Just a quick note to my very loyal and much appreciated readers: it seems this story has

taken on a life of its own and is turning out to be much longer than I had anticipated.

I hope everyone continues to come along for the ride, but if anyone wants to jump ship, I

completely understand! What started out as a simple, I thought, story is now a novel;

my sincerest apologies...but ah, the creative muse...

Chapter 28

Fully dressed, Steve was sitting on the couch in the dark, waiting and listening. He hadn't gotten much sleep; he wasn't sure anyone had.

Eventually he heard the master bedroom door open, and soft footfalls crossed the hall towards the bathroom. Irene, he knew. Getting up quickly, he took the stairs two at a time and slid into the room, pushing the door to but not closed behind him. The small bedside table lamp was on. Mike was lying on his left side, facing the far wall.

Steve crossed around the bed; the older man's eyes were closed. He put a hand on Mike's shoulder and, when there was no reaction, shook him gently. The blue eyes opened slowly; Steve was fairly certain he could see pain in the lines of his face. Alarmed, his fingers tightened comfortingly. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

Mike blinked slowly then shook his head sluggishly. "My head hurts," he said thickly, and Steve's heart began to pound. Almost instinctively, his hand went from his partner's shoulder to the top of his head. He knew the incident with Irene during the night had been a violent one; though Mike had her under control when he had opened the door, both he and Jeannie could tell it had been a struggle for the injured man. Steve's eventual sleeplessness, and Jeannie's as well he assumed, was rooted in that worry.

"Roll onto your back," he instructed softly and, closing his eyes once more, trying not to grimace, Mike complied. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Steve asked carefully, "Do you want me to call the doctor?"

Mike's eyes shot open. "No," came out in a rush, followed rapidly by a wince and a gasp. Steve's hand went from the top of Mike's head to his chest. When the older man relaxed and opened his eyes again, he increased the pressure.

"You're sure?"

Trying to smile reassuringly, Mike managed a low chuckle. "Yes, I'm sure. I think I just need to lie here today that's all."

Steve stared at him skeptically but Mike didn't back down. They both heard the bathroom door open. Mike's eyes snapped quickly in that direction then back. "Don't tell her, please," he pleaded, and Steve could see real guilt and concern in his eyes.

Swallowing hard and sighing heavily, the younger man nodded reluctantly, lifting his hand. They heard the door pushed open and Irene's brief intake of breath at seeing Steve in the room. He looked up, smiling. "Good morning," he said brightly, watching the confusion and tension in her eyes ameliorate somewhat.

"Good morning," she echoed, her concerned stare shifting to Mike. He had pushed himself up slightly onto his elbows and was looking at her with wide, smiling eyes. "Are you okay?"

He grinned. "I'm fine. Just a little tired this morning… guess I've been doing too much the past couple of days."

Steve glanced at his partner, successfully masking his worry. "Yeah, I told him he should spend the day in bed… and guess what? He agreed." He laughed as he turned back to Irene; he felt Mike's hand on his forearm and a grateful squeeze.

Irene stood over the bed and as Steve rose she took his place, one hand lovingly against the side of Mike's face. "You sure you're okay?" she asked softly and he nodded, smiling warmly.

"You?" In their looks, Steve could tell she knew exactly what Mike had asked, and he held his breath.

Irene hesitated, then a gentle smile lit her features and she nodded, briefly closing her eyes. He reached up and put his hand on her cheek. As he lay back down, she leaned over him and they kissed.

Very quietly Steve backed towards the door, closing it softly behind him.

# # # # #

He was standing on the stoop, she on the threshold.

"So if anything comes up, and I mean anything… call Norm. I'll let him know where I am and how he can get in touch with me."

Jeannie nodded. "I'll bring their breakfast up and see what's going on. You're sure she hit him last night?" The worry in her voice wasn't hard to discern.

Steve nodded. "Not intentionally, of course, but she was pretty out of control there for a bit." He had gotten to the bedroom door just before Jeannie and had seen the end of the struggle; he knew how much effort it had taken Mike to gain the upper hand and get Irene under control.

Jeannie smiled as best she could. "Don't worry. You do what you have to today, and I'll hold down the fort here. I'll keep a close eye on both of them and don't worry, if I think Mike needs to see a doctor, I won't take any grief from him, believe me."

Steve grinned. "I don't doubt that for an instant. Good luck," he chuckled as he turned to head down the stairs.

"Same to you," she called after him as she started to close the heavy front door.

"Oh!" his voice stopped her and she stuck her head back out, "Mike's car is just down the block there…" he laughed, pointing down the street.

She blew him a raspberry as she shut the door and he laughed all the way to Irene's car.

# # # # #

They were parked outside Katya's Russian Deli. A heavy coastal fog was beginning to roll in and they didn't know how much longer they could maintain their vigil. They knew it would only be a matter of minutes before their view of the small diner was totally obscured by the thick, damp mist.

"Well, isn't this great," Wilson moaned in exasperation, briefly turning on the wipers to clear the windshield. He glanced across the front seat in time to see Steve stifle another yawn. "What's with you this morning? Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

Hesitant about telling Wilson too much, knowing that the Robbery sergeant was still coming to terms with what had happened to his partner, Steve glanced away, then took a deep breath. "Irene had a… an episode last night. She had a… a flashback, I guess you could call it. I guess she thought Mike was her attacker and she went after him in her sleep."

Wilson had sat up straighter and was looking at Steve anxiously. "Are they okay?"

Steve bobbed his head with a facial shrug. "I think she's okay but she accidentally whacked him on the head pretty hard and he's not feeling too good this morning."

"Is he going to see the doctor?"

"He doesn't think he has to," Steve explained, trying to hide his annoyance with his shaking head. "I just think he doesn't want to scare Irene. But Jeannie is making sure he stays in bed all day and we'll see how he's feeling tonight."

"Damn it," Wilson breathed, settling back on the seat, "and I thought they were doing pretty good, from what you've been saying."

"I thought so too, but I guess she's going to have flashbacks and anxiety attacks for some time. God, I hate to think what she's going through."

"Yeah, and it can't be a piece of cake for Mike either." Both men fell silent, knowing there was nothing either of them could actually do for their partners, except catch those responsible for all the pain and heartache.

"Listen, ah, this is going to be a bust in a few minutes when we can't even see the front of the car. What say we head over to your place and make some of those phone calls we've been meaning to make?" Wilson proposed and Steve nodded.

He knew they both needed to keep busy.

# # # # #

"San Quentin Federal Prison. How may I direct your call?"

"Yes, ah, this is Inspector Keller with the San Francisco Police Department. May I speak to Lieutenant Richard Allen, please?

"One moment, sir, and I'll connect you."

Steve put his hand over the mouthpiece. "I think he's in; they're connecting me."

"Good." Wilson was coming in from the kitchen with two cups of coffee; he put one down on the coffee table in front of the younger man.

"Thanks." Steve took his hand off the mouthpiece and picked up the pen that was sitting on the yellow legal pad. "Here's hoping he can help us."

"Lieutenant Allen."

"Ah, yes, Lieutenant, this is Inspector Steve Keller of the SF –"

"I remember you," the deep, friendly voice chuckled in recognition. "You're Mike Stone's partner, aren't you?"

Laughing, Steve replied, "Yes, sir. Good memory."

"You still with Mike? Don't tell me he finally retired?"

"No, sir, but he is off on sick leave right now."

"That's too bad. You give him my best, you hear. So, what can I do for you, young fella?"

"I will, thank you. Well, sir, I want to pick your brain for some information on Russian criminal or prison tattoos."

"Russian prison tattoos?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, first off – stop calling me 'sir'. It's Dick, okay?" The hearty laugh on the other end of the line was disarming. "And what is it, precisely, that you want to know?"

"Well, we're after someone who might have ties to the Russian mobs from back east. We don't know who it is yet, or even how he might be linked to the mobs, but we did find out that he had a bunch of tattoos on his chest and back."

"What kind of tattoos? Religious? Political? Death symbols?"

"Our intelligence has been very spotty in that regard, so far, but we do know of one tattoo he has. It's of an eagle carrying a nude woman in its talons. Do you know what that means?"

There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line. Steve heard Allen take a deep breath.

"An eagle carrying a nude woman?" the corrections officer asked, as if parsing each word separately.

"Yes, sir." Steve's titular slip went unnoticed by both parties. He heard Allen take another deep breath, letting in out in a very audible rush.

"Well, son, that's usually the symbol for a rapist – a very violent rapist."

# # # # #

Irene lay down beside him on the bed. He had been sleeping most of the day, and she was worried. She was well aware of what she had done during the night, that she had been out of control. She didn't remember hitting him but she couldn't rule it out; most of what happened had become a blur of terror and anger.

He was on his back, his head turned to the left. The thick gauze bandage still caused her heart to skip a beat every time her eyes fell on it; she couldn't get used to it, and never would, she knew. It was a continual reminder of how close she had come to losing him forever.

She lay on her side, gently resting her arm across his chest. He didn't move. Tears started to form in her eyes, eventually overflowing and sliding soundlessly down her cheek to soak into the sheet beneath them.

Since Mike had downed only a half slice of cold toast and a few small sips of coffee for breakfast, Jeannie had been hovering close by all day, valiantly trying to mask her growing fear. And now, without looking, Irene knew that Mike's daughter was standing in the open doorway, watching them, anxiously hoping that her father would open his eyes and look at her.

# # # # #

"Look, ah, I want to get back to Mike's, you know…" Steve took a deep breath as he got to his feet.

"No, I hear ya," Wilson said as he rose too, stretching and rubbing a hand over his eyes. "We did enough for today. We both need a good night's sleep, I think."

"Yeah." Steve had picked up the two coffee mugs and brought them into the kitchen, pouring the dregs into the sink. "Listen," called over his shoulder, "why don't you come to the house with me. I think Irene would like to see you, especially after last night." He had passed on what Irene had told him, that she missed her partner.

He walked back into the living room to find Wilson looking down, shaking his head. "Not yet, Steve. I'm not ready for that yet…" He took a deep breath, letting it out in an unhappy sigh. "I just… I just can't, you know… not till we catch this bastard." He looked up and met Steve's stare; the fire in the older man's eyes was unmistakable.

Very slowly, Steve nodded. He understood completely.