Long Night's Journey Into Day

by songbird1970

Next in the Cabin Series, the Flynn family prepares for a different sort of Christmas, one that deals with lost and change. Along the way, they are aided by old friends and enemies.

This story follows "The House that Hope Built" and is the next in the "Cabin" series. I do not own Major Crimes characters, only original ones such as Mark James, Lydia Torres, and Brian Walsh.

Long Night's Journey into Day

He watched as she crossed the room again and again, pulling boxes of ornaments and decorations from the storage closet and setting them on the small table tucked against the wall. They didn't even have a tree yet, so that would change before days end.

Thanksgiving had come and gone. It had been as difficult as he'd imagined. He figured Christmas would likely be even more so. It was her favorite time of year, surely, but it would prove to be challenging.

November, with its leaves morphing from full colorful delight to dry, withered melancholy, had dealt them a heavy blow. William Richard O'Dwyer, 94, had passed peacefully from his earthly life into the heavenly reward he'd always trusted was waiting. It had left them all reeling. None more than the daughter who adored him.

Everyone felt his absence keenly, friends and family, and his wife of seventy-one years, Maggie. She, however, seemed the most at peace. She missed him terribly, of course, but told them all she found sufficient comfort and knowing she would be with him soon enough. It was a comment not born of pessimism. Maggie wasn't giving up or willing her own departure, just accepting the inevitable and hopeful anticipation of their certain reunion.

His funeral was a reunion itself. The grandchildren descended on Moon Ridge, along with their own kids. The team made the trip, Captain Tao with his wife, Cathy and son, Kevin along with his new wife. Julio and Amy joined them, as did other officers of the LAPD.

Louie and Patrice, Mark and Ann kept them all fed and comfortable, while keeping a watchful eye on Sharon and her mother. The little ones, Will and Maggie's legacy, kept them all from sinking too deeply into the pit of their despair.

While the team had returned to the city after a weekend at the lake, the children remained through the Thanksgiving break, giving them all much-needed time together.

Now, however, they had returned to their own homes. November gave way to December and with it, the expected bitterness. They kept themselves busy planning a Christmas joyful enough to delight the children, sedate enough not to tip the delicate balance of peace and grief.

While Maggie faced the days with grace and dignity, and a fair amount of stoicism, Sharon busied herself to the point of exhaustion rather than dwell too long on her loss. Busyness and distraction were key.

Andy and Provenza wanted to help, to force her to sit down, take a nap, have a good long cry. Her girls, though. They got her. It was how women grieved. One foot in front of the other. And so, they let her distract herself with decorating, baking, and trying to be there for her mother, who seemed the strongest of them all.

Andy sighed to himself. He knew he had to let her process her grief her own way. He also knew she couldn't continue like this for long. Padding across the hardwood, he stopped behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and threw her back against his chest.

"Your mom wants to make a pot of stew. I told her I would drive down to the market and pick up a few things. I'm sure Provenza will tag along, but you're much better company. What do you say?"

"I doubt it," she mumbled, then turned in the circle of his arms and added, "but okay. I'll get my coat and boots."

"Good," he said, then pressed a kiss to her brow. "I'll go warm up the truck for you."

"Thank you," she said, laying her palm aside his cheek. No one else took care of her quite like Andy, or her father.

She joined him a moment later, bundled up against the frigid air. The cab of the truck was toasty, warding off the chill.

Sharon handed him a travel mug of hot cocoa, then carefully sipped from her own.

"Umm thanks. That's good."

They pulled out onto the road, his hand clasping hers over the center consul. She allowed it, welcomed it, really. She knew he felt at a loss, trying to help. If only he knew how much he already was by simply holding her hand and walking beside her.

Big Bear Village was a contradiction in terms. Alive with holiday music, festooned with bells and bows, yet sleepy from too much turkey. It looked bustling and colorful, but was quiet and lazy, as if recovering from Thanksgiving break. The pines were green and fragrant, the air chilled and bitter. How fitting, thought Sharon.

Hand-in-hand, they strolled the market square, already decorated like a Hallmark card. The bank was closed, the dry cleaners too. The market was open, a skeleton crew of unlucky workers there to serve patrons.

The door top bell jingled at the entrance. And he grabbed a hand basket, keeping Sharon's hand tightly folded in his own. Surprisingly, the shelves were well-stocked, even post-Thanksgiving. The market carried the best fresh produce and quality meats they'd found in the area. It was also home to Farley, an aging Cocker Spaniel, who served as the store's greeter in chief.

Christmas music played softly from hidden speakers and Andy found himself humming along.

"I know the tune, but not the words," he said, knowing she knew music much better than he. His wife knew her Christmas carols.

Staring straight, eyes unfocused on the shelf of baguettes.

"In the Bleak Midwinter," she muttered in a voice as barren as the title itself.

Basket filled with stew meat, vegetables, and a loaf of thick crusty bread, they approached the checkout counter. Smiling at the clerk, they unloaded their selections.

Andy dug his wallet from his pocket and Sharon knelt to pet the pup. At that very moment, a loud retort cut through the soft carols and the window glass over the counter shattered.

"Get down!" shouted Andy, pushing his wife to the floor and draping himself over her.

A series of shots followed, then the squeal of tires on the pavement.

Andy crawled to the corner of the counter and spied an older model car, an Impala if he didn't miss his guess, in olive green. Right tail light busted.

Turning to Sharon, he ran his hands over her head, her face, down her body.

"You hit?"

"No. You?"

She squatted again, petting the dog who had hunkered down beneath the counter.

Andy stretched over the top to find the clerk, cowering in the corner, nervously punching numbers on the phone. She was clearly shaken, but otherwise unharmed.

It didn't take long for the commotion to draw an audience. The few remaining employees, nearby shopkeepers and patrons ran to the scene, relieved to find the trio uninjured. The local police soon followed, exchanging a look with the couple standing near the checkout.

"Season's greetings, Flynns," he said, tipping his hat.

"Sheriff," relied Andy.

"Fancy meeting you two at the scene of crime," he said, chuckling.

He liked the pair. Retired officers, big city elites, but they'd never tried to assert any perceived authority. They've been quite helpful, actually, and tended to keep to themselves at their cozy home.

Andy and Sharon gave their statements, as did the clerk, Molly. None of them had much to say, having been taken completely by surprise.

Laying a handful of bills on the counter, and he took the groceries in one hand, his wife's arm in the other.

"Let's get home."

The stew was a hit, Louie and Mark enjoying seconds. Patrice shooed Maggie from the kitchen, reminding her that the cook doesn't clean.

Sharon admired the tall Scotch pine tucked into the corner of the great room, still unadorned. She didn't have it in her to decorate tonight. Instead, she found her mother already preparing for bed and decided to do likewise.

They'd not mentioned their adventure in town, preferring to focus on their dinner and the tree brought home by Rusty's partner, Ben, and and his nephew, Brian, who was living in the guest house outback. The boys had chosen well. It was a lovely tree.

Andy bid their friends good night and went in search of his wife. He found her undressing, the bathroom filling with steam from the shower.

He stood in the doorway, watching her slow, lyrical movements. She moved like the dancer she had once been. Piling her curls atop her head like a regal auburn crown, bending low to remove her husband's favorite pair of jeans, she was as beautiful as ever.

"Mark and Anne head home?" she asked, eyeing him in the mirror.

"Yeah. Lydia's staying to watch a movie with Brian. They're in the den."

She nodded silently toward the mirror.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, nodding toward the shower.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

It was her standard response, though tonight it lacked the customary cheeky grin.

Join her he did, and held her close, allowing the steaming stream to melt away the chill of winter and the fear left over from the days events. He felt her shiver against him, a multitude of thoughts and emotions surely seeking release in the safest place she knew.

Wired, they made their way to bed without bothering with clothes. Skin to skin, they curled against one another. A fire burned low in the hearth, keeping the room cozy and warm.

While a dozen different images flew through Sharon's mind, Andy thought of only her.

Closing her eyes, Sharon was instantly assailed with sights and sounds imprinted on her mind. Her father's face, much younger than in recent times, Father Stan officiating his funeral, the victorious strains of Beethoven ringing through the walls of St. Cecilias. "Ever singing, march we onward, Victors in the midst of strife." All around her, tears that felt decidedly less than victorious. Then, gunshots, revving engines, shattering glass, and squealing tires. It never failed. Since her father's passing, closed eyes meant picturing things she'd rather not. Sleeping meant dreams, and not good ones. Oh, she'd love to dream of her father, prayed to see him happy and well. Her mother had, as had the grandchildren. Sharon hadn't managed it yet, and it saddened her.

"Shh," said Andy, gathering her closer still "I can practically hear you thinking."

"I can't seem to shut it off. It's like a constant movie reel in my head. When I do finally sleep, the only thing I can't seem to dream about is my Dad."

She sighed in exasperation.

"Here," he said as he threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair. "Concentrate on this. Just breathe."

He started helping in this way the day her father had died. Will simply hadn't awakened that morning. Maggie found him when he hadn't gotten up for breakfast. Her quiet acceptance of the end of their earthly time together had calmed them all.

A day of doing, making calls and arrangements, had finally given way to exhaustion that couldn't find remedy in sleep. Even then, as shock gave way to numbness, her mind was like a hamster on a wheel. His hands were hypnotic and while she didn't sleep, she was able to quiet the invaders in her head enough to rest a while. And so it did again.

Morning greeted them, cold and crisp. Big Bear winters had taken some getting used to for the LA transplants. The pristine landscape, fresh, clean mountain air, and lower crime stats were more than enough to tip the balance.

The cabin had been a balm in, literally, Sharon's darkest season, a place of healing and acceptance. Not just about waiting it out until the darkness was over, or pushing through to the other side. Accepting things as they were, though, learning to embrace change no matter how difficult or unwelcome, came with a healing power. That, they had learned there. Together. Perhaps that lesson could be revisited.

They stood on the crest of the hill, glove-covered hands entwined, and gazed out over the lake touching the back of their lawn. Frosted smoke rose from the surface of the water; the only movement to be found. The quiet was startling after the seemingly endless busyness and noise of the past two weeks.

Andy hoped the silence would soothe her, but he was aware it might also heighten the chatter in her mind. Standing just behind her, he rested his free hand on her shoulder. He said nothing, only letting her know, as always, he walked beside her.

Wordlessly, she turned her face to him, a wan smile gracing her face. Her eyes, usually a sparkling jade, were now pale and without luster.

Her free hand she placed on his cheek, her thumb caressing the skin there. An entire conversation passed between them before a sharp crack broke the silence, echoing off the hillside.

Once again they found themselves flat on the ground, his hand over her head, drawing her almost underneath him. The Earth was icy cold and hard. Their breath came quick and shallow.

The gunfire ceased and Andy pulled her up, dragging her to a stand of trees that could offer a cover should their shooter resume firing. From their a vantage point on the hilltop, they saw the back of the sprawling cabin.

Provenza stepped outside, clad and his daily uniform of khaki trousers, plaid shirt, and cardigan. He looked around, an annoyed scowl on his face. He stepped onto the lawn and crossed the grass toward the water, staying close to the perimeter.

He was met near the dock by Brian, Andy's great nephew, who lived in the guest house.

"What was that?" he asked, visibly shaken.

"Rifle," growled Provenza. "From the trees. Hunter maybe, but doubtful. Too many shots in quick succession."

They walked to the water's edge.

"Kind of used to go that sound in Jersey, but it's a first here on the lake," admitted Brian.

"Sharon and Flynn are up on the hill. I'm getting my coat and weapon," said Provenza, turning back toward the house.

"I'll go with you," said the young man, stepping inside to get his heavy jacket.

By the time they stepped onto the trail, they were met by those they sought.

"You two okay?" Provenza huffed.

"Yeah, yeah," Andy sighed.

He held tightly to Sharon's hand and lifted his other to clap his partner on the back.

"Let's get inside. She's cold and wet."

Provenza turned and stomped toward the house until Andy stopped him.

"No. In here," he said, stopping at the guest house.

"I'm going to get breakfast started," said Sharon, face unreadable.

Andy held fast to her hand, pausing her steps. He then released her hand to caress her cheek instead.

"We'll be right there," he assured her.

"We were shot at," he told the men seated at the small table inside the warm guest house. Brian had poured coffee for all.

"How can you know that, Flynn? Just because…"

"I don't mean just now. I'm talking about yesterday, in town."

"What?" demanded Provenza.

"At the market. Someone fired through the window. Drove off. Figured it was some dumb kids. A distraction maybe. But now,"

"You've been shot at twice?" asked Brian.

"He clearly hasn't lost his charm," growled Provenza.

"Who would shoot at you?" Brian asked his uncle. "I don't understand. You're both retired."

"We've made a few enemies," sighed Provenza. "It's not the first guy to try and get a little payback."

"But here?" asked Brian, still in disbelief.

Andy patted his nephew on the shoulder.

"Yeah. Even here," he said, then drained his cup.

He stood, deposited a cup in the sink, then made his way to the door.

"Come on. Breakfast."

They joined Sharon, Patrice, and Maggie just as a table was being set.

Andy and his wife exchanged a look and a shake of the head. Not now.

Breakfast was a mixture of small talk and hardly any talk at all. They discussed the evening's plans. Mark and Anne would be joining them for dinner and decorating the tree. Andy and Mark were handling dinner, Brian and Lydia, the tree. There would be plenty of opportunity to discuss their current safety concerns.

Brian had plans to be at Hope House with Lydia after church. When he offered to stick close to home, and they wouldn't hear of it. He did, however, warn them to be vigilant, and stay together.

Their day proceeded as usual for a Sunday. Mid-morning mass, followed by lunch and a nap at home.

Andy doubted Sharon would sleep, but he laid beside her just the same. Usually, sex would do the trick, sending both off to a peaceful sleep. At present, it didn't seem the proper remedy, and hadn't in the two weeks since Will's passing. It felt selfish, insensitive.

"Now you're the one thinking too hard," she said. "What's on your mind? Worried about the shootings?"

"Nah," he said, threading his fingers through her hair. "I mean, yes, I am concerned, but that's not what I was thinking about."

Sharon rolled toward him, placing a hand over his heart.

"What is it then?" she asked, kissing the same spot.

"I'm just trying to figure out how to help you, babe. I was thinking making love usually helps us both sleep, but I can hardly suggest that at a time like this."

He lifted her hand from his place on his chest, and kissed her fingertips.

"Why not?" she asked, almost shy and her questioning. Being loved by you does help me. Like nothing else. It's the one thing I want that you can give me."

Popping himself up on an elbow, he threaded his fingers deep into her hair, his eyes on hers, as if studying her.

"Love me, Andy."

Dinner was pleasant, easier. Good food, dear friends. Sharon was lighter. They caught each other up on family goings on. Their children had children of their own. They were thriving. Life moved on.

When Patrice started putting the kitchen to rights, Maggie bid them all goodnight and headed off to bed.

Lydia and Brian got to work on the tree, one ornament after another, old and new, priceless ancient baubles molded by the hands of artisans, and equally priceless ones, crafted by the hands of children.

There were names, from Grandpa Will to the newest, Sara Grace. Old to young, all represented. Provenza and Patrice, Mark and Anne, Brian and Lydi. Each year, the collection grew.

The young pair shared a shy grin, both hoping to one day add to it themselves.

In the kitchen, Sharon poured decaf into half a dozen waiting mugs. She was letting her husband kick off the unavoidable conversation with the others, friends who'd become family. Shots being fired in the village square was concerning enough. It was almost unheard of, but could be passed off as a random incident, no matter how disturbing. Twice in as many days, however, was not to be ignored. Not only were both in their vicinity, but in both situations, they were virtually alone.

It wasn't the first time their past in law enforcement had come back to haunt them, and not the first time it had invaded their sanctuary by the lake. Sharon and Andy, Provenza, and Anne talked possible suspects, motives, strategies for keeping him safe. Mark was thinking of sending his wife and daughter on vacation. They wouldn't abandon their friends, ever, but it was a nice thought.

Brian and Lydia took a break, the tree nearly finished, and stepped out onto the porch. Bundled up against the bitter cold, they walked along the stretch of road between their two homes. It was their nightly ritual, whether they dined with his family or hers. It was a few moments alone at the end of the day surrounded by their charges at Hope House and the family at home.

It was a well-worn path, used most nights between one of the couples. With only a handful of homes on that side of the lake, Mark and Anne's, Sharon and Andy's, Rusty in Ben's, it was pleasantly quiet and secluded. Their refuge. The young couple would walk the length of the road, then circle back to drop Lydia off at home. Brian would then walk home, Lydi's laughter in his ears, her kisses on his lips.

It was particularly bitter that night, causing Brian to happily drape an arm about her shoulder, pulling her ever closer. For her part, Lydi was perfectly content to curl into his side. It was dark out, but the street lamps guided their footsteps.

Only a few yards from the cabin, they paused to enjoy the clear night, the stars sparkling against the dark sky. Standing together, taking advantage of the romantic moonlight, sharing mostly chaste kisses and sweet words.

Squealing tires broke them apart. High-beamed lights were blinding as a vehicle raced toward them, spurring Brian to tug Lydi out of the way, closer to the trees along the road. When the squealing turned to the whine of tires grinding to a stop, followed by several shots fired and quick succession, he pulled her to sit in front of him, wrapping himself around her, both of them backed up behind the trunk of a large pine. As the shooting continue, he pushed her to the ground and laid on top of her, pressing them both flat against the icy earth.

"Hold on, Lydi. I've got you."

Inside, they had switched from coffee to tea, knowing they still had much to discuss, but not planning to be up all night.

Patrice had just set the kettle down when the sound of gunfire startled them all and caused them to momentarily freeze. Just as quickly, they flew into action.

They moved as one toward the great room. Finding it empty, they scattered.

"Where's Lydia?" Anne cried, eyes making a circuit of the large space.

"Brian's gone too. He must have walked her home," said Andy.

"Patrice, stay with Mom, please," Sharon called as she grabbed her coat.

"Of course," she heard as she barreled out into the night, the others on her heel.

The shooting stopped and the roar of an engine told them their shooter was in retreat.

Andy easily caught up to this wife, neither of them as quick as they once were. Anne and Mark soon overtook them both, with Provenza bringing up the rear.

"Lydi!" called her parents.

"Brian! Lydia!" the others shouted into the night.

They raced into the street, guided only by the streetlamp and the meager beams of the their cell phones.

"Here!" they heard, just before they saw the young pair stumbled onto the road.

"Oh, thank God," Anne said as she reached for her daughter and pulled her close.

"It's okay," said the young woman. "I'm fine. Brian pulled me down and covered me himself." Turning to her boyfriend, she checked. "Are you okay?" she asked, concerned he'd been hit protecting her.

"I'm fine," he promised. "Pretty cut up, but fine. You okay?"

Brian cupped her cheeks and searched her face.

"Perfectly okay. I think I cut my arm when we fell. Stings. And I'm freezing."

"Let's get you both inside," said Andy.

Back in the cabin, they doffed their boots and stepped toward the fire to warm themselves. Sharon went to the kitchen to pour the kids some tea. She leaned heavily against the counter, allowing her head to droop forward.

Andy wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her shoulder. He could feel her shake with adrenaline and fear.

"They're okay," he assured her. "We'll figure this out."

She merely shuddered against him, nodding.

Brian removed his coat, spreading it across the coffee table, and reached to peel Lydia's off for her.

She winced and cried out when he pulled at the sleeve.

"What?" he said, slowing his movements. He removed her coat with care and set it aside. Then he found the source of her pain.

"Lydi, this doesn't look like a cut," he said. "There's too much blood."

"Honey," said Anne, stepping forward for a closer look. "That's a bullet graze. Oh, God," she stammered. "You've been shot."

Brian let her to the coffee table, and settled her there to warm in front of the fire. He knelt before her and tucked her dampened hair behind her ears.

"I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough."

"I'll get Patrice," said Mark, desperate for something to do.

An hour later, Patrice had cleaned and treated the wound, covering it with sterile gauze. Lydia moved from the coffee table to the sofa, Brian beside her, a quilt covering them both.

The pair describe the shooting on the road, the car racing toward them, forcing them into the trees. They sipped at their tea, hands joined between them, as they recounted it all, in detail.

Andy and Provenza had gone back into the night with high-powered flashlights and their weapons.

By midnight, the house has quieted. Having stayed up talking for a couple of hours, Provenza and Patrice headed off to bed. Mark and Anne settled into a guest room, not wanting to leave their daughter, who had drifted off, still on the sofa.

Lydia and Brian slept lightly, nestled into the corner of the couch, covered by a quilt. He wouldn't leave her side.

Sharon and Andy finally settled in bed, with even more darkness interrupting their rest. Someone was targeting them, and the kids had gotten caught in the middle.

Whether Brian and Lydia were shot to get at Sharon and Andy, or possibly even mistaken for them in the dark, someone was intent on harming them and knew where they lived. They knew how to defend themselves, but now their loved ones were in jeopardy.

The phone rang at dawn, pulling them from a sleep they'd only just achieved. Hours of talk, then restlessness, had finally yielded a few precious hours of rest.

Andy blinked heavy lids as he blindly reached for the offensive cell.

"Yeah. 'Lo," he grumbled.

Sharon curled closer to his side, immediately missing his warmth.

"Andy, it's Mike. Sorry to wake you."

Breakfast was part pancakes, part update. Maggie worked in the kitchen, nearby, but on the periphery. No amount of trying to take over would dissuade her from rising early each morning to feed her family. Patrice suggested that Maggie needed more reason than ever to get out of bed each day, and perhaps letting her do this for them gave her the sense of purpose she needed to continue without her partner.

The others discussed the call from Mike Tao, the tire tracks on the road, and Andy's hope to find the bullets from the previous night. The sheriff has been called and would arrive soon to help them look.

Ben was helping Rusty at Hope House, allowing Lydia to stay home and rest. With Patrice overseeing her care, Mark and Brian keeping her company, the team turned to what they did best, investigation.

Captain Mike Tao had reported a breach of LAPD records, including confidential personnel information and archived cases dating back more than fifteen years. Anything before then was hardcopy only, predating digital records. Someone had accessed and dumped countless case files with Sharon Raydor listed as the lead investigator. They were still attempting to account for the specific files accessed, and the number compromised, but that computer breach, coupled with two shooting incidents where she was present, then the attempt outside their home, all added up to her being targeted by some, as of yet, unseen foe. Until Mike's computer forensics team could trace the break in to a specific IP address, they would be left to wonder who had Sharon in their sights.

That did not, however, mean they were standing still.

Provenza made his way into town. There were errands to run and he wasn't sending Andy or Sharon away from the house. Mark and Anne made the short walk to their home just up the road, and packed a bag to last a couple of days. Brian did likewise and joined them in the main house. Maggie would not be persuaded to leave her home. No amount of bargaining from her daughter had an effect. Maggie's heels were dug in deep.

Lydia was comfortable where she was. Too sore to do much else, she remained curled up before the fire, a good book in hand.

Sharon and Andy sat at the large farm-style dinner table, making a list of noteworthy convictions, officers relieved of duty, and the many who held her responsible for the results of their poor choices. The number was vast. That was the cost of justice.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, resting her head against her shoulder. "Not for doing my job. I've dealt with disgruntled officers and their threats of reprisal my whole career. I'm sorry it keeps coming back to haunt my family."

"Just wait a minute, Sharon," he said, turning to face her, cupping the back of her neck with his open palm. "Remember a couple of years back when that nut job Croelick showed up? It was driving me crazy knowing I brought that darkness up here to our sanctuary. What did you tell me? Huh?"

She leaned forward until her forehead met his and sighed. Raising her arm, she laid her hand at the base of his neck, almost mirroring his posture.

"You're not responsible for the monsters of the world, despite your shared past. Everyone makes her own choices, good or bad."

Andy lifted his head enough to kiss hers.

"Exactly. Did you mean it?" he challenged her further.

"Of course, Andy."

"Well then," he said, reaching for her free hand and kissing her knuckles. "I advise you to listen to your own advice, Babe. You're a very wise woman."

Gently, she freed her hand from his grasp, then reached up to meet the hand at his neck, fully encircling him.

"I love you, Mr. Flynn."

"Back at you, Mrs. Flynn."

Sealed with a kiss.

By the time Provenza returned, a trunk full of groceries which, surprisingly, did not include beer, he found the others gathered around the table, paperwork and a laptop close at hand.

"Here, sit down. Mike's about to call in again," said Mark. "I'll take care of the groceries."

"I'll help," Brian called from the sofa.

"Eyes open," Andy needlessly reminded them both.

The phone buzzed and he excepted the call, putting it on speaker.

"Hey, Mike," he said. "You're on with Sharon, Anne, and Provenza. Anything new?"

"Uh, yes. We're still digging, but the data breach, back-channeled through multiple proxy servers, traces back to an IP address belonging to none other than former Assistant Chief Winnie Davis."

Oddly enough, Davis' name hadn't even made their master list.

"Winnie Davis," Sharon said slowly, dragging out the distasteful name like she just swallowed some thing awful.

"Seriously" added Andy.

"I don't buy it," Sharon stated. "She's an administrator, not a marksman. This isn't her style."

"She certainly wasn't a fan of yours," added Anne. Or mine, come to think of it."

"Winnie Davis doesn't like anyone, especially women of class and grace who are more successful than she is," said Provenza. "But she doesn't have the stones to shoot at you."

"There was a compliment in there somewhere, I think," Sharon said with a wry smile.

"I agree with Provenza. Winnie Davis wouldn't make a direct run at Sharon. That doesn't mean she's not behind this, but I don't see it."

"Chief Davis would undermine me, do an end run around me, sully my reputation, not put out a hit. For what? I'm no longer with the department. Suddenly she's vengeful? No," she said, standing. "This isn't her."

She made her way to the kitchen to begin lunch preparations.

"We'll let Mike do his thing, see what Davis has been up to," said Andy.

"Wrecking ball that she is," Provenza interjected.

"And focus our attention on keeping you safe," Andy continued. "Keeping us all safe."

They worked through lunch, hands tied while waiting for more information. Instead, they focused on security.

Andy and Provenza made another sweep of the area where the kids had been fired on the night before. Both were armed with their weapons, and the former carried a metal detector. The sheriff met them and together they made a more thorough search, aided by the bright clear day.

Sharon and Anne were also armed. With everyone staying in one place, they weren't spread so thin. Rusty and Ben took their boys to Hope House, where they would remain for the duration. The rest of them would lodge at the cabin. There was more than enough room for all.

A couple of hours later, the men returned, removing their coats and boots at the door. Patrice welcome to both with steaming cups of coffee.

"Sheriff Goddard head back?" asked Anne.

"Yes," replied Andy. "With a cast of the tire treads and a bullet pulled from a tree."

"Well, that's certainly progress," said Patrice.

"Where is Sharon?" Andy asked, eyeing the room.

"She's with Maggie," said Patrice, taking a seat beside her husband.

"They okay?" Andy asked her, pausing at the kitchen counter.

"Fine," Sharon said as she joined them. "Just sitting with her, keeping her company 'til she fell asleep."

Andy caught her around the waist, drawing her to his side, and studied the sad expression on her face. Then, he kissed her cheek.

"You could lay down with her. Rest for a while."

Sharon wrapped her arms around his middle, nestling tightly against him, allowing herself to be held for just a moment.

Andy happily obliged, relieved she would accept it.

When the oven timer sounded, Patrice slipped around them to remove a large pan of lasagne, setting it on the stove top to rest. She then returned to the table with the others, giving Sharon and Andy their moment.

"We have a bit before supper," he whispered against her ear. "Come sit with me? Please?"

Another moment, just sharing the same space, and she pulled away, just enough to find his eyes and nod.

Arm in arm, they walked toward the great room and sat together in the doublewide, overstuffed chair near the hearth, extending their legs onto the matching ottoman.

Andy drew a blanket from the back and spread it over them both.

"Comfortable?" he asked, snaking an arm about her shoulders.

"Perfectly," was her reply.

They sat in silence, unable to shut off the repeated parade of faces and voices, the troubling dreams and conversations that played in their minds. So much they couldn't control. Neither liked the feeling. This, however, this they could do. They could look for each other, and find what they sought, what they craved- an anchor. Giving each other, and themselves, the grounding they so needed, even in small doses, held them together.

By tacit agreement, the moment was for them. Not the case. It was surely on their minds but, for a few quiet moments, it would not pass their lips.

"It's not the back porch," he said their usual, but currently ill-advised sitting spot. "But the fire is nice."

"Mm, very," she agreed, burrowing into his side.

She was such a heat-seeker, he'd discovered early in their courtship. Terribly cold-natured, she sought out the calming warmth of the sun, a favored cashmere cardigan, him. He was too delighted by the closeness to care about how hot he got. Andy was just the opposite - hot-natured, hot- tempered. Snuggled with her as he was, before a low-burning fire, he felt a peace settle over him. He prayed she felt it too.

"Thank you," she murmured, almost inaudibly, face tucked into the curve of his neck. "For pulling me away for a minute. I needed this."

He kissed the top of her head, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze.

"Oh, sweetheart. So did I."

She heard it in his voice, the same tension, fear, exhaustion, and even longing. As tightly wound and she was, so too was her husband. Just as focused, just as tired. He also dearly missed his father-in-law. Sharon remembered clearly the look on his face the morning Will had left them.

Maggie met her daughter at the door to the room she shared with her husband since coming to live at the cabin. Somehow, she was expected.

Sharon rose even earlier than usual, a strange weight in her chest. Quickly, she slipped from the bed, Andy still softly purring away. Grabbing her robe and stuffing her feet into the slippers by her bed, she slipped silently from the room. Upon reaching her parents door, it opened it as if knowing she'd be there.

"Mom?" she said, voice breathless.

Maggie sighed and placed her hand on her daughters cheek. Her Sharon was a rock, a pillar, but this might just fell her.

"My darling, it's Daddy."

That was it. Maggie said nothing more. Words were unnecessary, and none would suffice.

Sharon felt her throat tighten and threaten to close around the almost solid stone of her sorrow. Then, she simply nodded and understanding. She covered her mothers send hand, as fragile as it was strong. They shared a look, then Sharon went to her father.

Kneeling at his bedside, she gently scooped up his hand, the hand that had loved, guided, corrected, applauded, and protected her all of her life. Well into his nineties, they had known it was coming. Still, she was shocked. He wasn't ill. It was simply time. It didn't soften the blow.

And he had awakened to a cold, empty bed, and gone in search of his wife.

Finding Maggie standing just outside the open door, he met her eyes, and he understood. He dared not embrace her yet. It was too soon, too fresh. Instead, he reached for her hand and gently squeezed. Then, he went to his wife, placed his hands on her shoulders, and waited.

One hand holding her father's, she raised the other to cover the one on her shoulder. Safely between these two men who had loved and guarded her like no others, she wondered if she'd ever feel such pure contentment again.

Maggie joined them and they remained, in silence and stillness, letting the awful beauty of the passing from one life to the next wash over them.

There was no rush, no frantic calls, no spring to action, just quiet, as peace mingled with shock, gratitude with tears.

Finally, Andy emerged. He found Provenza and Patrice sipping coffee, preparing a simple meal. Having passed the bedroom and seen the tableau, they silently pulled the door closed and made themselves useful.

When Andy padded into the kitchen, cell phone in hand, he was embraced by Patrice.

She and Provenza sat with him as he called Rusty to come over from next-door, and each of their other children. He then dialed their contact at the funeral home, and Will's physician.

Well over ninety, the practicalities had been seem to, so that certain things would be easier when the time came. They were all grateful for that now.

Patrice slipped away and donned her nurse's persona, discreetly checking Will's pulse for the sake of legality, then kissing his forehead.

The rest of the morning was full yet respectfully, thankfully, quiet and subdued. Maggie and Sharon were fussed over until both slipped away for a while.

At every turn, Sharon looked to her husband, always finding him already looking at her. His eyes were sad, red and filmy, having shed tears of his own. He loved her father, both her parents, as if they were his, having lost his own years ago. She knew he ached not only for her, but for his own loss. She would be sure to remember that in the days to come.

They fell into a light sleep, unaware of the soft conversation in the kitchen. There was only the two of them.

They awoke to the sounds of cutlery on plates. It was time to eat. Sharing a kiss before breaking the spell, they climbed from their cocoon and joined the others.

Just as they finished the meal blessing, their was a knock at the cabin door. Provenza, who sat nearest, stood.

"I've got it."

He padded across the hardwood, his feet encased in slippers, and peered through the window.

"Aw, geez."

With all eyes on him, curiosity peeked, Provenza opened the door warily, as if expecting the Big Bad Wolf.

"Good evening, Chief Davis," he bellowed, causing Andy to shoot up and stand protectively at Sharon's back. "What brings you out to our neck of the woods?"

Sharon stood and left the table, shooting both of her guard dogs an annoyed glare. Joining the pair at the door, she shooed the lieutenant out of the way.

"Chief, please come in. It's cold out there."

"Uh, thank you, Commander. My apologies for simply showing up on your doorstep."

Winnie Davis felt about as welcome as a skunk at a lawn party. She was met with several pairs of eyes, questioning, suspecting, accusing. The notable exception was the lady at the door. Her old nemesis, Sharon Raydor.

"You're just in time for dinner," she said. "Lasagne, Andy's sister's recipe. Won't you join us?"

Davis, rather taken aback by Sharon's demeanor, quite somber, but welcoming, nodded. She allowed the woman to take her bag and coat, then lead her toward the table.

Sensing her discomfort, Sharon paused and turned to the woman, her voice low and smooth, but loud enough to be heard by the others.

"I'm sure you've had a long drive and a lot on your mind," she said. "Let's eat while it's hot, then we can catch up. It seems we have much to discuss."

Davis' eyebrows rose at that. Looking around the table, she found a number of familiar faces, not necessarily a good thing.

Maggie slid along the bench, creating space for their visitor. She'd picked up enough over the last several hours to know the woman was unwelcome, but she would not be rude to a guest. Neither would her daughter, it seemed.

The others adjusted accordingly until everyone was comfortably seated.

"Chief, you know Lieutenant Provenza, of course, and his wife, Patrice."

Davis nodded.

"And you know Anne. This is Mark, her husband," Sharon gestured. "Their daughter, Lydi. Next to her is our nephew, Brian, and this is my mother, Maggie O'Dwyer."

Everyone nodded, greeting her with various degrees of welcome. Provenza looked as if he'd eaten bad shrimp.

Davis looked, for once, positively speechless. She was passed a plate piled high with food and glass filled with iced tea.

Table talk resumed, discussing everything from the boys' report cards to where to put everyone over the holidays. One subject, however, was off the table until after their meal.

Easy conversation flowed, each of them including their guest when able.

"I'd heard you packed up your team and moved to the lake, but you really all live here together?" asked Winnie.

"Well, sort of," said Andy. Louie and Patrice live here with Sharon and her par, her mom," he corrected himself, grabbing his wife's hand.

"And we live next door," said Anne.

"Rusty and his family also live next door," said Sharon. "On the other side."

"So, what are you up to these days, chief?" asked Provenza. It was a wide open question that could refer to her current occupation or the latest bomb dropped on them that afternoon. Either way, her answer would offer insight.

Winnie looked at him, her usual cold sneer firmly in place, then around the table.

"I'm the warden at California Institution for women," she said.

That was certainly a departure. It was also rather a good fit, thought Provenza.

"And do you enjoy your work there?" Sharon asked, knowing running a women's prison was no cushy job.

"More than you might think," she admitted. "Certain personality traits of mine are put to better use there, you might say."

Sharon's eyebrows raised at the unexpected admission. She certainly wouldn't disagree.

"I'm glad you find it fulfilling. We all certainly enjoyed our work, but have adapted to retirement very well," said Sharon.

"And you really don't get sick of each other?" she asked, genuinely interested. "I would find constant togetherness a challenge."

"Oh, Flynn's as big a challenge as ever, all right," teased Provenza, earning him eye-rolls all around.

"We do our own thing," Patrice assured her. "The guys fish. We bake. Our lives are as independent as they are intertwined."

"And we've seen each other through some pretty rough times," Anne added, eyeing Sharon with a warm smile.

"Yes," she agreed. "We have."

"Seems like a great gig," said Winnie. "Hard to believe anything bad could happen here."

Those gathered around the table exchanged knowing looks.

"You'd be surprised," said Mark. "Trouble can find you anywhere."

Brian and Mark made quick work of the dishes before joining the others. They sat around the great room, enjoying the warmth from the hearth. Hot tea and cocoa were passed around. Patrice handed Lydia a pair of tablets before joining her husband on the loveseat.

Winnie noticed the exchange and commented.

"What happened there, if I can ask?"

"The kids were shot at last night, Chief," Anne explained in a voice that showed her husband why she was once the fierce Commander McGinnis.

He raised his eyebrows, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, just as angry as she.

"Just as Flynn and the Commander were. Twice," Provenza practically spat.

Winnie's eyes darted about the room, nearly a dozen pair of eyes staring back at her, silently demanding answers.

"Know anything about that, chief?" Andy asked, challenging her. "Got anything to say?"

Her face displayed a number of emotions, morphing one into the next. Shock, fear, resentment, defiance.

"I'm being set up."

"Last night, I was out late for dinner. When I got home," she paused. "Something was off. Nothing was missing, but things weren't where I left them. You know how you just know?"

The others followed, some nodding in agreement.

"I couldn't find anything that pointed to a break-in. All the locks were engaged. The security camera outside my apartment was conveniently not working. None of the neighbors saw anything, at least that's what they claimed," she said, full of doubt.

"Can't imagine why they wouldn't want to help a good neighbor," Provenza muttered, earning him a swift elbow from Patrice.

"My laptop was on my desk. When I left for dinner, it was charging on the nightstand. I'm positive. When I got to my office this morning, men from the Bureau of Prisons and the SBPD were waiting for me. They said the LAPD was hacked, traced to my computer, and they found five grand in cash in my desk drawer. It's not mine. It's ridiculous."

"And you're here because?" said Andy.

"The SBPD has accused me. The LAPD doesn't believe me," she stammered.

"And you want our help?"

"I need someone who knows the law, but can work outside of it. You're not LAPD anymore. I didn't do this. You know me."

"Yeah, chief, we do. That's the problem," he said, shuffling to the edge of his seat.

"Andy," his wife said, covering his hand.

"No, Sharon," he said, voice soft but firm. "She wants our help but has never been anything but than a pain in our backside."

He stood up, fists bunching at his side.

"Let me tell you something you may not know." He kept his voice steady and difference to his wife and her mother.

"The kids were shot at, me and Sharon too. That computer breach? It makes it look like you accessed Sharon's case history, arrest records, list of officers terminated while she was head of FID, and where we're are now living. Now Sharon here, she was the first to defend you once all the information started rolling in. Said there was no way. She had your back, lady, when all you've ever done is try to stick a knife in hers. And now you want our help."

Andy shook his head and left the living room. He went no further than the kitchen, as the back porch was currently off-limits. Banging cabinets, rifling through the silverware, pulling out the tray of banana pudding sent over by the church, he made an odd picture, like a child having a tantrum while still eating his dessert.

He started spooning the pudding into bowls and setting them on a tray. A hand on his forearm stilled his erratic movements.

"Let me help," said Maggie.

Andy paused, set the spoon down, and leaned against the counter, head hung low.

"I'm sorry."

Maggie continued what her son-in-law had started, was slower, more measured hands.

"For what?" she asked. "Did you say anything that was untrue, Andy? Were you standing up for your wife? My girl? So you raised your voice a smidge. Sounded warranted to me. Andy, we've all had a really tough stretch of days. It's a wonder we're all not raising our voices."

She finished dishing up dessert, wiped her hands on a dish towel, then reached for his.

"You've nothing to apologize for, Andy. You're looking after your family, like always. Now, let's serve dessert, get some rest, and make a fresh start in the morning."

Dessert cooled tempers and afforded them a pause in their heated conversation.

Patrice saw to the dishes, sending Maggie to bed. The others scattered, Mark and Anne to the suite of rooms usually taken by Andy's daughter and her family. Lydia would take the adjoining room, Brian settling in Emily's room.

Andy and Provenza checked the locks and set the alarm while Sharon showed their guest to the remaining guest room.

"My son and his family stay here when they visit. They have a little one," she said, explaining the toddler bed in the corner.

"Hard to imagine you as a doting grandmother," said Winnie, her voice losing its edge.

"Hard to imagine you in my guest room," came Sharon's reply.

"Fair," Winnie nearly chuckled.

"You should be comfortable here. There are extra blankets in the chest," she said, gesturing towards the end of the bed. "The bathroom is next door, but lock it. It opens to the next room too."

She turned to take her leave, pausing at the door.

"Rest well. We're on the other end of the hall, should you need anything. We'll be up for a while longer."

The two women eyed each other, both thrown by the unique position in which they now found themselves.

"Goodnight, Commander." she sighed. "And thank you."

Warm steam followed Andy as he emerged, fresh and clean, from the shower. He paused, finding his wife perched on the bed, rosary in hand.

He padded across the floor, checked the fire in the hearth, and sat on the bed. Draping and arm about her and scooting closer, he cupped the hand holding the rosary and joined her prayer, never missing a beat.

She leaned into him as she prayed, taking as much comfort from his presence as her prayers.

Uttering a soft Amen, she let her hand drop into her lap and rolled toward him.

"I can't believe Winnie Davis is sleeping in our guest room," he said, shaking his head.

"I just told her the same thing," she said, chuckling. "Oh, Andy", she sighed.

"Yeah. Me too."

"I know we'll figure this out, somehow."

"Me too."

"I'm so tired," she said, stifling a yawn.

"Me too."

She drew him toward her and pressed a kiss to his upturned lips.

"I love you," she said against them.

"Me too."

She rolled away, pulling him up close behind her, snuggling spoon-style.

"I miss my dad."

He sighed and pulled her closer still.

"Me too."

Winnie Davis awoke the next morning, having finally slept after lying awake, startled by the complete silence. Far from the city and its various noises, the quiet was deafening.

Entering the kitchen, she found the ladies – Sharon, Maggie, Patrice, and Anne – putting the finishing touches on breakfast.

"Uh, good morning," she began, still feeling incredibly awkward.

Sharon turned and offered the offensive woman a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Chief. Sleep well?"

Davis studied the smooth, efficient motions of the ladies at work. They moved with the precision of a well-rehearsed ensemble.

'I would've pegged you as more liberated, Commander."

Her hostess paused, lips tight with displeasure. Quickly, however, she schooled her features.

"Because I'm cooking breakfast for the men? Feeding my family and our guest? Chief, around here, everyone takes turns. We're fixing breakfast because Louie is swapping the laundry, Andy is repairing a leaky bathroom faucet, and Mark is tending to Lydi. For your information, he and Andy are cooking dinner. Cooperation is key. Now," she turned to continue with her task. "I do hope you like eggs."

"Sink's fixed," Andy called as he joined them. "Morning, Chief," he added, with more hospitality than he felt. "Sweetheart, I'll do that. Sit down and enjoy your coffee."

Sharon ordinarily would have shooed him aside and continued working. In light of Winnie Davis' unwelcome assumptions, however, she instead accepted his offer, and his kiss, and took her coffee to the table while grinning at their guest, her eyes saying See?

They enjoyed easy conversation as breakfast was transferred from counter to table, the others joining them just in time.

"How are you feeling this morning, honey?" Sharon asked, sliding down to make room for Lydi.

"It's throbbing a little this morning" she admitted with a soft smile.

"The pills would help," her dad reminded her. He respected her choice not to take them, but hated seeing her in pain.

"I don't like the way they make me feel. In a choice between a little pain and a murky fog, I'll take the pain."

Brian reached behind her and stroked her back.

"Well, what's on the agenda today?" asked Mark, changing the subject and taking the attention off of his girl, who didn't like it.

"With classes done for the semester, I was planning to be at Hope House this week," said Brian. "Is that still doable?" he asked his uncle.

"Please?" Lydi asked. "We're planning a Christmas party for the kids and there's so much to do."

Anne regarded her daughter, so eager and earnest. Even a bullet wound couldn't dampen her devotion to those kids or her dedication to serving them.

"You sure you're up to that?" she asked between bites.

"Rusty can't do it all himself. We'll be extra careful. Promise."

The others exchanged looks. Could they really expect the world to stop turning until the current threat was neutralized? Was it worth the risk though?

"How about I drive you both into town?" said Mark. "I know you're both adults and have obligations, but I feel better going along."

The young couple shared an eye roll lacking any real heat.

"Sure, thanks," said Brian. "We won't need to stay all day, plus Lydi still isn't one hundred percent."

"Got it," Mark said. "What else?"

"I'm going to wash and set Maggie's hair," Patrice told them. "Then put on a pot of soup for lunch."

"And Goddard should be here within the hour," Provenza said of the sheriff. "We'll get the latest from Mike and see if we can make any headway."

"I certainly hope so," Sharon said under her breath.

Winnie David looked around the table, hardly recognizing the seasoned officers with whom she'd butted headed for several years. Flynn and Provenza settled and married? And retired? Sharon Raydor gone domestic, cooking and cleaning, a grandmother, and letting her surly former second in command share her house? There was something else as well.

While the Commander was happy and comfortable in this new, entirely different life, she seemed unusually sad. Yes, she traded barbs with Provenza, as always, and shared doe-eyed sappy romantic gestures with Flynn. There was an underlying hint of grief, however, brought on by more than the current situation. She saw it in her eyes, in the way her husband watched over her, checked in with her. Was she ill again? Winnie had heard through the extensive law enforcement grapevine that Commander Raydor had faced a life-threatening health condition. Had she relapsed? Oddly, she found herself sincerely concerned at the possibility.

"Well, I'm going to tidy up the kitchen," chirped Maggie. "Then get ready to enjoy my beauty appointment with Patrice."

Brian gathered Lydi's dish, along with his own, and stood up from table.

"How 'bout I take care of that, ma'am," he offered. "Then Lydi and I will get ready to head out."

Maggie turned from her seat, regarded the young man, then smiled.

"Thank you, Brian," she said. Then, surprising them all, "I believe I'll take you up on that."

He smiled as he deposited his dishes in the sink, them rolled up his sleeves.

"You alright, Mom?" asked her daughter.

Maggie tilted her head.

"Of course, Darling. I've just decided that, at my age, I deserve a lazy morning now and again. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sharon smile at her mother, more grateful than ever she'd brought her folks out to share their home.

"I would, indeed."

They scattered, like expertly broken billiard balls, to their own business. Mark took Lydi and Brian to Hope House. Patrice followed Maggie to her room. Anne returned to her borrowed room to straighten up, and Sharon went to make herself more presentable for the day.

Flynn and Provenza bundled up to step out and check the perimeter.

Winnie Davis found herself, unexpectedly, alone.

She padded through the great room, her sensible shoes making no sound on the hardwood floor.

It really was a remarkable place, she thought. She wouldn't have imagined the stony Commander capable of such soft surroundings.

Pictures lining the mantel above the roaring fire depicted a large and growing family. Happy, fulfilled. Even Sharon, smiling at her from a sterling frame, wore a look of complete joy and contentment. That certainly was a different chapter to the story Winnie thought she knew.

Large windows flanked the hearth, as well as lining the front of the cabin, flooding the space with natural light and offering the occupants a stunning view of the woodsy environs, reminiscent of a Currier and Ives card.

Expertly crafted quilts were draped across the sofa and chairs, adding to the cozy scene, and a small table was tucked into the corner, an unfinished puzzle on top.

Her tour was interrupted by a quiet, almost timid, rapping at the door. Alone for the moment, she patted across the floor to answer it.

"Uh, I'm looking for Mrs. Sharon Flynn."

That, Winnie would never get used to. Sharon Flynn.

"Um, she stepped into the other room for a moment. Should I call her for you?"

"No, no," said the graceful older gentleman. "I'll just leave this for her and be on my way," he said, handing her a sizable white cardboard box labeled W. O'Dwyer/S. Flynn. "I'll be going. Good day." And he was gone.

She watched him go, closing the door to preserve the warmth of the room.

Turning, she took the parcel to the table and set it down, noticing the elegant corner label, Faulkner Funeral Home of Big Bear.

Oh, she thought. That would certainly explain the sadness, the fragile edges. She'd lost someone. Obviously someone dear.

"Did I hear a knock at the door?" came Sharon's voice as she padded back through the room, feet encased in thick, woolen socks.

"Uh, yes," said Winnie, turning to face her. "A gentleman dropped this off for you."

Sharon joined her at the table with a warm smile that fell upon seeing the label on the box.

"Oh. Yes. We've been expecting it."

She lifted the lid to make sure everything is present. Looking through the contents would come later. She wasn't yet ready.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Winnie awkwardly said.

"Thank you, Chief. We lost my dad just over a week ago," she said, her fingertips tracing his name on the front of the envelope. "I'll look at it later with my mother," she said, replacing the lid.

"Had he been ill?" Winnie asked, sitting at the end of the table.

"Uh, no, not recently," she said, pouring a cup of tea and holding the kettle aloft in silent offering. "But he was well past ninety, so we knew it was going to happen eventually. Still," she said, returning to the table with two cups.

"You're never really prepared. Yes, I know." Her own face fell.

Sharon sat down, facing her longtime nemesis, and found a familiar sadness in eyes that had only shown disdain.

"Mother or father?" she asked, a sad smile on her lips.

"My Pop," she replied. "Just last year. Still stings," she added, almost to herself.

"I can well imagine."

They quietly sipped their tea, its warmth flooding them as they sat near the window which, without the aid of the sun, added no heat to the room.

"Commander, Sharon," Winnie began. "I am not the person behind all this."

Sharon set her cup on the table and, taking a deep breath, reached across it to lay her hand over the other woman's arm.

"I never thought you were."

She studied her hands for a moment, wincing at the changes creeping in. Faint lines, thinning skin, were the visible evidence of the life she'd lived. Her hands had cooked and cleaned, worked and toiled. They'd also cradled her grandchildren, wiped away tears, held for husband in good times and bad.

Looking up, she found Winnie watching, allowing her the moment.

"Chief, we've never gotten on very well, but I know this is not you. Our disagreements have stemmed from professional clashes and personalities which don't mesh very well. I have never, nor would I ever, suspect you of stealing confidential information, let alone being party to a shooting outside of your official duties. You don't have to be concerned about that."

"I'm not sure Lieutenant Flynn agrees," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, Chief, he's my husband. He's concerned for my safety, bothered that our sanctuary here has once again been disturbed, and honestly, worrying how much more I can take. It's been a rather challenging year, you might say."

"Understandable," Winnie relented. "I'd heard about a health related issue. I'm glad to see you, apparently, well."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, appreciative of the surprisingly cordial nature of their visit so far. "It was a scary time and totally unexpected, but we're grateful to have found it in time. Speaking of which," she leaned back toward the countertop for a wire basket of pill bottles.

Unscrewing the caps, she shook the contents into her palm, then her mouth, washing them down with her tea.

A flashing glint of light caught her attention. Squinting through the window, she quickly rose and rounded the bar. Reaching into the top drawer, she asked, "You bring your weapon?"

Winnie stood and nodded, not needing further explanation.

"In my bag. Wait for me."

While Winnie fetched her gun from the guest room, Sharon double checked the clip in her own. She made her way to the back door, where she found the men eyeing the rise of the hill.

"Andy," she said, voice just loud enough to be heard. "Out front."

Winnie joined them and the quartet split up, a pair rounding the cabin on each side. With Davis and Provenza sticking close to the outside walls, Sharon and Andy crept through the thick stand of trees on other side of the cabin allowing them to gain better coverage of their intruder and, hopefully, surprise him.

When they were each in place, they found their visitor on the front porch, peering in the windows.

Sharon and Andy silently crossed into the yard, taking a position at his back.

The man had his hands, his empty hands, cupped around his eyes, looking through the large window in front of the kitchen table. He wore a light jacket, too light given a temperature. It was raised, along with his arms, exposing the handgun tucked into the waistband at his back.

Sharon found her husband's eyes and, at his nod, she squared her stance and raise her weapon as naturally as if she'd never retired.

"Put your hands above your head and turn around," she called.

Slowly, he complied, settling both hands a top his head and turning to face in. He stepped toward the stairs and descended into the yard.

"That's far enough, pal," called Andy. "Get down on your knees."

The pair approached, Provenza and Davis doing likewise.

Merely feet away, the suspect suddenly bolted across the lawn. He was young, slight and gangly, but not terribly quick or athletic.

Sharon and Andy pursued him, with Provenza and Davis behind them. By the time they closed the distance, the young man have pulled his gun from his waistband.

Sharon reached him first and, in a move much more Sanchez than Raydor, tackled him to the ground.

He flipped over and swiped at his captor, his gun making contact with her temple, a sickeningly hard blow.

Sharon was quick and lithe still, with energy and strength that belied her age or her time in retirement. She kneed him in the groin, then flipped him over as he howled in pain.

Andy reached them and planted a foot on the man's gun hand.

When the intruder kicked out at Sharon, Winnie arrived beside them.

Andy jerked him to his feet once Winnie grabbed his arm, twisting it forcefully behind his back. Provenza trained his own weapon on him while Andy's stepped away to see to his wife.

An approaching car signaled the arrival of Sheriff Goddard.

The sheriff climbed from his car, read the situation, and quickly cuffed the suspect and put him in the backseat. He then used his radio to call the paramedics.

Anne appeared at the cabin door.

"All clear?" she called.

At Provenza's nod, she quickly met them at the roadside.

"You guys okay?" she asked, eyeing Sharon leaning against her husband, who was kneeling on the ground. "What happened? The Chief grabbed me and told me there was a guy in the yard. I stayed with the girls," she said of Maggie and Patrice, "in case he came inside."

"Yeah, thanks," said Provenza, crossing the grass to join the couple there.

"Sharon?" asked Andy. "You okay, Sweetheart?"

He supported her slight weight against him, one hand lol around her waist, the other bracing her head against his chest.

She was bleeding along her temple, and a small knot head formed under the skin.

"Okay," she muttered. "Headache."

"I guess so," said her husband. "You tackled the dirtbag, Babe. Just rest a minute and we'll get you checked out. Okay?"

She sagged more heavily against him, his warmth around her welcome and soothing.

"'Kay."

An EMS truck arrived just as Patrice appeared in the doorway. While medics checked Sharon over, Provenza returned to the porch and filled his wife in.

"That the shooter?" she asked.

He joined her on the porch, brushing grass from his pants.

"Would appear so," he said, huffing. "Took a swipe at Sharon. Got her pretty good. They're gonna look her over, probably check her for concussion. Maggie still inside?"

Patrice nodded, exhaling in relief.

"She's dozing in the chair in her room. I'll stay here with her so she won't panic when she wakes up."

"Good, good. I'll ask Anne to stay behind as well. Hopefully, they'll treat and release."

She reached forward and found his hand.

He turned it over and brought it to his lips.

"I'll call you."

Once again, they were scattered. Andy went with Sharon to the medical center. She had fainted upon standing, leading the paramedics to load her up and take her into town for a more thorough assessment.

Provenza and Davis followed, calling Rusty on the way. Once the young man joined his parents, the other two made their way to the Sheriff's department, intent on finding out who their uninvited guest was and why he was so intent on hurting them. The girls stayed behind to start lunch and await news.

Sharon rested on a thin mattress, her head pillowed against her husband's chest. She'd been given an equally thin blanket, the fabric rough and pilled from frequent use, but it did help with the chill. The overhead lighting had been dimmed in deference to the patient's throbbing head.

Andy's hand made constant strokes up and down her back, and his head rested atop hers, occasionally placing soft kisses to her hair.

Across the room sat their boy, Rusty, who was keeping his siblings updated by text. It kept him busy, at least. His foot was tapping away, such was his frustration at another injury befalling his parents. He'd really thought they'd be done with that sort of thing after leaving LA. Apparently not.

A steady stream of messages flew back and forth as each debated the need to be home.

What the hell?-R

Is she okay?-E

I can be there in a couple of hours.-N

Is Dad okay? Did he lose it?-D

Rusty drove his fingers through his hair until it stood on end.

Pop says to stay put. Probably release in the morning. He'll call you himself.

The doctor appeared and, keeping the lights low, addressed them in a soft voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Flynn, I'm Dr. Peirce. I've got your films from Radiology and as we suspected, you've a pretty nasty concussion. Now, normally we could release you to recover at home, with proper supervision."

"But…," she said without opening her eyes.

"But, given the loss of consciousness, plus your history with traumatic brain injury, I think it's best that you stay the night with us. We can monitor you for any swelling to the brain and be certain you're not exerting yourself mentally or physically. Right now, I think you'll be just fine. I see nothing more than the concussion. I want to make sure it stay that way."

"'Kay," she agreed, which concerned her family almost as much as her injury. Sharon hated hospitals.

Andy had expected an overnight stay, but not her easy acquiescence. Either his wife felt worse than she wanted to admit, or she was simply too wiped out to argue.

The doctor let them alone, and Rusty decided to head to the house to get his parents a change of clothes and check on Maggie.

Andy carefully sat up to slip from under his wife. He wanted to check in with his partner and update the kids. First, however, he needed to relieve himself.

"Going?"

He felt her hand on his arm.

"Nah, Babe. Bathroom. Then I'm going to call the kids. I'm coming right back. I promise, Sharon."

Her hand slid down his arm until reaching his hand and giving it a weak squeeze.

Andy's heart broke a little.

He visited the attached bathroom, called the children, then texted his partner, hoping for an ID on their suspect. Then he returned to Sharon's side, watching her in the low light of the room.

"You're staring," she mumbled. "Join me?"

He gave her a sad smile and carefully sat down, watching out for the IV tubing and monitors. Toeing out of his shoes, he lifted his legs up into the bed and stretched out alongside her. He gathered her close, her head tucked into the curve of his neck.

"Better?" he asked her, combing his fingers through her hair, mindful of the wound at her temple.

"Am now."

At the Sheriff's department, they were no closer to the answers they sought. Tao and his computer forensics team had managed to prove that Winnie Davis' computer was, indeed, hacked. They were getting closer to tracing the hacker. In the meantime, their suspect wasn't talking. He wasn't giving his name, wasn't asking for an attorney. Nothing.

Provenza and Davis stopped by the hospital before heading home, somewhat relieved to know Sharon would be staying overnight.

When they arrived home, Mark had gotten Brian and Lydi from town, and dinner was on the table.

An unexpected guest had joined them, with plans to assist in their investigation.

"Julio, what brings you out here to our little corner of Paradise?" Provenza asked him with a playful glint in his eye.

"Tao borrowed me and arranged for me to liaise with SBPD and the Sheriff's office. McGinnis and I thought we'd poke around at first light. There's no evidence our suspect stayed in town or anywhere around here."

"The grass and foliage are disturbed right at the side of the road across from the house. We'll check it out in the morning."

"Are we going home tonight?" Lydi asked.

"Maybe hang out another night or two," Provenza suggested. "The kid's not talking and I want to be sure no one else is headed out to finish what he started."

Looks were shared around the room. No one wanted to think like that.

"Well, let's eat so we can get everyone comfortable for the night," said Patrice. "I'll go fetch Maggie. She was on the phone with Sharon."

The others took their seats around the long table, lined with steaming dishes.

Winnie Davis sat near Brian and Lydi who, not knowing her, were the least affected by her presence. She found herself seated across from Julio.

"Do you visit often, detective?"

Julio offered his dimpled smile.

"It's Lieutenant now, ma'am. I'm not with Major Crimes anymore. I'm a firearms specialist at the Academy. I just took a few days to come help out. Amy and I visit from time to time, yes, ma'am. She's at home, though. Our foster daughter can't leave the county on short notice," he explained.

"Amy?" she asked.

She was pretty certain she knew the Amy to whom he referred, and a daughter? What had happened to the team? The LAPD's most elite squad had suffered a severe change in priorities. Retirement, marriage and children, grandchildren. Why were they all so unsatisfied with their work all of a sudden? It was all she knew.

"Sykes, ma'am," he clarified, confirming her assumption. Turning to Provenza, he added, "How's the commander?"

"She'll be fine," interjected Maggie, joining them at the table.

The older woman gracefully took her place at the table, a hint of her well-masked grief peeking through.

"She fell asleep while we spoke. Andy says the doctor will likely release her tomorrow. He just wants to watch her closely due to her previous head injury. That I can appreciate."

Winnie watched the wizened and older woman, as fragile as she was strong. It seemed that life on the lake had not been as free and easy as it sounded.

"Good. That's good," said Provenza. "I think that one's finally learned not to rush a recovery. Always backfires on her."

"Stubborn, my girl is," said Maggie. "Gets it from her father," she added with a sniff of pride.

"Um hm," said Patrice, knowing Sharon's strong will was all Maggie.

Andy slowly slipped from the bed, the thin hospital-grade mattress not doing his back any favors. Stretching at the knots and tightened muscles that had quickly taken root, he crossed the small room. He was rather hoping for something more edible then he'd found on the guest tray.

Opening the door, he sipped out into the hall and was surprised, then not, to find a deputy standing guard.

"Provenza?" he asked.

"Goddard," was the reply.

Good. That was good. Goddard was solid, diligent. He stepped up every time, never bothered by the presence of retired cops from the big city. On the contrary, he seemed to welcome their experience.

Andy offered the officer a grateful, but somewhat sad nod. The idea that the deputy was necessary, that they were once again in the hospital in the first place, had him in a dark place. His light would return only when his wife was well and whole again.

The sudden squeeze of the blood pressure cuff on her arm pulled Sharon from the drug-aided rest. It was not a pleasant way to awaken.

She jumped, her muscles seized was shocked, instantly reminding her of the widespread pain which had overtaken her body, and the ceaseless pounding inside her head.

She knew at once that Andy was not with her. He'd been practically fused to her side since she'd fallen, and must've finally taking a moment to stretch, walk, perhaps make a phone call. Had he received an update yet? Did they know anything further regarding who was behind the repeated attempts on their lives?

The sudden return of jumbled thoughts, unending questions, intensified the pain and raised her heart rate. When an alarm sounded from her bedside monitor, it quickly brought a nurse, followed by Andy, to her aid.

The light came on brightening the space and, combined with the rude blaring of the alarm, intensified the pounding inside Sharon's head. Blinking her eyes, she covered her ears and shook her head as if to chase away the pain. Instead, she only made things worse.

The nurse rounded the bed and pushed a button, resetting the monitor and shutting off the offending noise.

Andy perched his hip at her side and scooped up her hand, pressing it to his lips.

"Sweetheart, you've got to calm dow. Tell me what's wrong."

He drew and held her eyes, the color of moss, and guided her through each breath until she was settled. When she tugged insistently at his hand, he stretched out alongside her, reaching around her to cradle her to his side.

"Better?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her brow.

She nodded, exhaling against his neck.

"Can you tell me what got you in such a state, Babe?"

His fingers carefully combed through her hair, sweaty and tangled, mindful of the wound at her temple.

"Nothing," she said, sniffing, "and everything."

Andy got it. He'd responded with the very same words countless times before. Nothing in particular but everything snowballing until it overwhelmed.

While the nurse flitted around them, her patient attempted to unburden herself.

"I was just frustrated about what has happened. Head wound again. Hospital again. My loved ones in danger again. Again. Again. Again. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. My head started pounding even more. I felt like I was trapped in my own skin."

"Mrs. Flynn," said the nurse, "Remember what Dr. Peirce warned you about overtaxing your brain after and head wound. He's not just talking about overdoing it physically. Overthinking, critical thinking, analyzing. It all takes a toll, as you've just experience."

Andy pulled his wife more snugly to his side, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her back.

"Sweetheart, we'll figure it out. Provenza is working with the sheriff. Anne and Julio, and even Chief Davis are all on it. They're looking after everyone at home too. They're well-protected. All you need to focus on is you and me, here. We're safe. You'll recover. Just rest. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Feel my hands in your hair? My breath against your cheek? Do you feel me beside you? That's where I'm going to be, Sharon. That's where I'm always going to be. Concentrate on that. Let the rest of the world fall away."

He reached toward the bedside table and pulled the drawer open. Blindly rummaging inside, he felt the object of his search. Pulled his hand back, he covered Sharon's silently pressing her rosary into her palm. He felt her sigh against him.

From the corner of the small room, the nurse couldn't help but watch the pair, moved almost to tears.

Everyone was tired, beyond tired. The toll of constant heightened awareness was evident on their faces, in their carriage. They needed rest. They didn't dare. Letting down their guard could have disastrous consequences for them all.

A schedule was quickly improvised, covering the house through the night while also offering everyone time to rest, if not sleep. With so many rooms, countless windows, most were persuaded to rest in the great room. Maggie, of course, would not be moved from the room she'd shared with Will.

Provenza didn't like it, but he understood her need, and he would work with it. Consulting with Mark, they gathered what was needed from the garage.

Maggie's window was covered with plywood, just as they did for approaching winter storms. This storm may be very different, but it was a storm, just the same.

The others bedded down in the great room, as they'd done before, banding together in solidarity and comfort.

The house was locked up tight, the door and window alarms set. No one would be entering the house without an awful lot of racket.

The family bedded down for the night, the sleep would come only after exhausted hours of waiting.

Provenza and Patrice took the loveseat and leaned against one another, waiting. For what, neither was sure.

Anne and Mark curled up on the sofa, her head in his lap, his fingers in her hair.

Anne did her best to quiet her mind and sleep. She had a second shift and needed to be sharp.

The large, overstuffed chair welcomed Brian and Lydi, who nestled together under one of Maggie's quilts. The pair chatted softly, both enjoying the thrill of close propinquity. They talked of school, each having only a year left, of after school, and the future they planned to share.

Sharon's eyes passed over the dimly lit room, pausing briefly on the window-still dark out, the faucet-dripping steadily, the door, backlit by the fluorescent lighting beyond, She'd grown accustomed to the annoying squeeze of the blood pressure cuff, it no longer startling her each time it gripped her upper arm, just like clockwork. The remaining monitors, the bedside phone, the buttons and dials, all illuminated the darkness, tiny bits of color against the night.

She couldn't help but ruminate on her current situation, that of sweet Lydi, resting at home. She did, however, focus on keeping her breathing and thus, her heart rate, slow and steady. She wasn't in a panic, but merely trying to piece together the many complicated parts of a puzzle.

Commander Raydor had angered, offended, or generally pissed off more than her fair share of folks since way back in her earliest days with Professional Standards. From the most base criminals to seasoned officers believing themselves above the law they'd sworn to uphold, no one found themselves at ease under her cold, knowing glare. Their status mattered not – wealth or none, position high or low. If they'd broken the law, shown no remorse or desire to change their trajectory, consequences were tangible and costly. The list was long.

As she thought over the list she'd compiled just the day before, her head began to throb. The nurse had been right. The harder she thought or focused, the worse she felt. Instead, she trained her thoughts on the man cradling her in the small hospital bed, his warmth, his breath, the steady beating of his heart.

Andy had finally managed to drift off, exhaustion pulling at him. Sharon tried to sync her breath to his, to focus on the feel of his arm draped heavily across her middle, his spiky silver hair against the soft skin of her neck, even the old cotton T-shirt, brought up by Rusty, which was far more comfortable than the itchy backless gown the staff had offered.

She could feel the pressure receding. Her pulse began to slow as she pictured her still undecorated home. That, she thought, as she began to drift, would need to be remedied soon.

The wee hours were silent and still, far more so than in his many years of city living. The quiet was broken only by the occasional babble from the lake, the song of the owl.

Provenza had risen to spell Julio, as Anne had done for Chief Davis. Julio, however, was too keyed up by his thoughts to go right to sleep, and chose to sit and enjoy a brief visit with his former squad superior. They shared ideas and hazarded suspicions about the architect of the plot to harm their commander, the women they'd both come to count as a friend, a part of their family.

It was someone with an ax to grind, they agreed, as well as the means to achieve it. Someone determined enough to carry out the plan, or the funds to hire it out. She had been tracked down and located on the lake, not terribly difficult in the current age. The Internet held few secrets. But who was the mastermind?

A noise, small and tentative, was heard through the front window, cracked a few inches for just that purpose. Dry and crisp, like the wadding of paper – leaves on the lawn. Quite possible. October's colorful explosion of trees had given way to the brittle remains of leaves, thin and coarse like parchment.

Around front, Provenza texted, alerting Anne, stationed in the back of the cabin, to possible movement on their end.

The lights were left off, giving an intruder no aid in finding his target, and allowing them to track him undetected.

Julio flattened himself against the wall at the front of the house, and aimed his night vision binoculars at the lawn.

"McGinnis and Davis are coming up from the back," Provenza said in a hushed voice.

Julio silently nodded, his gaze never shifting.

"I've got him. Just made this side of the driveway. Back in the grass, headed this way," came his whispered reply.

Provenza eyed the display on his cell.

"The others are in place," he said.

"'K," husked Julio. "In three, two, one."

Provenza through the switch for the porch lights, while at the same time, Anne flipped the toggle switch on the outside wall, activating the blindingly bright security lights. The entire front lawn was instantly illuminated, causing their intruder to briefly freeze in panic.

"Just stop right there, pal," Julio called as he stepped onto the path, his side arm trained on the young man in the yard.

Provenza stepped out behind him, while Anne and Chief Davis approached from both sides. All were armed with deadly weapons, focused eyes, and menacing expressions.

The young man, who looked a little more than a teenager, took them all in. His eyes darted about the lawn as the quartet of watchdogs approached, boxing him into a tight little cage.

He kept his hands low, but away from his body. They were empty and he made sure the others knew it.

As they came within your feet, he made a desperate move, drawing his arms over his head, as in surrender. Secured his shoulder, however, was his weapon. As he turned just slightly, it was spotted.

It happened seemingly all at once.

"Gun!" called Anne, in a deep booming alto.

She charged from the rear as he drew the weapon and clumsily fired.

From inside the cabin, more lights were turned on as the inhabitants were awakened in the rudest fashion. While shocked, they instantly knew what must've happened, and to remain inside, taking cover behind the furniture.

Lydia and Brian, staying low to the ground, crept across the floor and down the hall to Maggie's room. Reaching the door, they pushed it open, finding her bed empty.

"Maggie?" called Brian, eyes searching the room.

"In the closet," she replied.

The young pair crawled toward the closet along the inside wall, and found the woman sitting nestled among her winter wardrobe.

"Are you all right?" Lydi asked her.

"I'm quite fine, dearest, although I hope having my beauty sleep interrupted, at the very least, means they caught the person behind the threats to my daughter."

"I hope so too, Maggie," said Brian. "I'm sure we'll know in a minute. Uncle Andy said to look after you no matter what, so that's what I'm doing. I'm not leaving Lydi and I'm not leaving you. We'll wait right here. Together."

The unlikely duo of Provenza and Davis worked to untangle the pile on the frosty ground. First Julio crawled off the tackled man, now fully restrained by the much smaller Anne.

Julio cursed as he sat up on the lawn, instantly reminded of why he now preferred the much less combative role of teacher. He no longer went home with the aches and pains of an on-duty crime detective.

"You are right, Julio?" asked Provenza, gun still in hand.

"Yes, sir. Just out of practice wrestling with punks like him."

And remained sprawled on the ground, successfully pending their suspect. Her husband had ventured onto the porch once the shooting had stopped, and watched her, eyes wide with surprise and admiration. Having never truly seen her in action, he was filled with a nauseating mixture of fear for her safety and amazement at her abilities.

"You," growled Provenza, eyeing the young man on the ground. "I want your name."

Winnie Davis stepped forward, a dark scowl on her face, and stood at his shoulder.

"And I want to know who hired you."

They stared at him, shaking from exertion and shivering from the icy moisture seeping through his clothes.

The silence was broken.

"Uh sir? Ma'am?" said Julio. "I think I need some help here."

Andy couldn't sleep, and with hours still before sun up, he was growing restless, his mind filled with the same thoughts that trouble his wife.

Sharon had finally drifted off a couple of hours earlier, following the midnight vitals check by her nurse, who promised to watch her monitors remotely for a while. She should be free to rest for another few hours, if her husband didn't disturb her.

Ever so carefully, he pulled himself from her arms, grateful for the deep sleep which had finally claimed her.

He stood by her bed and stretched the nodded muscles gained from curling up his long, lanky frame onto the small, narrow mattress.

With sleep escaping him, he turned his thoughts to coffee. It was chilly in the room. If he felt it, surely Sharon soon would, especially without him beside her.

Andy padded across the room in his socked feet, and pulled an extra blanket from the cabinet over the sink. He gently unfolded it and draped it over his wife before watching her rest.

He then crossed the room, stepped his feet into his sneakers, and sat in a stiff vinyl recliner to tie them. As he bent forward to lace them, a nurse, clad in scrubs, entered the room and stepped toward the monitors. Evidently, the shift change had happened without notifying the new crew that his wife wouldbe left to sleep a few extra hours before stirring her.

Andy finished lacing his sneakers and started to straighten up, and something caught his eye. He wasn't even sure what it was, but something was off.

The nurse, a young man this time, was dressed in dark blue scrubs, just like the others, and wore the typical blue nitrile gloves. He carried himself silently on his ratty old sneakers, going about his duties.

That was it. Sneakers.

And he stole another look. The man wore sneakers and, just above them, the tattered, torn hem of old blue jeans beneath the scrubs.

"I'm just gonna go grab some coffee," he said as casually as he could manage, to which the other man wordlessly nodded.

Andy ambled to the door, keeping an eye on the younger man as he worked. When he spotted him slip a syringe from his pocket and bite the cap free, Andy was sure.

In two broad steps, made easy by his long legs, he was on the interloper. Andy reached forward, throwing one arm around the man's neck and grabbing his hand with the other. Pulling him back against him, he fought to twist the man's wrist until the syringe dropped from his grasp.

The pair wrestled, grabbing for the syringe, falling on the floor. They continued to grapple at Sharon's bedside, exchanging punches, knocking over a metal stand as well as Sharon's tray table. The bedside monitor began to scream, piercing the night.

When the door opened and the light switch was flipped, it was over.

The deputy and night nurse found a pair on the floor, tubing pulled tightly around the intruder's neck, Sharon sprawled beneath him, her husband's large T shirt haphazardly bunched about her hips, the IV tubing held snuggly in her grasp.

Her breathing was ragged, her face a ghostly white.

Andy crawled toward his wife, a syringe in one hand, the other reaching for her just as the deputy pulled the attacker off of her. He slipped his hands under her arms and tugged her into his lap just as the nurse pulled the oxygen mask down to cover her nose and mouth.

Her attacker, unconscious but alive, was removed from the scene.

Only a moment later, Provenza stumbled into the room.

"What the hell happened?" he bellowed, his face red with fear.

He watched as the nurse knelt beside his friends, still in a heap on the floor. Both were shaking with adrenaline, struggling to control their breathing.

The nurse was dealing with Sharon's IV, which had been dislodged in the struggle, and Andy cradled her in one arm. His other held a compress to his brow, bleeding from a glancing blow by the metal stand.

"Seriously. Someone tell me what happened here."

"Provenza, calm down and give us a minute," Andy panted. "We're okay. She got the bastard."

The second Sunday of Advent brought the first snowfall of the season. Outside, the temperature fell along with a soft, steady snow, but inside the cabin, the fire burned low and hearts were warm.

An early Christmas gathering was underway, welcoming old friends and new. Laughter, like music, fill the air, charged with a myriad of emotions. Gratitude was the guest of honor, for safety and health, for loyal friends and loving family, for the peace and serenity which had returned to the Rose of Sharon.

Andy sat at the head of the cleared table, his wife to his left and her mother beside her. There were Provenza and Patrice, Julio and Amy, Rusty and Ben, Lydi, Anne and Winnie Davis. The children ate at the puzzle table by the window. Only Brian and Mark were missing, having slipped away after the meal had been consumed and cleared away.

A sense of relief descended over them all. Sharon was as good as new and the flesh wound Julio had sustained in helping to subdue their suspect was healing well.

It had taken some creative persuasion but the man they'd take it into custody that night had been more willing to talk than his partner. The puzzle pieces were varied and complex. Two seemingly unrelated young men worked in tandem to take out one target, Commander Sharon Raydor.

Digging into their separate stories found the connection they sought. Nineteen year old Clayton Day, teen genius, expert hacker, and heroin addict, had gone to his older brother, a wildly successful, but currently incarcerated murderer, for the means to pay off his creditors. His brother was willing, in exchange for his help in eliminating the only one who had ever defeated him, the woman who was completely unimpressed with his immense wealth and status. Jeffrey Day wanted Sharon Raydor dead.

In one of the few co-ed correctional facilities remaining, Day had connected with a woman a similar motivations and an ability to bring many a man to his knees. Former Internal Affairs Detective Allie Moore, having entered into a physical relationship with both Day and lower level offender-turned trustee Tomas Compean, worked both to her advantage. She too wanted Raydor neutralized and used both Day's fortune and Compean's timely release to accomplish her plan.

Clayton Day had had three shots at Raydor when he was taken down. Then, Compean had been dispatched to finish the job. In truth, he was only a distraction while Day's partner, a no-name insurance policy to whom he'd dealt drugs, had slipped into the hospital with a syringe of Xylazine, or Tranq, laced with fentanyl. A lethal dose.

Winnie Davis' appointment as the warden was just a useful coincidence. Her antagonism towards the Commander was legendary and easy to use against her. It was as easy as Compean getting ten minutes in her office to plant a certain device on her laptop. Clayton Day hacking the system so that the records breach would trace back to Davis was just another swing at the LAPD that had locked up his brother.

All three young men were currently locked up, charged with murder in the first, and conspiracy to commit. Day and Moore would soon be arraigned for attempted murder and conspiracy. They already may be serving lengthy prison terms, but subsequent convictions would certainly lengthen their stays.

When the Flynns decided to host a gathering to celebrate closing the case, to thank those who helped close it and look after them all, Sharon had insisted on including the former Assistant Chief. Her family wasn't terribly surprised. Winnie Davis, however, was.

After years of exhibiting a horrible attitude, rooted largely in jealousy, she couldn't wrap her head around the hospitality offered by Sharon from the start of the ordeal. She'd been welcome, fed, given a room, consulted on the case. From the beginning, Sharon had believed her. That spoke volumes.

They adjourned to the warmth of the great room, twinkling lights on the tree and fragrant candles delighting the senses. Hot cocoa and cider, along with warm gingerbread, brought a sweet ending to their hearty meal.

Soft music played from the stereo, Sharon absently ghosting along with the piano. Her mother watched her with fond remembrance.

The group settled into every available seat, some on the floor, Mark and Brian returning just in time, the latter wearing a sheepish grin, the former, a knowing smile.

Anne watched their return and correctly read the looks they shared. With a smile spreading across her own face, she lowered her gaze and enjoyed a moment she thought, having lost her first daughter, she'd never experience.

Little gifts, tokens really, were giving to their guests, small expressions of a much larger sense of gratitude. A commendation for Davis, another for Julio – along with a gold coin bearing image of Saint Michael, patron saint of police officers. Sharon knew he would appreciate that symbol of their shared faith.

Rusty's boys played with Julio and Amy's ward, and their laughter rang, like music, in the air. That, more than all the medical care, the painkillers and antibiotics, was healing to them all, a balm to their spirits. The weary world rejoiced. It was, after all, the season.

Epilogue

"Joy to the world, the Lord is come!"

Midnight arrived and the church bells peeled in celebration, just as they had for four generations.

The parishioners of Saint Cecilia's, along with several children from her sister mission, Hope House, spilled into the cold, white-frosted night. The Flynns, Provenzas, Raydors, and Jameses all pulled their winter wear snuggly around them as they visited the townsfolk following Midnight Mass.

Brian, however, had pulled Lydi away from the throng into the small, quiet prayer garden just beyond the church walls. The ground wore a blanket of white and a tall, slim Christmas tree, dipped in gold and white, twinkled silently from the corner of the hedge.

He led her to the cold stone bench positioned by the wall, sheltering them from the bitter wind, and spread one of Maggie's quilts across them both.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked her, pressing her small hands between his own. "I thought maybe before you went home to your parents, we could have a few minutes together."

"Absolutely," she beamed. "Tomorrow will be busy. This," she said, passing her eyes over the modest space, "is perfect."

"Isn't it?" he asked, squeezing her hands. "I'd love a little patch like this some day. Just a place to sit and listen, maybe read or pray."

She leaned toward him, causing him to meet her halfway, foreheads touching.

"Then we will," she agreed.

He pulled away, mere inches, and pressed his lips to her cheek.

"I love you, Lydi, and I want to spend every Christmas like this, with you."

He held his breath for a moment, watching her process his words.

"We have a semester left before we finish our degrees," he continued. "After graduation, we start a new life," he said, smiling. "A life I want to share with you as my wife."

Yes, she was following, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. From his little finger, he drew a ring, the smallest band he'd ever seen, and displayed it between his thumb and fingers.

"Will you be my wife, sweet Lydi? Will you marry me?"

Lydi knew her answer, held the words in her heart. When they wouldn't pass the tightness in her throat, she merely nodded and reached for him.

When Lydi finally found her voice, she drew back, framed his face, and smiled.

"I love you, too."

There was a time when she had no one. Not a home of her own, nor a family to love. Now, as far as she was concerned, she had it all.

"A home and a family of my own," she sighed.

He covered her hands, lowered them to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingertips.

"Yes, all that and more," he said, sliding the finger onto her finger.

Tucking her hair behind an ear, he cupped her jaw and kissed her upturned lips, simple and chaste at first, then deepening as all the earth around them held its breath.

He felt her shiver and gathered her close.

"You're freezing. We should get you home," he said. "Let's go find your folks, tell them the good news."

"We're right here!" called Anne, snuggled close to her husband's side.

They stepped into the clearing, Andy and Sharon at their backs.

Andy held up his cell phone, smiling sheepishly at the young pair.

"I promised your grandparents I'd capture the big moment," he said.

They exchanged hugs and kisses, took pictures in the garden until the plummeting temperatures sent them home.

The celebration would continue when the sun rose. They would open gifts and feast on a meal fit for kings. For now, though, they would hold onto the hope found in survival, surviving and thriving, and the joy, the promise of new beginnings on a silent, starlit night.