A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 11.
Sara Pezzini waved good-bye to Joey Siri, Jr. as she got on her Buell and prepared to head back to the city from Brooklyn.
His parents, Paula and Robert, had been understandably upset about the trouble their son had gotten himself into. The past hour and a half had not been fun-filled for Sara, but it paled in comparison to the wrenching hour she'd spent in the company of Amanda Lundquist's parents. Joey's parents had not had to deal with the fact that their child was a drug-addicted felon. Just that his girlfriend was one and had dragged their son into an unholy mess because of it.
Robert Siri, who was like an older brother to Sara, had been very grateful that she was stepping up to bat for his son. But Paula Siri had been unable to resist blaming Sara for teaching Joey those judo moves in the first place and for putting ideas of being a hero into his head. She was very focused on the fact that her only son could very easily have been killed during that confrontation with Amanda's drug dealer the night before.
'If you only knew how close he came to dying this morning at the hands of my very own personal stalker, you'd wake up with a head full of gray hair,' Sara had thought to herself while listening to the older woman's not-entirely-groundless accusations.
After all, Sara had taught Joey some basic defensive moves as soon as he was big enough to learn the proper techniques. She had also drilled into him that he should never be afraid to stick up for someone weaker or smaller than himself who was in trouble. Ever since he was a little kid, he had hero-worshipped his tough-as-nails policewoman aunt, horrifying his mother but delighting his grandfather and father with claims that he when he grew up, he wanted to be a police officer, too.
Paula had been very relieved when Joey had outgrown that desire. He had decided that he wanted to be a doctor instead, and both his grades and his brains were excellent enough to make that dream a reality one day. Right now, all his mother could think about was that if that gun had gone off during the struggle over it, her son could have ended up seriously injured or even dead.
Sara knew that once she calmed down, the woman she thought of as her sister-in-law would realize that she should be proud of her son's bravery, if not his impulsive decision to take matters into his own hands, and that the upstanding young man the boy was turning out to be was in great part attributable to his surrogate aunt's influence.
"Sorry about Mom's ranting," Joey had said to her apologetically as they stood on the front porch of the Siri family home in Bay Ridge. "She worries about me."
"That's what moms do, Joey. I'm a big girl, I can take it. But no more hero acts, okay? At least not until you're a doctor, kiddo!" Sara had teased him. Then they had hugged one last time, and Sara had headed for her Buell.
She was exhausted from the emotionally draining events of this hellish day, but there was one last thing she wanted to do before heading home for the night, and that was check out the condemned apartment building the Witchblade's vision had shown her that morning. Although she very much doubted that Angel Medina was stupid enough to still be using the place for his "business transactions" after executing Paco there, Sara decided to make sure it had been abandoned and to see if any evidence of the crime had been left behind. She knew that it was risky going down to that neighborhood by herself at this time of night, but she couldn't ask Danny Woo to join her because that would have raised all kinds of questions about how she had found out about the location in the first place. No, she was going to have to go it alone -- except, of course, for her constant shadow.
She glanced up and down the quiet, residential street before putting on her helmet, but she saw no sign of Kenneth Irons' bodyguard. She knew he was nearby, however, and although she would never admit this to herself, this knowledge fortified her resolution to go check out the former drug den.
As always, racing through the city streets on her Buell gave Sara a jolt of adrenaline. She made the trip to Alphabet City from Bay Ridge in less than 30 minutes. The name of the street sign she had glimpsed in her vision and the number of the building were seared on her brain. The decrepit structure turned out to be located on a desolate street, not too far from the vacant lot where Joey had confronted Amanda and Paco Gutierrez the night before. It seemed like every other building on the street was boarded up, or looked like it should be. And although the hour was not that late, few people were around. In other words, it was the perfect place to set up an illicit drug operation.
Sara parked her motorcycle a couple of blocks from the building and walked down the dark, deserted street, her helmet under her arm and her gun loose in its holster. She looked for but didn't see a lookout as she approached the building that she "remembered" from the vision. Glancing at the Witchblade, she saw that the stone remained quiescent, so she climbed the crumbling front steps and, quietly as possible, unhooked the padlock and removed its chain. Pushing open the plywood door, she entered the pitch-black foyer, flicking on her maglite after listening for but not hearing anything from deeper inside the condemned structure.
As she had surmised, the room where Paco Gutierrez had met his sad end was empty of nearly all signs of habitation. There were only a couple of cigarette butts and empty beer cans to show that anyone had been there recently. Even the table and chairs were gone.
Sara carefully looked for any bloodstains on the floor and the walls, but found none. Somebody had done an excellent cleanup job. Sighing, she headed back out to the street.
She stopped short as she saw the motley group of thugs standing in front of the stoop, blocking her exit.
"Hey, sweet thing. You lost?" one of them said, flashing diamond- studded gold caps at her in what he obviously thought was a charming smile.
Sara sighed, rolling her eyes. "Not tonight, boys. I am so not in the mood for this."
"We can put you in the mood if you give us the chance, baby," another one said, leering at her suggestively.
Sara raised an eyebrow at him. "You think so? I seriously doubt it. You see, I've just had the day from hell and, I don't mind telling you, having to deal with shitheads like you is the last thing I need right now. So, why don't you all just run along. Go on, now, scoot!" she said, making shooing motions with her hands.
"See, now, that ain't right. You come to our 'hood, poke your nose where it don't belong, and then you insult us!" the first hoodlum spoke up, his voice taking on a nasty edge.
"Look, homey, I'm tired, I'm pissed off, and I'm a cop. Which means I've got a gun that, I gotta tell you, I really don't mind using. So, back off!" Sara snapped, her almost nonexistent patience at an end.
"You? A cop? Yeah, right," another one of the geniuses scoffed.
Sara rolled her eyes again, and started to push back her jacket to expose the badge clipped to her belt, when suddenly she saw her assailants' eyes grow wide as they noticed something above and behind her. Simultaneously, the Witchblade swirled warmly on her wrist, and Sara glanced up over her shoulder to see Ian Nottingham crouched in the gaping third-story window directly above where she stood.
Like some kind of dark, avenging angel, he descended, black overcoat flaring out behind him like wings, landing light as a cat onto the stoop beside her. Rising to his full height, he cocked his head slightly as he stared unblinkingly at her would-be assailants, cold, cold hazel eyes marking each one of them in turn.
"It's fuckin' Batman, yo!" one of the goons breathed in awe.
"That your dawg, bitch?" obviously the least smartest of the bunch demanded, even as his compatriots began to wisely back away.
"No, that, gentlemen, is your worst freakin' nightmare: A stone-cold killer with a helluva lot of firepower," Sara informed them. "You do have a lot of firepower, don'tcha, Nottingham?" she asked him, sotto voce.
"Always, my Lady," he said softly, never taking his eyes from the men.
As if by magic, two black (naturally) 9mm Glock pistols appeared in the assassin's black-gloved hands. Then, in the blink of an eye, his hands were empty once again.
'Very impressive!' Sara thought. 'And way creepy.' She couldn't suppress a shiver of uneasiness at this stark reminder of just how lethal her stalker was.
But the big, dark-haired man's sleight of hand had the desired effect: All but one of her adversaries scuttled off into the night, like roaches from a light.
"Buh-bye now!" she called after them.
"I ain't afraid of you, motherfucker," the remaining brainless thug said to Kenneth Irons' bodyguard and henchman.
And then the fool made a big mistake: He reached into his coat.
All Sara saw was a blur of motion as Nottingham moved faster than she thought humanly possible.
The next thing she knew, a loud crack echoed through the night air, and the assassin was standing on the sidewalk over the prone body of the hapless hoodlum.
Miraculously, the man was still breathing. In fact, he was moaning as he cradled his right arm against his chest. An almost comical look of terror on his face, he stared up at the black-clad man looming over him, one of whose gloved hands held a Glock to his head.
"Um, Nottingham, much as I hate to admit it, last time I checked, stupidity wasn't a capital offense," Sara said. "Please don't shoot this miscreant on my account."
"I wuz just reaching for my damn cell phone, dawg!" the man on the ground whimpered. "It's on vibrate! Awww, shit, I think you broke my motherfuckin' arm."
"I know for a fact I broke your arm," Nottingham said equably, holstering his gun (much to Sara's relief). "A spiral fracture of the ulna and radius bones to be precise. Extremely painful, no doubt. Perhaps that will teach you not to speak so disrespectfully to a lady in the future. Now, apologize to my Lady, or I will break your other arm."
"I'm sorry I called you a bitch, Miss," the man said quickly and earnestly.
"Apology accepted. Now, if you can get up and run away, I suggest you do so before my, uh, dawg here decides to give you another 'extremely painful' anatomy lesson."
The man staggered to his feet and took off running, looking back fearfully once or twice.
"You know, Nottingham," Sara said conversationally, joining him on the sidewalk, "I'm pretty sure I could have handled the situation. I do happen to have a gun on me, not to mention a nifty little piece of jewelry called the Witchblade, remember?"
"He was disrespectful to you and needed to be taught a lesson," her stalker said in his deep, quiet voice, eyes on the ground. "Plus, he might have been armed. I thought it best to take no chances and incapacitate him as quickly as possible."
"I'm just glad you didn't blow his freakin' head off. That would have been a bit difficult to explain in my report."
She started walking down the street, in the direction of where she'd parked the Buell. Nottingham fell in beside her.
"What did you hope to find in that building, my Lady?" the assassin asked curiously.
"Some evidence of Paco Gutierrez's murder. It's where the Witchblade's vision showed me he was killed. Unfortunately, it was cleaned up pretty thoroughly."
"I take it the murder weapon is similar to the one that you gave the ME."
"Yeah, and Vicky found three sets of prints on it: Paco's, Joey's, and Amanda's. Joey's parents are going to bring him down to the station tomorrow to be questioned by Jake and Orlinsky, who are the leads on the case. I, um, managed to keep the fact that I'm related to Joey from Jake and Orlinsky, when they showed up at Amanda's apartment this afternoon," she admitted, feeling a fresh pang of guilt at her deception, especially where Jake was concerned. "I don't know, but maybe I can convince Dante to send a forensics team to the vacant lot where Amanda fired that gun, and they can recover the bullets," Sara said.
'Yeah, and maybe pigs can fly,' she thought to herself, already dreading the riot act she was certain her captain was going to read her when he found out just how deep her involvement in this case actually was. Recalling the wildness of the girl's shots from the vision, Sara knew how slim the chances were that either of those bullets would ever be recovered.
"Maybe you can persuade Ms. Po to dispose of the gun?" Ian suggested, knowing even before he said it that Sara's sense of honor would not allow this course of action to be carried out.
She shook her head. "I couldn't ask her to do that. Besides, Danny knows about it and so do McCartey and Orlinsky. They took Amanda's statement earlier this evening. She's been placed in a drug rehab facility until her hearing. By now, Dante also knows about the gun. He just doesn't know Vicky has already processed it. I told her to keep it under wraps until I get there tomorrow morning. I'll tell her to introduce it into evidence after Joey gives his statement." 'And then the shit will really hit the fan,' Sara thought wearily.
"You will find a way to clear Joseph's name, my Lady," Nottingham said. "The Witchblade showed you Paco's real killer. It is only a matter of time until he is brought to justice."
"That reminds me, Nottingham," Sara said, as they reached the spot where her motorcycle was parked, "I never got a chance to thank you for escorting Joey to Amanda's place earlier today. Thank you for doing that."
"I live to serve you, my Lady," he replied gravely, giving her a slight bow.
She peered at his face to see if he was joking and was not at all surprised to find that his expression was completely serious, although, as usual, he avoided making eye contact with her.
"Right. Well, I'm heading home for the night, so I guess your job's done for today," she said, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot.
"I will, of course, see you safely home."
"Oh, yeah, of course," she said, smiling wryly.
The tall, black-clad man looked at her through his lashes. "It is good to finally see your smile, Sara," he said softly, and Sara felt a weird little quiver in the pit of her stomach at his words.
"Yeah, well, today wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs," she said, putting on her helmet and straddling the Buell. "Goodnight, Nottingham." For some reason, she suddenly wanted to put some distance between herself and this very odd and highly dangerous man.
"Goodnight, my Lady. Rest well."
The Buell's engine growled to life, and Sara pulled out of the parking space into the street. When she glanced back toward the sidewalk seconds later, Nottingham had vanished.
'How the hell does he do that?' she thought.
Rest well, he'd said. Yeah, right. Somehow, Sara knew that just wasn't in the cards for her tonight and probably for many nights to come.
More to come. I'm loving the feedback. Keep it coming!
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 11.
Sara Pezzini waved good-bye to Joey Siri, Jr. as she got on her Buell and prepared to head back to the city from Brooklyn.
His parents, Paula and Robert, had been understandably upset about the trouble their son had gotten himself into. The past hour and a half had not been fun-filled for Sara, but it paled in comparison to the wrenching hour she'd spent in the company of Amanda Lundquist's parents. Joey's parents had not had to deal with the fact that their child was a drug-addicted felon. Just that his girlfriend was one and had dragged their son into an unholy mess because of it.
Robert Siri, who was like an older brother to Sara, had been very grateful that she was stepping up to bat for his son. But Paula Siri had been unable to resist blaming Sara for teaching Joey those judo moves in the first place and for putting ideas of being a hero into his head. She was very focused on the fact that her only son could very easily have been killed during that confrontation with Amanda's drug dealer the night before.
'If you only knew how close he came to dying this morning at the hands of my very own personal stalker, you'd wake up with a head full of gray hair,' Sara had thought to herself while listening to the older woman's not-entirely-groundless accusations.
After all, Sara had taught Joey some basic defensive moves as soon as he was big enough to learn the proper techniques. She had also drilled into him that he should never be afraid to stick up for someone weaker or smaller than himself who was in trouble. Ever since he was a little kid, he had hero-worshipped his tough-as-nails policewoman aunt, horrifying his mother but delighting his grandfather and father with claims that he when he grew up, he wanted to be a police officer, too.
Paula had been very relieved when Joey had outgrown that desire. He had decided that he wanted to be a doctor instead, and both his grades and his brains were excellent enough to make that dream a reality one day. Right now, all his mother could think about was that if that gun had gone off during the struggle over it, her son could have ended up seriously injured or even dead.
Sara knew that once she calmed down, the woman she thought of as her sister-in-law would realize that she should be proud of her son's bravery, if not his impulsive decision to take matters into his own hands, and that the upstanding young man the boy was turning out to be was in great part attributable to his surrogate aunt's influence.
"Sorry about Mom's ranting," Joey had said to her apologetically as they stood on the front porch of the Siri family home in Bay Ridge. "She worries about me."
"That's what moms do, Joey. I'm a big girl, I can take it. But no more hero acts, okay? At least not until you're a doctor, kiddo!" Sara had teased him. Then they had hugged one last time, and Sara had headed for her Buell.
She was exhausted from the emotionally draining events of this hellish day, but there was one last thing she wanted to do before heading home for the night, and that was check out the condemned apartment building the Witchblade's vision had shown her that morning. Although she very much doubted that Angel Medina was stupid enough to still be using the place for his "business transactions" after executing Paco there, Sara decided to make sure it had been abandoned and to see if any evidence of the crime had been left behind. She knew that it was risky going down to that neighborhood by herself at this time of night, but she couldn't ask Danny Woo to join her because that would have raised all kinds of questions about how she had found out about the location in the first place. No, she was going to have to go it alone -- except, of course, for her constant shadow.
She glanced up and down the quiet, residential street before putting on her helmet, but she saw no sign of Kenneth Irons' bodyguard. She knew he was nearby, however, and although she would never admit this to herself, this knowledge fortified her resolution to go check out the former drug den.
As always, racing through the city streets on her Buell gave Sara a jolt of adrenaline. She made the trip to Alphabet City from Bay Ridge in less than 30 minutes. The name of the street sign she had glimpsed in her vision and the number of the building were seared on her brain. The decrepit structure turned out to be located on a desolate street, not too far from the vacant lot where Joey had confronted Amanda and Paco Gutierrez the night before. It seemed like every other building on the street was boarded up, or looked like it should be. And although the hour was not that late, few people were around. In other words, it was the perfect place to set up an illicit drug operation.
Sara parked her motorcycle a couple of blocks from the building and walked down the dark, deserted street, her helmet under her arm and her gun loose in its holster. She looked for but didn't see a lookout as she approached the building that she "remembered" from the vision. Glancing at the Witchblade, she saw that the stone remained quiescent, so she climbed the crumbling front steps and, quietly as possible, unhooked the padlock and removed its chain. Pushing open the plywood door, she entered the pitch-black foyer, flicking on her maglite after listening for but not hearing anything from deeper inside the condemned structure.
As she had surmised, the room where Paco Gutierrez had met his sad end was empty of nearly all signs of habitation. There were only a couple of cigarette butts and empty beer cans to show that anyone had been there recently. Even the table and chairs were gone.
Sara carefully looked for any bloodstains on the floor and the walls, but found none. Somebody had done an excellent cleanup job. Sighing, she headed back out to the street.
She stopped short as she saw the motley group of thugs standing in front of the stoop, blocking her exit.
"Hey, sweet thing. You lost?" one of them said, flashing diamond- studded gold caps at her in what he obviously thought was a charming smile.
Sara sighed, rolling her eyes. "Not tonight, boys. I am so not in the mood for this."
"We can put you in the mood if you give us the chance, baby," another one said, leering at her suggestively.
Sara raised an eyebrow at him. "You think so? I seriously doubt it. You see, I've just had the day from hell and, I don't mind telling you, having to deal with shitheads like you is the last thing I need right now. So, why don't you all just run along. Go on, now, scoot!" she said, making shooing motions with her hands.
"See, now, that ain't right. You come to our 'hood, poke your nose where it don't belong, and then you insult us!" the first hoodlum spoke up, his voice taking on a nasty edge.
"Look, homey, I'm tired, I'm pissed off, and I'm a cop. Which means I've got a gun that, I gotta tell you, I really don't mind using. So, back off!" Sara snapped, her almost nonexistent patience at an end.
"You? A cop? Yeah, right," another one of the geniuses scoffed.
Sara rolled her eyes again, and started to push back her jacket to expose the badge clipped to her belt, when suddenly she saw her assailants' eyes grow wide as they noticed something above and behind her. Simultaneously, the Witchblade swirled warmly on her wrist, and Sara glanced up over her shoulder to see Ian Nottingham crouched in the gaping third-story window directly above where she stood.
Like some kind of dark, avenging angel, he descended, black overcoat flaring out behind him like wings, landing light as a cat onto the stoop beside her. Rising to his full height, he cocked his head slightly as he stared unblinkingly at her would-be assailants, cold, cold hazel eyes marking each one of them in turn.
"It's fuckin' Batman, yo!" one of the goons breathed in awe.
"That your dawg, bitch?" obviously the least smartest of the bunch demanded, even as his compatriots began to wisely back away.
"No, that, gentlemen, is your worst freakin' nightmare: A stone-cold killer with a helluva lot of firepower," Sara informed them. "You do have a lot of firepower, don'tcha, Nottingham?" she asked him, sotto voce.
"Always, my Lady," he said softly, never taking his eyes from the men.
As if by magic, two black (naturally) 9mm Glock pistols appeared in the assassin's black-gloved hands. Then, in the blink of an eye, his hands were empty once again.
'Very impressive!' Sara thought. 'And way creepy.' She couldn't suppress a shiver of uneasiness at this stark reminder of just how lethal her stalker was.
But the big, dark-haired man's sleight of hand had the desired effect: All but one of her adversaries scuttled off into the night, like roaches from a light.
"Buh-bye now!" she called after them.
"I ain't afraid of you, motherfucker," the remaining brainless thug said to Kenneth Irons' bodyguard and henchman.
And then the fool made a big mistake: He reached into his coat.
All Sara saw was a blur of motion as Nottingham moved faster than she thought humanly possible.
The next thing she knew, a loud crack echoed through the night air, and the assassin was standing on the sidewalk over the prone body of the hapless hoodlum.
Miraculously, the man was still breathing. In fact, he was moaning as he cradled his right arm against his chest. An almost comical look of terror on his face, he stared up at the black-clad man looming over him, one of whose gloved hands held a Glock to his head.
"Um, Nottingham, much as I hate to admit it, last time I checked, stupidity wasn't a capital offense," Sara said. "Please don't shoot this miscreant on my account."
"I wuz just reaching for my damn cell phone, dawg!" the man on the ground whimpered. "It's on vibrate! Awww, shit, I think you broke my motherfuckin' arm."
"I know for a fact I broke your arm," Nottingham said equably, holstering his gun (much to Sara's relief). "A spiral fracture of the ulna and radius bones to be precise. Extremely painful, no doubt. Perhaps that will teach you not to speak so disrespectfully to a lady in the future. Now, apologize to my Lady, or I will break your other arm."
"I'm sorry I called you a bitch, Miss," the man said quickly and earnestly.
"Apology accepted. Now, if you can get up and run away, I suggest you do so before my, uh, dawg here decides to give you another 'extremely painful' anatomy lesson."
The man staggered to his feet and took off running, looking back fearfully once or twice.
"You know, Nottingham," Sara said conversationally, joining him on the sidewalk, "I'm pretty sure I could have handled the situation. I do happen to have a gun on me, not to mention a nifty little piece of jewelry called the Witchblade, remember?"
"He was disrespectful to you and needed to be taught a lesson," her stalker said in his deep, quiet voice, eyes on the ground. "Plus, he might have been armed. I thought it best to take no chances and incapacitate him as quickly as possible."
"I'm just glad you didn't blow his freakin' head off. That would have been a bit difficult to explain in my report."
She started walking down the street, in the direction of where she'd parked the Buell. Nottingham fell in beside her.
"What did you hope to find in that building, my Lady?" the assassin asked curiously.
"Some evidence of Paco Gutierrez's murder. It's where the Witchblade's vision showed me he was killed. Unfortunately, it was cleaned up pretty thoroughly."
"I take it the murder weapon is similar to the one that you gave the ME."
"Yeah, and Vicky found three sets of prints on it: Paco's, Joey's, and Amanda's. Joey's parents are going to bring him down to the station tomorrow to be questioned by Jake and Orlinsky, who are the leads on the case. I, um, managed to keep the fact that I'm related to Joey from Jake and Orlinsky, when they showed up at Amanda's apartment this afternoon," she admitted, feeling a fresh pang of guilt at her deception, especially where Jake was concerned. "I don't know, but maybe I can convince Dante to send a forensics team to the vacant lot where Amanda fired that gun, and they can recover the bullets," Sara said.
'Yeah, and maybe pigs can fly,' she thought to herself, already dreading the riot act she was certain her captain was going to read her when he found out just how deep her involvement in this case actually was. Recalling the wildness of the girl's shots from the vision, Sara knew how slim the chances were that either of those bullets would ever be recovered.
"Maybe you can persuade Ms. Po to dispose of the gun?" Ian suggested, knowing even before he said it that Sara's sense of honor would not allow this course of action to be carried out.
She shook her head. "I couldn't ask her to do that. Besides, Danny knows about it and so do McCartey and Orlinsky. They took Amanda's statement earlier this evening. She's been placed in a drug rehab facility until her hearing. By now, Dante also knows about the gun. He just doesn't know Vicky has already processed it. I told her to keep it under wraps until I get there tomorrow morning. I'll tell her to introduce it into evidence after Joey gives his statement." 'And then the shit will really hit the fan,' Sara thought wearily.
"You will find a way to clear Joseph's name, my Lady," Nottingham said. "The Witchblade showed you Paco's real killer. It is only a matter of time until he is brought to justice."
"That reminds me, Nottingham," Sara said, as they reached the spot where her motorcycle was parked, "I never got a chance to thank you for escorting Joey to Amanda's place earlier today. Thank you for doing that."
"I live to serve you, my Lady," he replied gravely, giving her a slight bow.
She peered at his face to see if he was joking and was not at all surprised to find that his expression was completely serious, although, as usual, he avoided making eye contact with her.
"Right. Well, I'm heading home for the night, so I guess your job's done for today," she said, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot.
"I will, of course, see you safely home."
"Oh, yeah, of course," she said, smiling wryly.
The tall, black-clad man looked at her through his lashes. "It is good to finally see your smile, Sara," he said softly, and Sara felt a weird little quiver in the pit of her stomach at his words.
"Yeah, well, today wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs," she said, putting on her helmet and straddling the Buell. "Goodnight, Nottingham." For some reason, she suddenly wanted to put some distance between herself and this very odd and highly dangerous man.
"Goodnight, my Lady. Rest well."
The Buell's engine growled to life, and Sara pulled out of the parking space into the street. When she glanced back toward the sidewalk seconds later, Nottingham had vanished.
'How the hell does he do that?' she thought.
Rest well, he'd said. Yeah, right. Somehow, Sara knew that just wasn't in the cards for her tonight and probably for many nights to come.
More to come. I'm loving the feedback. Keep it coming!