Chapter 2

He sat in the den, unmoving, for almost an hour. The fear gripping his heart was palpable. He had been surprised to realize that this was worse than earlier when he had been convinced the judge was going to send him back to Quentin. He had thought prison was his deepest fear. Of course, he didn't really have to worry about himself on this occasion… he was not going to get caught.

Finally, he pulled out the paper that Lattimer had stuck in his pocket. He checked the address; the name hadn't really been necessary. Lattimer had told him last night that Louis Pedane was the other party involved in this 'transaction,' and even if Mark had been willing to risk the wrath of Hardcastle—Lattimer was offering a nice chunk of change—he would not have gotten involved in ripping off the head of a major crime cartel. But the circumstances were different now.

He rose slowly from his chair to cross the room, and stood for a moment, contemplating the handgun still waiting in Hardcastle's desk. He decided that wasn't necessary yet, though he wasn't kidding himself. He knew he would have to pick up the weapon eventually, but he would deal with that demon when the time came. He shook his head roughly, banishing the thoughts, and started toward the front door.

"Dammit!" he muttered when he'd exited the house, frustrated to find two flat tires each on both the Coyote and the pickup. Clearly, Lattimer had not wanted to trust that McCormick would not go storming down the drive chasing after his friend. Of course, no doubt the Corvette, safely secured in the garage, was untouched, but that hardly mattered at this point. Thankfully, the tires had only been deflated, not slashed (just how long had Ricky and his friends been prowling around out here?), so McCormick just went to the garage, grabbed the air compressor, and began the tedious process of inflating them again.

With that task completed, he opted for driving the truck into town. He knew he would be driving by the Pedane residence before this day was over, and the pickup didn't draw quite as much attention as the Coyote. And he did still have errands to run.

As he maneuvered through traffic, he forced himself to focus on the actual task of driving. Normally, of course, handling any automobile was second nature to McCormick, but he had almost rear-ended a station wagon at a stoplight before he realized that there was a difference between being comfortable and being in a trance, so he pulled himself out of the worst-case scenarios that were filling his mind. Besides, the whole point of these stupid errands was to figure out if anyone was following him.

By the time he completed his stops at the supermarket, garden supply and pool store, he was reasonably sure that no one was watching, and he pointed the pickup in the direction of Pedane's house. The place was a bit more off the beaten path than his errands, so if he had missed anyone, a tail would be easier to spot now.

He slowed slightly in front of the house, taking in the six-foot brick wall, the black wrought iron gate, the house set well back from the road, and the open expanse of rolling green lawn he would be forced to traverse. Did no one believe in full, lush landscaping anymore? As he was pulling away, he could barely make out the detached garage, situated behind the main house. This was not going to be easy.

"Should have taken the money," he grumbled under his breath. "I'm sure going to be earning it."

Finally, content that he was not being followed, he headed downtown toward the one place he could not afford to be seen. It had been several hours of all sorts of errands without spotting anything resembling a tail, but McCormick was still checking mirrors as he pulled into the parking lot at the police station. He surveyed his surroundings one last time before exiting the truck, then walked purposefully toward the building.

He headed immediately to the one office where he might find help, hopefully without too many questions, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice answered from the other side.

Mark closed the door behind him. "Hey, Frank," he greeted the officer.

Frank Harper looked up, not surprised to see McCormick in his office, but a bit surprised to see him alone. "Hey, Mark. Where's Milt?"

"Oh, you know how he is," McCormick replied lightly, "just can't tear him away from his Lone Ranger comic books."

Harper laughed. "Yeah, right. What's up?"

"The judge asked me to come by and see if you could help us out with some information. He's got some bee in his bonnet about Louis Pedane and wondered if you had any surveillance information on him. You know, daily habits, when he and his staff come and go, that sort of thing."

Harper looked at the younger man sharply. "You guys shouldn't be messing around with Louis Pedane," he replied firmly.

"Hey, Lieutenant, you don't have to tell me that. I'm just the errand boy around here. You want to tell him this guy's too dangerous, you go right ahead, but I have to live with him."

Harper examined McCormick more closely. The words coming from the young man were certainly typical of his sarcastic nature, but something about his demeanor didn't fit, and the lieutenant was suddenly convinced that something wasn't right about this picture. "Why do you guys need surveillance information?" he asked, stalling for time.

"I'm not sure yet," McCormick said, shaking his head. "But the judge figured you guys kept pretty close tabs on the guy, so he thought you could help out."

"Yeah, we do," Harper agreed slowly, "but I'm not sure I can release it to you. Hell, half the stuff I give you guys I probably shouldn't give to Milt, but…"

McCormick grinned, hoping to put the officer's mind at ease. "But no one can say no to the Lone Ranger, right? Look," he continued, "the only reason Hardcase didn't come is because he's got his nose buried in some file down in the basement, muttering to himself again. He sent me out with a list of chores, and this one was on it. Could you just help me out here, Frank? You know the grief I'm gonna get if I go back empty-handed."

"It's really not like Hardcastle not to at least call," Harper responded, still uneasy with the whole situation. "Maybe I should just call and talk to him?"

"Go ahead," McCormick said. "Maybe it will save me a trip." He leaned against the door casually as Harper dialed the phone. He looked up quizzically when the officer hung up a moment later without speaking. "What's up?" he asked, and he could suddenly hear Hardcastle's voice ringing in his ears, marveling at his powers of deception. Shut up, he hissed in his mind. He felt bad enough lying to Frank without a nagging judge for a conscience.

"I got the machine," Harper answered. "I thought Milt was at home?"

"He is. Of course, he does get a little spoiled with having his personal slave around constantly. Maybe his majesty just didn't feel like picking up."

Harper shook his head firmly and rose from behind his desk. "I'm not buying it, Mark. What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" McCormick asked innocently. "I told you, the judge just wants some information for a case."

"I don't believe you," Harper said bluntly. "Tell me what's really going on."

McCormick sighed deeply. I must be losing my touch. "All right, Frank. Hardcastle didn't exactly send me here, but he does need the information, okay? I know you have what I need, so if you could just help me out, I'll have the judge call you later and thank you."

"I need more information than that, McCormick."

"Okay, just forget it, then," McCormick replied in resignation. "Thanks, anyway." He turned to go, but Harper's voice stopped him.

"You know, Mark, maybe you should stick around for a while until I can talk to Milt."

McCormick's hand froze on the doorknob as he heard the threat implied in the quiet words. "I could do that," he said slowly, not turning, "but it isn't necessary."

Harper moved around his desk and propped his hip on the front corner. "Why don't you come sit down?" he asked, gesturing to a chair just in front of him. He waited until Mark had complied, then continued. "Now, let me ask again…what is going on?"

McCormick met his eyes. "I told you, the judge needs some information. That's all."

"No, Mark, that isn't all. Is this really even for Milt?"

"Yes," McCormick insisted, "what do you think?"

"I think a lot of things, Mark," Harper replied. "I think Hardcastle rides you pretty hard sometimes. I think you get pretty pissed off sometimes. And I think it hasn't been that long since the last time he had you picked up by an APB."

"You think this is some kind of revenge?" McCormick was incredulous.

"I think something similar is very possible," Harper answered evenly.

"Even Hardcase doesn't think I would do something like that!" Mark exclaimed. "At least," he added quickly, "I don't think he does."

"Maybe it's been too long since he's been a cop," Harper suggested.

McCormick looked at Harper sharply. "What?"

"I said—"

"I heard what you said," McCormick interrupted angrily. "It's just that I thought you were supposed to be his friend? Jeez, Frank, as many cases as he's helped you solve, you could say something like that? He could work circles around most of the guys in this department, probably including you, and you make a crack like that?

"Just forget I was ever here," McCormick went on as he rose from his chair, "I didn't mean to bother you. And I'll try to keep the judge from bothering you anymore, too. Just go to hell, Frank." He turned away angrily and had reached the door before Harper's words stopped him again.

"Aren't you forgetting something, McCormick?"

He pounded his fist against the still closed door. Dammit, he could not afford to be officially detained right now! "What?" he demanded, forcing himself to turn back to the lieutenant. He was surprised to see the officer smiling.

"Your report," Harper answered lightly. "I'll call down and have the information printed out for you. You can pick it up on your way out." He picked up the phone and had a brief conversation, then returned his attention to McCormick. "Should be ready in just a few minutes."

McCormick was still staring at him. "A test?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Of course. I still don't know what's going on, Mark, but I had to make sure it wasn't going to cause Milt any trouble. He is a friend of mine, you know."

McCormick grinned sheepishly at the last comment. "Yeah, Frank, I know." He paused, then continued, "I'm sorry I blew up at you like that."

"Don't be," Harper replied. "It's the kind of response I was looking for."

McCormick shook his head in wonder. "I gotta tell you, Frank, after the day I've already had today, you just about pushed me over the edge. But thanks for the information. I'll make sure the judge calls you as soon as possible."

Harper's expression grew serious as he looked at the younger man. "You'll be careful?"

McCormick nodded his agreement.

"And," Harper went on, "if you need any help, you call me. Either of you."

McCormick smiled slightly. "We will, thanks." He waved and closed the door behind him. He sagged against the other side of the door for just a moment, grateful to be out of the office…and out from under Harper's too knowing gaze. He breathed a sigh of relief and started across the squad room.

As he walked toward the exit, he remembered Harper's final words. Either of you. Then he heard Hardcastle's voice again. Have to trust the system, kid. He hesitated a moment, then turned around quickly before he could change his mind.

McCormick reentered Harper's office without knocking, closed the door, then stood there silently, not really sure how to begin. Harper simply watched him, knowing the kid was arguing with himself, and hoping the fact that he was standing on this side of the door was a good sign.

"Can I level with you?" McCormick finally asked.

"I wish you would."

McCormick crossed the office and sank back into the chair in front of Harper. "But first, I need you to promise that this is just between you and me." He saw the lieutenant hesitate, and then realized he should clarify. "I don't mean keep it from Hardcastle; I mean, no other cops." That was somehow an easier promise to make, and Harper readily agreed.

Mark closed his eyes briefly, trying to determine exactly what to say and how to say it, then quickly realized there wasn't an easy way. He opened his eyes and blurted, "Hardcastle's been kidnapped."

Harper looked at him sharply, first thinking—hoping—that this was McCormick's idea of payback for his earlier 'test.' The fear in the kid's eyes convinced him instantly that this was not a joke. He reached immediately for the phone. "I'll dispatch some units."

McCormick was on his feet. "No!" he yelled, swiping the phone off the desk before the first digit had been dialed. "You promised! No one else."

Harper had also risen from his seat and now stood glowering across the desk at the ex-con. "That was before I knew what was going on!" he yelled back. "You should have told me right away. Don't you know that every passing minute reduces the odds of finding him alive?" Harper turned his attention to retrieving his discarded phone, but McCormick's next words stopped him cold.

"He's still alive, Lieutenant."

Harper rose, placing the phone on his desk, but no longer intent on placing an immediate call. "There's already been a ransom?" he demanded.

"Sort of," McCormick answered. It occurred to him then that this had been a stupid idea. What had he been thinking? He had been lucky to leave the office the first time; he didn't believe his luck would hold again. He dropped back into the chair. "Maybe I should start at the beginning."

"I think that would be a really good idea," Harper agreed, sinking into his own chair. He sat silently, listening intently to McCormick's recitation of the day's events. It didn't escape his attention that there were some notable omissions—primarily names and targets—but he could deal with that later. After hearing the complete story, Harper began the questions McCormick had been dreading. "So, what is it these people want?"

McCormick shook his head. "The specifics don't matter, Frank. It's something they shouldn't have and something I definitely shouldn't be giving them, but that's a problem for later. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting the judge back, and I know how to do that."

"And how does Pedane figure into all this?"

"He doesn't, really; just a minor character. I thought I might be able to get a lead on where they're keeping Hardcastle. But, like the other stuff, that's secondary. There's a surefire way to end this thing, and I intend to end it."

"And who is it that's behind all this?"

"Lieutenant, it doesn't matter. Like I said—"

Harper slammed his desktop. "Enough! You're jerking me around with all this double-talk, and it's going to stop. You've got information I need, and I need it now. Tell me what I want to know!"

McCormick leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. God, would this day never end? His muffled voice was racked with pain. "Frank, I promised him I'd bring him home. Please let me keep my promise." He raised his head to meet Harper's eyes. "Please? You know I would tell you anything you want to know, except then you'd be forced to try and stop me. I can't let that happen right now. Or you'd try to mount some kind of investigation or rescue attempt and you could end up getting him killed.

"You know, Lieutenant, I came here today to get some basic information. I should have left it at that." McCormick gave a short, bitter laugh. "But I'm wandering around here with some kind of tape recorder in my head playing Milton C. Hardcastle's greatest hits, and he made me come back in here and talk to you; made me believe you could help me. It's bad enough that he runs my life when he's actually around, but to think he might not be around to run it… I mean…to think he runs it when he's not around anymore… I mean..." McCormick broke off, choking back the sob he could feel forcing its way from his throat. He looked away from Harper and took a deep breath. "Let me keep my promise, Frank," he said quietly.

Harper moved quickly around the desk and dropped into the chair next to McCormick, drawing the young man's attention back from his private hell. "We'll get him back, Mark," he said sincerely. He quickly considered his available options, then spoke decisively. "What is it you want me to do?"

McCormick looked at him suspiciously. "Really?"

In spite of the tension, Harper laughed at the response. "Yes, really. You know, I thought we had established that he's my friend, too. Besides, you keep talking about me trying to stop you, and it occurs to me that might not be an easy thing to do."

McCormick smiled slightly. "No, it might not, at that. But I'm glad we won't have to find out. As for what I want you to do, obviously, the first is not to follow me while I take care of my part of the bargain."

Harper nodded. "Agreed. Of course, that means I end up taking some of your grief when he gets home, you know?"

"So I'll owe you double." Mark flashed a genuine grin then, and understood that his 'tape recorder' had been correct after all; this was the right thing to do. "What I really need, though, is help with the exchange. I don't intend to let these guys get away with this. First of all, it wouldn't be safe for the judge to have them still on the streets. And, secondly, it wouldn't be safe for me if they get away with offending Hardcase's particular sense of justice."

"Yeah," Harper laughed, "I can see where that would be a problem. So, when and where?"

"Well, that's part of the problem. I can tell you when — tomorrow evening at six— but I can't tell you where yet. They're calling tomorrow at 5:15 to give me the details. So, I guess tomorrow evening I might need someone to follow me, just in case there's an unscheduled change. I'll be delivering a car, so I won't be in the Coyote."

"Okay, we can certainly handle that. Also, before you leave here, I want to get you a radio so you can stay in touch with me. That way, we won' t have to worry about whether they have the phone wired. As soon as you hear from them tomorrow, contact me and I'll have people put in place."

McCormick nodded. "Yeah, that'll be great. They're calling tonight, too, so I can talk to the judge. I'll let you know how it goes and if anything has changed." He hesitated briefly before continuing. "In the meantime, you might want to get some pictures of Ricky Lattimer copied off so your men can have them tomorrow. They should know who they're out to apprehend."

Harper smiled slightly, and thought briefly that Hardcastle had definitely chosen well this time around. "I'll do that. Thanks."

McCormick glanced at his watch; it was already after three. He looked up hesitantly. "I don't think there's anything else, Lieutenant. Is there anything else you need, or can I go?"

"You're not a prisoner here, Mark," Harper replied gently. "I'll call downstairs and have the sergeant issue you a radio at the same time you pick up the Pedane file. We'll use channel eighteen."

McCormick rose slowly, still halfway expecting the lieutenant to change his mind. "Okay, Frank. I'll give you a radio check when I get to the car." He started for the door, and when he realized he truly was going to be allowed to leave, he glanced behind him. "Thanks for the help, Frank." He slipped out the door quickly, suddenly very grateful for the path Hardcastle had made available in his life.

00000

As McCormick stood waiting for the elevator, he worked out his game plan for the remainder of the day. He knew he would drive by Pedane's house again, not because he really expected to learn anything from it, but just because it would make him feel better. He would pick up a pizza on the way home (he would have to remember to point out to Hardcastle that this kidnapping was the only thing that would ever keep him from eating all day), and, after he spoke with the judge, he would spend the evening reading over whatever information Frank was providing on Pedane's residence. Then he would turn in early so he would be sure to be rested for tomorrow. It was a good plan; even Hardcase would be proud.

A small smile played across his face at his last thought. Yes, he thought, the judge would be proud of the way he was handling this whole situation. Hardcastle would never have expected him to go to Frank. Probably thought he would just run off half-cocked to do the job and end up getting busted or something. And the most amazing thing was that not all that long ago, he would have been right.

Whatever small moment of comfort McCormick might have been enjoying ended as soon as the elevator doors slid open. The downward car held only one occupant, but it was quite possibly the very last person he wanted to see right now. He had turned toward the stairwell when he felt a hand grab his elbow roughly and propel him quickly toward the doorway.

"Avoiding me, McCormick?" a voice growled as the stairway door clunked closed behind them.

McCormick shook his head in disbelief as the detective hustled him down the first flight of stairs, then jerked him to a halt on the landing between floors. Honestly, something had to start going his way soon. He steeled himself for whatever was coming next.

"Face the wall," the detective ordered.

"What?"

"I said, face the wall." Though the detective repeated the directive, he had spun Mark around and pressed his face to the wall before the words were out of his mouth.

"What is your problem, Richter?" McCormick demanded. He felt the open-handed slap on the back of his head.

"What have I told you about that attitude, McCormick?" Richter replied.

"Sorry," McCormick amended with no indication of remorse. "What is your problem, Detective Richter, sir?" He braced himself, so he was better prepared for the second blow to his head. He allowed the quick but thorough search without argument. "Satisfied?"

"Disappointed," Richter said. "Turn around."

"I keep telling you I don't carry," McCormick answered as he turned as instructed. Deciding he wouldn't risk making things worse by trying to escape from a lunatic police officer, he leaned against the wall and faced Detective Rudolph Richter, or as he normally thought of him, Satan personified. It occurred to him suddenly that he had once thought of Hardcastle that way, too, but he pushed the unbidden thought from his mind. Hardcastle had never been like this. "Did you need something, Detective?"

"Just thought we would chat a minute, McCormick. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"It's a public building."

"True enough, though we don't normally see a lot of convicted felons wandering around our hallways. At least, not without handcuffs."

"I thought I might add a little character to the place."

"Unlikely," Richter replied coldly. He watched the other man closely, but McCormick was not about to be baited.

"So," the detective continued, "where's that crazy old judge of yours?"

"I'm sure if he had known I'd be running into you, he would've given me his complete social calendar, but as it is, I am sadly unprepared."

"I can't believe he lets you out on your own, especially down here. But, of course, he's always been a few bricks shy of a load, and everyone knows it. Teaming up with you was just the icing on the cake."

McCormick felt his fists clenching at his side, but he didn't make even the slightest sign of raising his hands toward Richter. Assaulting a police officer—no matter how much he deserved it—would not solve his problems right now. And, of course, he knew that Richter would be more than willing to take a slug to the face if it meant McCormick would finally be behind bars.

Richter laughed derisively as he watched McCormick struggle to control his temper. "Still pretending to be the good boy, huh, McCormick? Too bad I already know the truth. How many times have I busted you? Four? Five? Yeah, I definitely know the truth about you."

McCormick met his gaze evenly. "Actually, Detective, I'm pretty sure you've busted me six different times, but who's counting? The important thing to remember is the number of times those arrests have led to charges actually being filed, and the last time I checked, that was a big fat zero. Just because you always want me to be the bad guy in your perfect little world doesn't mean that's the way it is. You can't catch me now because I'm living the clean life, and you hate that. But you couldn't catch me then because you're a lousy cop. Sometimes life's a bitch, isn't it, Rudy?"

Richter closed the small gap between them quickly and placed a beefy hand in the middle of McCormick's chest, pinning him against the wall. "Are you ready to try for number seven, McCormick? I'm sure as hell game if you are."

But again McCormick refused to be lured into his trap. When he spoke again, his only objective was to end this conversation and get on with his life. "No, sir," he replied quietly, "I am not ready. I'm sorry for my harsh words. It won't happen again."

Richter looked at him suspiciously. "You know I'm always watching you, McCormick?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know that means a hell of a lot more closely than that old coot of a judge?"

McCormick felt his nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to remain calm. "Yes, sir."

"And you know I'm hoping you'll make a mistake?"

"Yes, sir." That much at least was true.

Richter released him then, and took a deliberate step away from the next flight of stairs. "I'm glad we understand each other, McCormick." He jerked his head toward the lower level. "Now get out of here, but don't forget that I'll be watching. That's a promise."

McCormick descended the steps and left the stairwell without another word. As he made his way back to the elevator for the last few floors, he cursed the timing of his run-in with Richter. Absolutely the last thing he needed right now was a vindictive police officer breathing down his neck.

"Got any words of wisdom for me now, Hardcase?" he muttered. But the voice in his head was stubbornly silent.

00000

McCormick sat in the den, not even enjoying the fact that he was sitting at the judge's desk without repercussion. An uneaten pizza was getting cold, and a barely touched beer was getting warm. The only thing that held his attention at the moment was the file of papers he had strewn about on the desktop.

As he read through the police data, hoping to find information that would help him into Pedane's residence easily, what he actually discovered was that it would probably be harder to evade the observers than the observed; the cops were watching Pedane around the clock. He had not really expected that level of surveillance. And, to make matters even worse, it seemed that Wednesday—tomorrow—was the day Pedane held his weekly staff meetings…at his home, of course. Naturally enough, the meetings included a working lunch and usually extended to the dinner hour.

He was beginning to wonder if Lattimer had set him up to fail. Not likely, of course, but even if it were true, his old block mate was about to be seriously disappointed. Failure was not an option.

As his mind worked through the different possibilities, he glanced at his watch, only to discover it was only two minutes after five. "Damn!" He could have sworn thirty minutes had passed since he last checked the time; apparently, it had only been five. Not for the first time, he willed time to get a move on. He desperately needed to talk to the judge.

He grabbed the beer and took a long swig. He grimaced after the first swallow, but had neither the energy nor the inclination to go to the kitchen for a cold one, so he simply leaned back in Hardcastle's chair and closed his eyes. Had he known last night that he would have much more to worry about tonight, he would've tried harder to get some sleep. As it was, the short nap he had taken in this room earlier in the day was the best rest he'd had in over thirty hours.

As he took his short break, his mind wandered through his past with Judge Hardcastle. It was hard to believe that less than two years ago, he had truly hated the man. He remembered well the long, cold nights sleeping on worn mattresses, the sounds of pain and betrayal that would filter through the darkness, and the fear that had lived in his heart every day for two years. Hardcastle had done that to him.

But he also remembered the satisfaction of tracking down Flip Johnson's killer, warm congratulations after winning the Arizona Modifieds, and companionship on the long flight home from New Jersey after Sonny disappeared. Hardcastle had done all of that, too.

He realized that sometime during the last eighteen months, his hatred had been replaced with genuine affection, and that he had learned to forgive, even if he would never forget. On some level, he even understood that the time he spent inside was somehow necessary to make his current life have come about. He thought it was possible—maybe— that it had been a fair trade. Not that he would ever tell that to the judge.

But now, he felt as lost as he had ever felt. The man who had saved him (he hated to be melodramatic, but if he couldn't be honest with himself…) was in trouble, and it was his fault. He knew Hardcastle would never blame him, but who else could be at fault? If he hadn't been so worried about himself, if he had gone to the judge immediately and reported Lattimer, none of this would be happening now. Of course, he was certain that he could keep his end of the bargain, but it was always possible Ricky would not keep his. And then what? Assuming he lived through it himself, Mark believed that he would keep his promise of vengeance. He would quite probably commit murder, though he knew that was not the legacy the judge would want. How was it possible that it had come to this?

The phone rang then, startling McCormick out of his tortuous thoughts. He was surprised to feel the moisture on his face. He scrubbed his hands angrily across his eyes as he snatched the receiver off the hook. "McCormick."

Lattimer's voice came through the line. "How's it going, Mark?"

"Peachy. Where's Hardcastle?"

"All in good time. Do you have everything under control for tomorrow?"

"Not to worry, Ricky, it'll be taken care of. Now let me talk to the judge."

"You got one minute, Mark."

A heartbeat passed, and then, "How ya doing, kiddo?"

McCormick felt the relief wash over him as he heard the judge's voice. "Judge. Thank God. Are you okay? They haven't hurt you?"

"No, McCormick, they haven't hurt me. I'm fine. Anyway, I'm more concerned about you right now."

"Don't be a martyr, Judge. I'm not the one with a gun to my head."

"You know what I mean, kid. I don't want you doing this."

"We don't really have time to argue about this, Hardcastle. But don't worry about me. Things are under control here. I have everything taken care of."

"That's kind of what I'm worried about," Hardcastle told him wryly.

McCormick laughed at the tone. "Juuudge..."

"I'm serious, McCormick,"Hardcastle interrupted. "You're going to end up back in San Quentin if you do this."

"I have friends in high places, Hardcase. I figure you can pull some strings for me." McCormick waited for the inevitable response; I don't pull strings, kid. He wasn't expecting the gentle words that actually came from the judge.

"You know I'll do whatever I can, Mark."

McCormick matched his tone. "That's all I'm doing, too, Judge."

"Yeah, I know, kiddo, I know. But, listen, they're saying I gotta get off here now, so you be careful, you hear me?"

"I will, Judge. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

After a couple of seconds, Lattimer came back on the line. "Okay, Mark, satisfied?"

"For now, Ricky, for now. I expect that he will stay okay."

"That's up to you, Mark. Five-fifteen tomorrow."The line went dead before McCormick could say anything further.

McCormick stared at the phone for a few seconds, and then grabbed the radio to check in with Harper. After assuring the lieutenant the judge was still alive and well, he returned his attention to the surveillance information. He still had a lot of work to do.

As he read further into the material, he was disturbed to realize that the police department usually used a two-man team for surveillance. The graveyard shift seemed to be the only exception; there was only one officer watching the house then. Unfortunately, the "day shift" seemed to begin at various times depending on whatever was going on with Pedane at any given time. Typically, the second car showed up by seven o'clock, but McCormick found records indicating they had been in place as early as four on some occasions. Apparently, he would be making his entrance by moonlight.

Also contained in the information was the fact that the dual team actually had a purpose; one unit followed any of Pedane's cars that left the estate while the second stayed behind. Great. McCormick hadn't counted on evading a police surveillance unit as part of the bargain, but there was nothing in the reports that indicated the cars were stopped, only watched. Hopefully, that trend would continue.

By the time he had completed another two hours of reading, McCormick felt that he had a workable plan. It wouldn't be his first choice, but it would get the job done, and that was all that mattered.

He grabbed the phone again. His first call was to an old friend, arranging a favor. The next was to the local cab company, arranging a ride. Those tasks completed, he pushed himself slightly away from the desk and pulled open the top drawer. He stared at the holstered weapon lying there, not wanting to take it, but knowing that to go without it would be foolish.

As he stared into the drawer, he was immediately flooded with flashes of memories: Weed Randall raving in the courtroom just before he unbelievably retrieved his smuggled gun; Hardcastle in his robes, near death from a gunshot wound; waiting anxiously in the hospital with Sandy Knight, both of them fearing the worst; realizing he needed to find Randall, and finally tracking him to a small hotel; and, of course, the thundering explosion that had roared from this very weapon as he fired the shot that ended Randall's life.

The nightmares had come every night for the first couple of weeks. Even now, they still hadn't vanished completely. Hardcastle had assured him repeatedly that he had done the only possible thing—Sandy would surely have died, otherwise—but he would never forget holding Randall as the man's life slipped away, knowing that he was responsible.

But he would not allow those ghosts to keep him from succeeding in his current task. In fact, if things went horribly wrong, his experience with Randall might even help out in the end. Surely it would be much easier to kill the second time around, if it had to come to that.

Steeling himself against his fears, both past and present, he grabbed the gun, strode from the den, and headed outside toward the gatehouse. Once there, he went immediately upstairs to his bedroom. From the back of his closet, he grabbed a small black bag which contained everything he would need to get in and out of the Pedane estate. He smiled grimly as he thought that Hardcase would probably have locked him up just for having this stuff, much less all collected and ready to go. On the other hand, he was certain he had once heard the judge refer to him as an elf that breaks into offices and gets me things, so maybe he would be forgiven after all. He threw the bag, the gun and his change of clothes on the floor at the foot of his bed, set his alarm for eleven p.m. and crawled into bed. He would force himself to get a few hours of sleep.

00000

Hardcastle stared resolutely at the door after Lattimer left the room with the phone. Not that he really had too many choices of activities. He had spent the first several hours in this small room lying on the bed, bound exactly as he had been when the men had removed him from Gull's Way, but with the added bonus of having duct tape added to his ankles as well. Finally, when the judge had managed to let them know nature was calling, Lattimer had decided to alter the restraints. They had removed all the tape, and then used handcuffs to secure one hand and one foot to the bed. Slightly more comfortable, but he still wouldn't be going anywhere.

Sometime during the afternoon, they had brought him a sandwich and soda, but he had only nibbled. He was far too worried to really be hungry. He had waited anxiously for the arranged contact time so that he could speak with McCormick, not knowing how to help his young friend in this situation. It had been good to hear his voice.

Mostly, though, he had hoped to convince McCormick that he should not commit a felony simply to perform a rescue. Not that he had honestly expected to be successful in that attempt, but he had to try. The reality was, if McCormick were the kind of person who would have refused to risk his own freedom to help a friend, they wouldn't be in this situation now. And not just this particular situation; everything about their relationship would be different. Actually, if Hardcastle was honest with himself, he knew that their relationship would be non-existent. He thought back to the circumstances that had brought McCormick into his custody.

At one point, Hardcastle had believed that he would be able to entice McCormick into working with him by offering time off his existing parole, but he had made a different offer once McCormick showed up in his court again on new charges. He knew now that reduced parole time would never have caused the ex-con to join him. Hell, the kid had almost refused even with a new prison sentence hanging over his head. And that new sentence had only been hanging because Mark had taken an insane risk in order to help a friend. Not really the brightest move ever made, the judge would always think, but not really the worst, either. And, Hardcastle would never forget that the only reason the kid was caught was because he had refused to allow a police officer to die. That single thought had erased whatever lingering doubts the judge might have had that McCormick was the right one for this job. Not that he would ever tell McCormick any of this, of course, but he would always respect that the kid operated on some level of morality.

As he sat on the bed, he thought of that day in his chambers when he had made his proposition to McCormick. I'm not looking for us to be buddies. In retrospect, though, he wondered if that hadn't been precisely what he had been looking for. Though unorthodox in many of his ways, Hardcastle hadn't gone out on a limb and started trying to personally rehabilitate convicts until after his wife had died. Was it possible he would have accepted anyone in his life just to avoid being alone?

After a moment to reflect on that possibility, Hardcastle shook his head. No, he didn't believe that. He would gladly admit—to himself, anyway—that he had come to enjoy McCormick's company, and certainly considered him more than just someone in his judicial stay. But he had found some companionship with the others, too, and he had still sent them back. Honestly, after his past fiascos—especially Beal—it would have been easier had he not gotten attached to McCormick. That way, if he were wrong again, it wouldn't be so difficult to lose him back to the system.

Not that he really expected to face that day with this one. He had become convinced early on that McCormick intended to follow whatever guidelines necessary to get his life back on track. His only true lingering concern was the kid's impetuous nature. McCormick was never going to go down for any kind of malicious, premeditated, just-doing-it-for-the-money-and-excitement type of violation, but the fiery indignation he could feel when confronted with any hint of injustice, combined with his rash behavior, was a sure recipe for disaster. To Hardcastle's relief, they hadn't yet run into anything more drastic than an occasional B&E and a few "borrowed" vehicles, and always for the greater good.

But the kid hadn't faced this situation before, and that scared the hell out of Hardcastle. He didn't know exactly what was involved in the job Lattimer had assigned his friend, but it obviously wasn't simple or none of this would have been necessary. He was desperately afraid that Mark was walking into something more complicated than he was prepared to handle, especially alone. It was bad enough thinking that if he got himself picked up over this whole thing, the kid could go back inside for a long time, but Hardcastle also had the feeling that if McCormick got caught by the rightful owner of this particular property, prison might be the least of the kid's worries.

When he closed his eyes, he remembered McCormick's face in the den. Twice today that face had been filled with guilt and fear, and the judge hated that he had been the cause both times. He heard McCormick's voice from this morning. I'll get you out of this, Judge. Damn, he wanted so much for McCormick to simply back off this thing, find a more traditional way of securing his release, but it was clear the young man did not intend to do that. He thought back to an earlier time…sending the kid undercover for a case…and he again heard Mark's voice, happier then, ringing in his ears. Would I let you down? Hardcastle smiled.

"Not possible, kid," he whispered to himself as he drifted off to sleep.