera operator. He was standing close to the platform and had an unobscured view of the back entrance.

"Keep your eyes open and the camera ready," he instructed softly. "I suspect they're goingto come out soon."

"I'm on it!" the camera operator grinned. He held the mini cam in a casual manner. Windover knew he'd be ready to roll at a moment's notice.

Cat took a deep breath and stepped forward until she was right in the doorway. She paused a moment, then moved forward again, holding her arms and legs as stiff as possible. She walked as if she were fighting something - or someone - controlling her.

Tig followed right behind, holding a pair of wooden crossbeams above her head. The crossbeams had strings attached to them that were tied to Cat's wrists and ankles.

The initial shocked gasp that met the couple's appearance quickly died from the forbidding expression on Tig's face. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but it was clear that he was daring the reporters to question or criticize the way he was treating his woman.

Windover immediately recognized the symbolism. 'Cat's playing up to the main complaint anyone could wage against her campaign! This might even make a good commercial!'

The competition's cameras came to life to record her slow progress to the area where the reporters waited. As they neared the platform that was permanently set up for the special programs, Alex raised one of the cross beams even with the top of his head.

Cat's raised the hand and foot attached to that crossbeam the second she felt the tension on the twine. She made sure her appendages moved as jerkily as possible, to enhance the charade.

As Alex manipulated the crossbeam, Cat reluctantly lowered her foot onto the platform. She gave a good show of fighting against having her limbs manipulated. Not to be outdone, Tig acted ruthlessly in forcing her compliance. He lifted his knee and set it against her bottom, making it look like he was pushing her towards the front of the platform.

Though he barely touched her rump, he forgot to take into consideration just how weak and unsteady she was on her feet. The light impact sent her stumbling forward. She would've fallen right into the crowd of reporters had Alex not pulled up and back on the cross beams. The pull of the twine kept her from falling, but also cut into her wrists and ankles, making her yelp with pain.

'I'm sorry, baby! I didn't want ya to fall over and hurt yourself any worse!'

Cat turned her body slightly so that her good eye was hidden from the view of the reporters and camera operators. She held her body rigid, as if she were glaring angrily at the biker. She peered over her shades at him and winked saucily. "No harm done," she mouthed to him.

"You go girl! Show him who's really boss!" Windover called out encouragingly. It was shouted on the spur of the moment. He felt it would dispel any suspicions his comrades might have about his ongoing silence.

Cat grinned at her husband, who stared intently at the reporter. He stared at the reporter over his sunglasses in perfect imitation of his wife. His expression plainly promised mayhem if the reporter continued talking in that manner.

Windover made a gesture with his hands to show he wasn't really scared of the biker. 'Good thing he knows I'm on their side!'

"Take it easy, love!" Cat mouthed at him. "He's just kiddin' y'all!"

Alex fought to keep from grinning back at her. 'Those asshats are eatin' this up!' He manipulated the cross beams to make her body turn back to face the reporters.

The other reporters appeared shocked and dismayed by the way Tig manhandled her via the crossbeams. It made them very uncomfortable to see her being treated so disrespectfully by someone she was married to.

The only people who hadn't been reeled in by their act were Cat's employees, and the Channel 2 team. 'Looks like Tig is really enjoying his part!' Windover mused to himself. 'He's certainly making it look real.'

The same thought was going through Cat's mind, as Alex joined her on the platform. "Don't get too used to this, cowboy!" she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

He leaned his face close to hers. He displayed the same forbidding expression to the reporters, but his voice was filled with laughter. "It's damn tempting, woman!" he whispered.

"Just as long as it stays that way!" she retorted.

Tig moved the crossbeams into one hand and held the wood pieces high over Cat's head, taking up as much slack as possible. 'Cat's smart enough not to move if she feels the twine pull on her, but there's always a chance one of those fucktwats will notice. They might not be as dumb as I think they are!'

He stepped to one side so the group had a clear view of the action. A gasp went up from the crowd when he withdrew his wicked looking knife from its belt holster. He held it aloft in one hand, making it look as if he intended to use it on his woman.

Cat stood silent and as erect as her injuries allowed. Inwardly, she was shaking from fatigue, but it was important that she not let the cameras capture her weakness during this critical moment. She stared straight ahead at the reporters, her expression calm in the face of apparent danger.

The song had reached the instrumental bridge, which meant Pete would switch over to the Andrews Sisters song. That should let the reporters know the whole scene was a sham.

"Is he nuts?" The Channel 59 reporter cried out. "He's gonna kill her right in front of us!"

"Makes for a killer lead story!" The San Joaquin Chronicle/Tribune journalist quipped.

Alex cringed inwardly at the sick joke. 'And those same asshats think I'm a whack job!' He glared at the print reporter, then brought the knife down in a slicing motion.

Instead of cutting into the black clad woman, the knife cleanly cut the strings from the wooden cross beams held over her head. He tossed the cross beams onto the platform with a derisive snort.

Pete was watching them from the doorway. He was supposed to change the music from Blue Oyster Cult to the swing version of 'I've Got No Strings' as soon as Alex removed his knife from its holster. A slight shake of the outlaw's head stalled Pete's move, so that the rock song continued as the cross beams fell clattering to the platform.

Cat began clawing at the twine tied to her injured arm as Alex squatted in front of her to cut the twine from her ankles. He looked up at her with a grin and mouthed, "I've got an idea! Just follow my lead, baby!"

'I don't know what he's up to, but it's makin' for some damn good theatre. They're eatin' this up!' She inclined her head just enough that he'd know she heard and understood him. 'Guess I'll just play whatever hand he deals.'

The instrumental interlude to the Blue Oyster Cult track began. Alex rose fluidly from his crouch until he was standing erect. He took a step away and to her right. His hand that was hidden from the reporters indicated she should follow his move.

Cat turned as he instructed, turning her head a little further over her shoulder. He signaled her to hold that pose as he continued to move around her. "Stay put, baby," he mouthed again. His reassuring wink was also hidden from the press.

'Ah ha!' She grinned to herself, careful to keep her outer expression from giving them away. 'I think I know where he's goin' with this!'

Alex continued to glide slowly around her until he stood behind and slightly to her left. Without warning, his hand shot out from behind her and grasped her throat as if he intended to choke her. The move was almost an exact copy of one he'd seen Gerard Butler perform in the movie version of 'Phantom of the Opera' during the final minutes.

'Somethin' good had to come outta her watchin' that damn movie every time it's on the tube!' He mused to himself, taking her good hand in his and entwining his fingers with hers. He slowly pulled their joined hands up from her hip and over her breast to meet with the hand that held her by the throat.

'Damn! She's as cold as ice!' He didn't let the reporters see his surprise and concern over that discovery. He could feel her trembling in his arms, but for once didn't believe he was the cause for it.

"That's enough!" The radio reporter yelled, moving toward the platform. It was obvious from his expression that he intended to rescue Cat from the outlaw's clutches.

"Stand back!" She ordered calmly, leaning her head against Alex's shoulder and closing her eye in bliss. Her good hand was entwined with his. The left side of her neck was visible above his bronzed hand, as if she were inviting him to help himself to her blood. "All y'all don't see me strugglin' to get away, do you?" she added quietly.

Alex's hand caressed her throat, his long fingers moving gracefully along the back of her neck to entangle themselves in her hair. "Yeah! Keep your damn distance!" He growled menacingly at the reporter.

The two men exchanged glares until the reporter decided discretion was the better part of valor. He retreated a few steps to rejoin his colleagues.

Alex's hand continued to stroke her hair while he released her hold on his other hand to slide it across her chest. His hand rested on her shoulder, so that his arm was wrapped around her and lay just between her breasts and shoulders.

He glared at the assembled group over his sunglasses. "There's no way I'd ever hurt this woman! She's not a God damn puppet; she's my wife!"

He held her close, supporting her trembling body with his. He was nearly holding her upright, but none of the journalists could tell. He gently nuzzled her neck while the physical contact resulted in the inevitable physical reaction from him.

Pete knew without being told it was time to change the music. He quickly flipped the source from 'CD' to 'cassette'. Trumpets blared an intro, followed by the Andrews Sisters' version of the Pinocchio movie song.

The reporters and camera operators visibly relaxed as they realized the couple had been play acting all along. A few even applauded. The only reporter who remained unappreciative of their efforts was the one from Channel 10. She stood with her arms crossed and a fierce frown of disapproval on her face.

"I think we scored big time, baby," Alex whispered in her ear.

"That's not the only big thing around here," she murmured back. They maintained that tableau until the Andrews Sisters had completed a chorus of the song, then the sound system suddenly went silent.

Cat opened her eyes and lifted her head from the comfort of Alex's shoulder. She looked around the room at the journalists, then carefully removed the leather portfolio from her sling.

"For those of you who don't know me, my full name is Cat Marshall McLaughlin Trager. Up until now, I went by my maiden name of Cat Marshall. I have a statement, and would appreciate it if all y'all would hold your questions until I'm done. Are we in agreement?"

A few heads bobbed in affirmation as murmurs of assent rumbled from the group.

"Yeah, right!" Alex muttered behind her. He was surprised that she had the strength to speak so firmly to the group. His considerable admiration for her increased.

His breath tickled her ear, but she managed to keep a straight face. It was difficult enough for her to concentrate on the task at hand while he was pressing his erection against her back-end.

Drawing on her reserves, Cat ignored the distraction to continue, "Tig and I have been married for a few months. We intended to formally come out once my candidacy for City Council became official. Obviously, someone decided to let the cat out of the bag a little early - no pun intended."

"Why keep your marriage a secret in the first place?" Channel 10's reporter interjected in a snide tone.

"Told ya!" Alex snickered.

Cat rolled her eyes and turned her gaze on the woman reporter. "I was gettin' to that, had y'all not so rudely interrupted," she drawled sweetly.

The Channel 10 reporter flushed from embarrassment. She wasn't used to being called out in public for her behavior. She definitely didn't like having the person she was questioning comment on her behavior in front of her peers.

"Hah! That's a lot comin' from someone hiding behind a pair of sunglasses! Your 'husband' removed his, why can't you?"

Cat pulled her sunglasses forward just enough to fix 'the look' with her one good eye on the reporter. "I have a documented problem with light sensitivity, dear. But if it makes y'all feel better to see the whites of my eyes, I'm willin' to put up with some discomfort!"

"The Hell you will!" Tig snarled. "You are not gonna hurt yourself to satisfy them!"

"He's right, Mrs. Trager. You don't have to cause yourself any further pain for our benefit," Windover encouraged.

She pushed the sunglasses up in place and stated, As all y'all are aware, Tig is a member of the local motorcycle club. Though some unkind people insist on referrin' to them as a gang, they're co - workers who are Harley enthusiasts and ride together."

'Man, they are gonna tear her apart for that!' Alex groaned inwardly. That was not part of the statement he'd read earlier. "What the Hell are ya doin', baby?" He whispered in her ear.

"Relax, love," she murmured so softly that he barely heard her.

He gently squeezed her upper arm to show he'd heard her. He remained ready to protect her if the need arose. 'I've got a bad feelin' about this!'

A loud bleat of disbelieving laughter ran through the reporters, led by the one from Channel 10, who scathingly added, "C'mon now, Ms. Trager! After all that fuss with the Mayans and Ethan Zobelle a few days ago, you can't really ask us to buy that!"

Cat stared intently at the woman. The reporter returned her stare with a condescending sneer. 'Let's see her get out of this one!' The reporter thought vindictively.

"I'm not askin' all y'all to buy anything - except coffee and confections!" Cat replied.

The other reporters laughed while the Channel 10 reporter's face darkened with rage. Adrian made a 'be my guest' gesture at the refrigerated display case and added, "This operator is standing by to take your orders!"

Cat shook her head admonishingly at him. She inwardly appreciated his support, but she didn't want to agitate the female reporter any more than was necessary.

Adrian popped off a cocky salute. When Tig turned his attention on the errant employee, Adrian suddenly found something behind the counter to occupy him.

"And what about that - that - whatever it was you two just performed?" The female reporter pressed.

"Obviously, it showed why I made my choice. That same kind of attitude that had all y'all thinkin' Tig was gonna harm me just a bit ago made me think about reality. There are some very infamous gangs out there that consider the Sons an enemy for some reason. So, to keep them from usin' me to get at Tig, I decided it'd be better if we perpetuated the idea that we were just livin' together."

A rumble of approval moved through the group. The skit she had performed with Alex had indeed led them to think the worse of him. Some of them, including the radio reporter, actually looked embarrassed for their mistaken first judgment.

She closed her eye and took a deep breath. She was still leaning against Alex for physical support to keep herself from falling. He tightened his one armed embrace, leaning into her to give all the support he could.

"Wanna sit down, baby?" he whispered. 'That tremblin's gettin' worse. She doesn't have to put herself through this for those fucktards!'

She shook her head and continued addressing the reporters. "I'd like to hope the votin' public has enough sense to look at all the facts. 'Charmin' Pawse' is unique compared to locally owned shops and national chains."

"That's true!" The Channel 10 reporter sniped. "It's not every coffeehouse that turns over 30% of the gross to a gang of bikers!"

Windover glanced at his notes in surprise. That wasn't part of the print out Pesta had given him! 'That rotten son of a bitch held out on me!'

His raised his eyes to meet Cat's gaze. He could tell she was just as surprised by that revelation as he was.

Tig's felt murderous. 'Who the fuck let that out? The only people who knew were the club, Cat, and her employees! There's no way Zobelle could've used his Fed contacts to get that intel!'

Windover misinterpreted Tig's expression to mean that he personally had some explaining to do to the volatile biker. 'He thinks I held out on them! From the way he's lookin' at me, I'm dead meat!'

Cat sighed in exasperation. "Why do you persist in referrin' to my husband's ridin' group as a gang? Didn't I tell you they're a club?"

"Whatever!" Channel 10's reporter sneered, leaning forward to deliver what she considered a killing blow. "Care to explain why your husband's club is taking so much from your business? Is it protection money?"

"Apparently whoever sent all y'all that tip about our marriage passed along some bad intel. Is there a law that says I can't give my husband a stake in my business as a weddin' present? I certainly don't object to his sharin' it with his friends!"

"None that I know of," the Channel 59 reporter replied.

"Guess that takes the wind out of her sails!" the radio reporter laughed unkindly.

"Give her a break, guys," Cat admonished them. "She had a tip and she acted on it. Not her fault the tipster led her down a primrose path! I'm sure all y'all wouldn't appreciate it if the shoe was on yer own feet." She glanced at the seething Channel 10 representatives then looked out at the other reporters.

"Why should the events that happened on Main Street a few days ago make SAMCRO the bad guys?" she challenged. "Is it because they wear three patches on the back of their vests and carry knives? Aren't they entitled to stand up to a bunch of bullies like Zobelle and the Mayans?"

'Oh, man! I hope that doesn't see the light of day!' Tig moaned inwardly. 'I don't think Alvarez would like to be referred to as a bully!'

The reporters looked at each other, then back at her. When they considered the situation using her logic, they couldn't find fault with her questions. They couldn't even come up with an answer.

"Perhaps all y'all need a little reminder of what kind of person was brought to our little community," she continued. Slowly and deliberately, she slipped her wounded arm out of the sling and pulled up her sleeve to show the cast protecting her arm. Then she removed her dark glasses to reveal her bandaged eye and the bruising around her eyes and nose that made her look like she wore a mask. She squinted in the bright light shining on her from the plate-glass window.

All the reporters, including Windover and the woman from Channel 10, gasped in unison at the sight of her injuries. "Oh my God!" The female whispered.

Cat pointed at her face, locking eyes with the reporters. "I don't think it's necessary to remind all y'all that Zobelle's right hand man, AJ Weston, along with a couple of LOAN goons caused this. Payback for my organizin' the peace rally." She allowed the camera operators to get a few seconds of footage of her injuries. Then she replaced her dark glasses over her eyes, covering the bandage and the worst of the bruises.

"My business venture has given back to this community from the very beginnin'. We have weekly movie and talent nights and sponsor many charitable events, including many of the Sons' charity rides. We support the local humane society, and give the community a place where they can hang out as long as they want.

"The bottom line is that Charmin's gonna be in a fix if the person I chose to share my life with makes them decide I'm not fit to serve on the council!"

"What makes you say that, Mrs. Trager?" inquired the print reporter.

"He's not declared his intention yet, but it's well-known around town that a certain local land baron has aspirations for the mayor's office. He's tried to run the city from his place on the city council, along with his cronies."

"So you're running to keep the city council from being a potential rubber stamp should that undeclared candidate win the election," the radio reporter observed.

"Precisely. One of his cronies is up for re-election this year. If he wins and the land baron gets the mayor's office, Charmin' won't be able to live up to its' name!"

Cat was worn out and in a lot of pain. She was determined to end on a strong note. She appreciated Alex's physical and emotional support more than ever. "When it comes to havin' a low opinion of someone based solely on who they associate with," she declared in a strong, firm voice, "let us not forget who invited LOAN and Zobelle to our town in the first place."

"Way to go, baby!" Alex crooned proudly in her ear. He moaned inwardly as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Bobby was calling in on the prepaid. 'This can't be good.' He squeezed her shoulder and whispered, "I gotta take this call, baby. Ya gonna be a'right?"

"Go. I'll be fine," she murmured softly.

Alex reluctantly stepped off the platform and stalked to the back area. He held the phone against his ear and growled, "Hold on a minute!"He stormed past Pete, who had operated the digital camera from his post at the entry. He shook his head at Pete's inquiring expression and continued into Cat's office. He knew he'd be able to conduct a conversation without anyone else listening in.

---

Salazar looked around the park for his woman. He knew she was somewhere in the area; he'd seen her parked red Camaro while he parked his bike. His eyes lit up with warmth when he finally spotted Luisa. She was sitting at a picnic table with some of the other Calavarez old ladies. While she appeared engrossed in the conversation around her, Hector knew she'd been watching eagerly for him to arrive.

A rush of renewed anger surged through him at the sight of the bruises on her face. 'I'll kill that giipollas' for layin' a hand on her!' His hatred for the Charming MC burned hot. Murdering the Grim Bastard's SAA had done nothing to extinguish the blaze.

Luisa didn't bother to try to use makeup to hide the marks. She wore them like a badge of honor to prove she really had stood up to the Sons just a few days ago. She was quick to tell anyone who asked that SAMCRO's VP had been responsible for the bruises. She spoke of it with an unshakable vehemence. She made Hector proud that she didn't cower in a corner after the SAMCRO VP had hit her.

The bruises were not the only thing that made Luisa different from other women he'd known. She was tough, that one. She could shoot straighter than many men, and was just as ruthless. 'If she were a man, she'd make a great Sergeant at Arms! But I like her better as my woman!" She'd only gotten a brief glimpse of the men who were trashing her house and beating her man, but that glimpse included their cuts. She would never forget the face of the man who'd hit her in the face, knocking her unconscious. His cut identified him as SAMCRO's VP.

Luisa regained consciousness to a messy home and a missing Hector. She knew SAMCRO had forcibly removed him from the house. She worried that they had somehow managed to link him to the drive by at the funeral home. She set about cleaning the mess the intruders had left and was nearly finished when she heard the roar of twin Harley engines approaching the house.

The visitors weren't any of the Calavarez; the club had a hard and fast rule that was obeyed without fail. The men were to call before they visited, even if it was for a club meeting because the house she shared with Hector was also the club's meeting place.

The approaching motorcycles warned Luisa that the same banda that had taken Hector away was returning. She wondered if they might be coming back for her and prepared to prevent that from happening. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers. She grabbed the shotgun and sped outside to meet the visitors. The Harleys were tailing a dark GMC van. She instantly recognized one of the riders as the blond who'd knocked her out.

She raised the shotgun to her shoulder and prepared to fire at him. The two Harleys sped up and pulled to the side of the van, using it as rolling cover.

"Maldito!" She hissed, centering her aim on the van. If she couldn't shoot the blond biker, she'd settle for hitting the van's passenger or driver through the window.

Instead of slowing down and stopping, the van continued racing past the house. She was ready to pull the trigger when the back door of the van flew open and a body flew from it onto the ground. The van and the motorcycles sped away, leaving a cloud of dust behind them. Luisa ran carefully to the still body lying on the ground. Her caution was instinctive; she wouldn't put it past the Sons not to have booby trapped her man's body.

"Hector! Are you a'right?" She called.

Hector moaned and rolled over onto his back, spitting dust and gravel out of his mouth. "I'm safe," he croaked.

She crawled up next to him, nervously looking for signs of bullet wounds. "Yeah, you look it," she replied. "Can you stand?"

"Si," Hector struggled to his feet with Luisa's help. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of piss. He was sweaty, bloody, and encrusted with dirt from neck to foot.

"What did they do to you, Hector?" She cried angrily.

"Buried me up to my chin in a hole. Tried to make me talk," he grated, shuffling to the front of the house.

"You're not comin' into my house in that condition!" Luisa retorted. She propped the shotgun against the outer wall and led him to the side of the house where the garden hose was coiled like a large green snake. She unrolled it and turned on the water. It was cold and gave Salazar quite a shock when it hit him.

"Dammit, chula! Ease up on the pressure!" He sputtered.

"I will once you're clean!" She replied laughingly. "Ya might as well strip while you're at it. You're not drippin' water through the house!"

"I'll drip water whether I'm dressed or not, Luisa!"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, though there was a hint of merriment in them now that the danger was past. "That might be, but you'll drip less with no clothes on!"

Salazar did as she instructed, peeling the wet, filthy garments from his body. He held his arms out to his sides so Luisa could rinse the worse of the grime from his body.

"Brrr! That shit's cold!" He whimpered.

"I notice," she laughed, eyeing his crotch.

"You'll pay for that, woman!" he growled mockingly. His laughter died as he really looked at her face, and took in the ugly bruising on her nose and face. "That mierda del talon hit you!"

"It's a'right, Hector!" she assured him. "It barely hurts!"

"Toro mierda!" he spat. "I'll kill that hijo de puta!"

"Time for that later, Hector. For now, we take care of us, then we make our plans to take care of those hijos de putas!"

Salazar accepted the towel she handed him and stormed into the house. She'd already cleaned up the mess the Sons had made when they'd rushed Salazar earlier to gain entry. After he'd bathed and Luisa had tended and bandaged his cuts, they'd sat down and talked.

He didn't tell her everything that had happened. He couldn't tell her that he'd been weak and ratted out the Mayans. Luisa meant everything to him and he knew she'd be disappointed in him for being weak. His machismo had taken enough of a beating that day.

Luisa felt his fond gaze on her and looked up at him. Her smile radiated across the park to bathe him in its warmth. He nodded slightly to let her know his 'errand' had been successful. She inclined her head slightly and returned to her conversation.

On the outside, Luisa looked as cool as a cucumber. She laughed and chatted with the other Calavarez old ladies. Inside, a knot of worry had gathered in her stomach. Killing the Grim Bastards' officer was a big gamble for Hector to take. 'If it goes wrong, it could him cost everything!' She mused. 'And if Alvarez ever finds out he was responsible, he'll be dead and I'll lose everything!'

Luisa's relationship with Hector was not the usual that most women in the MC life enjoyed. Luisa had an intimate knowledge of Calavarez business. She knew everything that went on with the club, she was its' matriarch, and she ruled alongside Hector with an iron fist. None of the patched Calavarez dared complain. Luisa was known to retaliate as forcefully as Hector. They demanded unswerving loyalty and held on to it any way they could.

When Hector had told Luisa of the summit that resulted in the hit on Pozo and the loss of the heroin protection job, Luisa had been heartily in favor of retaliation. She'd wanted to go after SAMCRO, but Hector had opted for the more subtle message used on the Grim Bastards.

"Alvarez and SAMCRO killed one of ours, so we take one of theirs in return!" He announced. She wasn't sanguine about killing a member of the Grim Bastards to get back at Alvarez and SAMCRO. 'Why go after a tadpole when you can go after the biggest fish?'

To Salazar, the logic was simple. The Grim Bastards had taken money out of his club's coffers by taking over the work originally assigned to the Calavarez. Therefore, the Grim Bastards were the ones to pay by spilled blood for crossing the MC. 'If that results in a war with the nigras, so be it!'

Luisa wanted nothing more than to run to Hector to learn the details about the morning's hit. She reminded herself there was a time and place for everything, and now was not the best time. She hoped it wouldn't take all day for her man to brief her.

---

Kozik glanced fondly down at the blond head resting on his thigh. Ima had cried herself to sleep with her head pillowed against his shoulder. When it became clear she was in a deep slumber, he made her more comfortable by maneuvering her body on the cushions until she was lying on her side and using his leg as a pillow. He really liked the non sexual, physical contact with her. One hand held the TV remote control so he could flip from the game he was watching to an interesting movie. The other hand was buried in the silky strands of her hair, fragrant with an exotic scent from her shampoo.

He could easily envision what it would be like to bury both hands in that wealth of golden silk while they were pleasuring each other. Thinking of that led him to think of other sensations he'd really like to experience with Ima. 'Easy boy!' he chided himself. 'She may be a porn star, but she's still a person and deserves to be treated a little nicer than she's gotten lately!'

Kozik would've been content to stay on the sofa all day watching television, sipping the occasional beer, and having Ima asleep beside him. Sadly, that couldn't last very long. The beer he'd consumed had other ideas, and he started to get a very urgent message from his bladder. He didn't want to disturb Ima, but it had gotten to the point where he really needed to use the head or wind up subjecting them both to a rather unpleasant event.

Kozik slid his hand under Ima's head, cradling it in place while he slid his leg away and placed a pillow under her head. He gingerly stood up and hurried to the necessary, unbuckling his belt on the run. A few minutes later, Kozik returned from the restroom to find that Ima hadn't stirred during his absence. 'Poor kid! Can't blame her for feelin' wiped out!'

He considered getting another beer, but didn't want another repeat performance. One close call was enough. He settled on the sofa, sitting as close as he could to Ima without disturbing her.

About an hour after his run to the necessary, Ima stirred awake. She yawned and stretched, gasping in shock when her outstretched hand struck warm, solid skin. 'Jax?' She thought sleepily before reality crashed the small hope that had flared to life.

Kozik lifted his chin just as Ima began to stretch, so that her long, manicured nails grazed hit his cheek instead of poking out his eye. "Owtch! Take it easy, honey!" Kozik laughed. "I'm not a pincushion!"

"Oh! I'm sorry!" she spluttered.

"I'm not," he grinned. "Have a good sleep?"

"I guess so," she shrugged. "I hope you weren't bored."

"No way! I liked watchin' ya sleep. The TV kept me company."

She sat up while her face flushed from embarrassment. Not only had she fallen asleep on him, but she'd fallen asleep on him! "Guess I really needed that," she murmured apologetically.

"Baby, ya don't have to apologize to me!" Kozik assured her. "This is your house, if ya wanna fall asleep, you fall asleep. I'd be a real asshole to get offended."

'That's true,' Ima agreed. Aloud she protested, "But it's just not a very nice way to treat a guest."

"No offense meant, none taken," he assured her with a grin.

Ima glanced out the corner of her eye at him. The Tacoma SAA was everything Jax wasn't. She liked his smile and the way he didn't seem to take himself so seriously. Where Jax seemed quick to anger, this man was easy-going and relaxed. 'He's sergeant at arms for the Tacoma charter, so he obviously knows how to kick ass. He seems less intense than the local boys. I like that.'

"Cheek still tender?" Kozik inquired.

She reached up to tentatively touch the area that Lyla had slapped. It felt warm to her fingers and her light touch smarted. "Ouch!" she hissed.

"That answers that question! I've seen Lyla around. For a small gal, she sure seems able to pack a wallop!"

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"Keep icin' it down, that'll help! I oughta know!" he pointed to his own facial injuries.

"Who used you for a punching bag?"

"Tig."

"Did he do all that damage?" Ima gasped.

"Nah. Got some of it from the fight with Weston's bunch at Timberland," Kozik shrugged. "The beef with Tig's been a long runnin' feud. This time around, I was mad 'cause he voted against my transfer. I didn't know he'd had a gunshot wound to his shoulder when I hit him there, so we mopped the floor with each other. He even bit me!"

Ima's eyes widened with surprise. "Tig got shot?"

"Yeah, found out about it after we'd exchanged blows. Happened while he was in Oregon with Gem," Kozik explained.

'Did I say the local boys are intense?' Ima shook her head. "Wonder what his old lady had to say about you two fighting?"

"He was all cleaned up the next time I saw him," Kozik replied. "Guess she's used to patchin' him up."

"Didn't anybody see to your wounds?"

He shrugged again, though he inwardly appreciated her concern for him. "Nah, I patched myself up."

"You didn't do a very good job of it," she noted.

"Sorta hard to do in a mirror," he replied.

Ima stood up and grabbed his hand, pulling him from the couch.

"Where we goin'?" Kozik half hoped she was leading him to the bedroom so they could get to know each other better.

"My bathroom. Your wounds could use a little more care," she explained.

He allowed her to guide him through the living room and on into her bedroom. He only got a glimpse of it as she propelled him on into the bathroom.

Ima's bedroom was decorated in light pastels that invoked a peaceful respite from the world. The furniture in the bedroom, like the rest of the apartment, was of good quality. A large four poster bed occupied the center of the room, with a comfortable chaise lounge to one side, a large bureau on the other, and a door that must've led to a closet.

Ima led him into the bathroom and pushed him onto the closed commode seat. She didn't speak as she gathered the materials she'd need, which she placed on the counter.

"Don't bother with bandages, baby. They're not that bad," he assured her, enjoying the way her body moved as she reached into the medicine cabinet and laid items on the counter. He'd most enjoyed the warmth of her hand in his when she'd led him to the bathroom.

"Let me be the judge of that," she replied, moistening a cotton pad with hydrogen peroxide. She stepped close to him and dabbed the wet gauze against the abrasions around his eye.

Kozik hissed from the unexpected coldness of the liquid.

"I'm sorry! It's not supposed to sting!" she cried, snatching the pad from his face. She winced at the blood and dirt the pad had collected from her brief ministration to his wound.

"It didn't, baby," he assured her. "It's cold! Kinda caught me off guard."

She tossed the used pad in the plastic lined trash can, then soaked another piece of gauze in peroxide. She blew on the pad to warm it.

'Wow! She's tryin' to make it comfortable for me! Been a long time since anyone gave a damn about that!' He reached out to gently grasp her hand, bringing it to his head where the worst of the wounds were. "It's OK, baby. I'm tough. I can take a little cold in liquid form."

Ima felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach she'd only felt when she was near Jax. She felt heat radiating from Kozik as she gently dabbed the skin around his eye. She cleared her throat, but couldn't think of anything to say.

"You've got a gentle touch," Kozik murmured, feeling a little light in the stomach himself. There was plenty of warmth radiating from the slim form standing next to him.

Her breasts hovered temptingly in front of his mouth, the nipples pushed against the fleece of her sweatshirt. It took every ounce of willpower Kozik possessed to keep not place his mouth right smack on one the plump globes and suckle on that maddening peak.

Ima's nipples hardened from his close, heavy-lidded examination of her breasts. The fabric of her fleece sweatshirt tented over the hardened peaks. She was finding the whole operation highly erotic.

"That feels good, what you're doin', baby," Kozik encouraged softly. "Kinda nice to have someone nursin' me."

"I've played a nurse a time or two," she croaked huskily. "Guess I was bound to pick up a little technical knowledge."

Kozik planted his hands on her waist, drawing Ima closer to him. He waited to guage her reaction, feeling encouraged when she didn't try to squirm out of his embrace or protest. He pulled her onto his lap so their faces were on a level.

"I imagine you're very good at givin' a man comfort," he replied, allowing his hands to travel slowly from her waist to her shoulders.

Ima shivered with delight at his touch. His hands were warm and tender. His eyes were focused solely on her, not on some point on the wall beyond her. Another difference between the SAMCRO VP and himself. 'I don't recall Jax ever really lookingat me.'

She shivered some more when his hands moved from her shoulders up along her neck and into her hair. Kozik gently released the pony tail, allowing her hair to fall free while his hands immersed themselves in the silky smoothness of her golden tresses.

'Just as I imagined! LIke warm, liquid gold! A good feelin'. Wonder what the rest of her feels like?'

Ima's hands lay flat against his chest. She'd completely forgotten about tending to his facial wounds. Next thing she knew, Kozik's lips found hers, and brushed them very lightly.

The first kiss felt like butterfly wings brushing against her lips. "That's nice. You taste sweet," he murmured, tasting her lips again. The second kiss was longer and deeper, more demanding. He feasted on her sweetness while she took a tentative taste of her own.

Ima surrendered and relaxed in his embrace, returning the kiss with eagerness. She liked his taste, tobacco mixed with the rice wine. His manly scent, soap mixed with the outdoors he rode in and either Old Spice or Right Guard - she wasn't sure which - wasn't overpowering. She wasn't sure where this encounter might lead, but she was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

---

Before any of the reporters could ask about Alex's abrupt departure, Cat shifted their attention back to her. "Anyone got any questions about my intention to run for office? Or my marital status? Anything else is not on the table for discussion!"

"So you're punking out about the nature of your husband's phone call?" The Channel 10 reporter sneered. "Judging from the way he slunk away from us, it's likely has something to do with that gang of bikers anyway!"

"Apparently y'all weren't listenin' the first time. Kindly do not refer to Tig's club as a gang in my presence!"

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," the female reporter retorted. "But face facts! How many legitimate 'clubs' have out-of-state charters?" the female reporter retorted hotly. "If they're 'just' motorcycle buffs who work together, why are there also 'Sons of Anarchy' in Oregon, Washington, and Arizona?"

'Y'all forgot Nevada and Belfast! So much for your intel!' Cat decided the best defense was to answer the question with a perfectly good one of her own. "I don't see the problem," she calmly replied. "After all, there's an awful lot of fan clubs that have 'charters' in multiple states. Some are international. Does that make them bad guys?"

Windover admired Cat's quick thinking. "I don't know why that gal has a wild hair up her ass about SAMCRO. Whatever the reason, Cat's doing a good job fending her off.' He felt he should start throwing a few hard pitch questions of his own lest his colleagues get suspicious.

He held up his hand and waited for Cat to acknowledge him. "Mrs. Trager, you have to admit that their vests resemble those worn by outlaw biker gangs. Those three-piece patches are exactly like those worn by one percenters!"

"Is that a question, darlin'?" she drawled lightly. "Didn't sound like it, but I'll answer it anyway. I'm a lone wolf rider. Have no affiliations with any clubs or groups - and I have a ridin' vest, too. It has three patches on the back."

"What's that got to do with the price of coffee in Charming?" The Channel 10 reporter sneered.

"Yo, Adrian!" she called out to her employee.

He looked up from industriously cleaning the already shining counter. "Yo!"

"Would y'all mind runnin' to the garage and gettin' my vest for me? I'd like to show the members of the fourth estate somethin'."

"Be back in a jif, Miss Cat!" he darted past Pete and ran out the back door of the coffeehouse. He returned a few moments later with her riding vest.

She slipped her leather portfolio in the sling and took one side of the leather jacket in her good hand. Adrian held up the other end. They displayed the front of the vest first. Cat pointed out the various pins she'd attached to each side'. The pins reflected her love for felines, the Phantom of the Opera, Yamaha motorcycles, IU basketball, Cubs baseball, and some other interests.

One particular pin caught the Channel 10 reporter's eye. "Hmpf! How ironic that someone who claims to be against bigotry wears a symbol of the KKK!"

Cat and Adrian exchanged questioning glances at each other. "What the Hell are y'all talkin' about? What KKK symbol?"

The Channel 10 reporter indicated the small cross and flame pin on the riding vest. "That pin right there. Doesn't the KKK burn crosses?"

Cat rolled her good eye to the Heavens. In all her years of life as a United Methodist minister's daughter, it had never occurred to her that anyone would ever associate that emblem with such an evil group.

The print reporter turned an incredulous glare on the female telejournalist. "You've got to be kidding, lady! That's not a symbol for the Klan! That's the world - wide symbol for the United Methodist Church!"

"Yeah, I remember seeing that on a church sign as we came into town," the Channel 59 reporter added.

"Why wear such a thing on a riding vest, then?" the Channel 10 reporter queried.

"Because my vest reflects what interests me," Cat explained earnestly. "The United Methodist church was a big part of my life; I'm a preacher's kid, so I wear that pin in honor of my father."

"That's very nice, but I don't get the connection between all those pins and the Sons of Anarchy," the radio reporter mused.

She nodded at Adrian, and they turned the vest around to display the back. Right in the center of the vest rested the Charming Pawse logo. Above and below were homemade patches with the coffehouse name and city spelled out in script letters. "Remind all y'all of anything?" She smirked. The camera operators scrambled to get a close up of the vest and patches. A quick flash that made Cat's eyes water erupted from the print reporter's camera.

"I've been wearin' this vest for months, and have yet to have anyone accuse me of bein' an outlaw!" She remarked.

"Oh, puh - leeze!" The Channel 10 reporter sniped. "There's a difference between you advertising your business and the patches that 'club' wears!"

"Y'know, lady, I've just about had my fillof your attitude!" Cat growled wearily. She was hurting more than ever. Her mouth was dry and she was cold, despite the long coat she wore. "I'm gonna be brutally honest with y'all, darlin', I'm too tired and sore to engage in a battle of wits with you. My current physical condition still gives me an unfair advantage over you."

The other reporters snickered as the woman reporter's cheeks turned beet red from embarrassment. "What have you got against me, Mrs. Trager?" She whined.

"What do you mean?"

"One minute you're picking on me, then you stand up for me against the guys, then you go back to taunting me!" the female reporter sniffled.

'Wendy Whiner lives!' Cat moaned inwardly, thinking of the old 'Saturday Night Live' character. The woman's voice sounded like nails scraping a chalkboard. "I'm not pickin' on y'all, darlin'. Y'all just need to realize ya need to act like an adult in an interview situation instead of like an asshole."

"She's got a point," The radio reporter murmured. "We're damn lucky Ms. Trager hasn't clammed up on us!"

"I know it's not easy for a woman to make it in journalism, especially on TV. A gal's gotta work twice as hard to be taken as seriously as the least talented male. To make matters worse, y'all gotta look like a cross between a Barbie doll and beauty queen!"

The female reporter sniffled again. "I - I apologize. I've always had to be tougher and harder to get a shot at any decent story. Otherwise, the only assignments I'd get would be human interest stories."

"What's wrong with that? It's a good learnin' experience. Good reporters don't just 'fall into' a good story. Most have to work hard every day to make their way up the ladder. Bein' a woman just means y'all gotta work that much harder." Cat replied. "Just be yourself, y'all might be surprised at far it gets you."

She dropped her side of the vest, motioning Adrian to take it to the back for her. He disappeared long enough to hang it on the coat rack, then returned to his place behind the counter.

"I've said everythin' that's necessary about my bid for the primary," she announced. "As for the nature of Tig's call, that's his business and none of the public's! Before y'all start carpin' about the public's right to know, he's not runnin' for public office. Therefore, he's entitled to privacy."

Mutters of dissent rippled through the group, but Cat wouldn't budge on that issue. "I appreciate all y'all showin' up for this little talk. I'll appreciate y'all even more if ya buy somethin'. In the meantime, I'll see y'all when I formally file if not at the primary." She waved at them with her good hand and limped from the platform.

Pete put down the digital camera and released the pause button on the CD player. He'd put a CD of mixed groups to play after Cat's press event ended. The first song to blare from the speakers was Bon Jovi's 'It's My Life'.

He started to move forward to help her, but had only taken a couple of steps before she held up her hand to stop him. He reluctantly inclined his head to show he accepted her unspoken wish to retreat unassisted and moved away from the back entry to allow her to exit the customer area.

"Good choice of music to follow the event, darlin'! My warped sense of humor must be rubbin' off on y'all!" She grinned as she limped past him, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The reporters cried after her to return to answer more questions. Cat acted as if she didn't hear them.

"Mr. Tig went into the office, Miss Cat," Pete murmured, gesturing at the closed door.

"Apparently he needs a little privacy. Guess I'll just cop a squat in the break area," she announced. "You go help Adrian; I'll be OK. Besides, the lunch rush is gonna get started soon."

When it became obvious to them that Cat wasn't going to give them an encore, the camera operators started to pack their gear. The reporters ambled to the counter to place orders for coffee and treats.

Cat sank gratefully onto the break room couch. She was shivering with cold, tired, and in a great deal of pain. 'Wish I'd asked Pete for some ice!' she thought wistfully. She considered going to the kitchen for a glass, but was too tired to move.

"I'll just rest a moment or two until Alex is ready to leave," she decided, sliding onto her side and raising her legs onto the couch. She closed her eyes as the leather portfolio slipped from the sling to land on the floor.

As soon as the office door closed behind him, Tig growled, "I'm clear, Bobby. What's up?" His tone of voice clearly communicated his displeasure at being interrupted during Cat's press event.

"Can't be helped," Bobby replied. "T O called. Lander's dead."

"Shit! Got intel?"

Bobby briefed Tig on what T O had found at the scene. "He claims it was Calavarez. Tee wants a meet with Clay."

Tig rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. "Prolly wants retribution for Lander. Can't blame him. Meet me at the hospital. Jax and Clay went there to see Gem."

"On my way," Bobby replied.

Tig sighed and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. 'Looks like she's gonna get that bitch ride after all!' He glanced at the security monitor and frowned that she wasn't still standing on the platform with the reporters clustered in front of her.

'Looks like the main event's over, so where's she gone off to?' He stared at the security monitor, noting that the reporters had obtained drinks and snacks. Some of them were ambling around the customer lounge, examining all the items on sale. A few were scribbling furiously in their notebooks. The camera operators were sprawled comfortably on the chairs, watching the cats through the large window.

He strode out of the office, expecting to find her waiting to bait him with a snarky comment. He was disappointed not to see her in the large outer area. "She wasn't 'sposed to go back to the house without me! She's too damn weak to make it alone!" he muttered darkly. "Where the Hell did she go?"

He didn't want to arouse the reporters' curiosity by calling her name. Nor did he want to go to the front area to find her or ask the employees where she'd gone. 'Those asshats would be crawlin' all over me like ants at a picnic!'

He searched the kitchen, then stuck his head into the employee break room. His heart leapt to his throat when he saw Cat lying on the couch, her uninjured arm resting across her forehead.

He felt as helpless as he had the previous night when he and June had found her lying on the bed, completely exhausted from her exertions. 'Dammit! Whether she likes it or not, I'm callin' the doc!' He dug the cell out of his pocket and selected Tara's number.

"Dr. Knowles speaking," she answered crisply on the second ring.

"It's Tig. Cat's passed out or somethin'. It's the second time in as many days and I don't like it!"

"Where are you two?" "At the coffeehouse," he replied gruffly. He listed all the symptoms he'd witnessed during the last two days.

"It's her anemia," Tara assured him. "Can you get her over to the hospital?"

"Club business," he grunted almost apologetically. "Can you come out? She was gonna go the hospital later; I was gonna take her - " his voice trailed off. A lump in his throat prevented him from continuing.

Tara didn't need him to explain any further. "Someone's on the way, Tig."

"Shit! Tell me ya didn't send an ambulance!" That was the last thing those reporters needed to see. They'd camp out on the hospital grounds, waiting like vultures for any news of her condition.

"Relax, Tig. I met up with Cat's friend, June, a bit earlier. She mentioned Cat was coming in for a checkup and she was giving her a ride."

Tig huffed a snort of relief. 'It figures she'd have a back up in place. Wish she didn't need to have 'em, but damn glad she thought of it!'

"Tell June to bring her to the ER," Tara continued. "Dr. Gallagher will be waiting. I know this is going to be hard for you - what with leaving for Belfast later"

"Go on and tell me doc. I'd rather know now then later," he prompted when she trailed off in mid sentence. "Is it bad?"

"Just that Dr. Gallgher and Dr. Symthe plan to admit her for the day. That way they can treat her anemia and run all the necessary tests."

Tig massaged the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Prolly a good idea. She's been goin' full throttle since she checked outta the hospital."

"I'm glad you agree."

"If I know my girl, she'll not be very happy when she finds out!" he laughed. He felt better knowing his woman was in good hands.

"I won't be here when you bring her in; have some personal business to attend to," Tara added. "Dr. Gallgher won't need my help, but I'll try to be as quick as I can." She didn't add that she was getting away from the hospital so she wouldn't run into Jax.

Tig had a good idea why she was making herself scarce for awhile. He refrained from rubbing the doctor's nose in the memory. "Good idea, doc. I'll touch base later."

Tara shoved the cell phone in her back pocket, then walked briskly to the doctors' locker room. She shed her lab coat as she passed through the swinging doors. She hung up the coat, grabbed her jacket and purse from the locker, and hurried out the service entrance to her car.

Tig pocketed his cell phone and knelt on the floor next to the couch. He hadn't seen Cat so pale and weak since the night of the wreck. He felt the couch shake from her tremors, whether from her anemia or fatigue didn't matter. 'How the fuck can she be cold in that damn long coat of hers, anyway?' He looked around the break room for something to cover her, and spied a thin cat blanket lying on the back of a rocking chair. He shook it out and covered her with it. 'Not much cover but better than nothin'.'

He perched on the side of the couch and gently laid his hand on her cheek. He flinched from the icy coldness of her skin. "Cat, baby. You gotta wake up." Her hand moved from her forehead to rest on top of his arm. He felt encouraged by the movement, but she didn't open her eye to glare at him for waking her. Nor did she moan a protest. He shook his head. "Maybe this will get your attention!" he leered, reaching under her shirt to caress her breast. She didn't bat an eye nor move a muscle.

"Criminy! Y'all just can't keep yer hands off her, can ya?" laughed a familiar voice.

Alex glanced up at the doorway, relief plainly visible in his eyes. "Glad you're here, sweetheart. I was gonna bring her in, but somethin's come up."

"I hate it when she's right," June replied archly. "She asked me to be on stand by in case somethin' happened to prevent y'all from takin' her today."

He felt momentarily pleased that she'd intended for him to take her to the hospital all along. The happiness turned to regret that he couldn't follow through. "Yeah, club business. We've gotta get her to the car. Where are ya parked?"

"In your driveway. I was gonna stop out front and pick up somethin' to go, but saw the media circus inside and decided not to. Anything about that I need to know?"

"Yeah, we came outta the closet," Alex remarked, grunting as he lifted his woman into his arms. He shifted her unresisting body as gently as possible so that she could be comfortable. Her head settled on his shoulder so that she was nestled right under his chin. He breathed in the scent of her shampoo, ignoring how her hair tickled his nose. The familiar aroma of berries gave him a small amount of comfort. "Wanna get the back door for me?"

June raced ahead to open the back door. Alex stepped past the threshold and waited for June to open the back gate separating his property from the coffeehouse. He strode through the back yard to the gate beside the driveway while June scampered ahead of him to open both the back gate and the passenger side front door of her car.

While Alex waited, she hurriedly lowered the back of the passenger seat so that Cat would be able to recline. "Wouldn't it be better to lay her on the back seat?" Alex inquired.

"Don't wanna take a chance of her fallin' off the bench if I have to make a sudden stop," June replied. "It's safer for her to be belted in up front."

"True dat," Alex set her on her feet, allowing her to lean against him while he maneuvered her body to the passenger seat. Once she was settled in the seat, he lifted her legs into the cockpit, then gently shifted her body so she was as comfortable as he could make her. He kept hoping she would complain or grumble at him, or to whimper from any pain. To his dismay, she wasn't even snoring. "I don't like this sweetheart."

"I know, hon," June replied soothingly. "Obviously our girl overdid again. How long has she been out like that?"

"Dunno. Found her this way. Couldn't have been long," Alex replied. He reached across Cat to pull the hated safety harness over her. At that moment, he'd have given his left nut for her to argue with him about the need for it.

"She'll be OK, Alex," June assured him, sensing his disappointment and worry. "A person can't push themselves the way she's been and get away with it. Eventually the body says 'enough' and shuts down for rest."

"I hope you're right, sweetheart," he replied softly, rubbing his knuckles against Cat's cheek. "Dr. Knowles said to take her to the ER, Dr. Gallagher will be waitin'."

"Then we'd better get goin'," June climbed into the driver's seat and buckled her own seat belt.

"I'll follow ya."

"Thought y'all had club business." June frowned. "Y'all could've laid her in the back of the PT and taken her to the hospital by now instead of takin' time with all this!"

Alex sighed in exasperation and snarled, "Club business means I gotta take the bike, woman! The guys are gonna meet me at the hospital!"

"Oh - Kay." June muttered, feeling slightly intimidated by Alex's bark. She knew he was acting out from worry about Cat, but she also didn't like feeling powerless against a man. She shook her head as she reached for the ignition key. 'I don't think I'll ever understand the politics of biker clubs!'

'Shit!' Alex huffed inwardly. 'I gotta fix this!' He reached into the open window to prevent June from turning the ignition. She gave a small yelp of surprise.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to snap at ya," Alex apologized gruffly. "It's just –"

"I know," she replied softly, squeezing the bronzed hand that rested on her steering wheel. "But we're wastin' time, hon. Let's hit the road." She switched on the ignition and waited for Tig to start his bike.

June glanced at her sleeping passenger and shook her head. "Y'all picked one fine time for a cat nap, chick!" She put the gear lever into 'drive' as soon as Alex give the thumbs up in the her rear view mirror.

Neither had any reason to look at the back gate as they pulled out of the driveway. Both of Cat's employees were busy with the lunch rush and couldn't leave the coffeehouse so they didn't know their employer was laid up again.

'I'll just call in and bring the employees up to speed later,' June decided as she drove toward the intersection.

If either of them had checked their rear view mirrors, they'd have noticed the back gate door swing open and a tall figure walk onto the driveway just as the two vehicles reached the street. The figure hurried down the driveway after them but couldn't get their attention.

Windover had waited until the other television reporters left to ask Pete's permission to enter the back area. 'I really need to talk to your boss for a bit."

"Miss Cat might've gone back to the house," Pete informed the reporter. "It's quicker to use the back door and go through their back yard."

Windover wanted to apologize to Cat and Tig for the minor bombshell the Channel 10 reporter had dropped. He didn't want Tig to think he'd betrayed the business owner. While he had no doubt Cat would tell him otherwise, Tig's expression had indicated that Windover was in deep shit with the biker.

He entered the back yard in time to hear Tig and another woman talking about getting Cat to the hospital. He didn't get out to the driveway in time to catch Tig before his Dyna rolled out of the driveway behind a Chrysler 300M.

He reached in his coat pocket for his personal cell phone. He punched a few keys, waited, then put the cell away and walked up the drive to the Trager's front porch.

Windover moved quickly from the Trager's front porch to the end of the driveway when he spied the Channel 2 newsvan turn the corner. The van slid to a stop beside him.

"You rang, boss?" The camera operator inquired.

"Yeah. Something's wrong with Cat. Some strange woman and her husband are running her to the hospital." Windover reported worriedly.

"I thought she looked a little off color," the camera operator mused. "Didn't think it was bad enough to call for goin' to the hospital, though."

"I heard the woman say something about Cat pushing herself too hard."

"Maybe we should just clear on out-of-town. You can always explain things to the biker later."

Windover shrugged and settled into the captain's chair of the van. "I suppose you're right. Damn Pesta for holdin' out on me like that anyway!"

"She handled it well, though. Didn't seem to faze her at all."

Windover gazed out the window as the van sped towards the town limits. "True. But Tig looked like he wanted to make mincemeat out of me!"

"Well, you're still alive for the moment, so don't let it worry you too much."

"That's easy for you to say!" Windover remarked ruefully. "You've not made Tig's most wanted list!"

---

Cat remained in a deep sleep throughout the short ride to St. Thomas. Though June gave him a thumbs up at every stop sign and red light between the house and the hospital, Alex kept a worried eye on the Chrysler 300M in front of him. He didn't fear a repeat performance of the wreck that had injured his woman. With Zobelle's flight from the US, the spectre of LOAN had become of little consequence to SAMCRO and Charming. That didn't mean there wasn't a remnant of the hate group hanging around, waiting for a chance to act if and when they developed a more substantial power base.

Alex felt like a civilian husband whose only concern was his wife's physical condition. "This is one Hell of a bad time for Salazar to show his ass!" Alex grumbled to himself. "First Zobelle and Loan after the wreck, now Salazar when she needs me! It's a wonder she puts up with it." He knew from experience with the twins' mother that a lot of women wouldn't put up with it. "The only good things that gash did for me was givin' birth to the girls and gettin' the fuck outta my life!"

Cat had one advantage over the twins' mother. His wife had grown up as a minister's daughter. It had given her the ability to accept abrupt changes in plans without complaint. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her.

The Chrysler signaled the upcoming turn to the hospital parking lot. Alex knew that Bobby was waiting for him at the front entrance. 'He's prolly havin' kittens over the delay. This is one time when Cat's comin' first!'

Bobby parked his Harley near the main front entrance of St. Thomas and hung his helmet on the handlebars. He walked to the alcove so he could wait for Tig's arrival in the shade. He'd only given Tig the bare basics of T O's call. He felt it would be a good idea to brief the SAA before they met with Clay and Jax.

'He shoulda been here by now,' Bobby thought, gazing out over the parking lot. He squinted in the sunlight despite his sunglasses. The distinctive roar of a Dyna alerted him to the SAA's approach. 'About damn time!' Bobby sighed in relief. 'Press must've really given them a rough time!'

He watched the Dyna pull into the lot behind a black Chrysler 300M. 'What the Hell is he doin'? Takin' the scenic route?' he mused, watching Tig follow the vehicle to the ER entrance.

Bobby ambled over in time to catch Tig rushing to the passenger side of the Chrysler. "What's goin' on, Tig?"

"It's Cat. She's out like a light!" Tig growled, opening the passenger side door. Bobby gasped in shock when the door opened and he saw how pale she was. It'd only been a few days since he'd last seen her, but Cat looked worse than the night of the wreck. "How'd that happen?" He inquired as Tig unbuckled the safety harness and picked her up in his arms.

"She's exhausted and her anemia's kickin' up," the red - haired female driving the Chrsyler offered. "I'm June, by the way."

"Bobby," he replied automatically. "Thanks for helpin' out. You a reporter?"

Tig rolled his eyes at the Heavens as he carried his woman to the ER entrance. "She's Cat's friend, asshole! Ya know, the one that's been workin' here?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah." Bobby did a double take. "Sorry, kid. No offense."

"None taken, Bobby," June grinned despite the gravity of the situation. It had been a long time since she'd been called a kid. "Not exactly the most convenient circumstances to meet a body." She turned towards Tig and added, "Y'all get her inside. I'll get my car outta the way."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Alex replied, settling his wife against his chest and shoulder. Just as when he'd carried her to the car, her head seemed to settle on its' own volition in the hollow between his shoulder and chin.

"I'll get the door," Bobby offered, marching ahead of the SAA. Alex didn't bother to remind the club secretary that the doors opened automatically. Bobby discovered that the minute the sensor registered his presence. 'Shit! I'm not thinkin' straight!' Bobby smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I'll go get a gurney or somethin'!" He called out before hurrying inside the ER.

Tig shrugged and called over his shoulder, "See ya later, sweetheart!"

"I'll call if there's anything to report," June replied, sliding back behind the steering wheel.

Alex walked on through the doors to be met find Bobby piloting a wheelchair to the entrance. 'Stretcher would've been better, but this'll do.'

Bobby held the wheelchair to keep it still while Alex placed Cat into the seat. The club secretary couldn't help feeling worried about her. 'It was hard enough seein' her like this when she was just an 'old lady'. Knowin' she's his wife makes it that much more difficult. Tig must be goin' through Hell!'

Alex wrapped one arm around Cat's chest so that she remained upright in the chair. The contact gave him a bit of control over his wayward emotions. He leaned into the back of the chair and attempted to pilot it one - handed to the admitting area. The wheelchair refused to co - operate with him. It insisted on moving in the opposite direction he wanted it to go. He growled in frustration at the obstinate piece of metal.

"Here, lemme help," Bobby slid next to the Tig, grabbing one of the contraption's handles. Together, the two manipulated the wheelchair to the desk. The clerk working at the admitting desk watched their progress in amusement, then picked up the receiver and spoke into it.

By the time they reached the desk, two orderlies had arrived with a stretcher. Tig growled manacingly at the orderlies when they reached out to load his wife onto the stretcher. "Nobody carries her but me!" He stepped directly in front of the wheelchair to block their way. The orderlies backed away to the opposite end of the stretcher. It was as far as they could get from Tig's intimidating presence. Timbuktu wouldn't have been far enough away from him for their liking.

"Let him do it, guys," Bobby explained quietly. "It'd be really helpful if you'd hold that thing still for him." He stepped behind the wheelchair and firmly grapsed the handlebars. "I'll keep this in place so you can pick her up."

Without waiting to see if the orderlies would comply, Alex turned and lifted Cat in his arms. He held her close to him for a moment, silently willing her to wake up. The only thing that kept him from wreaking havoc on the ER was that his wife wasn't having any difficulty in breathing.

With an unexpected gentleness Bobby had only seen him display to his daughters, Tig placed his wife on the gurney, making sure her legs were comfortably placed and tucking her uninjured arm between her body and the side of the gurney. "I don't want her gettin' it all banged up by floppin' all over," he stated gruffly. He stood beside the stretcher, rubbing his knuckles against her cold cheek for a few moments. The orderlies moved to the head and foot of the stretcher and waited for him to step away. He remained standing next to the stretcher, unwilling leave her side.

"Tig, let them get her into a treatment room. I promise you'll get to see her later," Bobby intervened, placing a comforting hand on his brother's uninjured shoulder.

"Yeah, a'right," Tig huffed. He glared menacingly at the two orderlies. "Dr. Gallagher's 'sposed to be expectin' her," he growled as he stpped away from the stretcher. The orderlies nodded in unison and fled to the safety of the treatment room.

Tig watched the stretcher bearing his wife pass the threshold before turning to the admissions desk. The clerk handed a clipboard to him. "Is this shit necessary?" He snarled darkly. "She was just here a few days ago!"

"What's the patient's name?" The clerk asked disinterestedly.

"She was admitted as Cat Marshall." The clerk tapped the keyboard to the hospital's computer. "I see she checked herself out against medical advice," she observed. "I assume all the information we have is the same."

"Not entirely. She's my wife," Tig announced. "

You're listed as 'significant other'," the clerk insisted. "Yeah. That was then. Things change. So did the marital status," Tig growled. "Her last name is Trager."

The clerk frowned in consternation. "I'm not sure -"

"Look, darlin'," Bobby drawled. "She's the administrator of the SAMCRO Emergency Medical Account and the owner of 'Charming Pawse'. Her financial shit must still be in the record, isn't it?" The clerk looked from Tig to Bobby and back to Tig again. "

Yes, it is. I suppose it's all right to use the original admitting paperwork, given the circumstances."

"You're all heart, darlin'," Bobby grinned, dropping a saucy wink at the clerk. 'At least this one's a little more reasonable than that gash in Eureka!'

Alex breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't have to fill out more papers. "C'mon, Bobby. Let's find Jax and Clay," he turned from the desk and strode towards the elevators. 'Now that I know she's settled and safe, I can concentrate on business,' he assured himself.

They waited silently for an elevator car. When one opened, they stepped in and Tig closed the door before anyone else could think to ride along with them.

"This shit is not good. Clay's gonna be pissed." Tig stated after Bobby filled him in on the entire call from T O.

"I know, brother. It wasn't easy to convince him to wait for a conference."

"The deal's not even a day old!"

"You're preachin' to the choir, brother. This is gonna have to go through Alvarez first; we don't have time to ride all over Sanwa County to find him."

"Maybe we won't have to," Tig mused. Before Bobby could respond to that cryptic comment, the elevator stopped and the door opened onto the floor where the jail ward was located. They stepped out just as Clay and Jax were coming down the hall.

Tig immediately took control of the situation, explaining to Clay about TO's call. Bobby couldn't prevent a glare in the SAA's direction when Tig told Clay TO had been crying too hard for them to know what was wrong. 'I hope ya know what you're doin', brother.' he thought, watching helplessly as Jax and Clay stormed to the elevator. He had no choice but to follow in Tig's wake.

"Relax, brother," Tig quietly assured him, slowing his pace to match Bobby's. "The way things are right now, Clay's not likely to appreciate the gravity of the situation unless he sees the carnage for himself."

"Guess you're right," Bobby sighed resignedly.

---

Salazar had finally told Luisa about the morning's hit. They'd gone for a walk, looking like any other loving couple at the rally.

"Now we wait to see how this plays out," he continued.

"I know how it's gonna play out, chula," Luisa retorted. "Those nigras are going to figure out the Calavarez had something to do with it, they'll go running to SAMCRO, who will come to Alvarez."

"Not likely, baby," Salazar assured her.

"Oh, yeah? Then where the fuck's you're knife? Did you happen to leave it at home?" She gestured at the empty holster strapped to his leg.

"Mirda!" Salazar swore. He'd forgotten that the knife was hand crafted, with the '13' carved into the handle. He might as well have written the club name in neon lights.

He suddenly laughed so hard he nearly doubled over.

"I don't see what's so funny!" Luisa exclaimed. "That knife is a dead giveaway!"

"To the club, yes, but not to me!" Salazar chortled. "I can still come out clean, baby! Alvarez might suspect, but he'll never act without proof!"

Luisa shook her head. "I don't know, Hector. I have a really bad feeling about this!"

They turned and walked back to the picnic tables. Over on the roadway, a pair of bikes revved their engines, preparing for a drag race. Music filled the air, giving a celebratory air to the park.

Salazar threw an arm around Luisa's shoulder, drawing her close to him. "It'll be a'right, chula. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Luisa melted into his embrace, slipping her arm around his waist. "No, baby. You've never steered me wrong."

They settled down at the picnic table with the rest of the Calavarez. Luisa sat on a bench, while Salazar walked to the other side to begin mending fences with his VP. The roar of many Harleys caught the group's attention. They looked across the park to see SAMCRO and a compliment of the Grim Bastards MC parking their bikes.

The Calavarez and Luisa watched intently as the newcomers walked determinedly to Alvarez. It looked for a moment like a fight would break out between the Grim Bastard's Prez and Alvarez, but Clay stepped between the two to maintain order.

'I don't like the looks of that, Hector,' Luisa moaned inwardly, though she scowled at the tableau, unwilling to show fear in front of their club.

Salazar's body stiffened with a bravado he didn't feel. They watched worriedly as the Sons and the Grim Bastards walked to the bathroom.

"Since when do men go to the bathroom together?" Luisa mused. "Usually it's women who go in packs!"

Salazar shrugged, noting the advance of Alvarez's officers. They didn't look like they were coming over to discuss the weather. He turned to Luisa, his eyes intent and wild-looking. "Listen to me, baby. Do not move from this spot until or unless I send someone to you or come to you myself. Do you understand me?"

Something in his tone of voice told Luisa the situation was as dire as she'd feared it could become. She nodded silently, knowing the last thing he needed at the moment was to worry about her well-being.

The Mayan officers rounded up the Calavarez VP and SAA, then stopped in front of Salazar. "Come with us, esse," the Mayan SAA intoned ominously.

"Why?"

"You need to take a piss," the Mayans VP explained coldly.

"The Hell I do!" Salazar snarled contempuously.

The Mayans SAA grabbed Salazar by the arm, pulling him away from the table. "Alvarez wants to talk to you, now!"

Salazar stumbled forward as the Mayan SAA pushed him towards the bathroom. He reluctantly followed the Mayan VP, giving Luisa a reassuring look over his shoulder.

Luisa waited tensely after Hector disappeared inside the bathroom. The door closed behind the Mayans, shutting the three clubs away from prying eyes. Her heart leapt into her throat when she heard the unmistakable retort of a fired handgun.

She stole a glance around her, but no one seemed alarmed by the sound. 'Likely think an engine backfired!' she assured herself. Only someone with intimate knowledge of gunplay would recognize the noise for what it really was.

Sweat broke out on her forehead as she envisioned Hector lying on the filthy floor of the bathroom with his life's blood seeping from his body. She ached to go to his rescue, but she'd made a promise to him. She couldn't put herself in harm's way now.

'If he dies, I'll hunt every last one of those motherfuckers down and kill them bare handed!" she vowed silently. She clenched her hands into tight fists under the picnic table.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Luisa stared hard at the shithouse, praying she'd soon see Hector stride out as if nothing had happened. The only Calavarez to exit was the VP, who looked pale and horrified by whatever had happened inside. He was followed by the Mayans, Grim Bastards, and the Sons. The members of all three clubs looked quite satisfied with themselves.

Luisa noted with a cold knot of fear and dread that Hector was not with them. She turned her attention to the Calavarez VP, who grimly approached what remained of the Lodi club. He signaled to the men to accompany him.

She jumped off the bench, intending to confront the Calvarez VP about what had gone down in the bathhouse when Hector stumbled out the door. His face bloodied and he was without his cut. She ran up to him, relieved that he lived. She knew without asking that he'd lost his club at Alvarez' command. She embraced him, mindful that he was probably sore all over; there was no telling what the three clubs had done to her man.

"We'll get even with them, all, Hector," she assured him.

"Si, chula," Hector grated. We will get even. Starting with that bitch, the SAMCRO VP!"

Luisa frowned as she led Hector to a secluded picnic table. Neither of them wanted to see the new Prez of the Calavarez with their former club. "Which one is he?"

"The blond bitch!" Hector spat. "I overheard him talking to Alvarez. SAMCRO is leavin' town tonight. They'll be gone a week."

"Then how are we going to get even with him?"

"I have a plan, baby," Hector smiled grimly. "We use that which he loves most to get his attention." He detailed his plan to his woman, adding, "Are you with me?"

"Do you really have to ask?" She purred. "All the way, baby. All the way."

---

Gemma still felt queasy though she'd thrown up everything she'd eaten after hearing Maureen Ashby's disturbing news. She had shut off the cell just before she spewed into the trash can next to her chair. The last thing she wanted was for her former rival for John's heart to hear her puke.

The smell from the plastic lined trash can didn't help her delicate gastric condition. She just didn't have the strength to move the thing into the bathroom. She remained seated in the chair next to the cabinet, the cell phone lying in her nerveless palm.

She was surprised her heart hadn't started acting up when she learned that John had sired a daughter with Maureen Ashby while he'd been involved with her in Ireland. 'I'd come to terms with the affair. It was just a case of international road sex as far as I was concerned. This is much worse!'

The desire to go to Belfast with her husband and son had changed to an overwhelming need to go. She had to prevent Jax from learning the truth about his father's betrayal of their family. Finding out that John made a second family in Belfast while his youngest son had been battling for his life might send Jax into a further emotional tailspin.

The conversation - if it could be called that - she'd had with John about his desire to return to Belfast in 1990 came rushing back to her. It was as clear as if it'd happened just the day before.

Gemma walked into the bedroom she'd shared with JT, expecting to find him still asleep. He'd been doing a lot of that since Thomas' funeral. To her surprise, not only was John out of bed, he was packing everything he owned into suitcases that lay on the bed.

"Plannin' a vacation?" she inquired lightly while wincing inwardly. The casual note in her voice sounded forced, even to her.

"No, Gem," John looked up at her, not surprised that she'd caught him in the act. 'It'll be better this way instead of me sneakin' off on her. We'll all be happier with this out in the open once and for all.'

"You're going back to Belfast," she stated flatly.

He nodded and resumed packing. "I have to."

"That's bullshit!" Gemma spat. "The gun mulin' can operate just fine between here and there without you playin' overseer!"

John sighed resignedly and sank onto the unmade bed. "C'mere, Gem. We need to talk," he stated quietly.

'I've gotta bad feelin' about this!' Gemma edged towards the bed to perch cautiously on the foot of it, well away from her husband.

"I can't stay here anymore, Gem. SAMCRO isn't the club I started. It's changed, and I don't like the changes."

"Then make things the way you want it!" She retorted angrily. "Slinkin' to Belfast with your tail between your legs is gonna send the wrong message!"

"No, it won't. If I work outta Belfast, I can show SAMBEL - and SAMCRO by extension - the way we should be. I can't do that here. Not with Clay havin' your support."

"What the Hell are you talking about? Clay doesn't have my support!" Gemma protested.

John smiled indulgently. "Gemma, I'm not as stupid as you think I am. Nor am I blind. I've seen how close you and Clay are. He's basically Pres of the Redwood Originals, except for havin' the patch on his cut."

"You're still the founding father and the Pres!" Gemma retorted. "You can't just give up the top spot! What about Jax?"

Jax, along with Opie, were growing up rapidly. All they could think about was becoming old enough to get a Harley and a cut. They looked forward to prospecting SAMCRO the way most boys looked forward to getting their driver's licenses and their first car. There was no doubt that Jax would become VP after his prospect year, and when JT stepped down, he would succeed his father as Pres.

"Jax is still young, Gemma. It's gonna be a long time before he prospects SAMCRO - if at all."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Of course he'll prospect SAMCRO! It's his dream!" Gemma protested.

"I want more for my son than this MC life!" John retorted angrily. "Jax is still young and he's smart. I want him to dream of more than being an outlaw."

"You're right about one thing, Jax is smart. And Jax will bring the club back to the way you envisioned it!" Gemma replied.

"I can't take that chance, Gem," John informed her. "Waiting until he's old enough to prospect is too much time for Clay's influence to have an effect on him."

"Why do you keep bringing that up? Clay is my friend!"

JT sighed. "Things change. Times change, People change as well Hell, Gemma, we've changed!"

"Of course we've changed, John! We're older now. We're adults and parents! We may not live the life of Riley, but we do pretty good."

"I had such big hopes for us when we came to Charming all those years ago, Gemma," John replied wearily.

"And we've made those hopes happen, baby!" Gemma reminded him. "We have the garage; the club's getting new blood at the table, the gun runnin' is profitable and low risk."

"It's not the right fit, Gemma. Not anymore," he insisted.

"What do you plan to do, pimp pussy and push drugs? That'll be great for Charming!"

"I'm going to put an end to the gun running for the IRA!"

Gemma looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time, and didn't like what she saw. She looked at the stuffed suitcases and then back at John. "It's not that simple, John. That's not the only reason you're going back to Belfast. You wouldn't be takin' every stitch ya own!"

John sighed again. "Gemma, you can deny it all you want, but we've grown apart. You've turned to Clay in my absence; I've fallen in love with someone else. She understands me, much better than you do."

Gemma felt like she'd been cooterpunched. She leapt to her feet, crossing the small distance between them in an instant. A resounding 'crack' filled the air as her palm made contact with his cheek.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed. "How could you do that to me - to our family?!"

JT didn't flinch from her attack. He just sat on the edge of the bed, calmly meeting her heated gaze. "Let's face it, Gem. Things between us haven't been good for a long time. Things were going sour before I made the first trip to Belfast four years ago."

"You ran to Belfast because you were too afraid to face Tommy's illness! I needed you, and you weren't here to help! Instead, you were shackin' up with some Irish slut!"

"She's not a slut, Gem. She's a lot like you when you were that age."

Gemma's eyes narrowed with hurt and anger. "You're fuckin' a child?" She looked for something to use as a weapon. For once, she wished she carried a knife on her hip like the men. Her gun was in her purse and that was far out of reach on the kitchen table.

"She's not a child, she's 19," John explained. "She's Kellan Ashby's sister."

"How nice of you to have his approval!" She snarled. "I can't believe you'd do this to me - to Tommy!"

"Dammit, Gemma! Seein' Tommy wastin' away was as hard on me as it was on you! I thought when Jax was born without the heart defect, we'd be OK with other kids. How do you think it felt to find out Tommy had it?"

"How do you think I felt givin' it to him in the first place? I'm the one who carried them both for nine months, worryin' that I'd give birth to 'em only to have 'em die on me like my little brother!"

Tears were streaming down Gemma's face. She inwardly cursed John for dredging up that age-old hurt. She cursed him for loving another, younger woman instead of her.

"I don't know what you're gettin' all upset over, Gem. It's not like you've been all alone while I was overseas," John retorted angrily.

"Huh! So ya have green eyes after all! Sure, I leaned on Clay. He was here, you weren't. I needed to turn to someone for comfort. Clay helped me through a number of bad scenes with Tommy. Scenes you couldn't be bothered with!"

"I'm sure Clay was a paragon of virtue," John replied acidly.

"At least I didn't betray my marriage vows!" Gemma screamed.

"It's only a matter of time," John observed tiredly. He didn't want to fight with her. They shouldn't be hurting each other like this, not with their youngest newly buried. "Gem, it's not that I don't care about you -"

"You love her more," Gemma stated flatly.

John nodded. He loved Gemma too much to subject her to the full story. Yes, he loved Maureen Ashby, and his daughter, Trinity. Maureen wasn't part of the MC life, and he could keep his second family out of it, despite the fact that SAMBEL's clubhouse was located in the alley her family owned.

Trinity had been born in 1988. She was a beautiful combination of the two of them. He had a chance to have a family untouched by the lifestyle. He had wanted that for Jax and Thomas. Thomas was dead, and Jax was so enamored of the club that he bled SAMCRO colors.

Gemma was hurt and angry. 'I can't believe this! OK, the last few years have been rough; what marriage doesn't go through a tough spot? First really big bump in the road, he wants to haul ass across the world to some young Irish pussy?'

John watched the array of emotions run across Gemma's face. He felt bad about causing her pain, but he needed to do what he felt was best for him and that was to go back to Belfast.

"Gemma, I'm tired and old. I want to live a peaceful life. I'm tired of the outlaw way. It's bullshit!"

"I didn't see you whining about the income when the club started running guns for the Irish!" She hissed.

"No, I didn't. Maybe I should have," John admitted.

"So you're just hightailin' it outta here like a whupped pup and leavin' me alone."

"You won't be alone. I know you have feelings for Clay. We'll divorce, you'll be free to marry Clay and I'll have my freedom. We can each start new lives. Surely you see this is best, Gem!"

"I see that you're a fuckin' coward!" she hissed. "I see that now that our youngest is buried, you're going off to make a so - called 'new life' with no responsibilities to tie you down!" Gemma strode from the bedroom, intent on heading for the front door.

John leaped up to follow her. He grabbed her by the arm, intending to calm her down. He didn't want her driving while she was upset.

Gemma's fist connected with his chin, knocking him a few inches from her. "Don't touch me! You lost that right the minute you fucked that Irish slut!" She screamed defiantly.

Before John could react, Gemma raced from the house to her car. She locked the door on him, started the car and threw the gear into reverse.

John clung to the door, running next to it and pounding on the window, yelling for Gemma to stop. He didn't give a damn if the neighbors called the cops or not. He cared too much for what they'd once had to lose Gemma now to her heart condition kicking up because of her upset.

Gemma floored the accelerator, careening out of the drive onto the street. She threw the gear into 'drive' and sped forward, trying to dislodge John. He was able to keep up for a few seconds, then lost his footing and fell face down into the street.

Gemma didn't look back at him. She determinedly kept her eyes locked on the road ahead of her as her car rushed away. 'I suppose this shouldn't surprise me. It's been obvious since he came back that John's heart was back in Belfast. Frankly, I'm surprised he waited as long as he did to go back!'

John returned to Belfast to be with his new girl and transferred to the SAMBEL charter, turning over the president's patch to Clay. JT made the occasional foray back to Charming to see his son, but that was the only thing that brought him back. Certainly not a desire to be with Gemma. For all intents and purposes, their marriage had died the day of the confrontation.

Unlike John, she never had the luxury of fleeing to another country to lick her wounds in the arms of another man. That man had been right there in Charming, and she'd turned to him as she had before. All she had left was the life she'd built in Charming, and Clay Morrow. Clay was John's VP and his good friend. He was one of the first nine as was McGee, John, and Piney. He'd also been a wealth of comfort and support to Gemma while JT was absent and her baby was dying.

Gemma reasoned that if John could replace her with another, younger woman, she had every right to find fulfillment with Clay. She'd run away once, at the age of fourteen. She'd returned to Charming a little older and a lot wiser. She felt that it was more important to stay strong for Jax; to maintain some semblance of normalcy for him in an unnatural situation.

Gemma had taken her concerns about JT ending the relationship with the Irish to Clay. She felt the gun deal was more lucrative and less invasive in their lives than the traditional money making ventures for outlaw MC's. He'd assured her he'd take care of it.

Then the accident happened. 'I probably put that in motion the minute I told Clay what John intended to do about the guns,' she admitted to herself. Just as she had all those years ago, Gemma still accepted that death as necessary. There was no way that Clay could operate effectively as President if JT remained a long distance shadow. A clean break was necessary, and there was no cleaner break than Death.

Though their marriage was over by the time he died, Gemma had been devastated by JT's death. Learning after all these years that John had a daughter living in Belfast had nearly undone her as much as losing Thomas. 'I'm really gettin' too old for this shit!' She was still coming to grips with her discovery when Tara came in to check on her. Gemma allowed Tara to think the new heart meds had caused her to nausea.

She found some comfort in the knowledge that Tara was carrying her second grandchild. She'd wanted to touch Tara's stomach, trying to reach out to the new member of the family, but Tara had shrunk away from her.

It didn't take long to find out why. Tara announced the relationship between Jax and her was dead and why. Tara's voice sounded dead as well, as if her dreams for the future had already left her high and dry.

Gemma had consoled her protégé the only way she knew how, reminding the doctor that she had more strength than she gave herself credit for. "Even if you aren't with Jax, you won't be raising that child alone," she promised Tara.

'Maybe that's the problem. I need to make a clean break, once and for all. I can't do that if I carry this child to term!' Tara knew better than to voice her thought in front of Gemma.

"I know just what will perk you up," Gemma declared. "You're going to help me get outta this place."

"And where are you going?"

"To Belfast with my boys," Gemma replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Tara gave her a look that clearly said she thought Gemma was nuts. "Sure you are!" She drawled. "There's a Fed right outside the door and Cheif Unser is going to be taking you to SJCCF. How in the Hell do you think you're going to get past them? Have you suddenly become an illusionist?"

"Hardly," Gemma replied darkly. "Just listen to me."

'I've got a bad feelin' about this,' Tara sighed inwardly, knowing she'd assist Gemma with making a break for it in the end. With Gemma out of the picture for a while, she knew she'd be able to think better about what she truly wanted in her future.

---

The loud, insistent ring of his cell phone startled Kozik from his pleasant drowse. He couldn't recall for a moment where he was while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He felt a warm body lying molded to his side. A golden head rested on his shoulder.

The cell phone was forgotten as a contented smile softened his features. The sensual pleasures of the last few hours came rushing back to him. Ima had never gotten around to bandaging the cuts on his face or the bite Tig had given him, but she'd certainly given him some tender loving care!

'To Hell with that fuckin' thing!' Kozik dismissed the cell phone. 'Whoever's callin' can just leave a message! This is too good to mess up!'

Ima heard the phone ring and raised her head slightly. "Blasted phone! Who'd be calling me now?" she groaned.

"It's my phone, baby," he crooned. "G'wan back to sleep!" He planted a kiss on the top of her head as he eased his arm out from under her. 'Now where the Hell did I put that fuckin' thing, anyway?'

He slid up in the bed, gazing about the room. His pants were lying on the floor in a crumpled heat. 'Oh, yeah! It's in my pocket!' He bent down to retrieve his pants and dug out his cell phone just as it quit ringing.

He squinted at the caller ID, which read 'California call'. He knew right away it had to be someone calling about the club. He pressed the voice mail button and listened to the curt message from Tig.

'Dunno why his drawers are inna wad, for fuck's sake! Guess I'd better see what he wants.' Kozik pressed the 'call back' button as he slid out of the bed and padded to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Ima stretched luxuriously. She was used to multiple sex acts with multiple partners, but this had seemed different from anything she'd done before. It even made the previous encounter with Jax pale by comparison.

She'd known there was something different about Kozik the instant he'd kissed her the first time. It wasn't sloppy with his tongue attempting to reach her tonsils. It was light, questioning, searching. It touched in a way she'd never been touched before.

The second kiss, though more demanding, had still held that questioning flavor to it. She found herself returning and deepening the kiss, and feeling her body respond in ways it hadn't responded to Jax.

When they came up from air, Kozik had held her close to him, nuzzling her neck and tasting her skin with his tongue. The caress sent shivers racing up and down her spine.

"Listen, baby, I'm not gonna ask ya for more than ya wanna give, but I'd really like to get to know ya better," he murmured in her ear.

"I'd like that," she replied, reaching up under his untucked shirt to run her hands over his chest. It was a firm chest, maybe not a well-defined six-pack like Jax, but it was a solid, smooth chest. A chest that would support a girl's head as comfortably as a pillow.

Her fingers had brushed against his nipples, making him suck in air through his teeth. She knew from the pressure against her hind end that he was getting aroused, and she smiled at the knowledge.

"I'm not Jax -" he started to apologize.

"No, you're not. What's your first name?"

He shook his head. "Naw, I'm not ready to have anyone call me by that name. Not yet. My friends call me 'Koz'."

"OK then, Koz. Shut up and kiss me again," Ima commanded.

He answered with a moan into her willing mouth. He stood up, still holding her in his arms, and carried her into the bedroom. Instead of tossing her on it, he placed her on it as if she were made of delicate china. He stood looking down at her for a moment, his eyebrows raised inquiringly.

She nodded and pulled the sweatshirt up over her head, revealing her own chest to him. His eyes grew as large as saucers when he saw her full breasts and already taunt nipples.

He raised his eyebrows again in question, silently asking permission to touch them. Ima took his hands in hers and guided them to her breasts, sighing as his fingers began to knead and gently pull on the nipples. When he lowered his head and began to suck on first one, then the other, giving equal attention to both, she thought she was going to explode all over the place.

She couldn't remember whether they disrobed each other or not. Next thing she knew their clothes were off and they lying on her bed, exploring each other's bodies. Giving and receiving pleasure.

It turned out that Koz was an experienced and gentled lover. He made sure she got as much pleasure out of the act as she did. And boy did she ever!

She heard the toilet flush and rolled over on her side, one hand supporting her head to watch his approach. She steeled herself to accept his announcement that he had to leave.

To her surprise, he climbed back onto the bed and enfolded her in his arms. "So, are ya hungry? 'Cause I'm famished!"

She stiffened in his arms at his remark. 'Does he think I'm gonna cook?'

"Naw, baby. I wouldn't ask that of ya. Was thinkin' we could go somewhere to eat. Someplace nice."

Ima pushed herself away from him, her eyes wide with surprise. "You want to be seen in public with me?"

"Why not?" He countered.

Ima shook her head in wonder. "So you don't have to leave?"

"Baby, I told ya I don't hafta go anywhere for awhile. I'm all yours for as long as ya want me," he assured her.

The meaning behind his comment wasn't lost on Ima. This man really wanted to be with her. Not use her and cast her aside like all the other men. For cripe's sake, he actually wanted to be seen with her in public! "I can't think of anything I'd rather do now," she purred.

Kozik grinned slyly at her. "Oh, I think ya can, but I can't perform well without something to eat!"

Ima looked down at his crotch, where his cock was making a liar out of him. She smiled provocatively at him. "Are you sure about that, Koz?"

He grinned back at her before kissing her deeply. "Baby, we've got plenty of time for that. As much time as you want."

Ima rose fluidly from the bed, stretching as she walked to the bathroom. "I could want a lot of time, Koz."

"Take all the time ya want, baby," he assured her. Just before she closed the bathroom door, he added, "And I'm not just talkin' about freshenin' up!"

---

Tara couldn't believe she'd let Gemma talk her into helping her escape the hospital. 'Talk me into it? Who the Hell am I kidding? She blackmailed me into it!' she fumed inwardly. 'But I got something in return; her promise to keep her yap shut about my pregnancy!'

Gemma had told her where the spare key to the house was stored. She wanted her own clothes, not borrowed clothing from Tara's closets. Tara didn't consider that an unreasonable request.

'Let's face it, my clothes would be too tight for her, just as I'd get lost in hers!' Tara thought to herself. She drove out to the Morrow's house, hoping that she wouldn't run into either Clay or Jax.

Lady Luck was apparently on her side, neither bike was parked at the house. Not that she didn't have a cover story handy. If asked, she intended to say that Gemma needed travel clothes to wear to the SJCCF; the ones she'd worn to the hospital weren't very fresh.

She found the key where Gemma had said it would be and let herself into the house. The first thing she did was check on the cockatoo. It was quiet, still hidden under the cloth that covered its' cage.

Tara lifted the cover a bit and made a cooing sound at the bird. It uttered a loud squawk that scared her out of her wits. "I can see why Clay doesn't like you!" she snarled at the bird. "I was just checking to see if you needed anything!"

The bird squawked a little less loudly this time. Its crest was fully extended. Tara didn't know if that was a signal that the bird was pissed or not, and she wasn't about to find out.

She checked the water and food bowls, which were surprisingly clean and full. The newspaper at the bottom of the cage was also clean, indicating that someone, possibly even Clay, had taken care of the bird's needs.

"At least Gemma won't have to worry about it!" she sighed.

The bird squawked once again, but this time it seemed to be in agreement. It hopped from one perch to another within in the cage, getting a little too close for Tara's taste. "Alright, big boy! That's enough of that!" She slowly lowered the cover so the bird wouldn't get agitated. It thanked her with an indignant squawk, then fell silent.

Tara found a small duffel bag and quickly packed a week's worth of clothing for Gemma. She added a small zippered bag of toiletries and another of makeup.

Though she'd never traveled abroad, Tara had read enough to know most European countries had different type of electric outlets than the US. There were many horror stories about unsuspecting tourists plugging in their US appliance into an overseas recepticle and frying out the appliance.

'Guess Gem will either have to let Nature dry her hair, or use whatever's available in Belfast!' Tara mused. She checked once more to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, then closed the bag and left the house, locking the door after her.

She quickly stowed the key where she'd found it and threw the bag into the trunk of her car. Then she climbed into the driver's seat and backed out of the driveway.

She breathed another sigh of relief to escape the Morrow's house without being caught by Gemma's men. It just made the job a lot easier.

'As long as I'm in a packing mood, might as well stop by Jax's and get my stuff. Glad I hadn't put Daddy's house up for sale after all! Beats a motel any day!'

---

As the SAMCRO men walked towards their bikes, Tig informed them about Cat's return to the hospital after the press event. "I found her completely comatose in the coffeehouse break room. She'd made arrangements with her friend, June, to come take her for her checkup today. I followed 'em to the hospital; met up with Bobby," he added.

"Why didn't ya say somethin' earlier when I was ribbin' ya about bonin' Latinas?" Juice yelped. He felt bad about it now that he knew what was wrong with Tig's wife. "I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known!"

"Wasn't the right time," Bobby explained. "Besides, Tig needed a distraction from it so he could concentrate on the catastrophe ahead before we dove into the next."

Juice winced at the unintentional pun, but indicated he reluctantly accepted the logic.

"She was bein' admitted to the ER when we left," Tig added, turning a hopeful glance to the Prez.

"You go on and see how she's doin'," Clay advised him, making it seem more like an order. "Just be sure we're all at the compound by 330!"

Tig didn't waste time to respond. Before Clay had finished speaking, he was already astride his Dyna and adjusting his helmet. He glanced back at his Pres and nodded in gratitude. He saw Salazar staring hatefully at the Sons before he sped away from the park.

'I don't like the looks of that!' he mused, thinking back over the showdown between Salazar and the other three clubs. He especially didn't like the fact that after both Jax and Clay had put the smack down on Salazar, that Jax had announced to Alvarez that the club was leaving town for a few days.

'He might've thought Salazar couldn't hear him, but I was watchin' the bastard. He heard every word! I'm beginnin' to think Cat's right; it's not a good idea for all the officers to leave town. Salazar's stupid enough to do anything, especially if he thinks SAMCRO doesn't have enough manpower to retaliate!'

That thought bothered him all the way to St. Thomas. He'd had a part in Salazar's takedown, bum rushing the man along with Jax when he refused to remove his cut on Alvarez' command.

He and Jax had held Salazar's arms so his cut, now missing the President patch, was forcibly removed from his body. While Tig continued to hold him back, Jax had taken the Calavarez cut and stuffed it in the filthy toilet; a blatant show of disrespect.

Jax hadn't been content with disrespecting the cut. He'd struck Salazar in the stomach, then Clay had finished him off with a roundhouse to the face. The blow sent Salazar reeling onto the floor, landing beside his dead SAA.

His concern for his wife increased with the knowledge that the morning's press event had now put her in the path of Salazar's wish for revenge. 'It was gonna come out anyway, whether we participated or not,' he reminded himself. 'So she'd be in his scope anyway. Salazar's gonna want revenge on all of us that were involved in bringing him down.'

He rolled into the St. Thomas main lot, parking as close to the front entrance as he could get. There was no sense in going back to the ER. Cat would have been admitted and possibly taken to a patient room by now.

Tig pulled the pre pay from his pocket and scrolled through the contacts list until he came to the name 'Herman'. Much as he disliked the idea, Kozik was the only person available to keep an eye on his wife while he was gone. 'Piney's too old and the prospects too new to trust her safety to anyone else.'

He frowned as the phone rang without an answer. That wasn't like Kozik. Granted, the caller ID would show only a California call, but the Tacoma SAA would know it was likely a club related call.

"Shit!" He fumed when he heard Kozik's voice mail greeting advising him to leave his name/number for a callback. "Tig. You have the number. Call me as soon as you get this."

Alex set the pre pay to vibrate then strode through the front entrance of St. Thomas, stopping in front of the information desk. He was agitated over the meeting at the park between the three clubs, and worried over his wife's condition.

"May I help you?" the elderly volunteer manning the desk asked warily.

"Could you tell me Cat Trager's room number, please?" he turned on all his considerable charm, adding the 'p word' as extra incentive to get the answer he wanted. Cat was always telling him he could get better results with people in situations like this with a little honey than vinegar. 'Let's see if she's right.'

The volunteer tapped a few keys on the computer, then looked up at him. "I'm sorry, I don't have any patient listed with that name," she stated.

"What the -!" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "C'mon, lady! She was just admitted a few hours ago in the ER. She's one of Dr. Gallagher's patients!"

"Wait a minute, I'll try checking admissions by doctor," the volunteer offered. Her fingers flew over the keys.

"I see that a Cat Marshall was admitted from the ER earlier," she observed.

Tig sighed wearily. He felt like he was trying to pull teeth out of a hen. "Is there a room number?"

"Yes, but I cannot give it to you," the volunteer stated.

"Yes, you can," he countered.

"No, sir. I can't. Unless you're family."

"Sweetheart, I'm her husband, you can't get much better than that," he growled.

The volunteer looked up at him, her eyes reflected her skepticism. "You just told me your last name is Trager. The patient's is Marshall. How can you be her husband?"

Tig frowned intently. Honey wasn't getting him anywhere with the old bat. He couldn't fault her for doing her job, but he really didn't have the time or the inclination to deal with the red tape.

"She's a liberated woman; kept her last name instead of takin' mine," he retorted. "Have Dr. Gallagher paged, ya can ask him!"

"I'll do nothing of the kind, young man! The doctors have better things to do!" She stated firmly. She'd been working the information desk for years, and had handled all kinds of people trying to get information. She wasn't going to allow the tall, dark biker to intimidate her!

"Hey, Tig!" A cheery voice called from the coffee kiosk a few feet away from the information desk. "Need a little help?"

He looked up with relief. "Hey, sweetheart! Yeah. A lot of help. Where's my wife?"

"Come with me, sailor," June replied, nodding at the volunteer that she would take care of the matter. "She's OK, Alex," June assured him as they strolled to the elevator.

"She still out?"

"Last time I checked on her, about a half hour ago she was still sound asleep," she replied.

"Any idea what's causin' that?" the worry was evident in his voice.

June pressed the 'up' button for the elevator and sipped from her coffee cup. "Exhaustion, my friend. She's not in a coma, just in a deep sleep."

The elevator car pinged its arrival. Alex reached out to place his palm across the door so June precede him into the car. "I don't get it, how can she sleep like that?"

June waited until the door closed after them before replying. "She's worn out, Alex. Her PTSS is an added factor in this."

"How so?"

"She's not had a chance to come to terms with the wreck and everything else that's happened since."

Alex listed to himself all the events June was referring to. There was Sack's murder, Gemma and Abel's disappearance, the two funerals, the drive by, and his own absence to protect Gemma while she was on the lam.

Now she had to deal with the added stress of their marriage being leaked out. "Shit!" His hand started massaging the bridge of his nose. "So she's mentally retreated mentally to a place where we can't get her back?"

"No, hun," June replied. "From what I learned from Dr. Gallagher, she's aware of things, she's just - insulated - I guess is the best way to say it."

Alex thought of the last stint he'd done in prison. The only communication allowed there was by sitting in a cubicle with a glass wall separating him from his visitors. The only way they could talk was through the telephone. It had made him feel very isolated. Worse than solitary.

"She'll come out of it when she's ready. At the moment, she'll stay this way no matter what stimulus y'all use," June grinned slyly and took another sip of her coffee.

"OK, I think I get it, sweetheart. So what did the checkup show?"

"Dr. Gallagher gave her the iron infusion as soon as she was rolled into the treatment room. Her color noticeably improved," June replied, listing the other exams and treatments Dr. Gallagher had run. "He was intrigued to find some unusual marks on her wrists and ankles – ligature marks, in fact."

"Huh?"

"Rope marks. Were you two doin' somethin' wild and wanton this mornin'?" June grinned.

"Not like you're thinkin'," he replied. "We played a little joke on the press, guess we got a little over – enthusiastic about it."

"I see," she drawled.

"C'mon, sweetheart!" Alex protested. "It was completely 'G' rated! Hell, Pete recorded it!"

"Then I'll check it out for myself," she promised.

"Did ya meet with the idiots in charge about the offer?"

"Yup. Today's my last day at St. Thomas, hun. I'll be leavin' outta Stockton at oh dark thirty tomorrow mornin'."

"That sucks. I was kinda hopin' you'd be here for a few more days," Alex replied.

June's eyes twinkled at him. "So I can keep your girl outta trouble?"

Alex shrugged. "That, but also to keep her company while I'm in Belfast."

The elevator doors slid open onto a medical patient floor. "This is Cat's floor," she explained, stepping out of the car into the hall.

Alex followed her from the elevator to a patient room. The door was closed. He could see the room was dark through the small viewing window set in the door.

"C'mon in, Alex," June invited, pushing the door open as she spoke. "We can talk in here without danger of bein' overheard."

They settled into chairs Cat's bed. Alex glanced dubiously at the bag of saline attached to a pole next to it. "Dare I ask?"

"Part of the infusion, hun," June assured him.

"Oh – kay," Alex wasn't sure he wanted to know what the infusion was all about. It didn't sound comfortable, whatever it was.

"It's not a major deal, Alex," June informed him. "It's a liquid form of iron that is pumped into a vein. The saline flushes the system, much like all y'all flush a radiator. The iron is pushed into the IV, then more saline is used to make sure every drop goes into the vein."

Alex nodded, his eyes never leaving Cat's slumbering form. He watched her breathing, noticing how deep and even it was. "What'd the doc say about her injuries?"

"Optimistic. The cracked bones are knitting, the bruises are fading, and the scans showed no damage from bumping her head and breaking her nose."

"What about her eye?"

June shook her head. "Dunno, hun. Dr. Smythe's not examined her yet. He's been in surgery."

"Damn!"

June leaned over to press a sympathetic hand on Alex's. "I'm worried, too. Guess I can call y'all up to boardin' time if I learn anything?"

"You'd better!" he growled.

"Oh, stuff the caveman act!" June scoffed. "I've seen your softer side; y'all don't scare me anymore!"

"Wanna bet?" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"Don't worry, big boy," June snorted with a laugh. "Your secret's safe with me! Y'all need to spend some time with your girl."

"Wait a minute! D'ya have the pre pay number?"

June nodded. "Cat gave it to me last night." She sailed out the door without a backward glance. They'd already said their goodbyes earlier, she wasn't up to an encore performance.

The moment the door closed behind June, Alex got up and walked to the opposite side of the bed near the wall. He stood for a moment, gazing down at his sleeping wife. The small amount of light coming from the door didn't allow him to determine whether the infusion had made any difference. 'Prolly too soon to tell.'

He winced to see new bandages encircling her wrists. He knew there'd be a matching set around her ankles. It pained him to know he'd caused those injuries to her by pulling up and back on the crossbeams when she'd stumbled. He'd made sure the twine wasn't tied too tight before they confronted the press, but the rope had dug into her skin when he tried to prevent her from falling.

"Shit!" he moaned, laying his palm on top of her covered chest. "What else could I have done, baby? I couldn't let ya fall on your face in front of those fucktards!"

Consumed with an overwhelming need to feel her against him, Alex shrugged out of his cut, removed his knife holster and boots, and slid onto the mattress beside her. Being careful of the IV line, he gathered her up against him, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"Hey, baby. I wish ya'd wake up and talk to me," he whispered in her ear. She stirred enough to snuggle against his chest, but she didn't open her eyes. He sighed wearily and rested his chin on top of her head.

His cell phone chose that moment to sound off. He frowned and dug it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID. Kozik's number.

"Where the Hell were you earlier?" he snarled.

"Otherwise occupied, brother. I called as soon as I got your message. Whaddya want?"

Tig frowned at Kozik's snarky reply. 'What the fuck d'ya expect? You're not the asshat's keeper!' Knowing that Kozik could've chosen not to call back at all, Tig reigned in his temper to explain the situation with Salazar and his concern for the women associated with the club and his old lady in particular. 'Koz hasn't seen the news yet; no need to have him razz me about bein' married. Not when I need him to focus on this situation!'

"Lemme get this straight. You're askin' me to keep your old lady safe?"

"Yeah. If you think you can do a better job than the last time I trusted ya to keep my girl safe!" Tig growled in response.

'He just won't let that go, for fuck's sake!' Kozik winced at the acid in Tig's voice. "If it bothers ya that much, maybe ya should have this talk with Piney instead of me!"

"Don't ya think I thought of that first before callin' ya?" Tig growled. "Piney's old and sick. I need someone who can keep up with my girl, not get run over by her!"

"There's the prospects," Kozik insisted.

"She doesn't know 'em, and I don't trust 'em yet. Shit, they've only been prospectin' a day!"

"Then what you're sayin' is that ya got no other choice," Kozik replied quietly.

"Yeah."

Kozik remained quiet for a while. He knew that he was being handed a golden opportunity to finagle his transfer. 'There's not a lot Tig can do if I make agreein' to me patchin' SAMCRO a condition.'

He pictured what would happen if Piney tried to keep up with the bundle of determination and stubborness that was Tig's old lady. 'Hell, Piney'd have a coronary within the first five minutes!' Kozik shook his head. 'As temptin' as the idea is, that's not the way I wanna patch SAMCRO. It's not honorable to coerce Tig's vote.'

Tig waited grimly through the silence. He knew what Kozik was thinking; he'd be thinking the same thing if the roles were reversed. Try as he might, he couldn't stomach the idea of Kozik sharing a SAMCRO patch. 'This was a bad idea! I should've asked her SAMRRO friends to come down here!'

He idly ran his fingers along Cat's jaw line as he waited for Kozik to play his trump card. 'As much as I love ya, baby. I can't agree to patch him in to protect ya. I hope you'll forgive me someday.'

Just as he was going to tell Kozik to forget it, the Tacoma SAA surprised him by stating, "You've got a deal. Just tell that woman of yours to keep her gun holstered when I'm around! She has a tendency to point that thing at my dick!"

Tig inwardly sighed with relief and gazed fondly at his sleeping wife. 'Good for you, baby!' Aloud he growled, "I see she already knows how to get your attention!"

"Yeah, but I'd rather stay a rooster, if ya get my drift! Where is your girl, anyway? Didn't see her at the coffeehouse today."

"She's here at St. Thomas, gettin' a checkup. I'm keepin' her company for a bit."

"Where will she be after ya leave?"

Tig sighed in resignation. 'He'd find out anyway so might as well hear it from me.' He explained that Cat had been readmitted to the hospital. "It might be just a day or two. She's totally worn out. The doc is just bein' cautious."

That seemed to satisfy Kozik. "No worries, Tig. Get to Belfast, get the kid, and come on back. She'll be whole when ya get back."

Tig turned off the cell without responding. He knew he'd gotten off lucky this time. The next time Kozik had him by the short hairs, he'd be more likely to pull a few of 'em out.

---

Tara stood at the hospital pharmacy window, waiting patiently for the order she'd submitted for Gemma's heart medicines to be filled. Dr. Gallagher had gladly written the prescription for her when she'd asked. "I'm just trying to get all the medical needs taken care of before she transfers," she explained.

"I'll write a two-week fill; it usually takes that long for the SJCCF to get their shit together to order meds. We don't need her having another attack from red tape!"

Dr. Gallagher went beyond the call of duty by writing out a one refill only prescription. "If for some strange reason it takes awhile for the county to order her meds, you can fill this one to tide her over!" He winked.

She had stashed Gemma's travel bag in her locker. It would be safe there until she could figure out a way to spirit Gemma out of the hospital. After packing a bag for Gemma, she'd gone back to the house she'd shared with Jax and packed her own bag.

Unfortunately, Jax had chosen that same moment to return to the house to back his own bag for the trip to Belfast. He'd tried to persuade her not to leave the house yet, but she'd rejected the idea.

'Why postpone the inevitable? It hurts enough as it is. There's no way I want to put this off!' She let Jax have it with both barrels, tersely reminding him as she stormed out of the bedroom that the prince didn't always get his way. She'd tossed her bags in the back seat of her car, started the ignition and backed out of the driveway before Jax could catch up with her and try to change her mind.

She deliberately focused her mind at the more immediate problem. Jax was now a thing of the past. Tara had no idea how she was going to manage that with a Federal Agent standing right outside her hospital room door. Nor did she know how she'd get the fugitive to the Stockton cargo field.

She knew that Clay and Jax were going to return to the hospital before they left for Ireland. 'They're going to be very surprised when they find out she'd not going to county!'

"Sorry it took so long, Dr. Knowles," the pharmacist explained as he appeared in the window. He handed over an orange color pill bottle.

"That's all right. I didn't mind the wait," she assured him. "Never a dull moment, is there?"

"I had to check with Dr. Gallagher to make sure he hadn't written the 'script on the wrong form," the pharmacist replied. "He wrote it on his private practice pad, not the hospital one."

'Shit! I hope that won't get back to Margaret!' Tara carefully schooled her features so the pharmacist wouldn't get suspicious. "I understand. You've got your rules to follow."

"No reason for this to go any further than the three of us. Dr. Gallagher said he didn't realize that he'd grabbed the wrong pad out of his pocket when he wrote the 'script," the pharmacist stated. "He'll swing by with another from his hospital pad later. That's good enough for me."

'And Margaret will be none the wiser!' Tara thought elatedly. "Sounds like a winner all the way around," she replied evenly. She waved at the pharmacist and walked non chalantly down the hall. She decided to take the long way around to the doctor's locker room, just to be safe.

Once she'd stored the pill bottle and the emergency prescription in a pocket of the travel bag, Tara sat in front of her locker, holding her head in her hands. 'What the Hell am I doing? I'm a doctor, not a jail break artist!'

The often made comment of Dr. Leonard McCoy of Star Trek fame made her smile a bit. Thinking of the kind of superhuman feat that McCoy usually pulled out of his doctor's kit after making that statement led her to solution that might work. She could use Gemma's heart condition and the meds to their advantage!

There were risks involved, for her and Gemma. If Margaret Murphy suspected anything, she would throw the book at her again. Not only could she be suspended, she might even lose her license! The risk to Gemma was as great, as the Feds could easily tack on more time to her impending sentence.

'Not to add the risk of the whole plan blowing up in our faces! But I can't think of anything better. It's too bad Chuckie's still on that Emergency Detention,' she observed dryly. 'I could really work better with a false fire alarm than assisting with a jail break!'

Still, as flimsy as the plan was, it was the only idea she had on the table. They'd just have to make it work. 'Now all I have to do is share it with Gemma and keep the guys from finding out.'

Hector and Luisa had no reason to hang around after Alvarez stripped him of his patch and kicked him out of his MC. It pained and angered him to see his former VP commanding the men that he once led. Only Luisa could see how much it hurt to have his club ignore him.

Luisa wanted to make Alvarez pay for taking hurting Hector. She didn't care that Alvarez would kill her if she looked at him cross-eyed. What mattered to her was that Alvarez had disrespected her man and he needed to pay for that.

"You can't go up against him, Chula! He would kill you the minute you raised a hand against him!" His eyes darkened as he added, "I've lost everything else; don't make me lose you, too!"

The pain in his eyes and voice was enough to cut through the miasma of hate and revenge. She softened as only Hector could make her do. "A'right, baby. I won't make you go through that," she whispered.

His hand caressed her cheek, then he put his arm around her and they walked to the parking lot. He escorted her to her car, a red late 80's Chevy Camaro. "Wait here for me. I'll follow you," he instructed.

"Are you sure you're up to riding?"

"I'm not leavin' my bike here," Hector snorted. "We'll leave it at your Aunt's house."

"But she's not living there anymore!"

"I know, chula. But the bike will be safe there in her garage. You still have keys, si?"

Luisa nodded as understanding dawned on her face. "Si, baby. And if the bank hasn't changed the locks, we can use that as a safe house if we need it."

"It'll be awhile before the bank can sell it in this economy!" he observed as he limped towards his bike.

She climbed into the driver's seat and watched anxiously as Hector limped to his bike. Moments later, he pulled up next to her car and waved for her to precede him.

Luisa's aunt had been forced to abandon the house after she fell behind in the payments. It wasn't that she didn't make any payments; she paid as much as she could every month, but had fallen so far behind that the bank felt it would recup what was owed faster through foreclosure than letting her continue making smaller payments.

The bank hadn't changed the locks, so Luisa was able to gain access to the house. She manually raised the garage door so Hector could pilot his bike inside, then he helped her lower it. There was enough room in the garage for his bike and her car if they needed to.

They walked into the vacant house. Everything that had made it Luisa's aunt's house a home was in storage. The unfairness of the situation resurrected her ire. "Fucking corporate bastards! Just because she couldn't speak English well, they denied her the help the gringos who never paid a dime got and caused this!"

"I know, chula, I know," Hector replied soothingly, taking her into a comforting embrace. "We'll make some gringos pay, even if it's not the ones that did this," he assured her.

She relaxed in his arms for a few minutes, allowing her righteous anger for her aunt's eviction fade to a slow boil.

"That's better," he crooned. "Best to keep that energy ready for when we need it!"

They sat on the stairs, Luisa resting a hand on Hector's thigh. "So what are we going to do now?"

"We're going to take your car to Charming, and find where Jax Teller lives, then we'll find out what he loves most and take that from him!"

"How are we going to do that? There must be a hundred places he can stay in that town!" Luisa sighed. "We don't dare hang around their compound!"

"They don't know your car, baby," Hector replied, an evil grin splitting his battered face. "We can stake out the compound, watch for him to leave for his house."

"That might take forever!" Luisa protested.

"Normally it would. I heard him tell Alvarez he's taking off for a week with the rest of his club. He's gotta pack a bag for that."

"Which means he's gotta go to his house," Luisa mused.

Hector nodded approvingly. "Si. When he does, we'll follow to find where he lives. Alvaraez told him good luck finding his son. That means he has to have an old lady holed up there."

"So when he leaves, we take her. But then what?" Luisa inquired.

"We call whoever they leave behind to handle club business, make them pay to get her back, but we kill her anyway once we get the money!" Hector explained coldly.

"What makes you think that will hurt him? Some of those gringos don't give a shit about their old ladies!" Luisa spat.

"That blond shitheel is different, baby. Anyone who feels for his son the way that SAMCRO VP does, will feel something for the baby's mama."

Luisa pondered that for a moment, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "I know what else we can do! We make killing Alvarez a part of the deal. That, and the money will let them know we're dead serious."

Hector threw his arm around his woman's shoulders and kissed her soundly. "That's a grande plan, baby! I'm glad you're on my side!"

"Don't ever do anything to make me not want to be on your side, Hector!" she hissed warningly. She glared at him for a moment before melting against him.

"Don't worry, baby! I have no intention of gettin' on your bad side," he assured her. With Luisa on his side, it didn't matter if he was down in the shithouse, or leading his own gang. Having Luisa with him made him feel like a king.

"We'd better go if we're gonna track that blond asshole," Hector advised. He stood up and drew Luisa up, holding her tight to him before leading her out the door to her waiting car.

---

June's meeting with Margaret Murphy and Dr. Barry, the hospital administrator and Chief of Staff respectively, started off her workday. The three met in Dr. Barry's office in the administration suite.

"So, Ms. Kruckle, have you decided to make your career permanent with us?"

"I'm sorry to say Dr. Barry that I've decided to decline the generous offer."

"But, why?" Margaret inquired. "Most contract employees want to be hired on full - time!"

"My current position affords me a great deal of flexibility, which is something I need in my life. I find myself in a position where I'm not required to settle in any one place for any length of time; so now I find myself with a touch of wanderlust."

"I don't understand," Margaret replied a bit crossly. She thought her search for a qualified candidate had ended when the job was offered to June. That process had been time-consuming. 'I'll bet it's because she's had to deal with SAMCRO on a daily basis!'

Margaret wasn't used to accepting second best, not in her personal life, and definitely not for the hospital. It was why she had made the deal with Agent Stahl in the first place so long ago. Now she was finding she would have to make due with second best for the hospital, and the agreement with Stahl was leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

"Well, I do," Dr. Barry interjected. "Ms. Kruckle has the opportunity to do what a lot of people have to save for years to do. Her current employer pays her to travel all over the country. I can count on the fingers of one hand - and still have four fingers left over - the number of employers that offer that perk."

June turned an appreciative smile on the Chief of Staff. "That's true, sir. I spent my entire life in Indiana, doing what was expected of me as a mother and girlfriend. I followed my boyfriend to Florida only to have our relationship fall apart. When the company hired me, it was like an answer to a prayer. I still have a home base, but get see places I've only read or heard about but never thought I'd get to visit. Guess I'm just not ready to settle down in one spot yet."

"St. Thomas' loss is your company's gain," Dr. Barry noted. "I'm certainly planning to send a glowing review for your work. And if we ever post the job again, please be sure that our HR department knows how to contact you!"

"I'll make that happen today, sir!" June replied, including Margaret in her warm smile. "I've already told my employer that I'm ready for a new assignment, by the way."

"Oh, no!" Margaret moaned aloud, her own smile freezing in place. "I was hoping you'd be able to stay on until we hired someone to fill the position!"

June gazed regretfully at the hospital administrator. Despite all the rumors she'd heard around Margaret as a person, June had found her to be a dedicated professional. Maybe a little more concerned with outward appearances than she should be, but overall, June had developed a deep respect for the woman.

"I'm really sorry. I'm required to report to the company as soon as the assignment is finished. They've already got a new assignment for me. I get to go home long enough to wash clothes, pack, and head out again."

"It shouldn't take you too long to find another suitable candidate, Margaret," Dr. Barry added soothingly. "Surely there was another candidate just as qualified as Ms. Kruckle!"

Margaret nodded in resignation. "That's true. It's just disappointing because Ms. Kruckle was such a good fit!"

Dr. Barry stood up, reaching across his desk to shake hands with June, signaling an end to the meeting. "Good luck, Ms. Kruckle. Thanks for saving our collective butts!"

"You're welcome, sir," June replied, shaking his hand and following Margaret out the office door.

The women walked silently through the administrative suite and into the main lobby. "Buy you a cup of coffee?" June offered, pointing to the coffee kiosk operated by Cat's direct competitor, Latte Da.

"Thanks, but I'd better pass," Margaret replied hastily. She'd spotted Tig Trager striding into the lobby from the parking lot. "I've got to hire your replacement."

She hurried off in the direction of her office while June stepped up to the coffee kiosk. She had noticed Margaret's reaction to Tig's entrance. She couldn't help overhearing his rather agitated conversation with the information desk volunteer, and grinned as she waited for her drink. 'Guess I'd better go to his rescue!'

Margaret gave a deep sigh of relief to reach the safety of her office. She knew from the daily outpatient appointment report that Cat Marshall was due in for a check up on her injuries. That's why she'd been surprised by Trager's appearance in the lobby. 'Surely he was with her for treatment! That club always hangs out in the area where their women are treated!'

When she pulled up the patient floor census update file, she learned why Trager had looked so intimidating. Cat Marshall had been admitted directly from the ER with a diagnosis from Dr. Gallagher of exhaustion via PTSS.

"Well! Guess that'll teach me not to make broad assumptions!" she muttered to herself. She chided herself for feeling nervous at the sight of him walking through the lobby. 'We were in a public place; he's not stupid enough to pull anything with a lot of witnesses around!'

Though she knew in her heart that Tara had been blowing steam when they had their confrontation in her office, the veiled threats had stayed with her.

Margaret genuinely appreciated Tara Knowles' skills; she was the best neo – natal surgeon St. Thomas had ever had. Had Agent Stahl not threatened her peace of mind, Margaret would never had made an issue of Tara's involvement with Jax Teller.

The situation had continued to get tense until the day Tara was finally goaded into assaulting Margaret. Cat Marshall, of all people, had gone to Dr. Barry in Tara's defense, which resulted in both combatants being placed on a six month 'probation' – Tara for hitting her supervisor and Margaret's for goading the doctor into it.

Margaret had to admit that Dr. Barry had been fair in his decision. If both managed to stay out of trouble for that six month period, their work record would be expunged of the incident. Though they seemed to be getting along better, Margaret still wasn't so sure that the Sons might not want to settle things on Tara's behalf.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts of all things SAMCRO. That was the least of her problems right now. She gazed at the stack of applicant files on her desk and drew them in front to her. The most promising candidates' folders were at the top. The folders contained their applications, resumes, references, and interview notes.

Margaret examined the top five qualifiers' folders carefully, making notes to herself on her computer. After a few hours of work, she narrowed it down to the best candidate and made the call to offer the position to the delighted candidate.

Once that was completed, Margaret drafted an email to the HR department and Dr. Barry announcing the new hire's identity, background, and start date. After she sent the email, Margaret sat back in her chair and put her hands behind her head, gazing at the ceiling tiles.

Her thoughts immediately returned to her immediate reaction to June's announcement that she was not going to accept the job offer. June had quickly set the administrator straight about her reasons so that Margaret believed the contract employee genuinely enjoyed her current situation and didn't want to be tied to any one town for awhile. 'I had that same wanderlust at one time,' she recalled with some fondness mixed with regret.

Her thoughts about SAMCRO made her think back to the conversation she'd had with Gemma Morrow the previous day. Agent Stahl had stopped in her office following Gemma's capture, reminding the administrator that she still held a Sword of Damocles over Margaret's head.

"I need you to tighten the screws on Tara," Stahl announced.

"Why? You have Gemma in custody. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Of course it is! But Tara is withholding information because the club is telling her to."

"Then that's between you and Tara. I'm done!" Margaret had hissed.

Stahl had stared coldly at her, like a cat playing with a mouse before killing it. "You're done when I say you are, sweetheart, unless you want your loving family to find out all your past history, instead of the parts you've told them."

"Hah! Go ahead!" Margaret spat. "I already told my family the whole story!"

"There's always the Chief of Staff. I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear about your checkered past!" Stahl retorted without batting an eye. Inwardly, Stahl had been surprised that the mousy little administrator had found the guts to confide in her family. "I always carry a trump card, sweetheart."

"Fine! I'll talk to Gemma, but then we're done once and for all!" Margaret snarled, walking away from the agent towards the administrative suite.

Stahl had a feeling that her trump card was about to become useless. 'It was bound to happen, but it was worth it while it lasted!'

Margaret had indeed confessed all to Dr. Barry. He'd written it off as one of those young adult learning experiences. "We won't speak of it again, Margaret. It explains a lot about your behavior lately. I just wish you'd felt you could've confided in me earlier."

Margaret did speak with Gemma, though it was a brief meeting. Gemma had abruptly ended the conversation by threatening to give Margaret another set of abrasions to match the ones Tara had given her. Before she'd uttered the threat, Gemma had made a statement about Margaret that now was making a lot of sense.

'I wonder if I've allowed my past to influence my perspective where that club's concerned. The club's certainly done a lot for the town in the last few years. I don't see other towns in the area that have a lot of flourishing, locally owned businesses.'

SAMCRO also had something more going for it with Margaret than the local business picture. She knew of two professional, well-educated women who had found something about two of the members to be willing to live with them.

'I should've never allowed Stahl to lead me by the nose the way she did. Would I have been so willing to let her if I hadn't been so afraid of my past?'

Telling the truth to her family had been hard, but she'd felt a true sense of freedom she'd not felt in weeks. To her surprise, her husband had been kind and supportive, though it concerned a bit that her children thought she was 'way cool' for having been a rock n roll groupie for a time.

Telling Dr. Barry hadn't been any easier, but he was right. It was an event that happened long before she came to work for St. Thomas and had no direct effect on her work. She was finally free of Stahl's iron fist.

---

The after school rush hadn't started yet at Charming Pawse. In fact, there wasn't anyone inside except for the cats in their area and one employee when Chief Unser stopped in for a cup of coffee. He'd hoped to talk to the owner, only to learn she was at St. Thomas.

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"Just to have her injuries checked out," Christopher Johns assured him. "You missed all the fun this morning."

Unser raised an inquiring eyebrow at the younger man. Christopher pointed to the bulletin board and explained about his employer's intent to run for city council. "Apparently someone didn't like the idea, and leaked out some personal information about Miss Cat to the media. She and Mr. Tig had a meeting with 'em."

"What kind of personal information?" Unser asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"It'll be on the news, anyway, so I guess there's no harm in telling you that Miss Cat and Mr. Tig have been married for months!" Christopher explained.

The news nearly made Unser drop his coffee. He held onto the large mug with both hands and set it firmly on the counter. "Married?"

Christopher nodded, a broad grin shining on his face.

"I'll be damned!" Unser sputtered. He leaned both hands on the counter to steady himself.

"Yeah, been a lot of that going on today," Christopher assured him with a laugh.

"I knew they were serious, just never thought Tig was the type to settle down with anyone!" Unser exclaimed.

"Lot of that sentiment's been going around too. Seems more people are surprised that Mr. Tig got married at all, much less that he married Miss Cat."

"I can definitely sympathize with that!" Unser grinned. The shock of the news had started to wear off. He lifted his coffee cup, pleased that his hands had stopped shaking so he wouldn't have the hot beverage sloshing all over the place. He hefted the cup at Christopher in a mock salute and walked over to the bulletin board to read the latest notice.

'That's gonna set Hale on his ear! Wonder if he's the one who tipped off the media. He was so deep in Zobelle's back pocket that he'd think nothing about using any intel that bastard had at his disposal!'

Agreeing to support Jacob's bid for the mayor's office didn't mean he was required to lend support to Hale's cronies. Unser had just added his name to the petition when the door burst open to admit the first batch of hungry high school students.

"Miss Anna! We've got company!" Christopher called towards the back area.

"I know! I'm coming!" Miss Anna stepped behind the counter, carrying a large plastic bin of clean dishes.

Unser moved through the swarm of students like a hot knife through butter. Sometimes being a cop was a good thing. "Lemme help you with that, sweetheart. Looks heavy!"

"Just a little, Chief," Anna grinned, allowing him to take the bin from her. "I would've had these in here sooner. Got a little sidetracked watching Pete's recording from this morning!"

Unser placed the bin on the counter where Anna directed and turned to look at her. "Why did he record the whole thing?"

"Miss Cat wanted it for our website and Facebook page. She didn't want the public to rely on a sound bite, but to have access to the whole affair," Miss Anna explained. "Would you like to see it?"

Unser grinned slyly. "Do bears shit in the woods?"

Anna smiled back at him and winked. "I'm sure Miss Cat wouldn't object. Do you know how to work a computer?"

"I may be old, sweetheart, but I can work one of those contraptions! We do have 'em at CPD!" he growled.

"The file is still up on Miss Cat's computer in the office. Just click on the 'play' icon," Anna replied, her eyes twinkling with good humor.

"I'll show myself to the office. You two better handle this hungry mob!" Unser retorted, making his way to the office with his coffee.

While the two employees managed the after school crowd, the police chief settled in front of the office computer and activated the program. He watched enjoyed the drama the couple had staged on the press. He was also curious over Tig's sudden departure from the event to take a telephone call.

'I don't like the way Cat looks. She's been doin' way too much since she left the hospital!' he mused worriedly. 'Maybe I should visit with her before I take Gemma to county.'

After the recording ended, he left the office, stopping in the kitchen to leave his cup in the sink. He walked back into the front entry to find all the hungry students had been served.

Groups of teens were huddled throughout the lounge, chattering like magpies, doing homework, reading, or surfing the web on the computers. A few were gathered at the cats' window, watching the felines vie for their attention.

"See you tomorrow, Chief!" Anna called out as he walked towards the entrance, nodding and waving at the kids that greeted him as he passed.

Unser lifted one hand and nodded before leaving the building and walking to his car. He'd managed to escape that feeling of dread about Gem during his visit to the coffeehouse. Unfortunately, it returned with a vengeance the minute he climbed into his car. That feeling continued nagging at him all the way to St. Thomas.

Unlike the difficulty she'd given Tig Trager, the elderly volunteer at the information desk quickly complied with the Chief's request for Cat Marshall's location. His eyes widened in surprise when he found out she'd been admitted from the ER earlier that day.

That was one of the advantages of having the census report on computer. It enabled the information desk to get access to patient locations throughout the hospital.

He took the elevator to the floor where Cat's room was located. He wasn't sure if he'd run into Tig or not and tried not to feel nervous about that. He wasn't on very good terms with any of SAMCRO after the raid. 'I'll just have to cross that bridge if I come to it. Just as long as he doesn't prevent me from visitin'!'

Luck seemed to be on the chief's side; Tig wasn't in Cat's room. The only person there was a nurse, removing an IV line from the patient's arm.

"I can come back later," Unser stated at the doorway.

"No need. I'm almost done," the nurse softly assured him. "It'll be a bit of a one-sided visit, I'm afraid. She's been asleep since she was admitted."

"Is she all right?"

"Exhausted is all. She shouldn't have left the hospital so early," the nurse replied. "Gave her boyfriend a bit of a scare from what I heard."

'Wait until you hear the latest about them!' Unser kept the news to himself. Time enough for the hospital gossip mill to chew that news to pieces. "I'll just come back later, when she's more alert."

"I'll let her know you were here, Chief," the nurse assured him, placing a bandage over the puncture wound the IV had left in the woman's arm.

"Thanks," he muttered, closing the door behind him. He stood beside the door, then headed for the jail ward. A new surprise met him as he walked down the hall towards the detention area.

Gemma was lying on a stretcher shaking from a series of convulsions. Tara followed the stretcher piloted by a pair of orderlies. The ever-present Fed guard trailed behind along with a nurse.

Tara stopped long enough to tell Unser that Gemma was having a bad reaction to her heart meds. She hurried on down the hall and around the corner after the stretcher before Unser had a chance to say a word in reply.

The police chief remained standing in the hallway after the stretcher disappeared around the corner. He wanted to believe that the convulsions were real, that his gut feeling was wrong, but his cop sense was telling him otherwise.

Within minutes, he received confirmation that his cop instinct was right. An alarm sounded while police radios buzzed with the news that Gemma had escaped. Unser knew from long experience that Gemma would do everything possible to avoid capture, including using whatever obscure exit she could think of. 'If Tara's helping her, I'm willin' to bet she'll head for the service entrance.'

The corridor was crammed with Federal agents, county deputies, and the hospital's own security force. Unser was the only CPD officer present. Instead of joining them in hunting Gemma, he decided to strike out on his own to apprehend her.

---

Tig jumped behind the wheel of the Teller - Morrow tow truck, yelling encouragingly at Jax through the open window. He pulled away from the parked Olds, glancing in the reara view mirrors to make sure the car got away before the approaching CPD cruisers caught up with them.

Clay, Gemma, and Jax hurried into the black sedan and raced away from the scene where they'd changed vehicles. The high pitched wail of approaching sirens grew louder. "C'mon piggies, chase after me! Don't' go lookin' for the Olds!" he crooned encouragingly, keeping the truck's speed to 30mph.

For all he knew, Unser might've told his officers to look for both vehicles, instead of just the truck, though he'd told the Teller – Morrows a different story in order to get them to go without him. "I knew I should've shot Unser when I had the chance!" he muttered.

He relaxed in the seat and increased his speed as the two CPD cars chased after him. Neither of them branched off to go looking for the Olds. 'A'right, little piggies, let's see what ya got under those hoods.'

He allowed the CPD vehicles to catch up with him and led them through the streets of Charming and past the town limits. Then Tig mashed the accelerator, allowing the powerful diesel engine to propel the truck well away from the pursuing CPD cruisers.

He grinned as the distance between the truck and the cop cars increased. He knew full well the CPD officers wouldn't give up until they caught him. The small parade of racing vehicles sped to Hwy 99, which would take them through desert – like areas towards Modesto. There were few towns on that route. What existed were small and had little or no traffic controls to hinder his progress, provided he didn't run out of gas right away.

It didn't take long for a trio of SJSD cars to join the chase. Two of the county vehicles moved in front of the CPD cruisers and the third dropped behind them. 'All we need is for the CHP to join in to make this a party!'

He glanced at the gas tank and mentally calculated how far he could travel while maintaining the high-speed. Adding the engine size and amount of gas in the tank to the equation indicated he wouldn't be able to outrun the police for long. 'But the others will get away clean!' he thought in triumph.

The afternoon wasn't supposed to have ended that way. The club had met back at the compound to take the van to Stockton. Piney would drive them there and bring the van back to the compound.

Clay and Jax intented to return to in order to be present when Gemma was transferred to the SJCFF. Tig quickly announced that he was going with them.

"Ya know ya don't have to guard me everyplace I go," Clay growled as the tow truck pulled out of the compound.

"Yeah. While you two are with Gem, I'm gonna check on Cat," he replied gruffly."She was still sleepin' when I left, and Dr. Smythe hadn't come around to check her eye yet."

"Think there's gonna be problems?" Jax inquired.

"Dunno. I hear that corneal scratches can be tricky. There's no tellin' what kinda damage that glass sliver couldn't done!"

Clay scrubbed his face with his hand while Jax lit a cigarette. They didn't exchange another word until Tig had parked the truck in the parking lot.

"Make sure you keep it short and sweet, we're on a time constraint," Clay growled warningly as he climbed out of the parked truck.

"I know. I will," Tig promised.

They were less than three yards from the truck when Jax's cell went off. The caller ID showed Tara's name, but it was actually Gemma calling to tell them to meet her at the service entrance.

They moved the truck around the hospital buidling to the service entrance, parking the truck next to the ramp. They were piling out of the truck just as Gemma rushed out the door. She was dressed in street clothes and a white lab coat and carrying a duffel bag.

'Dammit! This wasn't supposed to happen!' Jax swore inwardly. He and Clay tried to convince her not to come with them.

Tig knew that his own plans had been changed. He rolled his eyes at the Heavens in aggravation. His voice reflected some of his feelings when he sharply advised the two men that there was no arguing with Gem when her mind was made up.

There were no windows on that section of the building and the tow truck sheilded them from the sight of anyone driving into the parking area. The three men felt confident no one would turn up to prevent them from leaving.

To their combined dismay, Chief Unser suddenly appeared in front of them right at the foot of the service entrance ramp. He blocked their way to the parking lot and dryly noted that Gemma's fever seemed much improved.

Gemma didn't respond to him. Unser then offered to take her back to the jail ward and run interference for her with the Feds. 'Maybe that will salvage whatever deal she made,' he thought.

Gemma stood silently, looking angrily at him. Unser made it clear that his offer was the only option open to her. Clay and the other two men seemed willing to let her decide her fate.

As far as she was concerned, Unser was no longer a friend of the club, which meant he was no longer her friend. She stared haughtily at Unser, whose eyes traveled from her to the three men with her.

Tig moved his hand around to his back when he thought Unser wasn't watching. Unser was quicker and rapidly pulled his gun from his holster, aiming it directly at Tig. Quick as lightning, Tig brought his own gun out in front of him, pointing it directly at the police chief.

'Shit! Talk about a Mexican standoff!' Unser thought to himself. He declared that a shootout was the last thing he wanted, his voice pleading with Gemma to be reasonable.

Gemma refused to allow herself to be persuaded by him. As far as she and her husband and son were concerned, Unser was not their friend. She slowly moved in front of Unser, who kept his gun trained on Tig. She defiantly inquired if Unser would actually shoot her.

Jax moved quickly next to Tig, placing a hand on the SAA's shoulder. "Lower the gun, man," he whispered.

Tig hesitated a moment, then slowly lowered his gun so that the muzzle pointed at the ground. Gemma continued to stare at Unser, almost daring him to fire.

Unser glanced from Gemma to Tig, then at Clay and back to Gemma. His gun waivered just a bit, but it was enough to defuse the situation.

Gemma sneered a one word taunt at the police chief. The taunt wounded him to the core, but Gemma was paying attention.

She threw a set of keys to Tig. Tara's car keys. "Take the Cutlass," she ordered him as she walked to the tow truck.

Unser still had his gun raised, but it did little to prevent Gemma from walking to the tow truck. Jax followed her, while Clay and Unser exchanged furious glares before Clay walked past him.

Tig ran to Tara's Olds while the Tellers and Clay climbed into the tow truck. Jax started the truck at the same moment Tig started the car. Both vehicles pulled away from the parking area, leaving the police chief on his own.

Tig watched Unser in the rear view mirror, and witnessed the police chief place a call on his cell phone. 'That's not good! We're gonna have company!' He raced past the tow truck, signaling Jax to pull over. He managed to convince Clay and Jax to take the Olds and go on to Stockton's cargo airfield without him.

'I dunno what made me think of HIghway 18, when 99 runs in the opposite direction from Stockton!' he mused, piloting the truck along the two lane blacktop a few hundred yards ahead of the police cars.

He continued to croon encouragingly to the cops, even though there was no chance that any of them would break off from the chase to go after the Tellers and Clay. 'They shoulda reached the airfield by now !' He glanced at the open prepay laying in his lap to see if any of his brothers would message him.

A warning 'pinged' from the dashboard. The gas gauge was very close to 'E'. The yellow idiot light indicating 'low fuel' was glowing in the instrument cluster. 'Knew this was comin',' he sighed inwardly, letting up on the gas pedal. 'No sense runnin' the tank dry.'

He eased off on the accelerator and guided the tow truck to the side of the road. Tig brought the heavy-duty vehicle to a stop, opened the door, and slid from the cab, holding his hands up in surrender.

The five patrol cars screeched to a halt on the highway, nearly slamming into one another in their haste to capture the fugitive. The SJSD deputies were the first out of their cars, guns drawn and yelling at Tig to put his hands up.

He smirked at the Sanwa deputies. 'Kinda late for that, guys!' He stood still, keeping his hands up over his head, waiting for the cops next instruction.

"Get down on the ground and kiss the asphalt!" One of the deputies ordered loudly. The six deputies were standing behind their open car doors in case Tig opened fire on them.

His smirk grew wider. 'Unser must've told 'em I was armed!' Unfortunately for the local law enforcement, he'd left his gun in the glove compartment of the Olds before he'd traded vehicles. 'The last thing I need is a weapons charge while on bail!'

He sank to his knees then slowly lowered his arms to the asphalt so he could use his hands and arms to carry his upper body to the ground. Once he was lying flat on the pavement, he spread his arms out to his sides and waited for the deputies and CPD officers to surround him.

The deputies raced forward, but were more interested in searching the truck while the CPD officers frisked and cuffed him. Officer Eglee was one of the CPD officers who helped Tig stand up. "What was the big idea, Tig? Unser's gonna throw the book at you!"

Tig shrugged wordlessly and allowed Eglee and her partner to lead him to one of the CPD cruisers. He endured their more thorough pat down with surprising good grace. He gazed at the sky above, wishing he could see the cargo jet flying towards the ocean. 'Too far away to see anything anyway,' he consoled himself. 'Everybody's gotta be on the plane by now, that's the important thing.'

---

Oswald walked up to Bobby, the ranking officer present in the hangar. "Where's Jax and Clay?" he inquired quietly.

"They went to St. Thomas with Tig. Gem's transfer is happenin' today, Tig's w - old lady - got readmitted to the hospital today," Bobby winced at his near slip. The news that Cat and Tig were man and wife wasn't officially out yet. It wasn't his place to announce it to civilians.

Oswald's face wrinkled in concern. "What's wrong with Cat?"

"She was goin' in anyway for a checkup for her injuries," Bobby replied, grateful that Oswald didn't press the issue. "Apparently she was exhausted, so they're keepin' her for observation."

Oswald nodded. "That's probably a good idea. She shouldn't have left the hospital so early," he held up a hand to stop Bobby's protest. "I understand why she did it, Bobby, you'll get no argument on that from me. I'm just glad it's not more serious."

"Don't worry," Bobby assured him. "They'll be here in time."

As if that were the cue, Tara's Olds skidded to a stop in the open hangar. The garage van was parked near the wall of the hangar. Jax climbed out of the driver's side of the car, gruffly explaining to Oswald the reason for their delay. Clay got out of the passenger's side of the car, followed by Gemma.

Her eyes unflinchingly met Oswald's, daring him to protest. He shrugged his shoulders and walked to the plane to consult with his pilot.

Bobby walked up to the newcomers, inquiring into Tig's absence. Clay rumbled an answer that told Bobby they'd be going without the SAA. 'Prolly a good thing, given the circumstances,' he thought to himself. He gave Gemma a hug and led her over to her waiting 'boys' while Clay finalized plans with McGee.

Gemma and Jax briefed the club on her escape. "Tig took the tow truck to throw the cops off out trail," she added.

"Did ya know Cat was back in the hospital?" Juice asked. He was personally happy that Tig wasn't going to get to come with them. 'Cat's given us so much, and asked so little. It's about time we step up for her!'

"No!" Gemma exclaimed, her face going pale at the news. "What happened?"

"Tha gurl's exhausted, tha's wha hoppened," Chibs explained. "Prolly jest needs rest an' sum tender lovin' cair!"

Bobby wandered away from the group, pulling his pre pay from his pocket. He used one finger to tap out a text message, then slipped the phone back in his pocket. 'Tig oughta get the message!' he grinned.

Clay snapped his own cell phone closed as he walked towards the group. He announced that things were clear in Belfast. He raised his arm and Gemma slid under it, molding herself against him. The traveling club members hefted their duffels and walked in a group to the waiting cargo plane. The two prospects and Piney stayed behind, watching them board the plane. They would get the vehicles back to the compound.

---

The deputies searched the entire tow truck, but found nothing incriminating in it. The only thing they did uncover was the cell phone that had fallen onto the floorboard of the truck. One of the Sanwa deputies approached the CPD cruiser, holding the cell phone in his hand.

"Find anything of interest?" Eglee inquired, glaring at the deputy. She wished they'd been as studious about helping secure Tig as they'd been about searching the vehicle.

"Just this cell phone. Text message just came in, but damn if I can figure out what it means!"

Eglee accepted the cell phone and read the cryptic text aloud, "Your packages arrived safe. Sorry ya missed the boat." She gazed questioningly at Tig. "Wanna tell me what that means?"

Tig stared back at her. "Nothin' sinister doll. Somethin' I ordered came in to the garage."

"And the boat?" she prompted when he fell silent.

"That's why you haven't made detective, doll!" He grinned wickedly. "The club chartered a fishin' boat."

"Eglee ignored the dig. It sounded plausible, but it also seemed too pat for her taste. Do you really expect me to believe that story?"

"Believe what ya want," he shrugged.

"Christ, Tig! If I believe that, next thing I know you're gonna offer to sell me an acre of swampland in the desert!"

"I'd turn a pretty nice profit!" he replied.

Eglee frowned in disgust and pulled the back door of the patrol car open. "Get in the back seat and shut up, joker! Your ass is grass and Unser's gonna be the lawn mower!"

"Wouldn't be the first time, doll!" Tig settled into the cruiser's caged back seat and waited for the male cop to secure the shoulder harness around him. He stared straight ahead and remained silent while the cops compared notes just a few feet from him.

He knew he'd be spending some time in the CPD lock up, but no matter how many charges he received for the chase, he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He knew the cops would buy his translation of Bobby's message because it fit. What the message meant to him was that the Tellers and Clay got to the airfield on time and safely. The club was now safely on the way to Belfast.