Charming Pawse Bk 3 Cp 4 Oiled Schemes & Schemers

by wanderingchat

Old plans are carried out and new plots hatched in and around Charming in the wake of the drive – by at Half – Sack's wake. Meanwhile, in Oregon, Gemma finds that going back home isn't as easy as it sounds.

Disclaimer

I do not own any of the characters and incidents created by Kurt Sutter. Those are the property of Sutterink, Fox21 and FX Network. I do, however, take responsibility for all original characters.

Original characters are strictly the product of my own overactive imagination. Any similiarity to other people, living and/or dead, is strictly co – incidental.

The use and reference of music and performers is not intended to abuse any copyright held by those individuals.

As always, I thank my dear husband for puttin' up with my obsessions and not bein' threatened by 'em. I also thank my friends for their input and suggestions, and for their support. Thanks to places like , and other forums for allowing me to announce the posting of each chapter.

Finally, much love and respect and sincere gratitude to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating Sons of Anarchy, and to Mr. Kim Coates for giving life to the character of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

Charming Pawse

Book III

Chapter IV

Oiled

Schemes and Schemers

The morning following Kip Epps' wake was sunny and mild, a direct contrast to the grief that permeated the town. Members of Charming PD wore black bands around their badges, signifying they had lost one of their own in the line of duty.

Hale's Jeep, which had been towed from the street near Dubrowski's back to the CPD parking lot, became the focal point of Charming's grief. Beginning at dawn and continuing throughout the day, residents left flowers, cards, notes, and stuffed plush animals. They came alone, in pairs, and groups.

The stuffed animals would later be collected and used by CPD and SJSD officers to give to children victimized by crime. They called that outreach 'critters on patrol'.

James Windover, who'd had the exclusive report of the drive by shooting, stayed in town overnight in order to cover Charming's fallen officer with live reports during the morning and noon newscasts. His exclusive didn't last long; by the time the early morning local news shows went on air, he was joined by a large contingent of TV and radio crews from the surrounding area.

Pete didn't attend the wake because he was scheduled to open the next morning. Cat made certain that he wasn't left out of the loop.

"There was a shootin' at the wake, kiddo," she announced without preamble when he sleepily answered the phone.

"Oh my God! Are you OK?" He was instantly wide awake.

"Sorry, darlin'. Not thinkin' straight right now. I'm fine. Deputy Chief Hale was killed," she assured him.

Pete sighed with relief that his boss wasn't hurt. "That's awful. He was a good guy. One of our best customers."

"He was my very first customer," Cat agreed sadly.

"Was he shot?"

"No, he was tryin' to stop the assailants and they ran over him. Any CPD officer that comes in gets free coffee and cookies in the mornin'."

"I got it, Miss Cat. Are the Sons OK? Was it directed at them by any chance?"

"None of the club was hurt. Chuckie got hit; it's a minor wound. I took him to the hospital and he's back safe at the clubhouse. Just got home awhile ago from droppin' him off."

"I'll keep things under control," Pete assured her. "Anything else I should know?"

"Though it's really too soon to know what spurred the drive – by, it's possible that there'll be some backlash against SAMCRO. You can count on Jacob Hale eggin' it on. A child was seriously hurt. He's in critical, but word is he'll recover. Remind the others that people are allowed their opinions but if they get obnoxious about it, politely show 'em the door."

"Gotcha, Miss Cat."

"G'nite, Pete."

Pete hung up and lay with his hands crossed behind his head, trying to find sleep. 'Glad Chuckie wasn't hurt badly. This doesn't sound good for the club, though, much less for the town!' He'd fallen into a troubled sleep and awoke a few hours later ready to face whatever drama the day would bring.

Pete and Adrian got through the morning rush with little difficulty. The main topic of customer conversation was the shooting and Hale's death. To Pete's relief, the consensus of opinion was in support of the Sons and against whoever had orchestrated the drive – by in the first place.

"Whatever their issues might've been with SAMCRO, it's no excuse to dishonor the Prospect's memory!" One customer stated. "Firing into a crowd of innocent by standers is unforgivable!"

"Channel Two mentioned this morning that the SAMCRO medical fund is paying the bills for that child that was hurt," another customer observed. "Goes to show just how well the club looks out for us."

Pete mentally filed that conversation to share with his employer later. He always made sure she was kept in the loop where community opinion about SAMCRO was concerned. 'She'll definitely want to know about that.'

Once the lull began, Adrian went into the back to pull and pack the web orders. Pete was out front cleaning when he saw the first news van pull up. "I don't like the looks of this. Better call Miss Cat."

He hurried to the phone at the counter and pressed the speed dial for Cat's house.

"Yeah, mornin'," she murmured sleepily into the phone.

"Sorry to wake you, Miss Cat. We've got news crews descending on us. What do you want me to do?"

"Channel Two one of 'em?" her voice was more alert.

"Not yet. Doesn't look like they're taking out their cameras," Pete replied.

Cat sighed and squinted at the digital clock. "The morning local news shows are over, guess they're campin' out between newscasts. Serve 'em coffee and food at regular cost. Let 'em stay as long as they want, providin' they don't make nuisances of themselves."

"OK, Miss Cat."

"And Pete, tell the others that while on the job, don't say anything to 'em about your thoughts and feelings about last night. What all y'all say on your own time is your business."

"Get some rest, Miss Cat. I've got things under control," he assured her.

"I know, darlin'," she replied, slipping the phone back onto the base.

A discreet tap sounded on the slightly open bedroom door. "I heard y'all talkin'. You awake?" June called.

"No, I'm talkin' in my sleep," Cat retorted, sliding so that she was reclining against the head of the bed. "C'mon in!"

"I won't bother to ask if you're decent, since Alex is outta town," June grinned wickedly, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee.

"The kittens are fed, by the way. They were jumpin' all over me while I was gettin' ready for work. They claimed they hadn't had any food for weeks."

"Furry little liars. Y'all know better than that!"

"Well, their bowls were empty and I thought that I saw tumbleweeds rollin' in 'em!" June perched on the foot of the bed and took a sip of coffee, running a professional eye over Cat's pale features. "I heard on the news this mornin' that y'all had a busy night last night."

"Y'all know ya can't believe everythin' ya hear on tee vee," Cat groused, sipping from her own mug, relishing the caffeine rush and liquid warmth.

"This was believable. The channel two reporter had the drive – by on film," June glared at her over her own mug. "That was a nice shot of y'all tryin' to shoot the van, by the way. Who was the guy lyin' on the ground behind ya?"

"An asshole from Tacoma hopin' to patch back in to SAMCRO," Cat grated. "He's no one important."

"And why didn't y'all tell me about last night?" June asked.

"Y'all were asleep, have to work this mornin', and I didn't wanna wake ya."

"Yeah, right. Alex will have a fit if he finds out y'all tried to play Annie Oakley."

"He already did," Cat grinned. "Klamath Falls has a fine new litter of kittens!"

"Fun - nee! Y'all will notice that I'm not laughin'!" June took a sip of her coffee before adding, "Surprised ya missed such a large target. You were aimin' for the engine, weren't ya?"

Cat grimaced. "Yeah. Probably wouldn't have missed if that Tacoma asshole hadn't tackled me to the ground! I'm a little sore this mornin' because of it."

June glared worriedly at her. "Are you havin' trouble breathin', chick?"

"No, but my side where I fell is tender. Same side where the rib was cracked in the accident. Everytime I turned on it, the discomfort woke me up."

June stood up and walked to Cat's side of the bed, setting her mug down on the table. "Let me see."

"C'mon! It's nothin'! I just don't bounce like I used to!"

June glared at her until Cat sighed and raised her gown past her ribcage. June winced at the sight of the angry red, black, blue, and purple splotches on her friend's side.

"That's not good. Get up and get dressed. I'm takin' ya to the ER!"

"Oh, for! It's just a bruise!" Cat winced in pain as she lowered her gown.

"Don't make me get that two – way phone of yours and call Alex on ya!" June muttered threateningly.

"Nobody likes a tattle – tale!" Cat retorted. "And y'all know damn good and well he'd worry himself sick and I don't wanna put him through that, ya evil wench!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere but the ER! Put your clothes on and let's go!"

"Slave driver!" Cat got up and dressed, wincing at the pain in her side from each movement. 'Won't hurt anything to have it checked out, I suppose.'

She grabbed both the phones from the chargers and made a quick recording on the two – way's voice mail for Alex. She knew he'd check in sometime during the morning, and didn't want him kept in the dark about her condition. 'He'll find out soon enough, no reason to hide it from him, but I can make it a little easier to take.'

June waited anxiously in the living room for her. "OK, let's go," Cat stated, slipping out the front door after June before any of the cats could think about escaping.

"Y'all will thank me for this later," June murmured as they pulled out of the driveway.

"I'll go ahead and thank you now," Cat replied. "Could we swing by the coffeehouse? I just wanna see how many news vans have taken up residence on the street."

"Far too many, from the looks of it," June observed as they rounded the corner. News vans lined both sides of Main Street near the coffeehouse.

"Dammit! They didn't leave places for my regular customers to park! Stop the car, June. I gotta deal with this!" Cat leapt from the car before June had it completely stopped and strode into her business, her countenance as stern as she could make it.

Pete glanced up as the bell over the door tinkled, and grinned to himself. 'Miss Cat looks like she's gonna make the fur fly!'

Cat stalked into the middle of the coffeehouse. A large group of reporters and camera operators were relaxing all over, sipping coffee and taking in the antics of the cats in their windowed room.

"Welcome to Charming Pawse. I appreciate that all y'all have a job to do, but this is my place of business, and I'm gonna have to ask y'all to move your vehicles so my regular customers have a place to park!"

"And who the Hell are you?" One reporter drawled languidly from her place at one of the computer stations.

Cat strode over to her and stood behind the monitor, bending so that her face was even with the reporter. "I am the owner of this joint, and if y'all have a problem with that, ya can get the Hell outta here!"

"Take it easy, Cota!" Windover moved up to stand next to Cat. "She's right. There's no reason for all our vans to block her business."

Turning to Cat, he added, "We appreciate your staff allowing us to hang out here between newscasts. I'm sure the camera operators will be happy to move to the lot where our van is parked." He smiled grimly as he gazed at the opposition. "Everyone will be able to leave to cover the transfer of Hale's body at about the same time that way."

The camera operators were already moving towards the door, sheepish grins on their faces for not having thought of the idea earlier. Murmurs of apology drifted past her as they scurried to move their vehicles.

Cat nodded at Windover, wincing at his mention of Hale's death. 'I wish they didn't have to do that!' She gazed fondly at Pete. "If they cause any trouble, Pete, take the baseball bat to 'em and send 'em packin' – not necessarily in that order!"

"Gotcha, Miss Cat!" Pete grinned.

Cat gave Pete a thumbs up, turned, and strode out of the coffeehouse and into June's waiting rental. Several news reporters followed her out, hoping to get to talk to her, but the car pulled rapidly away.

They would have followed after the retreating vehicle, but one of them remembered that Hale's body was due to be moved in a matter of minutes. They rushed to their vans to cover the

event while June's Chrysler continued in the opposite direction.

Tig didn't usually have a problem sleeping alone, much less in a so – called 'strange bed'. The night he and Gemma arrived at the Madoc home was an exception. He'd experienced a stressful day from dealing with Gemma's attempt to leave Rogue River; the injuries and getting payment to Tony DiCarlo; bringing Gemma to Klamath Falls; and then learning of the drive – by at Sack's wake that ended with Kozik tackling Cat to keep her from being shot and later visiting her at the house.

'She held her own against that asshole. Considerin' what he did to Missy. It really bothers me to think of what could've happened!'

He fell asleep shortly after his last call from Cat that night. His last conscious thought was of her "sittin' nekkid in the whirlpool'. His sleep wasn't unbroken as he kept waking from nightmares over Kozik's visit to her. He'd reach out in his sleep to find cold sheets and empty space meeting his questing hands instead of her reassuring presence.

Each time he awoke from one of those nightmares to find himself alone, he'd lie staring up at the ceiling, panting and sweating until his heartbeat slowed down. He'd fall asleep again, only to have the cycle repeat throughout the night and onto the early morning hours.

He was bone weary as he sank deep into a vivid dream of Cat seducing him in his sleep. The dream felt real. He enjoyed pleasurable physical sensations – the warmth of her naked body pressed against his, her hands and tongue roaming his chest.

He stretched luxuriously, his arm sliding out to draw Cat closer to him. "Damn, baby! How'd you get here?"

"I've always been here," Amelia purred huskily, nuzzling his neck. "Don't open your eyes; you'll spoil everything!"

"Whoo! That's kinky, baby!" he grinned in his sleep, running his hand over Cat's body, keeping his eyes tightly closed. 'That doesn't sound like Cat! The voice is too high pitched. The hair's too long! There's no cast on her arm!' His subconscious screamed an alert but he was too tired for it to consciously register with him.

Amelia didn't waste any time, taking advantage of the opportunity available to her. 'I waited hours for him to come to me! I don't know why he stayed away, he's obviously interested in me!'

She rained wet, sloppy kisses all over his chest and shoulders, trailing her tongue along his nipples while her hands slid over his thighs.

His cock immediately rose to the occasion. It grew and thick, nudging against Amelia's hand, demanding it's share of attention. She obligingly wrapped her hand around its' width, sliding down to the base and back up to the head in one long stroke, making him hiss in pleasure.

"Oh, yes, Cat! Do that again!"

Amelia's eyes narrowed to slits. 'Cat? How dare he think of another woman!' She tightened her grip on his cock, digging her nails into the skin as she moved her hand up and around. She wanted to make him feel as much physical pain as she felt emtionally for being called by some other woman's name.

Tig felt more pleasure than pain from the gesture, drawing breath through his teeth. 'She's never been rough like that before, but I kinda like it!' He reciprocated by grasping her breasts, twisting the nipples until they were as tight and hard as his cock.

Amelia's hand slid down to caress his balls, her nails slid from back to front before her hand clasped his shaft again, running up and over the tip. Her thumb rubbed over the head, sliding in the pearly fluid that seeped from it, spreading it over the top.

Tig tried to move to take possession of her. "Cat, baby, you're drivin' me wild!" he moaned. "Let me in your pussy!"

"I'm gonna drive you wilder before I'm done!" Amelia crooned, forcing his back against the mattress. As much as she wanted to have his cock inside her, and knew how much he wanted her to ride him, Amelia refused to let him enter her body. 'No way does he get to fuck me until he knows he's screwing me – not that Cat bitch he keeps calling me!' She thought determinedly. "No peeking, Tig! Relax and enjoy this!" she purred.

He allowed her to do what she wanted. His mind was still sleep - numbed so that he honestly believed Cat was servicing him. When the wet welcome heat of her mouth closed around the tip of his dick, he breathed Cat's name like a prayer, enjoying the feel of her tongue swirling around and over the head.

It annoyed Amelia that Tig continued to call her 'Cat' while she sucked his cock. She deliberately allowed her teeth to scrape along his length, sending the message, 'Wake up and realize who's pleasing you, asshole!'

"Damn, baby!" Tig crooned, winding his hands in her hair to hold her head where he wanted – needed - it.

Amelia kept at the task, believing that he now realized who was servicing him. Her tongue swirled all over the tip of his dick, tasting the moisture that leaked from it.

'I've tasted worse, sometimes better, but he's not too damn bad!' She opened her mouth wider to accommodate his length, taking him as far back in her throat as she could.

Tig began thrusting his hips deeper into her mouth. 'I can't lie still! I need to go as deep as she'll take me!' His cock slid deeper, he wanted to feel the back of her throat. He felt her hair brush against his stomach as she worked on him.

Amelia's hands pushed his hips, holding them still while she worked her mouth and tongue up and down his shaft. She continued the rhythm until he exploded, shooting deep into her willing throat.

"Damn, baby! That's one Hell of a wake up!" he sighed contentedly. "If that's your idea of molestin' me in my sleep, ya can do that to me every day!"

Amelia removed her mouth from Tig's softening dick, licking her lips and frowning angrily. "I'll take you up on that offer, hot stuff. But if you expect a wake up like this from now on, you need to remember my name is Amelia! Who the Hell is this cunt you've been calling me while I was sucking you? Some bitch named Cat!"

Tig's eyes flew open in surprise. He was as wide awake as if someone had dashed a bucket of cold water in his face.

Amelia still straddled his lower legs, her eyes flashing with anger. Her lips were pressed together in a sullen pout. Her breasts moved up and down in tandem with her panting from her exertions.

'Nice rack,' he observed, then winced inwardly. 'What the fuck am I thinkin'? She just dissed my woman and I'm admirin' her tits? What is it about women that makes them vicious about Cat bein' in my life? First that porn chick, now this gash!' Tig roughly grabbed her hair, drawing her face down towards his. His eyes narrowed in anger.

Amelia was expecting an ardent kiss as reward for her efforts. She pursed her lips expectantly. Her eyes closed, though her lids fluttered with anticipation.

'You expect a kiss after the shit ya just spewed? Fuck that!' His left hand curled into a fist, which he held in front of her eyes. "Open your eyes, woman!" he snarled.

"T - tig? A- are you gonna hit me?"

His right hand forced her head away from his face while he held the back of his hand out to her. "I'd like to, but won't lower myself to that level."

Amelia's spine stiffening in renewed anger. She was relieved that she wasn't going to get a beating.

"You should feel complimented that I called you by her name while you were sucking me off!"

Amelia's eyes brightened with tears of pain and humiliation. "Let me get this straight! I waited for you for hours last night and you don't ever show up. I get up early, come in here to get to know you better. You call me by some other woman's name and tell me I should consider it a compliment?" She snorted in disgust. "You're lucky I didn't bite your dick off!"

It'd have been the last thing you'd ever bite," he snarled. He gripped her by the shoulders and shoved her off him, sending her flying off the bed.

Amelia landed on the floor on her ass. She looked up at him with a look of surprise and hurt. She swore at him in Spanish, switching to English to add, "Excuse the fuck outta me for not feeling complimented!"

He could see fear mixed with excitement in her eyes as she crawled to her feet. Recalling one of Cat's favorite retorts, he growled, "I'll give it all the consideration I think it merits! Get the fuck outta here and don't let Nate or Gemma see ya!"

Amelia grabbed her robe, pulling it over her shoulders before opening the door. She slipped from the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She stood in front of it, angry tears of embarrassment mixed with desire streamed from her eyes.

'This isn't over yet, cutie! I want you and you must want me! You enjoyed that way too much for that cunt to mean anything to you, regardless of that ring she gave you!'

She crossed to the bathroom to clean up. It surprised her that her hands shook so much that it took several tries for her to lock the door.

Tig lay back in the bed, hands clasped behind his head, a satisfied smile on his face. 'The gash did OK, but Cat's spoilin' me! I'm sure she'd do better. Still, the Gaute's got potential. Wonder if her ass is as tight and hot as her mouth?'

The black Cadillac hearse from Dubrowski's pulled sedately from the back of the hospital. Chief Unser's patrol car led the way, it's red and blue light bar flashing. A black flag fluttered from the car's antenna.

A line of CPD squad cars, their own light bars flashing, fell into line behind the hearse carrying David Hale's body. Cars from CHP and SJSD followed behind Charming's squad. A small black flag flapped in the breeze from each car's antenna.

The procession crawled along the streets David Hale had patrolled and protected; where he'd grown up. Pedestrians on the sidewalk stopped to watch the somber line. Many of the men removed their hats while some of the children held their hands over their hearts.

Cars approaching the cortège from the opposite direction pulled to the side of the street as it passed. Unser took it all in at a glance, appreciating the town's support of their police force, yet hating the reason for it.

'I don't want all this hoopla when this cancer takes me away,' he thought. 'Just something simple. But I doubt it'll happen that way.'

The procession turned into Dubrowski's Funeral Home, where Hale's body would be prepared for the funeral and burial services. The patrol cars parked in the lot while the hearse pulled up to the double doors leading to the entrance.

Unser noted with disdain that members of the local media were lined up on the other side of the parking lot, witnessing the transfer for themselves and recording it for posterity. He suppressed the urge to flip the bird at the cameras.

'Wouldn't look all that good on the news. The mayor and city council would have a fit. Cat would tell me to ignore 'em; they're just doing their job. That doesn't mean I have to like their presence!'

His officers kept their faces averted from the cameras and reporters as they walked to the waiting hearse. Hale's body was encased in a black plastic body bag and rested on a gurney. The black bag was covered with a white sheet.

The funeral home employee who'd driven the hearse opened the back door and stood to one side to allow the officers access.

Unser stepped up to the back of the hearse, grabbed the end of the gurney, and stepped slowly back from the hearse, pulling the gurney out of the hearse. As the gurney made it's way out of the vehicle, his officers stepped forward to support it on both sides, allowing the wheels to fall to the ground.

Moving quietly and as one unit, the Charming police force escorted Hale's body into the funeral parlor. The doors shut behind the officers while the once silent press corps erupted into a babble of voices, recording their voice overs for the upcoming newscasts.

Marcus Alvarez was not pleased. He prowled the Mayan clubhouse while the morning news blared coverage of the drive by shooting at Dubrowski's Funeral Home and the subsequent death of Charming's Deputy Police Chief.

The Mayans were used to Alvarez' long burning fuse. The Lodi Calavarez MC wasn't. They warily watched Alvarez' movements. Their hands shook noticeably as they waited for the Mayan leader to explode.

Salazar, the Calavarez president, was the only member of his club standing silent and still in the face of Alvarez' sure wrath. The plan had seemed simple. All the Calavarez club needed to do to patch in to the Mayans was to shoot at the members of SAMCRO while they congregated at the funeral home. No one was supposed to have been hurt.

Salazar had been one of the shooters. Instead of shooting over the heads of the people standing outside the funeral home, he'd opted to shoot at random into the crowd, not caring if he hit SAMCRO or innocents.

"If we're gonna be part of the Mayans, we've gotta prove we're fearless!" Salazar roared at his complaining brothers as he continued firing. "Shoot, motherfuckers, or I'll shoot ya myself!"

Salazar's shouting and the screams from the panicked crowd had startled the driver. He'd abruptly hit the brakes, causing one of the men to fall out of the open side door.

"Don't stop! Keep going!" Salazar screamed at the driver.

"But it's Pozo! We can't leave him!" The driver objected.

"Pozo is collateral damage. There's nothing we can do for him!" Salazar growled, stretching his leg across the floorboard to smash the driver's foot on the accelerator. "We've gotta get outta here!"

The van leapt forward, taking hits from CPD and SAMCRO guns. Salazar caught sight of a short woman with a bandaged eye firing at the front of the van. He prepared to fire back, but dismissed her as of no consequence when her shots landed harmlessly in front of the van.

"There's a cop in the way!" The driver screamed, trying with his other foot to hit the brake.

"We stop for nothing!" Salazar snarled. "Go, go, go!" He smashed his foot down on the driver's foot again. The van continued forward, striking David Hale and running over him before rushing on down the street and careening around a corner.

Alvarez stopped his pacing to stand in front of the television, which was tuned to Channel 2. James Windover was giving a live stand up about the previous evening's events. Hale's Jeep, already bearing gifts from bereaved citizens, was in the background.

"St Thomas Hospital spokespeople are not releasing the injured child's condition. All that is known is that he was seriously wounded but survived the injuries. Another bystander, identified as Charles Marstein, was treated and released for a bullet wound to the arm. CPD Deputy Chief David Hale's body will be moved from the morgue to Dubrowski's Funeral Home later this morning. It's reported his viable organs were retrieved for donation."

Video of the sombre procession of citizens paying homage to the Deputy Chief appeared on screen while Windover continued his narrative. "Residents of Charming began to leave tokens of esteem on Hale's vehicle at dawn. CPD, along with the San Joaquin Sheriff's Department, are continuing to look for the van and its' occupants. The van was described as a light colored, either beige or tan GMC mini van, with a dent in the passenger front fender near the windsheild. No license plate number could be obtained. One of the shooters fell from the vehicle and is in custody at St. Thomas."

Alvarez turned off the television and turned to glare at Salazar. His eyes snapped with anger, but his voice remained calm and controlled when he spoke.

"You fucked up, esse. What should have been a simple job has turned into shit! Two wounded civilians and a dead police chief! Good work, asshole!"

Salazar glared back, his gaze unflinching before Alvarez' wrath. "This was no fuck up. This proves the Calavarez MC fear no one! We will kill anyone at any time for any reason! That will make people fear us!"

Alvarez stalked to Salazar, not stopping until he was nearly nose to nose with the Calavarez president. "Estupido! The police are looking for you and your brothers! They're looking for the van. If it leads them to you, it won't take much for them to find us!"

Salazar sneered at the Mayan president. "You screech like a frightened woman!" he spat. "The van was stolen. It can't be traced back to either of us. We abandoned it in Stockton and threw away the plate!"

"And you don't think the man you left behind won't rat?" Alvarez hissed.

"Pozo won't rat. He understands why he was left behind. What do you intend to do about SAMCRO and the police? Huh? Tell me that, big man!"

"I can handle the police. I can handle SAMCRO if I have to!" Alvarez replied softly. Each word was edged with malice. "You, and your club, however, I cannot accept! I don't need anyone who will not obey orders. Our agreement is over, esse!"

"You can't do that! We had an agreement!"

Alvarez smiled grimly. "I can and I have. Your stupidity broke our agreement, brother. Your club may continue running our drugs to Stockton without the protection of the Mayan patch."

Salazar started to protest, his VP's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Be smart, my brother. We're in the minority here!"

Alvarez smiled grimly. "Your VP is wise. Get out of my clubhouse and get out of my sight before I regret being lenient with you!"

Salazar's hand moved toward his gun. Alvarez had his pointed at Salazar's nose before the other man could blink.

"I wouldn't if I were you." Alvarez warned softly. The Mayans had their own weapons drawn and pointed directly at the Calavarez members.

Salazar glared angrily at Alvarez. 'I won't forget this, esse! No one disrespects me in front of my club!' He signaled with a curt nod at his men, who began to inch towards the door, their hands held slightly in the air and away from their sides.

The Mayans watched them retreat. They stood quietly, guns fixed on the Calavarez riders until the door closed behind the departing club.

"Salazar is going to be trouble, Marcus," the Mayan SAA noted.

"Tell me something I don't already know," Alvarez replied, returning his gun to his holster. "SAMCRO will be bigger trouble if they ever figure out the connection between us and the drive by."

"What are you going to do about Salazar?"

"Wait. He is his own enemy. He has lost standing with his club. They need us more than we need them."

"What about the drug routes?" the vice president inquired.

"The Calavarez MC likes the money the drugs bring them. Most of them do not want Salazar leading them. He is loco, and cannot be trusted. The membership will cooperate with us."

"I hope you're right brother," the vice president sighed.

'So do I, brother,' Alvarez sighed inwardly. 'So do I.'

June stopped her rental in front of the entrance to the Emergency Room. "Get on in there, and I'll join y'all as soon as I park the car," she ordered Cat.

"No need. Go ahead and report in. Come check on me when y'all can." Cat advised.

"Sure you're gonna be OK?" June replied worriedly.

Cat grinned ruefully. "Honey, this place has practically become my second home!"

"Well, don't send out any change of address cards!" June retorted.

Cat laughed and shut the door of June's rental Chrysler, waving as her friend pulled away towards the employee parking lot. Then she turned and walked into the ER entrance.

'I'd rather have gone to my regular doctor, but it's probably better to get properly checked out here. Will certainly ease Tig's mind when he finds out I needed more doctorin'. Would love to be a fly on the wall when he confronts Kozik about this!'

She walked up to the desk and gave the clerk her name. "Is Dr. Gallagher on duty? He treated me last time I was brought in, and is most familiar with my injuries."

"I'll see, Ms. Marshall. Please take a seat and we'll get you triaged shortly," the clerk replied, handing over the familiar clipboard of forms for her to fill out.

By the time she'd completed the forms, the admitting clerk was ready to enter her information into the computer system. After tapping the keys and asking a few questions, she slipped an ID band around Cat's wrist.

A nurse took her to a treatment room, took her vital signs, then handed a gown to her.

"Hope I don't have to shed everythin'!" Cat grinned.

"Just the shirt and bra for now, Ms. Marshall. Dr. Gallagher will be here in a few moments, barring any major emergencies."

"Any word on Reese McCargo's condition?"

The nurse sobered instantly. "Still critical. The operation to remove the bullet was successful, but he lost a lot of blood and there's still some vein damage. We're letting him gain strength, but he'll need another operation to make those repairs."

"Damn! Poor kid!" Cat made a mental note to get a set of the larger size feline trio out to him.

"That's a very nice thing you're doing, paying for his care through the motorcycle club's medical fund," the nurse added.

"That wasn't supposed to get out!" Cat fumed.

"I don't know how the reporters got word of it, Ms. Marshall, but it's still a nice gesture by the Sons. Especially considering what happened last night. It means a lot that the club looks out for the town." The nurse left her alone to undress and wait for Dr. Gallagher.

'No good deed goes unnoticed around here! People like Jacob Hale will just say I'm tryin' to cover up for the guys! It could easily come back to bite us all in the ass!'

Cat removed her shirt, wincing at the pain in her side. Pulling a shirt over her chest had hurt enough that she didn't want to endure trying to put on a bra, so she'd gone without. She donned the hospital gown and perched on the exam table to wait for the doctor.

Dr. Gallagher entered the treatment room a few minutes later, carrying her chart from the previous admission with him. "So what seems to be the problem, Cat? Other than having left here too early?"

"A bit of bruisin' on the side where that rib cracked in the accident. Got tackled to the ground last night during the drive – by," she replied.

"Let's take a look," he replied, holding out a hand to assist her to lay back on the table. "Take it slow, and tell me more about how you got tackled."

Cat lay back and gazed up at the ceiling tiles while Dr. Gallagher lifted the gown to examine her side. She related how Kozik had tackled her to the concrete while she was aiming at the escaping van.

"Believe it or not, he might have done you a favor," Dr. Gallagher mused.

"What makes you say that?"

"If he hadn't, you could've been readmitted with a bullet wound instead of that youngster," Dr. Gallagher chastised her. "You at least owe the man an apology for kicking him in the gonads!"

"Yeowtch! Can't ya warn a body when ya touch a tender spot?" Cat howled. Though Gallagher's probing fingers were gentle, her side was very tender. It also felt a little warm to him.

"Wish you'd had yourself checked out last night," he added. "You might have another cracked rib. Could even be broken. We definitely need x – rays."

"Too much goin' on here last night; y'all didn't need to be dealin' with me, too."

"Well, we're dealing with you now! X – rays first, then we'll go from there. You're running a low grade fever, do you feel sick to your stomach?"

"Nope."

"Good. It doesn't appear the impact was enough to cause your lung to collapse again. The stitches are clean, and none of them burst from the impact. Feel any pain?"

"Only when I lay on that side or touch it, so I don't do either," she quipped.

He grinned and wrote a few notes in her chart. "I'll see you after I look at the film. Try not to get in any trouble, OK?"

"I'll try," she grinned.

"See you in a bit, Cat."

Dr. Gallagher had barely walked out of the room when June stuck her head in. "You gonna be OK, chick?"

"Bad news, darlin'. I'm gonna live."

"Always the comedian. What'd he say? I gotta get back to the department in a few."

"Gonna take some pictures of my chest, make sure nothin' got knocked outta place. The kid's gonna pull through, but needs more surgery once he's stronger."

June smiled in relief. "I'm glad to hear it. The family won't allow us to release any information on the kid's condition. I was hopin' that didn't mean bad news."

"I hate to add to your work load, kittenface, but someone in the ER blabbed to the media about the SAMCRO medical fund."

June frowned. "I wondered about that. Didn't think you'd have wanted that bit of news to get out when I heard it this mornin'."

"I didn't. Someone in the admitting area had to have told the media last night. Only myself, the clerks, Chief Unser, and Clay knew about it."

"Who's Clay?"

"The club president. Neither he nor the police chief would've said anything to the media about it, so logic indicates it had to be someone on staff last night."

June wrinkled her nose. "That's not good, chick, but I'll do what I can. What will you do if it was one of the clerks?"

"File a complaint, I guess. If the asshole gained monetarily from it, though -"

June held up her hand. "Don't start gettin' yourself worked up, chick! Lemme do my job, and I'll get back to ya. By the way turns out Margaret's not as bad as we feared."

"You called her a pit bull," Cat reminded her.

"Yeah, but only when it comes to what's best for the hospital. Once she realized I wanted the same thing she did, she became more of a pussy cat."

An orderly came into the room to take Cat to X – ray. "I'll see ya later, kittenface. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"I won't," Cat grinned, waving at June as she rolled her eyes and flounced off down the hall in the opposite direction.

Jacob Hale sat in his brother's desk chair, holding his head in his hands. 'The last time I was in this office, David was packing his gear to move into Unser's office. In just a week, he'd be running the department. Now he's dead, and I'm packing his stuff! What a difference a day makes!'

Just the day before, he'd apologized for the LOAN situation, and asked David for his help with the upcoming campaign. He'd been relieved when his brother had agreed to be in his corner when he assumed the role of the Charming Police Chief.

'I felt closer to David than I'd felt in weeks after he met Zobelle and Weston! Together, we could've taken this town away from SAMCRO. I don't know if I can do it without him.'

Jacob could feel his brother's presence in the office, despite the fact that most of his mementos – pictures, military awards and medals, and police citations – had already been packed. Jacob kept expecting his brother to walk in at any moment.

Jacob had a banker's box of personal items he'd felt family might want. It was a small collection, painfully gathered together. He knew there were some things that had to stay in CPD.

The CPD officers had filed quietly into the station after escorting their deputy chief's body to the funeral home. Despite their grief, the town still needed to protected. An investigation into the shooting needed to be made, witnesses at the crime scene needed to be interviewed, patrols had to be carried out. Order still needed to be maintained.

Wayne Unser passed Hale's open door en route to his own office and spotted Jacob sitting desolately behind the Deputy Chief's desk. 'I've never seen the man look more alone than he does now.' Unser felt a wave of compassion for the Realtor. He stepped into the office, offering his assistance in sorting through David Hale's office effects.

Jacob looked up at Unser, sensing that the ailing Chief was attempting to help, and bit back the sharp reply that wanted release. 'Making Unser feel worse isn't going to change anything,' he thought sadly, asking instead about the future of the Chief's office.

Unser explained that he was going to remain in charge until the city council could come up with a replacement, possibly within the next six months.

Jacob reminded the chief that he'd agreed to allow Unser to align CPD with SAMCRO to keep Charming peaceful. That agreement hadn't been working well in the past few days. He informed Unser that SJSD was willing and able to take over enforcing the law in Charming, and this time the city council might agree to it.

Unser denounced that idea, reminding Hale as a a mayoral candidate that Charming needed its' own police force. Jacob nodded and stood up, extending his hand in a gesture to make peace. He'd need Unser's support if he expected to win the mayoral election in the primaries against Oswald.

'Fall's a long way away; a lot can happen between now and then. You're not mayor yet!' Unser thought, staring at Jacob Hale's outstretched hand.

Unser equated shaking hands with Jacob Hale to making a deal with the devil. He'd done that 25 years ago with Clay Morrow. Despite the events of the past week with LOAN, Unser preferred to remain aligned with SAMCRO. 'Better the evil you know.'

Jacob grinned sardonically and picked up the single box of his brother's belongings without another word to Unser.

June Stahl considered the local library a good place to perform research off the departmental radar. She entered Charming's library just as she had every morning since Gemma Morrow had disappeared to check the surrounding states' newspapers online. She carefully went through each one, looking for any information that would help her find the fugitive.

She smiled in triumph as she read an article in an Oregon paper. 'That will bring the bitch out into the open!' She read the short item again, noting the details surrounding Rose Madoc's death and subsequent funeral.

'So Gemma's dad is on his own. Might be a good idea to get local surveillance on his place. There's an officer in the Klamath Falls PD that owes me a favor.'

Stahl sent the obituary to the library's printer, requesting two copies. One would go in the file she was keeping on Gemma Teller Morrow.

'Think I'll show the other copy to Cat Marshall. If Tig's with Gemma, his old lady will be itching to get word of this to him and that might lead me to them. I can't prove it, but I know Tig's not in Tacoma. Doesn't matter that the story checked out. I never trust intel I haven't seen for myself!'

Alex frowned at the large number of figurines staring at him from a curio cabinet near the dining room table. 'God, I hate dolls!' he groaned, maneuvering to keep the counter between him and the cabinet.

He carried the small package of whiskey blend coffee Cat had tucked into his duffel. He'd watched her make coffee often enough that he felt confident that he could handle the job.

'I've made passable coffee at the garage. It's not fuckin' rocket science!' He filled the reservoir with water, measured the freshly ground coffee into a filter, and switched on the coffeemaker.

Moments later, the aroma of fresh brewed whiskey blend filled the kitchen. He sniffed appreciatively, wishing again that it had been Cat molesting him instead of the caregiver.

'Think I'll call and see how she's doin'. Let her know she was on my mind this morning,' he stepped out the back door, pulling the two - way out of his pocket as he walked.

He frowned when the call went directly to voice mail. His frown morphed into concern and fear when he heard the message waiting for him.

"Mornin', love! Sorry not to be here to talk to y'all. June pulled rank and took me to the ER. My side's a little discolored and painful. She panicked. You know how some wimmin can be!"

Though her voice was light and her laugh genuine, Alex could hear the pain she was trying to hide. 'That rat bastard! I oughta kill him for hurtin' her!'

"Likely it's nothin' major, love, so don't worry. I can't have the cell turned on in the hospital, but will call as soon as there's somethin' to report. Missed y'all last night, especially in the whirlpool. That was a good idea, it helped. Be safe, love!"

He drew a deep breath, forcing his voice to remain non nonchalant. He felt like he'd swallowed a large chunk of ice.

"Mornin', baby! I made the whiskey blend. Had a naughty dream about ya. Wish you were here. There's a whole fuckin' cabinet of dolls in the damn dining room. Call me soon as ya got news. Glad June pulled rank. I owe her one for gettin' ya to obey her!" He pressed the 'end call' button and pocketed the two – way.

The coffee was brewed by the time he'd finished his call. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and buttered some bread. He didn't want to share any of his remaining stash of Snicker Bar Muffins with anyone, even Gemma.

He took his cup and plate to the head of the table, keeping his back to the cabinet of figurines. He took another sip of coffee, but he felt their eyes on him and his hands started shaking.

"This is no damn good," he growled, getting up and opening the cabinet door. He quickly shifted each figure so that the painted faces were facing the window.

He felt less antsy with the figurines turned so they couldn't watch hiim. He settled back into the chair with a sigh of relief, still chewing on his bread. He hefted his cup and took a hefty, satisfied swallow. 'Now that's decent brew!'

Gemma walked into the dining room, following the aroma of the whiskey blend. 'Tigger was holdin' out on me! Figures Cat would send a care package along.'

She smiled as Tig fussed with the figurines. 'It's not just dolls that bother him. I don't recall seeing any figurines at Cat's place; she must have them in a room he doesn't go into. The things we do for the men we love!'

She helped herself to a cup of coffee, asking about Clay's reaction to their being in Klamath Falls. Her heart sank at the news of the drive by and Hale's death, despite the good news that the club was unhurt.

She crossed to the cabinet and opened it, removing a particular figurine that held some good memories for her. Calling it her favorite, she placed it on the table in front of Tig's plate.

He draped a napkin over the figurine so he couldn't see it, whining that Gemma was teasing him for no good reason. He picked up his coffee cup and started to the living room as Amelia entered the dining area.

Amelia stopped short, staring timidly at Tig. She smiled at him as he neared, her eyes still hopeful and adoring.

He grinned at her, acting as if nothing had happened between them earlier. He winked, casually tossing an endearment that made her hopes soar. 'That's encouraging! He called me 'doll'!'

She crossed to the coffeepot to pour herself some coffee, noting that it smelled different from the usual blend she fixed daily for Nate. She tried to draw Gemma out, to learn more about her relationship with Rose, but Gemma wasn't willing to provide details.

Amelia explained that Rose had already lined up a buyer for the house, and that arrangements had been made for Nate to enter the local nursing home in another two days. The nursing home specialized in dementia patients, so he would be well cared for and protected.

Gemma felt relieved that her father's needs would be met, and guilty that she couldn't be the one to help him when he needed her most. The pain weighed her down, making her heart flutter again. She refused to discuss her lack of contact with her mother with Amelia, effectively shutting the caregiver out.

Nate entered the room, staring for a moment at Gemma as if he didn't know who she was. She told him her name and he replied irritably that he knew her. He became agitated at the sight of all of Rose's Hummel figurines out of place and opened the cabinet to rearrange them.

Tig entered the kitchen with the throwaway in hand, calling to Gemma that Clay wanted to talk to her.

Nate, not remembering Tig or why he was there, became combative. Gemma advised Tig that she'd call Clay later while calming her father, reminding him that Tig was with her and had come with her the night before.

Gemma got up and fixed a cup of coffee for her father, placing it on the table in front of Nate. He sipped it and complained it was too strong. He ordered Gemma to allow Rose to make it next time.

Gemma felt helpless hearing her father talk of her mother as if she were still alive. She knew it was the dementia that made him talk of his wife that way, but it broke her heart all the same. 'I don't know how I'm going to get through the next couple of days!'

Jimmy O'Fellan's favorite hangout in California was a tavern. Like his bar in Belfast, it opened at 10AM. At 10:01, he was camped out in a booth. His second in command, Luke, occupied the seat across from him.

The situation with Cameron and Edmond Hayes had brought him back from Ireland just a few days ago. The 'Red Mafia' had ordered him to send Cameron and Eddie to California to handle the gun running operation with SAMCRO after their original head man had died. Had Jimmy had his 'druthers, he'd had picked someone else to do the job.

''Ad tha bhoys just stuck wi' tha program, none o' this would've 'appened! I knew they couldnae be trusted; tha they'd look fer a chance ta mayke money fer themselves and turn on SAMCRO!'

Within a few weeks of taking over the operation, the Hayes had proved him right. They met with Ethan Zobelle behind SAMCRO's back and agreed to supply guns to him. The pair had sold out the club to the highest bidder without thought for the IRA.

The Hayes' action also threatened Jimmy's separate operation with the Belfast charter. On his return to California, he put an immediate end to the Hayes/LOAN deal. Shortly afterwards, Jimmy learned that Eddie was an ATF informant and Cameron was on the run, as Eddie had turned on his father.

Working with SAMCRO, Jimmy fooled the ATF into following his Lincoln Navigator from the safe house to the Hayes military surplus store, leaving the safe house clear so the Sons could retrieve their guns from the safe house.

Edmund Hayes and Zobelle's daughter, Patty, were now dead, presumably at the hands of Gemma Morrow. Cameron was on the lam after kidnapping Abel and killing SAMCRO's Prospect in the process.

'How did it all go ta shite so damn quickly?' Jimmy held his head in his hands while Lucas worked the cell phone.

"We have a meetin' wi' SAMCRO this afternoon," Luke announced, turning off the cell phone and shoving it in his jacket pocket.

"Foine. P'raps we'll learn more aboot what happened at tha safe hoose," Jimmy moaned, not lifting his head from his hands. "I dinna believe tha' Gemma killed Eddie. It's noot like 'er."

"ATF says othawise," Luke pointed out.

"Tha' bitch Stahl, ye mean," Jimmy spat. "I wouldnae believe a wurd outta tha' woman's mouf ifn' Gawd 'imself vouched fer it!"

"Then wha' wuz Gemma doin' at tha' safe hoose?"

"We'll find oot later, now, won't we?" Jimmy retorted. "Any wurd on Cammie?"

"'E fled North, likely ta Canada in 'opes o' gettin' ta Belfast frum there," Luke explained. "Too much heat inna States fer 'im ta try leavin'. Belfast bhoys aire keepin' an eye on Mo's, in case 'e shows up there."

"We've gotta keep SAMCRO frum Belfast, else they'll find oot whut we're doin' with McGee and Liam," Jimmy mused.

"If Cammie shows up in Ireland wi' the wee bairn an SAMCRO evva gits wurd o' it -"

"Then it's up ta us ta keep 'em frum gettin' tha' wurd, now, isna it?" Jimmy interjected angrily.

"'Tis time fur us ta mayke plans fur tha meetin'."

Agent Sullins reviewed the crime scene report from the Hayes' house in Galt, smiling with triumph. 'I knew something was rotten about Stahl's report! Still not enough to suspend her, but it's enough to uphold the demotion with the union!'

Sullins looked up from the table in the interview room he was using in CPD as an office. He watched sympathetically as the CPD officers quietly walked to their desks.

'Sad thing for them. Even sadder that it could've been avoided. To think the man's own brother brought in a white separationist group to take on an outlaw motorcycle club! I'd hate to be in his brother's shoes now!'

Chief Unser walked past Sullins' open door en route to the holding cells, stopping when Sullins flagged him down.

"What's up?"

"Think you might find this of interest," Sullins replied, extending the file to Unser.

The police chief stepped into the room, sat down, and started reading. "Are you shitting me? Patty Zobelle had a 9 mil in her hand when she died? That wasn't in Stahl's broadcast status report!"

"Stahl's cover story has more holes in it than a golf course!" Sullins acknowledged. "It's obvious from forensics that Gemma shot Zobelle's daughter in self defense."

"Are you guys gonna reactivate the Amber Alert Stahl canceled?"

Sullins shoulders sagged. "I would if I thought it would do any good," he replied softly. "I've had officers up and down the coast watching for the kid and Cameron Hayes. There's been no sign of him since Stahl canceled the Alert. Likely he found a way out of the country by now."

Unser glared at the agent, his eyes glowing with anger. "Everytime you Feds come here, the shit hits the fan and I'm left to clean up the stink!"

"I'm sorry, Wayne. Reactivating the Alert now would make the public doubt it's validity in the future."

Unser nodded in reluctant agreement.

"What I can do is get the murder warrant dropped against Mrs. Morrow for the death of Zobelle's daughter," Sullins continued.

Unser's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I hear a 'but' in that offer."

"Edmond Hayes had two gunshot wounds in the back. That, unfortunately, supports Stahl's claim that Mrs. Morrow shot him as he was trying to escape. The bullets match Stahl's gun and the one she claims she took from Mrs. Morrow."

Unser sighed wearily. 'I feel like a ping pong ball!'

Sullins cleared his throat before adding, "The autopsy on Edmond Hayes found bruising on his knuckles not accounted for in Stahl's report. She claims Mrs. Morrow sucker punched her, yet there were no visible marks on her face. I'm ordering an exam on Stahl to find out where she was hit. It will be interesting to see if any marks on her match the bruising found on Hayes."

Unser sighed and tossed the file onto the table. "Guess half a loaf is a feast to a starving man. Keep me posted."

He stood up and left the office, continuing on to the holding cell to release Jax Teller. No one on the police force wanted Jax charged with assault on the left behind shooter.

'He did what all of us wanted to do, I can't fault for him that. He's had time to cool off, but I dread the storm that's coming!'

Cat waited in the treatment room for Dr. Gallagher to return. She lay on the exam table in a semi – reclining position, watching television. A nurse had come in earlier with a pain reliever for her, and an aide had taken her vital signs again.

To her delight, she'd managed to find a pair of movies with two of her favorite actors, Kim Coates and Gerard Butler. She flipped the remote from channel to channel, following along with both movies.

'Alex would have quite a snarkcastic comment to offer if he were here!' she grinned, watching the handsome green eyed Scotsman acting sensitive in 'PS I Love You' before switching back to 'A Gunfighter's Pledge, where Kim Coates was playing an outlaw gunfighter. 'You've got both of 'em on DVD, and this is the nth time you've watched the damn things! Ya must have 'em memorized by now!'

Watching the two actors took her mind off her worries, including any new damage that Kozik might've caused.

"Frackin' commercials!" she growled, flipping from the channel with Gerry's movie on it to find that the channel with Kim's movie was also running ads.

"They have to pay for those movies," Dr. Gallagher remarked, striding into the treatment room with a large envelope in one hand and her file in the other. "Think I could have a moment of your undivided attention?"

Cat reluctantly turned off the television and folder her hands over her chest. "I'm all attention."

"Good girl!" he beamed affectionately, removing the x – rays from the envelope and placing them on the viewer. He turned on the light, illuminating the film.

Cat could see her ribs, and followed Gallagher's ink pen as he pointed at small cracks in her left ribs.

"There's good news and bad news. I'll cut to the chase. The bad news is that you've got more cracked ribs. The good news is that the original cracked one isn't broken. Also, there's no sign of your lung collapsing. Do you still have the binder?"

"At home."

"We'll put you in another one. I don't usually use a binder for cracked ribs, but in your case, it's a necessity."

"Why do you say that?" Cat frowned.

"You're just not the type to stay inactive. It drives you and anyone in your presence up the wall!" Gallagher smiled good naturedly. "If you're going to insist on being active, the binder will give your ribs the support they need."

"So I don't have to be admitted?"

"I should admit you. Hell, you shouldn't have left in the first place, but there was no stopping you the other day!" His eyes twinkled as he added, " I hear that your boyfriend put the word out to keep you from overdoing in his absence, so I'm confident you'll behave yourself."

Cat wrinkled her nose at him. "Tig could've saved himself a lot of trouble and taken out an ad in the paper! Sheesh!"

"I'm going to send a copy of your file to your regular doctor, check in with her in a couple of days, but if you get sick like before, do not hesitate to get back here immediately!"

"OK."

"I'll have a nurse come in with the binder and I'll prescribe something you can take for pain during the day that won't knock you out. Just try not to shoot any more fleeing vans, OK?"

Cat nodded in agreement.

"I also don't like the way your arm and hand are swelling. You're not keeping it supported, so I've ordered a sling. Wear it when you're up and about. You should be OK without the sling at night."

Dr. Gallagher expected her to protest the sling, but she didn't say a word about it. "They did x - rays of my face. Was there any damage to my eye?"

"Dr. Smythe looked at the film and pronounced everything looked fine with him. You really got off lucky, my friend."

Dr. Gallagher handed over the prescription he'd written, touched her shoulder briefly, then left the room. A few moments later, a nursing aide helped her put on the binder and her shirt, then showed her how to work with the sling.

"It's too bad your man took off, you really shouldn't be alone," the aide commented.

"Shit! Does everyone in town know our business?" Cat protested.

"It's kind of well known that he took off for some kind of trade show in Washington, almost as soon as you left the hospital."

"He needed time to wind down, he went with my blessing!" Cat explained hotly. "Besides, I'm not alone. A girlfriend came to stay with me!"

"That's good, that you're not staying by yourself. Between the ribs and your arm, you really need a little help," the aide observed. "That's nice of you to think of him when you're in such a state."

"He went through a lot of stress following the wreck," Cat replied, shrugging off the aide's misplaced admiration.

"Word is he stayed with you the night of the wreck, and kept coming back whenever he could. I wish my man was that attentive!"

Cat grinned ruefully. "I don't suggest gettin' in a wreck."

"Guess not," the aide replied wistfully.

Cat signed the release papers the aide handed her, then headed for the administrative offices in search of June and a ride home.

Agent Sullins felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders as Unser walked out of the interview room. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes against the beginnings of a headache.

A shadow fell across the table; he looked through his fingers and winced inwardly. 'Shit! Now what does she want?'

Stahl slid the newspaper printout onto the table in front of him. "Gemma's mother died. I think we should put a surveillance team on her father's house. She's bound to show up there!"

Sullins shook his head. "I know all about it. Nate Madoc is going into a nursing home shortly. The chances that Gemma Morrow will learn of her mother's death and show up there are slim and none."

"You can't turn your back on this chance to capture her!" Stahl retorted. "That's asinine!"

"I'm not ignoring it! You'd best watch your mouth if you don't want to be assigned to Bum Fuck Egypt!"

Stahl glared at him, but wisely remained silent.

"That's better," Sullins replied. "I've already alerted Klamath Falls PD to be on the watch for her. No 24 hour surveillance on the Madoc home. I've also removed the surveillance team from Cat Marshall's residence."

"Why did you do that?"

'I don't like that look in your eyes, Stahl. SAMCRO has become an obsession with you, and that's not good!' Sullins narrowed his eyes, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

"If any leads were to come from it, they'd have sprung up by now. It's a waste of resources and time to continue the surveillance there. You're dismissed."

Stahl snatched the printout and stalked from the interview room, her eyes snapping with rage.

'I hope I'm not making a mistake in keeping her assigned here,' Sullins mused, watching Stahl's angry retreat.

"One of the advantages to being a contractor is that I don't have a set shift!" June assured her friend as they walked to the rental car. "As long as I get the work done, I can come and go as I need."

"I still appreciate you takin' the time to get me back to the house. Alex said he owes you one, by the way, for gettin' me here!"

June's eyes twinkled with merriment. "I've never had an outlaw owe me before! This could be interesting!"

Cat turned so that her good eye could stare at her friend. "Watch it, woman! He's spoken for!"

"I wouldn't dream of it, chick! I shared a man with y'all once, and that was one time too many! No man's worth fuckin' up a good friendship over!"

"Good. Just makin' sure!" Cat smirked.

"Speakin' of makin' sure, now that your arm is literally in a sling, I'm gonna take y'all to the funeral this afternoon," June replied, her attention suddenly rooted on the road ahead.

"But you didn't know Kip! There's no need, I can manage!"

June shook her head. "I recall a certain person drivin' all the way from Indy to Evansville on her frackin' anniversary for my sister's funeral. Y'all barely knew her, but you were there for Critter and me anyway!"

Cat squirmed in the seat next to June. "I did that because I love you and wanted to support you both," she murmured.

"And that same person was there for my child at her best friend's funeral after I moved out of state."

"Hey, her best friend died while serving our country; she needed to know her heart – family was there for her." Cat squirmed in discomfort over her friend's faint praise. "You don't owe me anythin' for doin' that!"

"I'm not doin' this as payback," June replied softly. "I'm doin' this because I love ya, so shut the duck up and deal with it!"

Cat squirmed again, then relaxed with a sigh. "OK. I'll deal with it. I promised to take one of my employees, Chuckie. Do y'all mind goin' to the clubhouse to pick him up?"

"Nope, not at all. I can't wait to meet him!" June grinned. "Y'all ought to call Alex; let him know how you are. Surely he's called y'all by now!"

Cat smiled at the swift change of topic. "He might've, and don't call me Shirley!" She dug the two – way out of her pocket and turned it on. The message light blinked at her. "Yup, he left a message."

"Sounds like he was a trifle concerned," June grinned, unable to avoid hearing the message as Cat had the speaker on. 'Now I know why all her stuffed animals are in the library!'

"Just a tad," Cat agreed, pressing the 'send' button.

"Cat? Ya a'right, baby?" his voice was fullof concern for her, making her feel warm all over.

"Yeah. Nothin' major, love. Just another few cracked ribs. I'm back in the binder again, and Dr. Gallagher's put my arm in a sling."

"Why? What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"It was swollen, I wasn't supportin' it enough. No new damage, love," she replied reassuringly.

Alex closed his eyes in relief. "Any chance you're gonna have another lung collapse?"

"No, love. It would've happened by now if that was gonna be a factor. Nothin' to worry about, as long as no one else decides to tackle me!"

"You still goin' to Sack's funeral?" he growled. "I don't like the idea of ya drivin' with one arm in a sling."

Cat grinned at his alpha male behavior. "Well, I could take my arm outta the sling to drive - "

"Like Hell you will!" he roared, making her wince and hold the phone away from her ear.

"Sounds like y'all hit a nerve there," June laughed.

"No shit, Sherlock," Cat replied, switching the phone to her other ear. "Relax, love. June's gonna take me. Don't get your drawers in a wad, OK?"

He sighed with relief. "You're an evil woman, ya know that?"

"You tell me that all the time, love. Your caveman nature is showin' again. I can just imagine y'all puffin' out your chest and gettin' ready to beat on it."

"You bring it outta me, baby. Glad you're not too banged up. I oughta kill Kozik for hurtin' ya again!"

"I'm glad y'all are up North, and can't give in to temptation!" she retorted, though his over protective attitude made her feel warm all over.

"Just stay as far away from him as ya can today."

"I fully intend to. Say 'hi' to Gemma for me, and try not to let those figurines get to y'all."

"I turned 'em so they couldn't look at me!" He shuddered. "What'd ya think of me makin' coffee on my own?"

"I'm proud of y'all, love. Not surprisin' that y'all did well; you excel at everythin' y'all do," she said softly, pride evident in her voice.

'For once she's not bein' a smart ass!' He beamed with pleasure at her praise. "Damn straight, baby! Be safe."

"Right back atcha, love. Talk to ya when I talk to ya!" She abruptly pressed the 'end call' button and slipped the phone back in her pocket.

"That was an awfully abrupt end to the call, chick."

"Don't wanna spend too much time on the phone and let the cat outta the bag."

"You ran a check of this car, didn't you?"

Cat nodded. "But one can never be too careful. I'd rather have a few short contacts than one long one that allows them to be tracked."

They continued towards Cat's house in silence, then she glanced over at June. "Why don't y'all drop me off at the coffeehouse; I can get a little work done before Kip's funeral this afternoon."

June pulled in front of the coffeehouse, turning on the emergency blinkers so Cat could take her time getting out of the car.

Cat frowned to see an official county health department vehicle parked near her business. 'What the Hell is goin' on? We just had our monthly inspection last week! Carl usually comes in his own car before work!'

June noticed her friend's intense frown and followed her gaze to the official vehicle. "Uh, oh! Y'all in trouble, chick?"

"I'll find out and let y'all know. See ya this afternoon, kittenface." Cat shut the door and waved as June pulled away.

Stahl strode out of CPD headquarters to her personal vehicle. Bile rose in her throat at Sullins' refusal to put surveillance on the Madoc home.

'Gemma Morrow will find out about her mother's death, and she'll go to her father. She may not give a damn about her mother, but it's well documented how much she loves the preacher!'

She settled in the driver's seat of her car and pulled out her cell phone, dialing a little used telephone number.

"Klamath Falls PD, how may I direct your call?"

"Officer Thomas Gucci. Tell him Agent June Stahl is calling."

"Please hold."

Stahl irritably tapped her fingers against the steering wheel while she waited. 'C'mon man! c'mon!'

"I know why you're calling, June, and the answer is 'No'. That's from my superior," Officer Gucci stated without preamble when he picked up the phone.

"What are you talking about, Gucci?" Stahl replied, her eyes going wide with surprise.

"Agent Sullins already called, said he knew you'd be calling here for a favor. We've done hourly drive by's of the Madoc home since Mrs. Madoc died. There's been no sign of unusual activity or visitors. Our department doesn't have the manpower nor resources for 24 hour surveillance."

'Damn Sullins!' Stahl's eyes snapped with frustration. "You owe me, Gucci. I don't care how you do it, but you're gonna put 24 hour surveillance on the Madoc home. You know what will happen if you don't."

Gucci's voice sounded dull, but triumphant. "No, it won't, Stahl. I came clean to my superiors long ago; already took my just desserts. You no longer have any leverage on me."

A tap on the driver's side window startled Stahl. She looked up in surprise to see Sullins standing next to her car. "Hold on a moment."

"Agent Sullins wants to talk to you. I called him as soon as the receptionist told me you were on the line." The phone went dead in her ear.

Stahl closed her cell phone with an angry snap, then punched the control button to lower the window. "What do you want?"

Sullins grinned sardonically, leaning his hip against the car. "Just thought I'd warn you not to get any ideas about driving up to Klamath Falls. Part of your demotion is that you don't leave a 25 mile radius of Charming without prior authorization. If you do, you're suspended."

Sullins issued a mock salute at Stahl before sauntering back across the lot and into the CPD building. He knew Stahl was seething mad, and would seek an outlet for that anger. 'Whoever that person is, I hope they come out of it relatively unscathed!'

Stahl glanced at the folder in the seat next to her, the ATF seal glaring in the sun. The print out of Rose Madoc's obit was partially sticking out of it. 'Time to rattle Cat Marshall's world a little!'

Tig exited the garage where he'd parked his bike the night before after unloading the duffels. There was plenty of room for the Harley and kept it out of sight of prying eyes.

'Haven't seen any signs of surveillance, but I wouldn't be surprised if the Feds show up!' he thought, watching from the shadows as yet another Crown Victoria slowly passed by the house.

'Been one of those passin' by every hour this mornin'. If Stahl's seen the obit, likely she alerted KFPD to watch for anything unusual. Wonder if Clay knows anything new?'

He pulled the throwaway from his pocket, dialed Clay's cell, and lit a cigarette while he listened to the phone ring. He walked to the garden where he talk undisturbed.

"Clay."

"It's Tig. What more can you tell me about Stahl's attempts to find Gemma?"

"Not much since last night. Stahl did ask me yesterday if I knew where Gemma is after Tara's interview. Naturally I told her where to go."

"Surprised you were able to restrain yourself." Tig shared about the hourly drive bys Crown Vics were cruising by hourly and that he hid the Harley in the garage.

"Good thinkin'," Clay replied approvingly. "Unser indicated Stahl is bein' kept on a tight reign by her supervisor so she won't be showin' up there. SAMTAC prez reported she had the cover story checked out."

"Doubt that will slow the gash down!" Tig replied dryly. "She's as crazy as a pit bull on crank!"

"Unser also shared that the charge of murderin' Zobelle's daughter is bein' dropped. She had a 9 mil in her hand when she died."

Tig blew a plume of smoke through his nostrils. "A'right. But Gemma's still facin' the flight charge and Eddie's murder."

"Yeah. Guess you heard about what happened last night after the drive by," Clay wanted to get the matter out in the open between them.

"Yeah. Cat told me last night she overheard Kozik tellin' ya he wants to patch back in. I can't believe you're seriously considerin' it!" Tig couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. 'I thought you were my friend!'

"We need the manpower, Tig. We lost Prospect, and we've not added to the ranks for some time. I know ya have issues with him, but Kozik's good in a fight, he knows the area and our operation."

Tig wasn't convinced. "There's plenty of hang arounds to prospect, and we can always tap Nomads for permanent members," he replied. "We don't need him that bad!"

Clay sighed wearily. "I knew ya wouldn't like the idea, Tig. Thought maybe hearin' it from your girl would've helped ease the sting."

"It might've if the prick hadn't hurt her! What the fuck was he thinkin', goin' to see her that same night?"

"I don't know, Tig. Maybe he was concerned for her welfare after tacklin' her?"

"Bullshit! He was only concerned for himself, the selfish bastard! He'd better be glad I'm not there right now to throttle him!" Tig snarled.

Clay sighed. "I understand, brother. I'm just askin' ya to think about what's good for the club. It's gonna be awhile before we vote on it. Speakin' of Nomads, Happy's gonna transfer back."

"Happy's a welcome addition. I'm not makin' any promises about Kozik except to think on it," Tig growled. 'I might've gone along with it for the good of the club, despite what he did to Missy. After this, ain't no way I'm sharin' a patch with that asshole!'

"I accept that. Opie suggested three hang arounds – Sebastian, Filthy Phil, and Miles."

"Miles and Filthy Phil are good men. Not sure about Sebastian. Seems flaky to me," Tig mused.

"Ope seems to feel they'd all be good additions. We could use them, plus the dues they'd bring in!"

"A'right. I'll let ya know my proxy when the vote comes up," Tig replied. He frowned at the sight of Amelia's face framed in the kitchen window, watching him with that same sappy look from the night before. He turned his back to her as he continued the call.

Clay quickly brought him up to date on what little they knew about the shooter Jax had injured. "We're gonna pay him a visit at the hospital later, see if we can turn up any more intel, other than that he's not Mayan."

"Good luck. He'll be in the prison section of St. Thomas. Hard to get past the guard there; he's not one of ours."

"That's not your problem. We'll figure it out," Clay replied. "Any chance I can talk to my girl?"

"Sure. Hang on." Tig flicked his cigarette to the walkway, ground it out under his boot, and strode into the kitchen. He called out to Gemma that Clay wanted to talk to her, ignoring Amelia's hopeful expression.

Clay winced as he heard Nate querulously ask who Tig was, and Gemma's calm explanation. 'No way I'm gonna get to talk to her right now. Pop's too upset!'

Gemma told Tig that she'd have to call Clay later on. He nodded and quickly escaped to the back yard. "Sorry, man. Nate's not in a good place right now," Tig offered apologetically.

"So I heard," Clay replied wryly. "Any idea what's gonna happen to him now that Rose is gone?"

"Dunno. The caregiver might. She was talkin' to Gem about it earlier, didn't pay much attention to it. Had other things on my mind."

Clay grinned knowingly. "That caregiver worth tappin'?"

Tig shrugged. "She's got potential. Guatemalan. Already had a sample this mornin'; not as good as home."

'Why am I not surprised?' Clay knew his friend often favored Latinas for road sex partners, especially when it came to his more uninhibited tastes. "Tell Gemma I miss her."

Tig shut the throwaway and turned back to the house. Amelia was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Her tongue poked out between her teeth, swiping her lips hungrily as she gazed at him.

Tig glared at the caregiver's adoring expression. 'I gotta do somethin' about that gash! Maybe time to take her for a ride!'

Carl Roderick handed over the report he'd completed with an apologetic smile. "You'll want to keep this copy for your records, Ms. Marshall. I have no doubt that you'll get that contract with the prison in Stockton. As usual, your place passed with flying colors."

"Why do I have the feelin' that you're not tellin' me the whole story, Carl?" Cat replied. "Those contracts take forever to be processed, yet mine is getting shoved right along as if it were greased lightnin'!"

"Can we talk privately, Ms. Marshall?" Roderick whispered, indicating with a nod of his head at the number of reporters congregated in the coffeehouse.

"I could do with a little air, now that you mention it," She followed him out to the street, standing under the awning to talk with him.

Neither noticed that Agent Stahl's personal vehicle parked several spaces down the street. Stahl saw the pair walk out of the coffeehouse and moved into the shelter of a neighboring store's recessed entry. 'This will keep them from seeing me and I can listen in unless they whisper.'

"So what's goin' on, Carl?"

"We received a complaint on your business from the hospital. Don't know who, and couldn't tell you if I did."

"Fascinating. Though I have an idea who called in the complaint," Cat replied.

"That's not all I have to tell you. We were also ordered by the Feds to approve your application for the Stockton concession, no matter how the inspection turned out. I wouldn't have fudged the inspection; your business always passes."

"So the Feds really want me to do business with their hoosegow, eh? Interesting!"

"I don't like having anyone interfere with public health and safety like that, and decided to tell you as much as I legally could share."

'Way to go, asshole!' Stahl thought, rolling her eyes. 'Does she have everyone in this town wrapped around her little finger?'

"I appreciate y'all stickin' your neck out like this, Carl."

"It's not much information, Ms. Marshall."

"Hey, I'm a farm gal; the smallest seed can often reap a bountiful crop!' she grinned. "Guess I'll see you next month."

"When you least expect it, ma'am!" He grinned and walked to his car, waving before he settled into the driver's side and pulled away.

'Sounds like Stahl wants to use me to bother the SAMCRO boys doin' time there,' she mused as she returned into the coffeehouse.

As soon as she'd reached the counter, the bell tinkled with the opening of the door. She turned to see new trouble cross the threshold.

"Oh, Shit!"

"Do you always greet your customers that way?" Agent Stahl drawled, sauntering to the counter. She smiled brightly at the reporters watching their exchange.

"Just the ones that are pains in my posterior!" Cat snarled. "Suppose you're lookin' for a 'thank you' for puttin' my concession contract on the fast track. Keep lookin', 'cause I'm not feelin' very grateful right now!"

"That's too bad, darlin'. A little appreciation would go a long way for you; those things take months to get approved," the agent replied quietly, keeping her voice low so the reporters wouldn't hear her.

"True, but we both know that pullin' your support wouldn't do you any good," Cat purred softly. In a louder voice intended for the reporters to hear, she added, "Since you're not here to buy anything, why don't you spill whatever is on that grey matter between your ears that you insist on callin' a mind?"

"Is that any way to behave in front of the media? Anyone would think you don't appreciate my business!" Stahl drawled.

"Your kind of business is somethin' I don't appreciate! Just say your piece and get on outta here so I can get somethin' productive accomplished."

Stahl smiled nastily, laying a piece of paper on the counter in front of Cat. "You might want to change your tone, darlin'; there's a little item you might find of interest. It certainly was to me."

Cat glanced down at the paper, a print out of an obituary about Gemma's mother. 'Thank God I already knew of this from Alex!' She pretended to read the short item before sliding it back across the counter.

"Looks like someone died in Oregon. That's sad, but it's a part of Life," Cat stated non nonchalantly. "I don't see what that has to do with the price of coffee in Charmin'."

Stahl smiled unpleasantly while the reporters laughed mildly. "Your old man took off two nights after you left the hospital. He headed North on a different bike than the Dyna. North as in Oregon, perhaps?"

"He went to a trade show in Tacoma and his second vehicle happens to be another bike. None of that means diddly squat," Cat shrugged her shoulders. "Clay was gonna go until Abel and Gemma went missing. Considerin' the stress Tig's been under lately, I saw no reason for him to hang around on my account."

"That's your story and you're sticking to it like a roach in a roach motel, aren't you?"

"I'm not worried about him travelin' through Oregon to Washington."

"Especially since the bounty in Oregon turned out to be a product of Zobelle's imagination, eh?"

Cat shrugged again. "He's not restricted from travel, there's no charges from Morado, so why are y'all insistin' on barkin' up the wrong tree?"

Stahl leaned over the counter, getting her face as close as possible to Cat's. "I don't think so, sweetheart. I know Tig is with Gemma. That's harboring a fugitive and that's federal time when he gets caught with her. That's time that'll get added to the Morado thing."

"You been smokin' some of that wildwood weed all y'all confiscated from the Nords or someone? DA's never filed charges on that incident!"

The reporters snickered at the idea of an ATF agent smoking pot. They strained their ears to hear what would come next between the two adversaries.

Stahl smiled evilly and shook her head. "Maybe the DA hasn't filed local charges, but the guys used assault weapons. That's federal."

"Charges haven't been filed on that level, either. Are y'all done? I've been a little busy this mornin', and gotta a busier afternoon ahead of me. Kip's funeral is this afternoon, no thanks to you!"

Stahl nodded, choosing to ignore Cat's jibe. "Yes, you have been busy. I heard about Tig's 'friend' saving your life last night. Apparently you're none the worse for having a man knock you to the concrete."

"Whatever. Will a free coffee get you outta here?" Cat replied tiredly.

Stahl smiled and straightened up from the counter. "No need. You're good, darlin'. Don't know if you come by that naturally or if Tig's been training you."

Stahl tapped a finger on the paper. "You might want to read that article again. Gemma's mother died. You know how an estranged child will move Heaven and Earth to attend her mother's funeral."

"Then wherever Gemma is, I hope she doesn't have access to Oregon newspapers!" Cat hissed.

"We could have a team in the area watching for her. Instead, the reward for information on her has been increased. Someone will turn her in if she shows up at her dad's. Saves time and resources. Have a nice day, darlin'."

Stahl turned and walked to the door, paused at the threshold as if she was going to fire a parting shot, then opened the door and departed.

'Frackin' bitch! She pulls the same shit all the time, sowin' lies and innuendo!' Cat glared at Stahl's retreating form. 'She's probably planted somethin' at, on, or near the counter to catch me warnin' Tig! Got news for ya, honey. I wasn't born yesterday!'

She walked around the counter, sliding her good hand along the edge, feeling for any kind of

listening device. She didn't feel anything, but didn't relax her guard. 'I'll get the scanner and check again.'

She picked up the printout and started towards the office when the bell over the front door tinkled. Her high school employee, JR, entered. His appearance made her eyebrow rise in surprise. "You're here early, darlin'. Don't tell me you're skippin' school!"

"I've got bad news, Miss Cat. Can we talk privately?" JR, normally happy – go – lucky, looked as if his best friend had moved across country.

"Sure darlin'. Grab yourself somethin' to drink and c'mon to the office." She went on ahead and settled behind the desk, tossing the paper in front of her. 'I'll read it later, after I talk to JR."

JR entered the office a few seconds later, without anything to drink. Cat's eyebrow disappeared into her bangs again. She indicated the chair next to the desk and sat back, waiting expectantly.

JR sat down, but he seemed nervous and upset. His eyes darted all over the office, but never once met her face.

After a few more moments of his fidgeting, Cat smiled gently at him. "I know the bruisin' and everythin' looks scary, darlin', but it's still me. What's wrong?"

"It's not your injuries, ma'am," JR sighed deeply. "I gotta quit, Miss Cat. Now. I don't wanna, my parents don't want me workin' here anymore, say it's not safe."

'I was afraid of this. More backlash from the drive – by last night," Cat closed her eye a moment and leaned back in her chair.

"I'm really sorry, Miss Cat."

"I know ya are, darlin'," she replied soothingly. "It's not yer fault, and I don't blame yer parents; they're doin' what they think is right."

"I told 'em they shouldn't make me quit, that you keep the club separate from the store, but they insisted," he added in a rush.

Cat laid an understanding hand on the boy's arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "I understand, JR. It's OK. You're still welcome to come by whenever y'all want, and your job'll be here when y'all want it back."

"I'll be 18 in a few months, then they can't make me do anything!" he assured her, puffing out his chest.

'How little you know about adult life, darlin',' She smiled at his posturing. "Then you can come back and start workin' again. We'll be OK in the meantime."

She stood up at the same time as the young man and gave him a one – armed embrace. "Take care, JR. Be seein' ya."

"I'll be back, Miss Cat, you'll see!" He hesitated for a moment, then fled back to the front and out the door.

'Shit! Couldn't have happened at a worse time!" She grabbed the bug detector and returned to the front area, ran a check where Stahl had stood, then another along the entry way. The scanner indicated no bugs had been planted.

Amelia watched Tig from the kitchen window, appreciating his fine form. She could still taste him, even after brushing her teeth and drinking the unusual coffee he'd made.

'That man is fine lookin'. Nice cock. I don't get what's the deal with all the phone calls in the garden. Is he some kind of drug mule?' She licked her lips and smiled at him before he turned his back on her. "Huh! Must be talking to her!" She felt a wave of jealousy wash over her at the thought of Tig talking to the unseen Cat.

Amelia stared at Tig's back, recalling some of the things Rose had shared with her about Gemma.

'She didn't approve of the lifestyle her daughter lived, something about an outlaw motorcycle club. Cutie's not wearing patches, but he might be incognito. Might be useful to try to find out more about that. Could mean I won't have to go back to Guatemala.'

She glanced at the computer station in the kitchen. 'I can use that later and still have access to Rose's journals. I'll start with those, maybe find the name of the motorcycle club. If I can't get Tig's real name and address from the journals, I'll get it from his ID somehow. Then I can search the internet. The more information I can get, the better for me!'

She headed from the kitchen to check on Nate. Assured that he was occupied with his daughter, Amelia carried the box of Rose's documents into her room, closed the door, and began looking through the diaries, learning everything she could about Gemma.

She skipped over mundane entries. Most of those were about her fears for Nate, Church functions, and other things that didn't interest her. Amelia found a few items of information; that Gemma had first been married to John Teller, had two sons, one of which had died of the same malady that eventually killed Rose.

There were notations in Rose's Bible showing the dates of her marriage to Teller, of the births of her two grandsons. Amelia noted there was a recorded birth of a great grandson, and the death of the youngest grandchild and of John Teller.

'Interesting,' Amelia turned from the Bible to a notation in a later diary, bookmarked by a yellowed newspaper clipping. 'Rose believed Gemma and her current husband had something to do with John's death!'

The things she'd learned from Rose's writings made her realize that Nate's daughter was a force to be reckoned with. There was nothing in the writings to shed any light on Tig's identity, much to Amelia's dismay.

'I'll have to get the VIN off that motorcycle in the garage. If I can trace that, or the plate number, I can learn his real name and stuff from there!'

She repacked the box of Rose's documents and slipped it in her closet, then opened the door to find Tig leaning against the wall opposite her door.

"Hi, doll!" he grinned knowingly, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hi!" she replied.

"You busy?"

'Could he have been looking in the window and seen what I was doing?' Her eyes widened guiltily and her face felt warm. "N-no. Not at the moment."

"Wanna get busy?" he asked, an appreciative gleam lit his eyes as they roamed her body.

"Thought you said you have a woman," she replied testily.

"I do. Doesn't mean I can't have some fun in her absence. You interested or not?"

She wanted to tell him to go to Hell after the way he'd treated her after the blow job, but she wanted him too damn much. "Sure, I'm interested. Your room or mine?"

He moved away from the wall to stand in front of her, blocking her exit. "How about we try your room this time, doll?"

She involuntarily stepped back, giving him just enough room to step inside and close the door behind him.

Agent Stahl strode from the coffeehouse to her vehicle, a triumphant buoyancy in her walk. 'That one's good, almost as good as Gemma. Hard exterior to crack. Like Gemma, she's more bark than bite. I'm sure she's calling her old man to tip him off. Can't wait to hear that conversation!"

She frowned with annoyance when the portable scanner in her car picked up nothing but static. She tried both the coffeehouse's land line and Cat's cell frequencies. "She couldn't have found the devices that fast!"

Stahl scrolled through her cell phone's directory until she found the number she wanted. She pressed 'call' and waited for an answer.

"Margaret Murphy."

"This is Stahl. That wasn't smart to sic the county health department on Cat Marshall's place. They performed a surprise inspection, which you'll be disappointed to know she passed. What do you think to accomplish by antagonizing her?"

Silence met her inquiry. "What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" Margaret finally asked. The quavering note in her voice clearly telegraphed her guilt.

"I have my ways, darlin'. Let me remind you that your job is to make it so that Dr. Knowles gets comfortable in her surroundings. You're not making that any easier by picking fights with her friends. She's an old lady, just like Marshall. They stick together."

"So I called in the complaint!" Margaret retorted tersely. "That Marshall woman made things difficult for me while she was a patient. I simply returned the favor!"

"You're not following the program. You really overstepped by suspending Dr. Knowles over Filip Telford. I suggest you concentrate on your mission, and forget about getting back at Ms. Marshall."

Stahl closed the cell phone, shutting off the call before Margaret could reply. 'That one's going to be difficult, but she might still be useful. I'll just have to keep a tighter rein on her.'

Margaret stared at the receiver in her hand, allowing her anger to boil for awhile. She'd been in a bad mood after the dressing down from Dr. Barry. Having a stranger brought in to put the hospital back into compliance hadn't helped her temper, either.

She had to admit that June Kruckle, the temporary contractor, had a good work ethic. She had dived right into solving the problems without making judgments about the root causes of those problems.

"Compliance is an important matter, Ms. Murphey, and it doesn't matter who did or didn't dot the i's and cross the t's. Without bein' compliant, the hospital can stand to lose accreditation and all manner of things I don't have to tell y'all about!"

That tell – tale hint of a Southern drawl had caught Margaret's attention right away. 'It's possible that Ms. Kruckle has that accent from living in Florida, but I can't help wondering if it's possible -' She shook her head as if to clear it. 'No way! It's far too co – incidental! Bad enough she has the same first name as Stahl. God couldn't be that mad at me! Could he?"

While June rolled up her sleeves and dived into the job of fixing the problems that had developed in the health information section of the hospital, Margaret made a discreet internet search into the contractor's background.

She sat back in her chair, a dazed expression on her face once she'd finished her research. 'I'll be damned! There is a connection between June Kruckle and Cat Marshall! Both come from Indianapolis, and attended the same college! Marshall had to have told her about me, yet Kruckle acted like she'd never heard of me before today! What's going on?"

She thought back to the day Agent Stahl had first contacted her about combating Tara Knowles' growing connections to the Sons of Anarchy.

'It was right after Dr. Knowles joined the staff, a few months ago. Stahl was here to investigate the IRA and their gun running operation. She thought SAMCRO was involved in that, and in the sudden disappearance of another Agent. What was his name?'

She checked her journal for that period. 'Kohn! That's it! He hung around the hospital a lot, shadowing Tara. Then he was taken out of Charming by the police. I thought he'd been sent back to Chicago, until Stahl told me he'd never shown up.'

"We have reason to believe that Agent Kohn met with foul play," Stahl explained, looking up from a folder emblazoned with the ATF seal.

"Why bring this to my attention?" Margaret inquired. "It has no bearing on the hospital!"

Stahl smiled enigmatically. "Oh, yes it does, Ms. Murphy. Kohn, unfortunately, was stalking one of your employees, Dr. Tara Knowles. She's become involved with the Vice – President of SAMCRO, Jax Teller. I wouldn't be surprised if Jax found his own way to make Kohn permanently stop stalking Dr. Knowles."

"Even if you could prove it, I fail to see what that would have to do with the hospital."

"Murder, Ms. Murphy, is a scandalous thing, and it wouldn't do your hospital any good to have one of your best surgeons implicated in the murder of a federal agent," Stahl purred. "Especially a hospital that receives its' fair share of federal grants for research."

Margaret's stomach felt like a lead balloon had fallen in it. "Are you threatening -"

Stahl held up her hand in an elegant manner, halting Margaret's protest. "I'm not threatening anything, Ms. Murphy. However, if you were inclined to put pressure on Dr. Knowles to drop her alliance with Mr. Teller – you're familiar with the phrase 'one hand washes the other'?"

'I get your drift, lady. You're one mean spirited bitch, and I hope you get yours sometime!' Margaret glared intently at the agent before nodding her head slightly. "It appears I have no choice but to agree."

Stahl stood up, her face lit with a false smile that didn't warm her eyes. "Oh, you always have a choice, Ms. Murphy. Be glad you made the right one."

Margaret drummed her fingers on her desk, deep in thought. 'I wonder now if I really made the right choice. I goaded Tara unmercifully from that day on about the Sons, and brought the charges against her for Filip Telford's sudden set back. I couldn't allow myself to understand how learned women like her and Ms. Marshall could hook up with outlaws like SAMCRO, then all the stuff with that League hit.'

Though she didn't attend the rally, curiosity had led Margaret to watch the pod cast. She'd been impressed with the positive message the rally had sent, along with the participation of the motorcycle club and the town's support of it.

After her meeting with Dr. Barry, she'd gone back to her office, partly to lick her emotional wounds, but mostly to do some serious soul searching. Once she heard on the news about Abel Teller's kidnapping, Kip Epp's murder in front of Tara, and then of the Amber Alert being canceled, Margaret regretted her decision to work with Stahl.

'I was wrong on so many levels. Wrong about Tara, about SAMCRO, about Cat Marshall, and everything else. Ms. Marshall could've prejudiced her friend against me, and instead left it up to Ms. Kruckle to decide for herself. I have a lot of things to make up for, starting now!'

Tara knew after her panic attack in the OR that she wasn't ready to go back to work at the hospital. 'I need time away, to come to grips with what happened, get my life back together. With Abel missing, I need to be supportive of Jax, and can't do that if I'm stuck at the hospital on rotation.'

She wrote up her request for a leave of absence and walked to Margaret's office. She'd not spoken to the hospital administrator since she'd punched and threatened her in the office during the showdown with LOAN and Zobelle.

She hovered beside the open door to Margaret Murphy's office then knocked discreetly on the door frame, startling Margaret from her reverie. She placed the receiver on the cradle and motioned Tara to enter.

Margaret felt anxious to find herself alone with the doctor, then relaxed when Tara left the door open. She held a paper in her hand, which she held out to Margaret.

"I'm putting in for a leave of absence. Six months. I think it's best."

Margaret glanced at the form, then at Tara. She'd witnessed the doctor's panic attack in the OR the day before. She knew then that Tara had returned to work too soon after the kidnapping and murder she'd witnessed. Margaret didn't believe that a six month leave was a good idea for either the hospital nor Tara's career.

She placed the paper on her desk without looking at it. "I'll put you on personal leave for two weeks. Use the time to work out what happened to you; use someone through the EAP if necessary. You tried to come back to work much too soon after such a trauma."

Tara couldn't believe her eyes and ears. She'd expected Margaret to jump at the chance to have her out of the picture for half a year. 'Why is she acting so different?'

'After everything that's been happening lately, the only thing I'm sure of is that I want what's best for the hospital. Dr. Knowles is too good to lose!' Margaret knew Tara was wary about her sudden change of heart. Though she wasn't used to explaining her actions, she decided to extend an olive branch of sorts to her nemesis.

"We need good doctors," Margaret explained. "I was a little too strenuous in objecting to your involvement with the club. I was really thinking of the good of the hospital, and wasn't intending to make it a personal vendetta."

'You could've fooled me!' Tara kept her thought to herself, accepting Margaret's offer with a nod before striding from the office. She more confused than ever about the people in her life.

'First Jax wasn't all that happy to see me at CPD earlier, now Margaret's trying to be my best friend. It just doesn't make sense!'

Margaret stuck Tara's LOA request in the shredder, watching as it was torn into small pieces in a matter of seconds. She smiled to herself then left her office for the operating floor. She needed to move rotations to cover for Tara's absence.

Miss Anna had witnessed the inspection, Stahl's visit, and then JR's arrival and hasty departure with a quiet sense of dread. "Everything OK, Miss Cat?" she inquired softly as Cat leaned against the entrance to the back area, watching JR leave.

"JR's parents are makin' him quit; they're afraid for his safety. I'm gonna hafta add hours to Christopher's and Adrian's schedules," Cat replied tiredly.

"Is he working this afternoon?"

Cat shook her head. "His parents won't let him. Can't really blame them. Don't worry, I won't have you stay any later than you're scheduled."

"I can stay a little extra until Pete is due, it's not that much extra, Miss Cat. You can't serve customers with that cast, not after that surprise inspection."

Cat sighed in exasperation. "I know, Anna, I know. I'll be in the office if any more surprises pop up."

She returned to her office and closed the door behind her, running the scanner over the print out. Satisfied that everything was bug free, she pulled out her cell and called the clubhouse.

"Piney speaking."

"Hey, it's Cat. Clay around?"

"Yeah, honey. What's up?"

"Stahl's been here, gave me an obituary about Rose Madoc, Gemma's mom."

Piney winced. "Hang on, honey."

She heard him walk into the garage and holler, "Clay! Phone!"

"Get a message!"

"You need to take this. It's important."

"Shit! It better be!" Boot heels stormed across concrete. "This is Clay."

"Cat here. It's important. Stahl came to visit, left me with a print out of an obituary from Oregon. It's about Gemma's mom. She thinks Gemma's gonna go to her dad's."

"Don't worry, kitten. Tig's keepin' an eye out, but I appreciate knowin' that Stahl found out about Rose."

"That's not all. Stahl boasted that the reward's been increased to ten grand. She insists that Tig is with Gemma instead of Tacoma, but she didn't get any nibbles from her fishin' expedition," Cat assured him.

"I know. You think fast, proved that every time you've encountered Stahl," Clay replied approvingly.

"Somethin' else y'all need to know. I lost an employee today. He's under 18 and his parents made him quit out of fear for his safety."

Clay closed his eyes in momentary weariness. "I'm sorry, Cat. Do ya think it was because of the drive – by last night?"

"I know it was. I'm afraid it's gonna get worse. The club should be prepared for more backlash courtesy of Jacob Hale," she briefed him on the argument she'd had with the Deputy Chief's brother outside the hospital.

"That fucktard! He brings Zobelle and LOAN to town, and he blames us for his brother gettin' killed? That's bullshit!" Clay roared.

'Well! The word is catchin' on if Clay's usin' it!' Cat smiled to herself. "Hale's nose was so far up Zobelle's back end he can't smell the difference between fertilizer and roses! But he has the town's sympathy and he's gonna play the pity card as long as possible. He's out to get even any way he can. There's a lot of that goin' around."

"What do you mean?"

"Had a surprise inspection by the board of health today. It reeked of a set – up, but we passed."

"That's a relief!"

"You sound like you doubted for a minute," Cat snickered. "It was just another annoyance on top of Stahl's visit and losin' JR."

"Doesn't sound like Hale's style to drop a dime on ya to the county, kitten."

"I know who did it, Clay. A small female frog in the pond tryin' to act like the top frog. If she keeps it up, she's gonna find out that I'm as much of a bitch as payback!"

'I pity the asshole that pissed her off! Glad I don't have to contend with Cat all the time. Gemma's enough!' Clay grinned in spite of his concern. "You wanna call Tig about this?"

"I'd like to, but Stahl's expectin' that. Did a sweep and no infestations, but I don't wanna take any chances."

Clay nodded. "Good thinkin', kitten. Anything else I need to know?" He already knew about Kozik's visit, but wanted to see if Cat would tell him.

"Yeah, though if y'all talked with Tig today, ya already know that I had a visitor last night, your buddy Kozik. I sent him packin'; wasn't interested in anything he had to say."

"Yeah, Tig told me. I found out about Kozik after the fact, or it wouldn't have happened," Clay replied in a rough apology. "Tig's not too happy about it."

'The Alpha Male strikes again!' Cat smiled at the thought of Tig reading the riot act to Clay. "Can't say as I blame him; wound up goin' back to the hospital today. Doc says I've got more cracked ribs from the tackle. My side's sore and discolored."

Clay winced. "Sorry about that, kitten. Kozik did save your hide. Gotta give him that."

"You might. I don't. Doubt Tig will either. I overheard all y'all talkin' about Kozik patchin' back in and told Tig about it." She waited for the inevitable explosion, certain that Clay had not wanted Tig to know about Kozik's return to SAMCRO yet.

"That's what I intended for ya to do, kitten. I hoped that by hearin' it from ya, Tig would have time to accept the idea before the vote. Didn't anticipate Kozik would throw a monkey wrench in the works!"

"Seems like Kozik has a talent for shootin' himself in the foot!" Cat closed her eyes with relief. She knew Clay could have a formidable temper when he was riled. While she didn't fear Tig's temper, which was almost as formidable, she had a healthy respect for Clay's.

"I'm gonna try to get to the hospital today or tomorrow to visit Reese McCargo. He's still critical; but gonna pull through."

Clay sighed with relief for that small ray of good news. "Thanks for all the intel. See ya at Prospect's funeral."

"See y'all later, Clay."

Clay placed the receiver on the desk phone cradle and stood thinking for a moment. 'I'm not even gonna ask 'what's next?'. I don't wanna find out!"

Stahl pulled her car into the parking lot for Hale Properties. The lot was empty except for Jacob Hale's car and an employee's older model vehicle.

She was seething from the set back with Thomas Gucci and the unsatisfying encounter with Cat

Marshall. 'I've got to regain the upper hand in this thing! Jacob Hale could make that happen if he'll co - operate!'

She had nearly reached the entrance when Hale opened the door. He paused when he spied the ATF agent standing in his path.

"What do you want?" he asked harshly. "I don't have time to talk. Have to plan my brother's funeral."

"Thanks to SAMCRO," Stahl replied softly, false sympathy oozing in her voice. "I thought you might be interested in legal retribution against them."

Hale opened his car door and threw his briefcase and suit coat into the passenger seat before turning back to glare at the agent. "That depends. What do you have in mind?"

"When the club raided the Christian Center in Morado, some of them were carrying AK's."

Hale shrugged. "So? The DA hasn't been willing to file charges on them. None of the witnesses are willing to testify against SAMCRO."

'Easy to see who had the brains in the family!' Stahl kept her sweet smile plastered on her face.

"The AK's make it possible for Federal charges to be leveled against the club, Jacob," she explained patiently. "I worked with your brother and respected him. I even considered him a friend. I want to see SAMCRO pay as much as you do."

'She wants something!' Hale continued glaring at her. "If that were the case, why haven't you filed Federal charges?" he snarled.

'I take back that thought about the brains in the family!' Stahl looked at him with more respect. "It takes time to build an airtight case, Jacob. You could help me."

"I don't see how," Hale replied, getting into the driver's seat of his car.

Stahl moved to stand in front of the door so Hale couldn't close it. "You could persuade the city council to petition the court to have SAMCRO's bail revoked," she replied earnestly.

"How?"

Stahl stifled the urge to roll her eyes. "Use the drive by last night as a reason. The council will see things your way. They won't dare to disagree. With the club in jail, I'll have more time to build the case against them."

Hale carefully thought over Stahl's suggestion. He definitely wanted revenge against SAMCRO for all the times the club had interfered with his plans for the town. Now that need for revenge included his brother's death.

Just a few weeks earlier, Clay had stopped Hale's plan to seize 300 prime acres of Oswald's land. Hale had offered to bring Ethan Zobelle into the plan. Zobelle not only bought into the idea, but took it over, directing him to obtain other properties in Charming when the Oswald deal fell through.

'That would be one way to keep SAMCRO from interfering with the Liberty Street business district!' Hale thought. 'There's nothing Clay can do from jail to stop me while he's busy watching his back!'

Stahl watched the changing expressions on Hale's face. She felt no qualms over using Hale's grief against the club to her own advantage. 'All's fair in war, and I'm at war with SAMCRO! If I have to bend the rules to win, I can live with it.'

Hale didn't reply verbally to Stahl, just indicated his agreement with a slight nod. "I really have to go," he stated softly.

Stahl stepped away, allowing Hale to close the car door. She watched as he pulled away from her. 'Clay's going to be in for a nasty surprise in a couple of days!'

Tig had learned two things after spending a few minutes in Amelia's company. That she would be willing do anything sexual he asked and that she was looking for a meal ticket to stay in the US.

'She's smart, and she's desperate; a dangerous combination. She's gonna bear watchin'. Not someone I can close my eyes around!'

He had no interest in kissing her, wanting to keep things as clinical but physically pleasurable as possible. Every time he looked Amelia in the eye, he saw Cat's green eyes gazing at him. 'It ain't cheatin', it's road sex!'

Tig decided to return her earlier favor, starting with her breasts. "Take off your shirt and bra," he ordered languidly, moving to the window to close the drapes.

She hastily complied. He stepped forward and bent his head to lick and suck each nipple, listening to her moan with pleasure. His mouth moved from there along her stomach as he slid her underwear and pants to the floor, pushing her back onto the bed.

Amelia's fingers wrapped in his hair as he licked and sucked her clit. Her hips moved to meet his mouth. Her head moved from side to side as he continued eating her and plunged his fingers deep inside her.

'She doesn't smell or taste as good as Cat. Too much perfume covering up,' Tig thought as he serviced the caregiver. When Amelia orgasmed, he tasted the cream, but it tasted curdled to him. It was not like the rich sweetness he was used to.

As Amelia lay panting with her eyes closed, he quickly spat her cum into the sheet, then used another part of the sheet to wipe his lips and tongue. He stood up and began undoing his belt, watching Amelia's breasts rise and fall as her breathing returned to normal.

Amelia's eyes widened at the sight of his cock, hard, erect, and ready for action. 'I can't wait to have that in me!' Her tongue curled around her lips in anticipation.

"Roll over," he ordered tersely.

"Wh-what?" She pouted in disappointment. 'He wants to go doggie style! Unfair!'

"Roll over, doll. You gonna tell me you've never had it up the ass?"

Amelia shook her head, her eyes staring at the size of his engorged cock. "It's just that you're so – so big," she whispered. "It'll hurt, even if you use a lubed condom. There's some baby oil in the bathroom. Would you mind if we used it?"

"Nah. I don't mind." He grabbed her pink silk robe, drawing it around him. "I'll be right back."

As soon as the door shut behind him, Amelia leapt to her feet and picked up Tig's jeans, searching the pockets for his wallet. 'Damn! It's not there!'

No wallet meant no ID to give him away. 'He's good looking and smart! From the look of those tats, he's gotta be with a motorcycle club. It still doesn't explain why he's here with Gemma. I'm beginning to think there's more going on with them than meets the eye!'

She heard Tig's and Gemma's voices in the hallway. She dropped his jeans and climbed back onto the bed, settling into a seductive pose.

Moments later, the door opened and Tig stepped in, closing it behind him. He carried the bottle of baby oil in one hand.

"Wanna do the honors, doll?" He held the bottle out to her and shrugged out of the robe. His cock waved at her. She glanced quizzically at him.

Tig stood at the side of the bed, legs slightly apart, hands on his hips. His cock waved at her again. "Ya said ya wanted to use some lube. You get to put it on!"

She grinned and poured a generous amount of baby oil in her palm then proceeded to slather his dick with the liquid, coating it liberally. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of Cat's hands administering the warmed baby oil, wishing it were her hands coating his cock. 'She's never wanted it up the ass, and I don't intend to look at this gash's face while we do the deed!'

Amelia glanced up at his closed eyes, mistaking his posture for one of acceptance of her. She laved his belly with her tongue, sticking her tongue into his belly button while her hands worked the oil along the length of his cock.

Tig growled and reached for her, grabbing Amelia by the shoulders and turning her around. His hands slid from her shoulders along her sides to her hips, raising her pelvis into the air so that his cock rested against her anus.

Amelia gasped at the feel of him at her back opening. With one hard thrust, he rammed his cock up her ass. Amelia stifled a shriek of pleasure – pain into the pillow.

Ignoring Amelia's momentary stiffening in fear, Tig continued to thrust up into her anus, holding her hips against him as he moved. 'Damn! That's tighter than her mouth a'right! Just what I need!'

Amelia moaned in pleasure, her movements matching his. She continued to moan and croon encouragingly. Tig had one leg on the mattress and one on the floor, providing more than enough leverage for him to hammer at Amelia's small backside.

Clay and his men walked through the hallways of St. Thomas en route to the jail ward. They discussed the drive by the previous evening and how they'd get access to the fallen shooter.

They stopped outside the door leading to the jail ward, peering through the window to find only one SJSD officer standing guard in front of the room the shooter occupied.

Jax took the stairs in hopes of finding Tara and enlisting her help in drawing the guard from the doorway. He headed straight for the OR floor and inquired for Tara at the desk.

Margaret Murphy turned when she heard Jax ask and the clerk's reply that she was off rotation. They discussed the fact that the suspension had been lifted, then Margaret explained to Jax about Tara's request for a leave of absence.

"I've suggested she take some personal time. Half a year would jeopardize her career. I hope you can talk her into taking less time off. She needs time to recover from the events at your house."

Jax nodded and took the staircase again to return to the club. While he was conversing with the hospital administrator, Clay decided to get a backup plan in motion.

"Teller Morrow, Piney speaking."

"It's Juice. Clay wants you to bring Chuckie to the hospital. We might need his help to create a diversion."

"We're on the way," Piney replied, placing the receiver back on the cradle. He grinned at Chuckie, who was sorting through the piles of paperwork on Gemma's desk. "C'mon. Clay's summoned you to help the club. We're goin' to St. Thomas."

"I accept that!" Chuckie leapt to his feet and trotted after Piney to the van. 'Clay asked for my help! Maybe he's beginning to see that I'm not such a problem after all!' He felt as excited as a kid on Christmas Day.

Piney dropped him off at the front entrance. "They're on the floor where the jail ward is. Can you find it OK?"

"Sure!"

"I'll wait out here until you're done," Piney replied. "No need for me to be in there. Do whatever Clay tells you and don't ask any questions."

"I accept that!" Chuckie closed the door and trotted into the entry to the hospital. He took the stairs to the jail ward floor, quickly locating the club.

"Glad to see ya, Chuckie," Clay rumbled. "Here's what we need ya to do." He quickly outlined the diversion plan.

"I accept that!" Chuckie grinned.

"Juice, take him somewhere and help him get changed. Your fingers still bandaged under those gloves?"

Chuckie nodded. "They could do with more, though, if we want the guard to believe that I'm a patient."

"See to it, Juice," Clay ordered briskly.

"C'mon, Chuckie!" Juice grinned. "Let's get your into wardrobe!"

"I accept that!" Chuckie grinned, following after the intel officer.

A few minutes later, Jax rejoined the group, announcing dejectedly that Tara wouldn't be able to help them. He didn't go into detail.

Just as Clay assured him they had it covered, Chuckie burst though a set of double doors wearing only a hospital gown. He held his heavily bandaged hands in the air and screamed about his fingers being cut off.

He leapt and hollered like a banshee, bursting through the double doors to the jail ward, his bare ass showing through the hospital gown.

The guard looked astounded at Chuckie's behavior, then decided he'd better give chase to the obviously distraught patient.

Clay smiled in triumph. 'Chuckie is becomin' more of an asset every day!' The club rushed into the shooter's room, closing the door behind them.

The men knew they didn't have much time to inspect the shooter. Though he couldn't speak, his tattoos would tell them a lot about him, and who he was affiliated with.

The shooter recognized Jax as the one who had beat him, and he tried to escape from the bed. His attempt was futile. Not only was he handcuffed to the bed, but members of SAMCRO held him down while they inspected his ink.

They were disappointed to find no gang affiliation tattoos. Whoever he was with were smart in that respect. The club was about to leave when Jax leaned forward and pulled the shooter's lips open.

There, tattooed on his lower lip, were the letters 'CL'. Opie recognized it as a minor Mexican MC from Lodi called the Calavarez.

Knowing they had little time left, the club exited the room and gathered together out in the hallway beyond the jail ward door.

'Chuckie must be givin' the deputy quite a run for his money!' Clay mused.

The discovery of the shooter's affiliation was worrisome to the club. The consensus was that the drive by was an initiation into the larger Mayan group.

As the club wandered away from the jail ward, Clay's cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, recognized the incoming number as Gemma's throwaway.

He stopped in the hallway to talk to her, putting her at ease about Abel, and learning that Nate would be going into a nursing home in two days.

Jax spoke briefly with her, learning then of his grandmother's death. It didn't affect him and he shrugged off Opie's condolences. 'I never felt that close to my grandmother. She didn't care for me or my brother that much because of our father.'

Jax was internally tied up in knots, worried about Tara wanting to take a leave of absence and about the upcoming meeting with Jimmy O. 'If anyone knows Cameron's whereabouts, it has to be Jimmy.'

Charming High School's gym was normally only used for athletic competitions. In order to accommodate the townspeople and the sheer number of police officers coming from near and far to honor the fallen deputy chief, it became clear that none of the funeral homes nor churches would fill the bill. The matriach of the Hale family knew this as soon as she knew her son was dead, and acknowledged the need for the high school gym to be used when her old friend brought it up.

"There's just not enough space," Dubrowski explained to Jacob Hale, Jr. and his mother when they met to discuss arrangements. "The only space that will work is the high school gym."

Jacob opened his mouth to protest, but his mother, Martha, placed a frail hand on his arm. "I understand. He is -" she choked on the word but continued. "Was my son - and Jake's brother – but it's not just our loss. I agree with you about using the gym."

"Mother! There's no law that says we have to -"

"There is a law, son. It's the law of simple human decency. There's not been much of that in Charming lately. Our family needs to bring it back, considering that our family brought the indecency here in the first place." She gazed intently at him and added softly, "Don't fight me on this, Son."

Jacob Hale paled at his mother's rebuke. 'She's holding me responsible for all of this because I brought LOAN and Zobelle to town!' He nodded a slight assent while his heart broke.

"The only thing I ask is the right to hold a private ceremony here in the funeral home," Martha Hale continued, her voice as firm as iron. "No police, no pomp, nothing fancy. Just the family."

Dubrowski nodded. "Would the night before the public service be acceptable?"

Martha nodded regally. "Thank you, Gregory. I'll have Rev. Bush contact you about the details." She stood up and held her hand out to the funeral director.

Greg Dubrowski's hand clasped Martha's in a firm grip. His eyes and hands conveyed his sincere sorrow and support for her. He'd known Martha for years. They'd played together, gone to school together, and dated in high school. He'd been proud to serve as an usher when she married Jacob Hale Sr. .

"I'll do everything I can to help you and your family. Jacob's not taking this well, is he," Dubrowski replied huskily.

"No, he's not, Greg. Thank you for your kindness," she responded quietly, tightening her own grip on his hand. Only her eyes betrayed her deep sorrow and pain. 'A parent should never bury their child, no matter how grown that child is!'

She released his hand and turned to gather her purse and jacket. "I have calls to make, now that I can give the family a date and time. I'll see you later Jake."

Both men stood as she left the office. When the door closed behind her, Jacob fell back into his chair with a tired sigh, running his hands through his hair.

Dubrowski settled in his own chair and looked across the desk at Jacob. 'As a family friend, I should be more supportive of Jake. It's hard to do after what he brought to this town. Had it not been for Zobelle, his brother wouldn't be dead and our little town wouldn't be the object of media scrutiny.'

Jacob glared across the desk at Dubrowski. "You're thinking it, so go ahead and say it!" The pain of his loss made his voice harsh.

"I shouldn't have to. We both know you're wrong to put the blame on the Sons for this."

"Thanks a lot!" Hale snapped. "I thought you were in the condolence business! You're not providing much of that right now!"

"I'm a friend of your family, Jacob. I've known your mother more years than you've lived and will always be honest with you. Probably one of the few business owners in this town with the guts to do so."

"And you think I'm wrong to want to improve the town by lessening the Sons' influence!"

"Yes, I do. You're blinded by dollar signs, Jacob. This town thrives on small businesses. The big box stores you want to bring here might improve your bank account, but it won't improve Charming."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Hale spat. "I have ideas that will benefit everyone!"

"Such as what's going on with the Liberty Street storefronts?"

Hale felt his stomach drop, but years of double dealing enabled him to keep his expression from giving him away. "What about Liberty Street?"

'As if you don't know!' Dubrowski glared at Hale. "I spoke to Lumpy Feldstein a couple of days ago, he mentioned that he and the other shop owners have been getting visits from men offering to buy out their properties. The men haven't been very subtle."

"If someone is trying to buy those guys out, it's not me!" Hale protested weakly.

Dubrowski shook his head. "Jake, you don't believe that; how do you expect me to? Lumpy will never sell to you, or anyone else. He's had that boxing school since he got off the boat from Germany after World War II. He'll continue to operate it until the day he dies."

Dubrowski stood up and walked around his desk to stand in front of Jacob, leaning against the desk and folding his arms over his chest. He shook his head as he added, "There's plenty of property to develop outside of town. Go home. Mourn your loss. And think about what I said – as a friend of the family."

Hale recognized a dismissal, even a gentle one, when he heard it. He also heard the censure in Dubrowski's tone of voice. He stood up, ignoring the hand Dubrowski held out as a peace offering, turned, and strode to the door.

He paused just inside the open door, turned his head slightly, and stated. "I'll definitely think on what you said. Count on it," he growled before crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him.

Dubrowski stared at the closed door, then at the chair Jacob Hale had vacated. "This town's gonna be in a battle for its' life if he wins the election."

He sighed and returned to his chair, picked up the receiver and started making calls. Before the service for Kip Epps, he needed to make arrangements for the clergy association, the mayor, and the business association to meet that night about the public ceremony to honor David Hale.

Jax had ridden out to the meeting with Jimmy on his own. He parked around the side of the bar, smoking and talking the opportunity to speak at length with Gemma.

"Any idea what Grandma died of?" Jax expected his mother would fire a snarkcastic comment about Rose's hard nature. To his surprise, she expressed genuine sentiment for her mother.

Learning that the genetic heart disorder that had taken his little brother and nearly killed his son had been the cause of Rose's death made him uneasy. 'Had things worked differently, it might've been me instead of Tommy that died from it!'

He wanted to ask Gemma if she were taking her medication. The arrival of the rest of the club sidetracked him.

Gemma heard the bikes and knew their conversation was nearing an end. 'I miss that little shit. I miss my husband. I'm tired of this bein' on the lam shit!'

Her heart fluttered, which scared her, but she said nothing to Jax about it. 'Nothin' he could do about it from there, anyway.'

She shut off the cell phone and gazed at the many family pictures stuck under the glass cover of the desk in front of her. To her surprise, there was a picture of SAMCRO's first nine when she and John married nestled amongst the pictures.

Her heart fluttered dangerously again and she rubbed her chest distractedly. The scar from her own bout with the 'family flaw' met her questing fingers as she breathed deeply in an attempt to settle her heartbeat.

'It's just stress. I've not been takin' the medicine like I should. Worrying about things back home and about Daddy isn't helping.'

After a few minutes, she felt her heartbeat return to a semblance of normalcy. She stood up, waiting to see if she felt faint. When she didn't fall onto the bed, she walked out of the room to check on her father.

It was almost lunchtime, she'd not eaten much for breakfast. 'Maybe some food will help me feel better.'

No one was in the kitchen. Her father was taking a nap in his room. Gemma frowned intently. "Wonder where the Gaute's gotten off to? Tig's been pretty quiet, too."

Gemma wondered down the hall, following the unmistakable beat of Latin salsa music. As she neared the bathroom, the door opened and she nearly collided with Tig.

To her amusement, he was barefoot and wore a pink silk robe much too small for his height. The robe barely covered the essentials. 'Must belong to the Gaute. Hope ya know what you're dippin' into, Tigger!'

Tig tried to conceal a bottle of baby oil from her, but she spotted it and teased him about not using it on her father. He bluffed his way through her bemusement, stating that sometimes lube was the humane thing to do.

'Yeah, right!' She smirked at him, but didn't give voice to her opinion. Tig turned away, sauntered into Amelia's room, and shut the door behind him.

'Guess if Daddy's gonna have any lunch, I'll have to fix it!' Gemma thought disdainfully, heading towards the kitchen.

Piney reached across the van's interior to unlock the passenger side door as Chuckie trotted towards the parking spot. The smaller man was grinning in triumph.

"How'd it go?" Piney rumbled, keying the ignition as Chuckie settled into the passenger seat.

"Great! I took that sheriff's deputy on quite a tour of the hospital. I locked him in the morgue freezer! Hope that gave the guys enough time to do what they needed to do!"

Piney grinned and backed the van out of the parking spot, driving casually towards the exit. "You did. Clay called to let me know they were on their way out and to see what you were up to. I was gonna go lookin' for ya in another five minutes."

"I accept that!" Chuckie grinned.

"Ya did good, Chuckie. Clay's proud of ya."

"I accept that, too!" Chuckie beamed. He looked like a kid who'd gotten straight A's on his report card and a crisp five dollar bill for each A.

"Appreciate your help there at the garage, too. You've already cleared up a lot of headaches for me," Piney added. "You know how to use a computer?"

"Yeah." Chuckie's heart leapt with anticipation. 'If I can use the computer there, I can get money sent to the medical fund, and some more transferred to the coffeehouse for her!'

"Good," Piney grinned. "When we get back, you can get to work on updating the accounts. They're a mess."

"I accept that. They won't be when I get done," Chuckie assured him.

Luck appeared to be smiling on Chuckie when they returned to the garage. Clay and the other men hadn't returned to the garage. Piney explained the bookkeeping program to his best ability, then left Chuckie to fend for himself.

Once left alone in the office, Chuckie quickly accessed his on line account and made the money transfer requests. He decided not to put any money directly into the coffeehouse accounts, though he still had that information on him. 'Miss Cat would get too suspicious if unaccounted for money turned up there.'

He made arrangements for several sizable cashier's checks to be made out for the SAMCRO Emergency Medical Fund and delivered later that day to the funeral home. He kept the checks small enough to keep from arousing any Federal suspicions. 'Miss Cat will never know this money came from me, and it's more than she paid out for me. She deserves the help!'

Chuckie smiled with satisfaction, then turned his attention to the bookkeeping program. When Piney checked on him later, Chuckie was engrossed in straightening out the garage's cash flow.

Jimmy and Luke sat in a booth across from Clay and Jax. Members of SAMCRO and Jimmy's crew stood or sat around the bar in strategic backup positions.

'The amount o' gud will in this place maykes me 'eart wanna burst!' Jimmy listened intently as Jax explained about Polly Zobelle's involvement in his mother's gang rape two months earlier.

'So Gemma followed tha gurrl ta tha safe hoose; apparently Zobelle's dahter was screwin' Eddie. Tha ATF bitch was lyin'!' Jimmy glanced out of the side of his eye at Luke, who shrugged slightly.

Jimmy explained that all his intel indicated that Cameron was still in North America, but no one knew exactly where. He was returning to Ireland and would let them know if Cameron showed up in Belfast. Luke would remain behind to run the gun operation.

Jax felt that Jimmy wasn't telling the entire truth, but didn't have any concrete way to call him on it right then and there without causing a major fight. 'Best to wait until I can throw the proof of his lies in his face.'

As the Sons left the bar, Opie pointed out the stash of AK's piled in one booth to Jax.

'It makes sense Jimmy wouldn't use the safe house any longer, but not so sure it's a good idea to store 'em here," Clay mused as he passed the booth and noticed the automatics lying in plain sight.

Outside the bar, the Sons compared notes about the unsatisfying meeting with Jimmy O. All agreed that he wouldn't know the truth if it wore a name tag.

Jax inquired if Bobby's ex, Precious, was still married to the bounty hunter. Bobby indicated the situation with Precious was still difficult due to his recent three month incarceration.

"We need his help. You, me, and Juice will visit Precious while Clay and the others meet with the Grim Bastards."

Inside the bar, neither Jimmy nor Luke felt confident about the results of the meeting with SAMCRO.

"They don't believe us aboot Cammie," Luke observed.

"Aye."

"Wha' do ye want me ta do?" Luke asked.

"Run tha operation fer now. Keep an ear an eye oot fer Cammie. Ifn we kin find him before SAMCRO, all's tha better."

"And if Cammie shows up in Belfast?"

Jimmy's eyes were as cold as death. His expression made Luke shiver, and he wasn't a man given to easy fear. "As far as SAMCRO's concerned, 'e won't. A liddle misleadin' intel won't 'urt us."

Nate wandered from the bedroom, desperately trying to remember where Gemma had told him to go. He couldn't even remember why Gemma was present, though he was happy she was visiting at long last.

'Why does Rose keep disappearing? Why can't she forgive Gemma?' He walked through the house, looking for any sign of her presence – a note, her purse, a coat or sweater – anything to assure him she'd eventually return.

Urgent business took him to the bathroom. While he was there, he heard Gemma call out that lunch was ready. 'Maybe Rose will come home for lunch! It'd be nice to eat together as a family.'

He stepped out of the bathroom and heard a female voice behind the closed door in front of him. 'Is that Rose?'

He reached out to the door, grasped the handle, and pushed it open. He glimpsed two naked bodies – one small, dark – haired woman lying on her stomach and moaning – and a black – haired man was thrusting into her bottom. The sight made Nate recoil in horror.

'He's hurting Rose!' Nate backed against the wall behind him. As shocked and horrified as he felt, he was unable to tear his eyes from the sight.

Oblivious to their audience, Tig continued to thrust into Amelia's ass. All he could hear was the slap of flesh against flesh and Amelia's moans and gasps of pleasure. Amelia pushed against Tig's cock, meeting each thrust with her backward moment. She squealed and breathlessly begged him to go faster, deeper, and harder.

Nate couldn't believe his senses. 'How can Rose be enjoying that? How could she betray me like this?' He stumbled down the hall, fighting back tears at Rose's betrayal. 'I'll show them both!'

He went into his study and opened a closet door, removing a shotgun from its' carry case. He felt around on the shelf above him until he found the box of ammunition. He swept it onto the floor, spilling shells all over the floor.

Nate sank to his knees, grabbed a shell, and jammed it into the rifle. He continued to load it until it was full, then stood shakily to his feet and strode purposefully back to the bedroom.

Yelling his wife's name, he pushed the door fully open, holding the rifle directly at Tig.

Nate's unexpected entry startled Tig and Amelia. Tig scrambled to his feet with his back turned to Nate while Amelia screamed in terror. She covered herself with a sheet and leapt from the bed to stand against the wall.

Before Tig could turn to confront Nate, he heard the safety being released. There was a loud boom and Tig felt fire in his shoulder, sending him to his knees.

Amelia screamed at Nate, who gazed at her in shock while Tig roared in pain and outage. Blood oozed from the wound in his shoulder and on down his back.

'I thought ministers didn't have guns!' Tig thought in shock. 'Blaine doesn't! What the fuck am I gonna tell Cat when she sees this?'

He gripped the mattress with both hands, trying to raise himself off the floor. He was surprised that one little bullet could zap his strength.

Gemma rushed from the kitchen, pocketing the cell phone. 'I thought Daddy's gun was in a safe place! Damn that Guate!'

She raced into the hallway to find her father standing in the doorway to the caregiver's room. He held the rifle in shaking hands, still pointing it at Tig.

Gemma grabbed the gun from her father and stepped into the room, taking in the scene in a few seconds. Nate asked her if he'd shot someone, but Gemma couldn't find the breath to speak to him. Amelia stammered out an explanation while Tig moaned in pain, trying to get himself onto the bed. The rifle wasn't a large caliber, but the bullet had been fired from close range..

Gemma glared at the caregiver, her expression indicating her displeasure. "C'mon, Dad, come with me," she murmured soothingly. "I'll take care of things, it's gonna be all right." She took her father by the hand and led him from the bedroom.

Nate was still shaken by what he'd seen and done. "Was that Rose?" he asked tremulously.

"No, Dad. That was Amelia, your caregiver," Gemma replied gently. She'd expected Tig would eventually tap the 'Gaute Hottie'. The caregiver had been making goo – goo eyes at Tig from the moment they'd arrived at the Madoc home.

'I never expected Dad to mistake Amelia's cries of passion for Rose gettin' attacked and shoot Tig!' She thought, guiding her father to his room.

"You just rest a bit, Dad. Don't worry."

"Where's Rose?" he asked. "Is she all right?"

"I'm not sure, Daddy. She's not here. That was Amelia with Tig, my friend."

"Is he OK? Did I kill him?"

Gemma's eyes brimmed with tears. "No, Daddy! Of course not! He's fine!"

Nate closed his eyes and sighed wearily. Gemma sat with him until she was sure he was asleep. Out in the hallway, she could hear Amelia assisting Tig to his bedroom.

'At least the wound doesn't look deep,' she consoled herself, gathering the materials she'd need to remove the bullet. 'He's gonna need professional care. Can't risk goin' to a hospital or clinic. I'll have to get Tara up here.'

She returned to Tig's room to find Amelia, now clad in the pink robe, pressing a cloth against his shoulder. Tig was sitting on the bed, a sheet covering his nether regions.

Gemma placed the supplies on the dresser, took one look at Tig's pale face, and stalked back to the bathroom. She returned with a prescription bottle, explaining it was her mother's Vicodin. She shook a couple of pills into Tig's waiting hand. He chewed and swallowed without benefit of water.

Gemma picked up Tig's jacket from the dresser, revealing the gun underneath. She quickly secured it behind her in the waistband of her jeans. But not before Amelia saw it. Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed to one of contemplation.

"I've gotta bad feeling about this!' Gemma didn't like Amelia's interest in the gun, but there wasn't much she could do about it at the moment. Tig's wound needed to be attended to. "You ready for this, Tig?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Amelia inquired.

"Probably better than you. How many bullets have you removed?" Gemma snapped.

Amelia flushed. "None."

"I rest my case." Gemma picked up a pair of tweezers she'd sterilized in hot water and alcohol. "This will sting a mite," she cautioned, using her hip to push Amelia out of her way.

"Need help?" Amelia asked.

"Yeah. Get dressed and make sure Dad's OK. He's upset over shooting Tig. See if you can manage to do that without anyone else getting shot!" Gemma replied shortly.

Amelia opened her mouth to protest but decided against it when she remembered that Gemma had put the gun in her waistband. She gathered her clothes and hurried out of the bedroom.

"You were a little hard on her," Tig observed.

"Not as hard as Cat would be if she knew about this," Gemma observed dryly, placing a hand on Tig's shoulder to steady herself.

Tig grimaced. "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Cat and I have an understanding about road sex!"

"That include you getting shot in the back?" Gemma replied sourly. "How you gonna explain that? Cat may have only one eye right now, but she's not blind, or stupid!"

"I know that!" he sighed. " I'll just tell her Nate forgot who I was, mistook me for a burglar, and shot me. That part's true."

"That's what I'll tell Tara to get her up here," Gemma stated.

That alarmed Tig, making him turn his head to glare at Gemma. "You don't think she'll tell Cat I was shot? She'll worry herself sick! She's in enough pain as it is!"

"Relax, Tigger!" Gemma purred. "I'll tell her not to say anything to your girl. You get to explain your wound to her."

Tig turned and lay on his stomach to allow Gemma to remove the bullet, sighing in relief. "She'll accept that story. I know my girl."

"What the fuck were you thinkin' of, tappin' the Gaute's ass in the house?" Gemma stuck the tweezers into the wound as she spoke, getting a good grip on the bullet. She swiftly yanked it out, keeping a cloth under the wound to keep the blood from running down his back.

"I didn't think Nate would notice the noise. Sure didn't plan on him openin' the door," Tig replied, wincing from Gemma's not so gentle ministrations.

"That's right! You didn't think! You could've at least locked the God – damn door!" She held the offending bullet in the air. "Got it! You're lucky, it's in one piece! Stay there and keep your ass covered!"

"Yes, ma'am!" he replied meekly, complying with her request. 'Never piss off a woman brandishing tweezers and a gun!'

Gemma was tempted to swat his backside, but decided to be merciful. 'He's sufferin' enough from the wound, and the indignity of being shot. Guess I don't need to add to his misery.'

She put the bullet and tweezers in the cloth, laid them on the dresser, and picked up the bottle of peroxide. "This might be a little cold," she warned, tipping the bottle and pouring it directly into the wound.

"No shit!" Tig yelped, bunching the sheet in both hands. His back muscles tensed as the cold hydrogen peroxide met the wound. Foam boiled and frothed from the hole.

"Serves you right," Gemma muttered without sympathy.

"Is it as bad as it feels?" he asked worriedly.

"I'm not a doctor. It looks clean, but Tara will be able to tell you better than I can," she stated. "At least it wasn't deep."

She cut several strips of adhesive tape, placing them along the head of the bed for easy access. She wiped the wound clean and poured more peroxide into it, repeating the procedure two more times.

"That's about as clean as I can make it," she observed. "Unless you wanna brave rubbing alcohol."

"No thanks!"

She cleaned the area with more peroxide, then placed a clean gauze pad over the hole the bullet had made, followed by two more layers of gauze. She placed two strips of tape criss – cross on the pads, then taped the entire square, making it airtight and as seep proof as possible.

'Gem's not as gentle as Cat, but guess she's a little pissed. I'm not gonna complain. Lettin' my dick do the thinkin' is what got me in this mess!' The Vicodin, lack of sleep, and the shock of being shot combined to make Tig fall asleep as Gemma finished bandaging the wound.

She gazed down at him and smiled fondly. 'Ah, Tigger! Hope you're having sweet dreams of Cat.' She patted his covered ass, gathered the soiled supplies, and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Amelia ran into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She shook with fury over the dictatorial manner Gemma had spoken to her.

'That bitch has been a pain in my back all day! I was doing what I wanted when I wanted until now! And what's with her not wanting Tig treated at a hospital? There's more going on here than meets the eye, and I'm gonna find out what it is!'

Amelia cleaned herself up and hurriedly dressed so she could attend to Nate. 'He'll be upset; no telling what he'll do!'

She opened the bathroom door a crack, peeked out, and breathed a sigh of relief to see that the coast was clear. The door to Tig's bedroom was closed. She scampered down the hall, past her room to Nate's closed bedroom door.

Amelia tapped on the door and called out to the man. "Nate? It's Amelia. Can I come in?"

"Who?"

"Amelia. Rose hired me to help you. Are you all right?" She called through the door.

She heard footsteps shuffle to the door, then it opened and Nate peeked out at her, his eyes squinting as he tried to recall her.

"Do I know you?" he inquired.

"Yes, Nate," she replied patiently. "I'm Amelia. Rose hired me to help you. Do you remember Rose introducing us?"

Nate stared at her, then he nodded slightly. "Did I hurt someone?"

'He doesn't remember shooting the cutie. Probably just as well." Amelia smiled brightly and laid a hand on Nate's arm. "No, Nate. Everything's fine. Gemma, your daughter is here with a friend."

"Gemma's here? Where is she? Why hasn't she said 'hello'?" Nate asked querulously.

"She's settling in her room, it was a long drive for her," Amelia explained.

"Yes, I guess it is," Nate replied gently. "I can't wait to see her! It's been so long!"

Amelia helped him into the den and got him settled in front of the television with a bowl of soup. Then she went looking for Gemma. She met up with her in the hall as the older woman exited the bathroom.

"Tig OK?"

"He's sleeping. He'll live. No thanks to you! You weren't hired to fuck the visitors, sweetie. You might want to remember that!" Gemma hissed. "Tig is off limits to you for the remainder of your time here!"

"Isn't that up to him to decide?" Amelia snapped back.

"Trust me, darlin', neither your pussy nor your ass is worth gettin' shot over! Once is enough for him! Where's my dad?"

"In the den. He doesn't remember shooting your friend."

Gemma sighed with relief. "That's probably just as well."

Amelia eyed the bathroom, looking for any incriminating evidence of the shooting. "What'd you do with the bullet and shit? And why is Tig carrying a gun?"

"That's for me to know and you not to find out," Gemma replied, glaring angrily at the caregiver. "You ask a lot of questions, sweetheart."

"I'm just trying to understand!" Amelia retorted.

"You don't need to understand anything! All ya gotta do is care for my father until he enters the nursing home. Think you can do that?"

Amelia's eyes narrowed in anger. "I was doing just fine until you and the cutie messed things up!"

"Stay away from Tig, take care of my father like you're supposed to, and we'll be fine!" Gemma stalked away to sit with her father.

Amelia's eyes snapped at Gemma's imperious proclamation. 'I'm gonna find your secret, lady, and when I do, you'll be sorry you ever fucked with me!'

Tara returned to Jax's house still bemused over the flip flop of behavior from Margaret and Jax. 'It seems like my whole world is upside down right now! Cat's got enough on her shoulders to deal with my worries, and I'm still not sure of Lyla. I wish I could talk to Gemma. I miss her!'

She wandered into the nursery, glancing around to see if she and Jax had missed anything when they'd cleaned up her mess. Her eyes rested on a piece of yellow paper bearing the words 'GEM' and a phone number.

'I'll bet that's the number to Gemma's throwaway!' Elation passed through her. 'I could reach out to her on one of Jax's throwaways!' She ran into the bedroom and hunted through the dresser drawers, then the closet.

Her search finally turned up a stash of pre paid cell phones. She took one and returned the box to its' hiding place, then walked back into the nursery. She sat on the couch and dialed the telephone number.

Gemma was working in the kitchen, making soup and sandwiches for lunch. Now that she knew the caregiver was occupied, she could enjoy a little private time with her father.

She'd checked on him before she started cooking. Nate was awake, but still slightly confused as to why she was there, though he knew who she was. 'At least that's encouraging!' She told him she was making lunch, and she'd call him when it was ready.

The throwaway in her pocket rang. She pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. The number didn't look familiar. She answered cautiously, pleased when she heard Tara's voice.

She sat on the nearby staircase to talk to her son's girlfriend. 'I miss her, as much as I miss everyone else.' She explained she was hanging on by a thread, only the thought of family was seeing her through.

She was about to say more when she heard a gunshot along with Amelia's scream and Tig's snarl. Gemma leapt to her feet, telling Tara she'd explain later and raced to the caregiver's bedroom.

Jacob Hale gazed across his office at the three city council members who acted as his sycophants. They'd answered his call to meet like Pavlov's dogs salivating at the ring of a bell. Only the mayor and the three that always voted against him had refused to meet with him.

"Jake, we're sorry about your brother," Mike Daniels, one of the trio, simpered after Hale explained the reason for the meeting. "But asking the judge to revoke SAMCRO's bail? That's risky."

"Too true," Tom Purcell agreed. "SAMCRO's still pretty popular around here, we could lose our seats in the fall election!"

"And you could lose your seats in the fall election when I win the primary and don't endorse you!" Hale snarled. "You can either take your chances with the forgetful memories of the voters later, or with me now. Take your pick!"

The trio looked at each other, then at Hale's resolute expression. "What if you can't get the mayor and the others to go along with you?" Dale Ferguson asked.

Hale smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It reminded Daniels of a crocodile. "They'll come around. The other three are up for re - election, and I don't think they want to fight a campaign that centers on how they refused to think of the good of the town!"

Daniels and Purcell looked again at each other, then at Ferguson. He was nodding like a bobble head doll in an earthquake.

"OK, we're in," Daniels sighed. Purcell nodded slightly to show his reluctant agreement.

"Thank you, gentlemen. I'll let you know when we're meeting with the mayor and the other council members. After the funeral for that Prospect kid, I have to attend the CBOA meeting at Charming Pawse, and listen to how they plan to honor my slain brother!" A look of disdain crossed his face.

The three couldn't tell whether his discomfort was caused by the focus of the meeting, or the meeting place itself. At the moment, they really didn't care. They were just happy to get out of his presence for awhile.

Cat stood with June and Chuckie at Kip's grave site. Her side hurt, but she wasn't willing to stay away from either service. She'd kept her promise to Alex and allowed June to drive the HHR to pick up Chuckie and to get them to the funeral home and then to the cemetery.

She stared across the coffin at the Redwood Sons, wishing Alex was standing next to the Clay instead of Jax and Bobby. Other charters, including SAMPOR, stood behind the mother charter.

Rows and rows of Army men and women stood to either side of the civilians and bikers. The military members wore full dress uniforms and stood at attention to honor their fallen comrade.

The American flag had replaced Prospect's SAMCRO cut. The service at the funeral home had been conducted by the area Army chaplain, who had served with Kip in Afghanistan.

The Patriot Riders had slipped out while the mourners passed Kip's coffin at the end of the service, taking up positions along the parking lot in case the Westboro Baptist protesters showed up.

Fortunately, none of the members of that church appeared. Whether that was due to the previous night's drive – by shooting, or the presence of so many outlaw motorcyclists, no one knew or cared. Everyone was happy that the protesters were a no show.

Clay, Bobby, Happy, Juice, Opie, and Chibs carried Kips' coffin from the funeral home, Piney acted as an honorary pall bearer, standing at attention next to the hearse. After Kip's coffin slid into the back of the vehicle, the SAMCRO men walked solemnly to their bikes, which were parked in front of the hearse.

Cat, June, and Chuckie walked to the HHR after watching Kip's coffin get loaded into the hearse. The three remained silent until they were settled in the car.

June worried about her friend. Strains of pain and fatigue were evident on Cat's face, which was paler than before the service.

June gazed at Chuckie, who shrugged as to say, "You know and I know she's hurting, but there's no way she'll agree to skip the graveside service!"

June nodded slightly in agreement. 'I doubt Alex could get her to go home, no matter how much he might growl and roar over the phone. She'd ignore him and do what she wants!'

The trio climbed into the rental car, Cat giving a sigh of relief to be out of the sun. She rested her head against the headrest and closed her eye.

"Thank God those Westboro idiots didn't show up!" she sighed. "I'd have taken the baseball bat to 'em!"

"I don't think you would've gotten the chance, chick!" June retorted. "The baseball bat is at the house, anyway, and too many of the bikers would've probably beat you to it!"

"You're probably right!" Cat grinned tiredly.

Chuckie passed a bottle of water forward, nudging her shoulder with it. "Here, Miss Cat. This might make you feel better."

Cat opened her eye to glance at the bottle of water, beads of moisture running invitingly down the sides. "Thanks, darlin'. Got one for June?"

Chuckie passed another bottle up to June with a grin. "I wasn't a Boy Scout, but believe in being prepared! Have a small cooler back here with water and some fruit in case either of you felt peckish."

Cat and June giggled at Chuckie's response. "Peckish isn't somethin' I've heard in a long time, my friend! Thanks for thinkin' of me, but the water'll do just fine."

June glared at her and held her hand out. "I'm not! I'm starvin'. What do y'all have back there, Chuckie?"

"I accept that. Grapes, apples, a couple of bananas."

"I'll take an apple," June requested. Chuckie passed the small red fruit into her hand and June bit into it with relish. "Tart! Firm! Just the way I like 'em!"

The roar of a multitude of Harleys caught their attention. The processional to the grave site was about to start. June started the engine and flipped the bright lights on.

"It's gonna be awhile before we get movin'," June observed, taking another bite of apple.

Cat nodded and sipped at the water. She watched as Clay raised his hand, signaling the bikes to begin moving. Slowly, the bikes filed after Clay's, pouring onto the street. The hearse followed, then the limo carrying Kip's family.

Cat's HHR was placed ahead of Tara's Olds and Lyla's Prius, which followed the military pallbearers' car.

It hadn't been Cat's idea to be placed ahead of the other two SAMCRO women. 'I imagine Clay had somethin' to say about where we were placed in this line!'

The processional roared down Main Street. Patrons of the businesses came out to stand on the sidewalks, watching the hearse and the vehicles pass.

Cat had a brief flash back to LuAnn's funeral, when she'd taken Big Otto on the back of Blackie II. As they passed Charming Pawse, she saw both Adrian and Miss Anna framed in the doorway, both holding their hands over their hearts in honor of the fallen Prospect.

The military pallbearers removed Kip's flag draped coffin from the hearse at the cemetery. They carried it with precision to the bier erected over the newly dug grave.

Kip was being laid to rest in the military section of the cemetery. Rows and rows of small, uniform headstones marked the grave sites of other fallen military men and women, including John Teller.

'I know this is the final goodbye, but it doesn't feel right. I think our true send off was at the house before Alex left. It felt more like a good old fashioned wake, the kind of thing Kip would've enjoyed. There's no denying the symbolism to this service, but it just feels sterile to me.'

Cat wore her traditional black corduroy duster with her black fedora to shade her sensitive eye from the sun. The white fabric of the sling supporting her arm was noticeable against her dark attire.

As they stood and listened to the Army Chaplain reading passages from the Scripture, Cat's gaze fell on Kozik for the first time. She glared fiercely at him behind her dual sunglasses.

Kozik, standing behind Clay, could feel Cat's burning glare. 'If looks could kill, I'd be dead right about now! Imagine Tig's madder than a disturbed hornet's nest about last night. Glad he's not here.'

Kozik kept stealing glances at her throughout the graveside service. His worried expression indicated he feared he was the reason for the sling. Cat was in no hurry to relieve him of that idea.

'Let the asshole squirm!' she thought gleefully.

June nudged her in her good side. "Is that the blond guy that saved your neck?"

"If you meant to ask if that's the guy who unceremoniously tackled me to the ground, the answer is yes."

"Tomato, tomahtoe. Whatever," June snickered. "He looks worried."

"Good! He should be."

"You're not bein' very nice!"

"He's not a nice person," Cat hissed. "But this isn't bein' respectful to Kip's memory. We'll discuss this later!" She shifted her stance slightly, so that she couldn't see Kozik, and concentrated on the remainder of the graveside service.

Chuckie glanced from one woman to the other, then shrugged and turned his attention back to the chaplain.

The Army pallbearers stepped forward to remove the flag and fold it into the familiar triangle. They worked quickly and silently. The last officer presented the flag to his superior officer, who presented the folded flag to Kip's mother, uttering the traditional words, "I present this flag to you on behalf of a grateful nation."

Kip's mother clutched the triangle to her bosom as the officer saluted her, then turned and marched back to the line of Army officers.

Clay stepped forward, carrying Kip's SAMCRO cut. He wordlessly presented it to Kip's father, holding out his hand to the grief stricken man.

Kip's father nodded, holding the cut to his chest as he firmly grasped Clay's hand. The two shook hands, then Clay nodded at the SAMCRO old ladies.

Chuckie handed Cat her black – ribboned red rose that had been at the funeral home. "Clay said you'd want to leave this instead of a carnation," he hastily whispered, pressing the fingers of her good hand around the stem.

Cat nodded and stepped forward to the side of Kip's coffin. She kissed the rose, then placed it on the top of the casket. She placed her good hand on it for a moment. "This rose would be from Cherry if she were here, Kip," she whispered before returning to stand between June and Chuckie.

Tara and Lyla stepped forward, each holding a blue carnation. They each placed their flower to their lips before placing them on either side of the red rose.

The men of SAMCRO then stepped up, each placing a long stemmed white carnation on the casket as they passed. Some touched a palm or finger to the casket, others didn't. Kozik placed his carnation on the growing pile, laid a hand on the side of the casket, then walked hurriedly back to his place.

Once all the riders had paid their final honor to Prospect, the military bugler played Taps. A 21 gun salute followed, then the Chaplain announced that the service was complete and they were invited to a meal at the SAMCRO clubhouse.

Clay walked over to Cat, standing in front of her as he ran his eyes over her tired face. "You need to go home, little lady. Skip the meal."

"Don't all y'all need me there?" she protested weakly.

"I'd be lyin' if I said we don't. But you're about to collapse. This your friend June?" he turned to the small woman standing protectively next to Cat.

"I am. And you must be Clay. Your 'president' patch gave you away," June replied.

"Glad you're with her. Take Cat home. Chuckie can ride with one of the men back to the clubhouse. She needs to rest. Damn business owners association is meetin' tonight at her place," Clay instructed gently.

"I was considerin' callin' Tig and havin' him order her home."

Clay smiled tiredly. "Like that'd do any good!"

"Ah!" June grinned. "All y'all are familiar with my girl's muleheadedness!"

"June, sometimes Cat can try the patience of the mule!"

"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Cat huffed. "Fine, I can tell when I'm not wanted!"

"It's not that we don't want ya around, Cat!" Clay protested. "We're all worried about ya. You've done a lot for us already! Ya need to go home and rest. I'll have Chibs check on ya later."

He gave her a brief hug, careful of her arm and side. He turned to June and held out his hand. June clasped his hand, which seemed to disappear in his larger one.

"Don't worry. I'll take good care of her," June promised.

"Thanks, Miss June," he replied warmly, slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes. "C'mon, Chuckie!"

"I accept that!" Turning to Cat, he added, "I'll pick up the cooler from you sometime later." Then he trotted after Clay.

The Charming Business Owners Association met that evening with CPD, the fire chief and the mayor in Charming Pawse.

The CBOA had originally met at Latte Da until Cat's place opened and the association found the decor, abundance of comfortable chairs, and the refreshments more to their liking.

"Much as I appreciate the support of the association, seems that the fairer thing is to alternate meetings between my place and Latte Da," Cat had suggested.

"I don't need your help!" Latte Da's owner snarled angrily in response.

"Nope, you certainly don't!" Cat retorted. "Y'all don't need charity, either. I'm just tryin' to be fair. If y'all are doin' so well that ya don't want the business, I'll be more than happy to take the money and run!"

The rival coffee shop owner's face turned beet red. "I didn't say that! In fact, the more I think on it, the more I like the idea of us sharing the host duties! Less wear on my staff and equipment!"

Cat smiled knowingly to herself, her green eyes twinkling with amusement.

'That gal's got her on the run. Smart as a whip, no nonsense, fair – minded," Clay Morrow thought in amusement as he watched the two women face off. 'She's gonna make her place a favorite of the town's in less than a year!'

He watched with interest behind his sunglasses as Cat held out her hand to the other coffeehouse owner. "So we have an agreement?"

Latte Da's owner stared at Cat's hand for a moment, almost as if she were afraid of it. Then she hesitantly reached out and shook her rival's hand, solidifying their deal.

Greg Dubrowski had called the association for an emergency meeting so the business owners could discuss the details for David Hale's funeral. Chief Unser was on hand to answer their questions. Members of the clergy association were also in attendance. Teller – Morrow was the only member business not in attendance.

The business owners were painfully aware that the deputy chief was the first Charming police officer to die in the line of duty. That meant the town would be under more scrutiny than it had already received from the area media.

"We want to put Charming's best foot forward this time, " The town's mayor stated.

Jacob Hale glanced up from his seat near the door, his baleful glare landing on Unser before moving on to Floyd, Lumpy Feldstein, and Cat Marshall. "Not much chance of that while a certain group is in our city limits!"

"Are you gonna dig up that tired old bone about the Sons again?" Cat snarled from her chair near the back entrance of the shop. She'd rested a bit before the meeting after Kip's funeral, but was till tired and in pain. "I'll fight y'all every step of the way!"

"That's no surprise!" Hale retorted. "You sleep with one of those flea bags!"

"There's an old sayin' about people in glass houses not throwin' stones, Hale," Cat replied evenly, though her unbandaged eye gleamed with indignation. "Who invited Zobelle and his cronies to town in the first place?"

Lumpy and Floyd, nodded in agreement, openly enjoying seeing Hale get taken down a couple of pegs. Others squirmed in discomfort, though they were secretly enjoying the war of words between Jacob Hale and Cat Marshall.

Hale had introduced Zobelle and Weston to most of the association – except for the business owners that had known ties to the Sons. Hale had presented LOAN as the solution to the 'SAMCRO problem'.

The more prosperous business owners and investors had quickly embraced LOAN, but most of the CBOA was more reluctant. As the weeks passed, their caution was merited when Hale appeared to be acting more in Zobelle's best interests than the town's.

"Let's not forget vhy ve're here," Lumpy Feldstein intervened quietly, his sad gaze taking in the two opponents before moving to rest on Chief Unser. All eyes followed Lumpy's gaze, taking in the wide black mourning band over Unser's badge.

"We wouldn't have to be having this meeting at all if it weren't for the Sons!" Jacob Hale muttered darkly.

"Jacob, I swear to God if you don't shut your trap, I'll shut it for you!" Unser grated. "Do you think you're doing your brother's memory any favors?"

"I tink ve agree dat Zobelle gave more grief to us than any goot," Lumpy observed.

"He definitely didn't seem interested in working with the community!" Cat remarked wryly.

Chris Bush interjected to keep the peace. "We can't undo what's happened; it goes without saying that a lot of innocent people were hurt by Zobelle and Weston. If the Sons hadn't acted, people would still be getting hurt," he glanced sympathetically at Cat and then at Hale.

"What we can do is make sure that Charming's business, law enforcement, and religious communities work together to honor the memory of a civil warrior who made the ultimate sacrifice," Dubrowski added.

"Surely we can put our differences aside for the greater goal?" Bush continued, gazing intently at Cat, then at Hale. The membership followed his gaze.

"I'm game, Rev," Cat grinned. "And don't call me 'Shirley'!"

The gathered men and women moaned at the joke, but Bush grinned and inclined his head at her. The line came from the movie 'Airplane' that they'd seen on their one and only date decades earlier.

"Thanks, Cat!" he mouthed.

"You owe me," she mouthed back, giving him a saucy wink.

The small exchange between the two friends dispelled the tension in the room. Only Hale scowled over their by - play.

"Wade, how's the service gonna be conducted?" Cat inquired, helping to move the focus back to the matter at hand.

"Police organizations are patterned like military units. That's why we have the uniforms and rank the officers. When an officer is killed in the line of duty, the funeral service traditionally follows a military style."

"A kind of honoring the fallen warrior?" Floyd, who'd served in World War II asked. He'd seen more than his fair share of military funerals.

"Quite. I've been in contact with the Fraternal Order of Police and done a bit of research in the last few hours," Unser continued. "Cops will be coming in from all over the state – maybe even out of state – for the service. Cops respond to something like this just like the Sons did; we support each other. It's our profession that binds us together."

"Another reason using a traditional church or funeral home won't work," Cat observed. "When we lost a cop in the line of duty in Indianapolis, the service was held in the basketball stadium so the civilians and the cops who wanted to honor the officer could be accommodated. It was one of the few times the entire city was united."

"I appreciate Martha being willing to work with us," Unser remarked, nodding his head at Hale.

"I know how difficult this is for your family, Jacob."

"Martha's decided to hold a family only service the night before the community service, Wade," Chris Bush explained.

"That's good," Unser sighed with relief.

"We've seen hook and ladder trucks hoist an American flag over fallen officer processionals," Dave Besson, the Charming Fire Department Chief noted. "Unfortunately, we only have one of those."

"Does another town have a hook and ladder they could spare?" The mayor asked. "It'd be very symbolic to have the flag posed right at the cometary entrance and have the processional pass under it."

"Definitely photogenic," Cat growled.

"The ministerial association would like to participate in the service," Christ Bush announced, casting a warning glance at Cat and shaking his head. "A member of each denomination would like to offer a prayer or reading."

"That's not a problem," Unser replied, opening a leather binder he'd carried in with him and withdrawing several sheets of paper.

"I downloaded this from the FOP; it's a template for the service. We can use all of it, adopt parts of it, or draw up something entirely different," Unser replied.

He passed the sheets to Floyd, who took one and passed it on. There was silence as the business owners looked over the printout, their heads bobbed up and down in approval like the drinking bird statue.

"This looks doable," Bush stated, looking across the room at Unser.

"I see opportunities for law enforcement and the clergy," the mayor stated. "Not much for the business community."

"Are you nuts?" Cat retorted with a snort. "There's plenty of opportunities for a business owner or two to participate!"

"Cat!" Chris Bush hissed. "A little respect to the leader of the town, please!"

"Sorry," she murmured. "But look, there's the music before and after, and several other opportunities where talented business people can take part by givin' a readin' or somethin' like that!"

"Cat's right," Flo, the waitress and co – owner of the diner spoke up. "The high school choir could do some of the music, the mayor's gonna be speakin' anyway. And I know just who to nominate to represent us with a musical selection!"

"Oh, no you don't, Flo!" Cat held up her hands as if warding off a vampire.

"Kiss my grits, Cat!" Flo retorted, making the room laugh heartily. "You're the best singer among us. You also know music; proved that by that montage you made for the rally!"

She looked around the coffeehouse area, her gaze entreating the association members. "Don't you people agree?"

A united "Aye!" met Flo's question. Only Cat refrained from agreeing. "Then it's almost unanimous! Cat will represent us in the service."

"As long as she's being civic minded, maybe she can talk those bikers into staying away from the funeral!" Hale snarled.

A rush of voices clamored in protest. 'So much for an event like this unitin' everyone!' Cat glared across the room at Hale as she waited for the membership to quiet down.

"Had y'all attended the rally, Mr. Hale, you'd have learned a little bit about not excludin' people!"

"Then maybe you can use your influence to make them leave those damn vests at their clubhouse if you're gonna insist on letting them attend!"

"Y'all are really crossin' the line!" Cat retorted, her voice as cold as a block of ice. "I have no influence on SAMCRO. Never have and never will."

"You have a business relationship with them!" Hale pressed, ignoring the angry glares of the other business owners.

"So does Floyd and several other business owners!" Cat pointed out in a calm tone of voice. "I notice y'all aren't askin' them to use their 'influence' to keep SAMCRO from payin' their respects to y'all's brother!"

"Respect? Hah! They don't know the meaning of the word!"

"If that's not a case of the pot callin' the kettle black! That's a concept y'all seem to have difficulty graspin', Mr. Hale. Jim Croce said it best about certain things a body doesn't do."

"And that would be?" Hale asked dryly.

"You don't tug on Superman's cape/you don't spit into the wind/you don't pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger," Cat sang acapella then spoke the last line, paraphrasing a bit, " and you certainly don't mess around with SAMCRO's cuts!"

The association members laughed softly in appreciation. "That's right!" Floyd called out supportively.

"They don't have a problem taking their vests off when it suits them!" Hale retorted. "But that's usually when they're engaged in criminal activity!"

Unser pounded his fist on the arm of his chair, making Cat wince. "Sorry to beat up your upholstery, Cat."

"Better my upholstery than tarnishin' your badge by hittin' someone," she replied.

Unser glared at Hale for a moment. "I'll talk to Clay. No guarantees, and if they do show up in their cuts, ain't no one showin' them the door! You got dat?"

'Wade's channelin' Victor Newman!' Cat hid an appreciative grin behind her hand, pretending to stifle a yawn.

"Besides," Unser continued, ignoring Hale's bristling countenance, "Clay would take the suggestion a little better from me – or any other man – than he would from a woman. Unless you want to do the honors, Jacob?"

Hale shook his head. "I don't care who makes the suggestion to SAMCRO, so long as it gets made!"

"Are there any other questions, suggestions, comments, criticisms, or announcements?" Dubrowski asked, glancing at his watch. It was getting late, and he knew Cat was still weak from her injuries.

The association members looked at each other, but no one spoke up. "Then I suggest we call it a night. We can co – ordinate things by phone or email from this point on, I believe."

The association members gathered up their empty paper cups and plates, tossing them in the trash as they prepared to leave. Jacob Hale was first to depart, and left his half empty cup on the table. He didn't speak to anyone as he strode out to his car.

'Fucktard!' Cat sneered under her breath, holding the cup with two fingers as if it were a hissing rattlesnake. She carried it to the sink and tossed the cold liquid down the drain. 'Glad I didn't waste the whiskey blend on him!'

Dubrowski lingered along with Chief Unser, helping to tidy up. When only the three of them were left, he pulled an envelope from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to Cat.

"What's this?"

"The donations collected for the medical fund. There's far too much money involved for the funeral home to deposit it for you this time."

Cat hefted the enveloped. It was thick and heavy in her hand. "I hope people were as generous to the USO!"

"I'm sure they were," Dubrowski assured her. "I just seperated the donations, didn't even remove them from the envelopes."

"Guess I'll be busy tomorrow, then!" Cat grinned.

Dubrowski nodded and departed. Unser locked the door after him and watched as Cat readied the Brewmasters for the morning rush and restocked the pastry display case.

"Heard anything from the trade show?" Unser inquired as she worked.

"We're bug free, Wade," she replied. "Things are goin' fine, considerin' the circumstances."

"Did they get the news up there?"

"Clay told Tig all about it. I heard plenty from Tig," she replied ruefully.

"As you should've. That wasn't smart, Cat, trying to shoot out the van's engine."

"I would've gotten it stopped if that Tacoma asshole hadn't tackled me!" she snapped, hissing against a flare of pain in her side. "Any more leads on the shooter Jax pummeled?"

Unser nodded. "He's with a minor gang called the Calavarez, operates out of Lodi. Name of Pozo. Has quite a rap sheet."

"So it wasn't the Mayans, which means it wasn't retaliation. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Not enough proof to satisfy Hale, Cat. I have what's in the databases. If I'd brought it up, Hale would've wanted to know what kind of beef that club has with SAMCRO."

"That's true. I don't know if Tig opted to share the news about Hale with Gemma."

"He would've. Jax and David grew up together, were close friends until Jax chose the MC life and Hale the military." Hale assured her.

"I keep forgettin' this is a small town," she replied. "Y'all can go on home if y'all want, Wade. Doubt anyone's gonna attack me in my own back yard!"

"I wouldn't put it past Hale to try something, especially with Tig out of town!"

"The boy's definitely got a wild hair up his ass where SAMCRO's concerned, but I don't think he's stupid enough to confront me on my own turf. Thanks for offerin' to talk to Clay about their cuts."

"I'm not saying one word to Clay about their cuts, or their presence at the service. Just said I would to shut Hale up."

Cat sighed and leaned against the counter. "Hale seems to be stuck on blamin' the club. It's gonna get real old, real fast."

"Maybe not soon enough," Unser replied warningly. "He might get a few people to agree with him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Cat replied. "But that's somethin' to worry about tomorrow. I'm beat. While I love y'all to pieces, Wade, I'm gonna throw y'all out so I can lock the door and go home."

She slipped her arm through his, walked him to the door, unlocked it, and held it open for him. Unser laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a brief, affectionate squeeze. "Good night, Cat. Be sure to lock that envelope in your safe."

"I will, Wade."

"Rest well, and be safe!"

"Right back atcha, Chief!" she grinned, closing the door and locking it securely behind him.

Unser stood on the sidewalk, watching as Cat moved sure – footedly across the darkened coffeehouse and on to the back area. It wasn't until he saw the light in the back go out that he climbed into his squad car and started the engine.

Though his shoulder and back still hurt after his map, Tig didn't harbor any ill will for Nate.

"Your old man's as bad off as Cat's mom," he assured Gemma when she checked on his wound. "He obviously can't remember from one minute to the next what's goin' on or who he's with."

Gemma sighed with relief. "That's decent of you, Tigger."

"It's what one does for family," he shrugged, then wished he hadn't as fresh pain shot through him from the gesture.

Supper was a strained affair. Amelia kept sending Tig the same signals of adoration and lust which he ignored. Gemma alternated between keeping an eye on the caregiver and her father. Nate, for his part, kept asking if anyone had heard from Rose.

"I can't understand why she's staying away, Gemma. It's been so long since your last visit! It's not like her to be so mean spirited!"

'It's exactly like her!' Gemma thought. She reached for her father's hand to enclose it with both of hers. "It's OK, Daddy. I'm sure she's just visiting one of her friends so we can have a nice, long visit."

Gemma shot a warning look at Amelia, who nodded slightly. 'I understand. His dementia won't accept that she's gone, telling him Rose is dead won't register with him now any more than it did when it happened. At least we agree on this!'

Tig disappeared into the garden after the meal to smoke and make phone calls. He ignored Amelia, not looking at her or speaking to her.

Gemma had kept Tig's gun with her. She'd taken the precaution of hiding the rifle under her mattress so neither her father nor Amelia could find it.

After Nate retired for the night, while Tig was still out in the garden, Gemma returned to her room to think about what to do with the rifle, leaving Amelia alone. The caregiver jumped at the unguarded opportunity to use the computer.

'Now I'm gonna find out what's really goin' on with that bitch!' She logged into the computer and launched the internet browser.

She hadn't been successful in finding Tig's ID, much to her dismay. She did have one thing that might lead her to information about Tig or about the mysterious Cat. She also had Gemma's full name from Rose's diaries. Amelia entered a few words into a search engine, clicked on the first line of the search results, and grinned in triumph at the website that popped up on the screen.

Her female vanity was appeased somewhat by the website. Though it gave her no new insights into Tig's persona, it gave her a sense of satisfaction and power over him. After a few minutes, she enteredGemma's name into the search engine. In seconds, several results lit the screen, starting with the federal manhunt for her on murder charges.

'Well, this will be interesting!' Amelia clicked on the link, which took her to the ATF's wanted page for Gemma Teller. 'Look at that bounty! $25,000! That kind of money would set me up nicely here, with a bit left over for my family back home!'

Amelia was so engrossed in her discovery that she didn't hear Gemma enter the kitchen and place the shotgun on the counter. Nor did she hear the water running in the sink as Gemma washed her hands.

Gemma stared out in the garden, watching Tig walk along the path. He was smoking and talking on his pre – pay. 'Probably getting the latest from Clay. Wonder if he's told Cat about the gunshot wound yet."

She caught Amelia's reflection in the window, her heart skipped when she realized that the caregiver was on the computer. She walked quietly across the kitchen and glanced at the screen to see her own face looking back at her and the reward.

'This isn't good!' Gemma winced, knowing that the caregiver had just become more of a liability than ever.

Amelia sensed Gemma's presence and looked up, a guilty expression on her face. She tried to persuade Gemma that it didn't matter that she was a federal fugitive, but could tell that Gemma wasn't buying it.

'If I can just get out of here, I can call from a payphone!' Amelia tried to act casual as she grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, muttering a need to run an errand to Rite – Aid. She didn't dare glance at the rifle laying on the counter just a few feet from her.

Gemma wasn't fooled. She'd seen the greedy, speculative gleam in the Gaute's eye. Gemma knew if the girl got out of the house, she'd be on the phone to the Feds in a heartbeat. Gemma stood in Amelia's way, preventing her from getting to the garage.

Amelia panicked and grabbed the rifle, pointing it menacingly at Gemma. Gemma didn't bat an eye, but coolly stood her ground while reaching behind her back and withdrawing Tig's gun.

Amelia pulled the trigger on the rifle. It clicked hollowly. Gemma pointed the handgun at Amelia while grabbing the rifle by the barrel and ripping it from the caregiver's hands, assuring her the gun she held was loaded.

As Gemma waved Amelia towards the basement, Tig entered the kitchen through the back door. "What the fuck? Gemma, have you lost your mind again?"

He wasn't in the mood for any more surprises. He'd called the two – way, hoping to talk to Cat, but got a voice mail advising him she was tied up in an emergency CBOA meeting. He'd then called Clay and learned that the meeting was at Charming Pawse to discuss Hale's funeral.

"She looked worn out by the time the graveside service was over. I ordered her to skip the meal at the clubhouse and rest before the meeting. June took her home," Clay tried to assure him.

"But she still has to go the damn meeting!" Tig growled, stalking about the garden in agitation.

"Well, it is her turn to host it," Clay murmured diplomatically. "I'm not goin', too much friction between SAMCRO and Hale right now," he added apologetically. Tig had asked the club to watch out for her. Clay knew they weren't doing a good job of it.

"I understand, man. You're trying to get intel on the kid, and this thing with the Calavarez and Mayans has ya stretched thin," Tig relented.

"I'm gonna have Chibs check on her later, and make sure she calls ya," Clay offered.

"A'right." Tig had closed the pre pay and strode back into the house, hoping for some peace and quiet. Instead he found Gemma playing 'High Noon' with Amelia.

Gemma smiled grimly. "No, take a look at the computer."

Tig moved to the computer and gazed at the screen. "Shit!" He glared at the caregiver. "You just had to indulge your curiosity!" Without waiting for an answer, he looked at Gemma. "What do you intend to do with her?"

"Take her down to the basement and tie her up until Dad goes to the nursing home," Gemma replied.

Tig shook his head. "I don't see how that's gonna work."

"Got any better ideas, Tigger? If she gets out of the house, she'll drop the dime on me and the place'll be crawlin' with Feds!"

"True dat," he nodded, his hand massaging the bridge of his nose.

"I won't! I swear!" Amelia cried. "I won't say a word! Please, Tig! You can't do this to me! Don't I mean anything to you?"

He shook his head. "Nope. You were an itch that needed scratching. The result wasn't that satisfyin', got the bullet hole to prove it. If ya had other ideas, that's your problem. Start movin'."

Amelia felt tears burn her eyes at Tig's dismissal. 'I really thought he and I had something! I let him do me up the ass, for God's sake! That had to mean something to him! Maybe he's just pretending to go along with the crazy bitch!'

Gemma pointed the gun at her again, stifling a small wave of pity for the girl. 'She's thinking Tig will come to her rescue later. She's in for a rude awakening.'

'I'm not in the mood for this! She doesn't want me, she just wants me to provide a green card! She didn't give a shit that Nate shot me! Never said 'I'm sorry' or asked how I was doin' all day!' Tig grabbed Amelia's hands and roughly pulled her arms behind her, frog marching her to the basement door. "It'll be easier for ya if ya co – operate," he growled.

Amelia stumbled down the basement steps, tears streaming down her face at what she perceived as his betrayal. She was familiar with the large basement, which ran most of the length of the house. It was full of equipment that had been used for Rose's final illness, including a wheel chair and a leather couch.

"Where do you want to put her, Gemma?" Tig asked, still holding Amelia's arms behind her. He kept his face averted from hers, refusing to be taken in by her tears.

"We'll tie her in the wheelchair," Gemma decreed, rummaging in a box and pulling out a gown of her mother's. "She can wear this."

Tig released the caregiver's hands as Gemma threw the gown at her. Amelia refused to catch it, allowing it to fall at her feet.

"Put it on!" Gemma snarled, walking to the workbench and looking for something to use to bind Amelia.

"Not in front of him!" Amelia spat.

"He's already seen you in the buff, darlin'. I doubt seein' you naked again is gonna make him wanna jump your bones!"

"No way!" Tig replied.

Amelia reluctantly picked up the gown, drawing it over her head and using it as a shield while she removed her shirt and bra.

Tig smiled grimly at Amelia's false modesty. 'Nice try, doll! Gotta give ya that.' He watched her carefully while Gemma's back was turned, making sure the caregiver didn't try to escape.

Amelia let the gown fall over her bare breasts and shimmied out of her pants.

"Shoes and underwear, too!" Gemma ordered, turning around to face Amelia. She held a roll of duct tape in one hand and the gun in the other.

"I'll freeze in just this thing!"

"Too bad!" Gemma retorted, brandishing the gun. "If ya have to use the bedpan later, I don't wanna have to deal with dressin' and undressin' ya!"

Amelia complied angrily and reluctantly, slowly removing the rest of her clothes and shoes. She left the clothes in a pile on the floor.

Tig brought the wheelchair out to the middle of the basement. He locked it in place and stood behind it with his arms crossed.

"Sit down!" Gemma barked, waving the gun at Amelia and pointing at the chair.

"I won't!"

Tig stalked around the chair to stand in front of the caregiver. His shoulder hurt, his head hurt, he was worried about his woman, and Amelia's whining was getting on his nerves. He shoved her not very gently into the chair, holding her roughly by the shoulders while Gemma applied the duct tape around one wrist and armrest of the chair, and then the next.

"Here, Tig, take the gun, she won't go anywhere now," Gemma stated, handing the gun to him.

"Want me to stay?"

"Nah. She won't be a problem now."

Tig turned without another word or glance at Amelia and walked back up the stairs.

Gemma wound the duct tape around Amelia's ankles and the legs of the wheelchair. She'd deliberately made the binding tight so that Amelia couldn't work her way free.

"What if I have to go to the bathroom?" Amelia spat.

"Hold it in until I bring you the bedpan. Do you need it now? Cause if you say no, and soil yourself, you can sit in your own waste. No skin off my nose."

"No. I don't need it."

"Suit yourself," Gemma shrugged, placing a sleep mask she'd found in the box over Amelia's eyes.

She then turned on the radio loud enough that it would drown out any cries Amelia might make. She knew her father wouldn't hear the radio, and likely wouldn't hear Amelia's shouts anyway, but she wasn't going to take any chances. To add to Amelia's misery, Gemma deliberately chose a country – western station instead of the Latin music Amelia preferred.

"A little culture lesson for ya, darlin'," Gemma sneered. "I'll be back to check on you in a couple of hours. Don't get any ideas that Tig will have a change of heart and rescue you. He won't."

"How do you know?"

"He has a woman back home. He won't give her up for you, no matter what you think. He's my friend, and he won't choose you over me."

Gemma turned and strode up the stairs. She turn off the light at the top of the stairs and closed the door with a sigh of relief.

Tig sat in a recliner in the living room, drinking cola and rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand.

"You a'right, Tig?" Gemma asked worriedly. 'I hope I didn't second guess him about the Gaute!'

"Yeah. Just everything hurts," he shrugged and wished he hadn't. The pain in his back and shoulder felt like glass shards digging in him. "What are we gonna do about her after Nate goes to the nursing home?"

Gemma sighed and plopped on the sofa. "We don't. She's my problem, Tig. It's only two days until Dad relocates. She was gonna leave then, anyway."

"How are we gonna keep her quiet then? Got 25 grand lyin' around to give her? That's the only way I can figure will keep her quiet."

"Hah! If I couldn't get 300 grand for the club's bail, I sure as Hell don't have 25 grand! Shit!"

"Don't look at me, sweetheart. I don't have that kinda money, either." Tig massaged the bridge of his nose again. 'Cat has some money invested, but not that kind of bread. Askin' her for money instead of havin' her volunteer to help brings up too many bad memories for her. I'm not gonna put her through that again!'

As if she could read his mind, Gemma stated softly, "I wouldn't dream of askin' Cat to take this kind of problem on, Tig, This is my mess. I'll deal with it, somehow. Tara will be here by morning. If worse comes to worse, we throw her in the trunk and drive her South of the border."

Tig sighed wearily and stood up, sauntering towards the kitchen.

"Gettin' somethin' else to drink before bed?" Gemma asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her fear that he was going to visit the Gaute.

"Nope. Not gonna go to the basement, either," he assured her. "Gonna go work on the 'puter, see if I can figure out a way to get her back to Guatemala." He grinned wolfishly and added, "Though I'll keep the trunk idea in mind if nothin' looks doable."

Gemma sighed with relief. "G'nite, Tigger. Don't stay up too late."

He strode into the kitchen and glanced at the computer screen. The screen saver had come on after the computer had sat idle for several minutes. He started to sit down in front of it when a distinctive package sitting next to the keyboard caught his eye, freezing the blood in his veins with dread.