Hobson's Choice

Author:  Pixie

Rating:  IM15 (PG13)

Classification: AU (Futurefic)

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters belongs to Bellisarius Productions and CBS.  No profit is being made from this venture, which is intended for entertainment purposes only.

Spoilers:  Nothing specific

Wordcount:  17,700  (54 pages in MSWord)

A/N: If you're looking for fluff, this isn't the story for you. 

A/N2: The phrase "Hobson's choice" refers to the choice of taking either that which is offered or nothing; the absence of a real alternative.

A/N3:  My thanks to Aerogirl for her beta help and advice, and to Captain for putting up with my convoluted writing practices.

Summary:  Harm and Mac have retired from military life and settled in a quiet community in the mountains of Virginia.  They plan to live out their days surrounded by friendly people and beautiful scenery, free from the stress of their hectic prior lives.  Unfortunately, fate has other plans.

Download the file:  doc  txt  rtf

 For the time when a boy is in danger of going a little bit wild,

is when he's too young to be married, too old to be known as a child.

~~ Anonymous ~~ 

*****  Prologue *****

The room's occupant lay on a pair of mattresses stacked one on top of the other and shoved beneath the window.  A twisted puddle of fabric at his feet had probably been sheets and blankets in another life.  Now, worn soft by age and ragged by too many days hanging on the clothesline, they barely suggested even the illusion of warmth.   

Jeremy turned toward the window and concentrated on the rain, straining to pick out the sounds of individual raindrops. It was an exercise that usually helped him block out other sounds.

Only it wasn't working tonight. Tonight nothing worked - not the thunder, or the pounding rain, or even the thin pillow he'd pulled over his head. In spite of all of it, his parents' knife-edged voices tore through the floorboards to find purchase in his soul, ripping great gashes that bled and healed and bled again until the scars layered one atop the other like the rings of a tree trunk.

He and his brother never talked about the fights, as though by their silence they could make them stop.  The only acknowledgement that something was amiss came in the form of a quiet knock at the door.

"Jeremy?"  The voice, barely a whisper, floated through the lightning-slashed darkness, and the older boy rolled over in his bed, feigning drowsiness.

"Yeah?"

"I can't sleep." 

At eight years old, Billy was small for his age, and all elbows and knees.  He had a blanket wrapped around his head and shoulders so that his eyes peeked out between the folds and his hair spiked out the top, making him look like a displaced alien from an old science fiction movie.

Jeremy sighed and reached for his own covers, waving a hand at the floor and yawning as though he hadn't a care in the world.  "It's all yours," he said.

Billy shuffled in and closed the door, then dropped to the floor beside the bed with a mumbled word of thanks.  It was a long time before either boy fell asleep.

Chapter 1

Harm wrapped his arms around Mac's waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, smiling into the silk of her hair when she relaxed against him with a sigh of happiness 

"Whatcha' lookin' at?" he asked, nuzzling the skin just below her ear.

She rewarded him with a low hum and a tilt of the head, giving him better access.  "Fireflies," she said.

For a moment, they watched the tiny lights blinking beyond the glass.  "Nice," he said, "but I'd like a better view."  He pulled her to the patio door, and they stepped through it and into a summer wonderland. 

Their house had been built into the side of a hill so that the first floor in the front became the second floor in the back, and the deck they now stood on overlooked a small pond and the woods beyond.  Harm had cut the grass earlier in the day, and the fresh clean smell of it mingled with the scent of pine and the faint perfume of the wild rose that had made itself at home on the northern side of the simple cedar home. 

"Look," he said, as he pulled her into his arms again. And he could've sworn he heard her smile.

Cicadas, crickets, and the occasional bullfrog provided a musical background for the dozens of fireflies that drifted through the yard, their tiny lights blinking on and off in the early darkness.  A scientist would insist that the lights were no more than visual mating calls, their patterns designed as a sort of locator beacon for the opposite sex, but Harm knew the shimmering dance had been crafted solely for their benefit.

"I can't decide," she said, breaking the companionable silence.

"Can't decide what?"

"Which I like better, fireflies or the sunrise."

He considered it carefully for a few seconds, and then answered with a quirk of his lips, "Think we can persuade any fireflies to join us in the morning?"  Their daily sunrise jog had been a habit for them for years, one they hadn't left behind with their move to this small town in the mountains of Virginia.

She laughed quietly.  "Good luck with that."

They settled into a comfortable silence.  Behind them, a single lamp cast a golden glow, but even that seemed peaceful, the pool of light sliding silently around them to highlight their blended shadows against the wooden railing.

The chime of the doorbell brought them out of their reverie, and Mac turned a quizzical glance on Harm. 

"Not a clue," he said, answering her unspoken question.  He dropped his arms from around her waist and slid the glass door open, holding it for her and then closing it again before moving across to the front door.  He glanced through the window, his curiosity growing when he recognized their visitor. 

Opening the door wide, he smiled warmly at their friend. "You making house calls now, Bill?"  

Bill wiped his feet on the mat and tucked his sheriff's cap between elbow and ribs before stepping inside.

"Hello Harm… Mac," he said, and there was something about his tone and the way he held his body that caused them to exchange a concerned glance.  They'd known Bill for three years now, since shortly after they'd moved here, and they'd often commented on how unusually cheerful the man was for a law enforcement officer.  But tonight the ready smile was gone from his face, and with it the twinkle they'd thought a permanent resident in his warm brown eyes.

"You're working late tonight, aren't you?" Mac asked as she gestured him toward the living room.  "Can I get you a drink? A cup of coffee, maybe?"

Bill perched on the edge of one of the easy chairs, his edgy demeanor and stiff posture making Harm more uneasy by the minute.  "No, thanks.  I'm good."

Harm and Mac sat down on the couch, but neither relaxed, sensing that whatever their friend was about to say was going to bring an end to their peaceful evening. 

Bill twisted his cap in his hands, turning it over and over in a nervous motion that was so totally unlike him that Harm found himself wanting to grab the thing and throw it across the room.  "Bill?" he said, when the silence had moved through the awkward stage and was well on its way to uncomfortable.  "What's going on?"

Bill finally looked up, his gaze troubled.  "I need your help."

Chapter 2

Bill McDonough wasn't the type to be easily frightened.  He preferred to be the one doing the frightening, and as a child he'd been well known around town for his practical jokes.  Even back then he'd been bigger than his peers, though whether that was because of his Irish heritage or the fact that he loved fresh spinach was anybody's guess.  His legs and arms had sprouted like kudzu starting when he was about ten, and hadn't stopped until shortly after he'd bought his first bottle of beer.   

Despite his size and his love of pranks, Bill had never been the bullying type, and he'd often found himself as a sort of monkey in the middle between those who would steal a kid's lunch money and those who would gladly hand it over rather than risk yet another black eye or split lip.  As a result, nobody in their small community had been surprised when Bill had decided to pursue a career in law enforcement.  In fact, many would say that Bill's presence in town was a big part of the reason why they left their doors unlocked at night and allowed their kids to roam the town freely by day.

Bill liked to think he could handle just about any kind of trouble that might come his way, so he was as surprised as anybody to find himself sitting in Harm and Mac's den, nervously twisting his hat in his hands and wondering how to explain why he was there. The silence stretched, but neither of his friends seemed inclined to speak, evidently preferring to wait while he ordered his thoughts.  He sighed.  Sometimes, he thought, the only way to get to the other side of a briar patch was right through the middle.

"You remember my sister?" he asked at last.

"Pretty girl, right?  About half your size but with twice the temper?" Harm's grin was lopsided.

Bill smiled.  "Lisa.  Yeah."

"Is she in trouble?"

"No, but her nephew is." Bill hurried to explain.  "Jeremy's thirteen.  His father died about five years go. Sharon remarried, but the new guy's a real piece of work.  He and Jeremy don't get along too well."

Mac shook her head.  "Lots of kids have tough childhoods."

"I know that, and you know that, and someday Jeremy'll understand it too, but right now, he's a little…"

"Difficult?" Harm offered.

"Something like that."  Bill shook his head.  "Lisa would kill me for even mentioning this to you." His sister was a proud woman. When she found out he'd brought this problem to Harm and Mac, there'd be hell to pay. Still, he knew he needed help from somebody he could trust - somebody who wasn't burdened with a badge.

"I was hoping things would sort themselves out, but it's gone too far now, and if I don't do something…."

"What do you mean by 'it's gone too far now'?" Harm asked.

Bill felt the worry knot his stomach again, and took a deep breath.  Jeremy was a good kid at heart – a little misguided at the moment, yes – but still a good kid.

"He's taken to running with a bad crowd.  Tough kids.  Closest thing this town has to a gang.  Up till now, it's just been petty mischief – loitering, a little graffiti now and then…  But they crossed a line tonight."

"What happened?" Mac asked, leaning forward. Harm reached for her hand in a gesture so natural that Bill doubted either of his friends was even aware of it.

"I was on my way home when a call came in on the radio.  There'd been an accident.  A car headed down the mountain had gone off the road and through the guard rail."

Mac frowned, and he knew she was thinking about the steep drop-off along some stretches of the roadway.  "Nobody was hurt," he said quickly, "unless you count the totaled Chevy and the mangled guard rail." 

He realized he'd been toying with his hat, turning it over and over in his hands. Annoyed with himself, he set it down on the seat beside him.  Damn the kid for putting him in this situation.  "Turns out," he continued, "Jeremy and a few of his new buddies had hot wired it."

"It's a big leap from graffiti to grand theft auto," Harm said.

"The kid who was driving swears he had permission."

"And the car's owner?"

"Jeremy's stepfather." An image of the irate stepfather in question flitted through Bill's mind.  Overweight, balding, and red of face, he'd been halfway to his shotgun before Bill had been able to bring the situation under control. 

"Is he pressing charges?" Mac asked.

"No.  I was able to talk him down from that, but Jeremy's going to have to get a job to help pay for a new car."

"I don't understand," Harm said.  "If you don't need a lawyer…"

"I need you to help me find a way to defuse this situation before I end up having to put somebody in Juvie." 

"We aren't therapists," said Mac.  "I'm not sure what you think we can do."

"I'm not looking for a therapist.  I'm looking for somebody to find out more about this gang - somebody who can earn Jeremy's trust."  He scrubbed a hand through his hair.  "Look.  My gut's telling me that this thing could get out of hand in a hurry.  I need you two to help me keep that from happening."

"What makes you think tonight won't be the end of it?" Harm asked. "Going off that mountain must've been pretty scary."

Bill stood and crossed to the stone fireplace, his gaze on the collection of framed photographs on the mantelpiece.  In one of them, a young woman in cap and gown saluted the camera with her rolled up diploma.  In another, the same young woman wore a wedding dress and smiled at her adoring groom. He knew the pictures were of Harm and Mac's adopted daughter.  Would he ever see similar ones of Jeremy? 

"There've been some other problems around town of late," he said finally. "Small stuff, mostly – breaking and entering, a stolen TV or two, that sort of thing."  He turned back to his friends.  "At first I thought they were isolated incidents, but now I think they're connected, and I think these boys are involved. I'm afraid if I don't find a way to put a stop to it pretty soon…"  

He waved a hand at the pictures on the mantle.  "I've known these kids all their lives. Hell, I grew up with most of their parents.  I see what's happening, but short of throwing them all in jail, I can't figure out how to turn the tide."  He looked at Harm, meeting his friend's eyes.  "I want to help them, Harm – not punish them.  But if I don't sort this out soon, my responsibilities to the citizens of this town are going to force my hand."

His radio spluttered to life, interrupting the conversation.  "Bill?  You there?"

He unclipped it, pushing the mike button down as he brought it to his mouth.  "I'm here, Shirley. What's up?"

"There's a bit of a fuss over at the diner.  Something about a trucker not wanting to pay for his dinner."

Bill sighed.  "I'm on my way."

Clipping the radio back on his belt, he looked at Harm and Mac.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now, but I sure am hoping you'll give me a hand with this."

"Can we get back to you tomorrow?" Harm asked.

"Sure.  Just give me a call.  You know the number."

"Will do." 

The men shook hands, and Bill nodded goodbye to Mac before following Harm.  At the door, he turned back.  "I know this isn't the kind of stuff you and Mac are used to dealing with.  There are no bombs to defuse, no murder mysteries to solve… But it's important to me… To this town."

"I understand.  We'll be in touch sometime tomorrow."

"Thanks." 

Knowing he'd done all he could, Bill walked back to his car.  If he was lucky, maybe he could weasel a free cup of coffee out of Cooky.

Chapter 3

Mac pulled her nightgown over her head, and for a few moments, her voice was muffled in its folds.  "Have you ever met Jeremy?"

"We've never been formally introduced," Harm answered. "But I've seen him around town. He and his friends like to hang around the Habitat property." 

Mac raised an eyebrow.  "Causing trouble?"

"Mostly they just watch the rest of us sweat. I've tried inviting them to help, but they're not interested."

"Speaking of Habitat - how's the building coming along?"

Harm slid the strap off her shoulder, his hand lingering against soft skin.  "Pretty well, actually.  We should have the roof done soon.  The Delgados are hard workers."

"I'm glad they qualified for the Habitat program.  If they hadn't, I don't know how they would've put their lives back together." 

"They aren't the only displaced family," Harm said as he traced the neckline of her gown with a single lean finger. 

Her breath snagged, but she covered the sound by bending to pick up the dirty laundry.  The fun of this game lay in not letting him know how much he was affecting her.

The twinkle in his eyes told her he was onto her, but he played along.  "Didn't you say you were still working with a few who were fighting with their insurance companies?"

"Yes.  The tight-fisted jackasses don't seem to think mudslides are covered."  She crossed to the hamper, dropped in the laundry, and closed the lid. "Hell, Harm.  Half the mountain wound up down in the valley.  You'd think the adjusters would have a little heart."

Harm snorted, sidestepped, and suddenly she was trapped between him and the sink.  Ignoring her gasp, he continued their conversation. "When have you ever known that to be the case, Mac?"  He nuzzled a sensitive spot below her ear.

She tilted her head and caught his hips, pulling him closer. "Never, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating."

"I'm a little frustrated myself right now."  The rumble of his voice against her neck made her smile.

"Oh?" she asked, blinking up at him with exaggerated innocence. "About what?"

His answer was a low predatory growl. 

"Could you repeat that?"  She feigned confusion and slid her hand across his chest. He moved impatiently against her.

"Enough talking, woman.  It's bedtime."

Mac laughed and reached over to turn off the bathroom light.  "You know what?" she said, taking his hand. "I think you're right."

Chapter 4

Harm stepped off the ladder and turned toward the truck, his mind on the fresh box of roofing nails he needed.  Young laughter diverted his attention, and he looked over at the group of teenage boys loitering at the end of the driveway.  Jeremy was with them, his thin body encased in frayed jeans and a faded t-shirt.

"You kids looking for something to do?"  Harm called.

One of their group, lean as a wolf and greasy haired, sneered.  "Help build a house for a spic?  Not a chance."

The words had barely left the kid's mouth when Harm had him by the shirt collar. He ignored the kid's panicked look and gasping breath.

"Let me make something perfectly clear to you, young man."  Harm's voice was menacing.  "If I ever, and I do mean ever, hear that you've been bad-mouthing this family, I'll make damn sure you regret it."  He glared at the kid, watching the pockmarked face redden around fear-filled eyes.  

Harm loosed his hold on the t-shirt with just enough force to make the kid stumble back a couple of steps.  Then he watched while the six of them walked away, their young faces dark with injured pride. 

"That's a bad bunch," said a voice at Harm's shoulder. 

Harm turned to see Joe Delgado standing just behind him.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Harm said.

Joe waved the apology away.  "I've been called worse," he said. 

"That doesn't make it right."

"Maybe not, but it isn't worth making enemies over."

Harm looked after the boys and shook his head.  "Where are their parents, I wonder."

Joe shrugged.  "I doubt their parents even know where they are."

"Somebody should tell them."

"Maybe." Joe's answer was noncommittal as he handed Harm a box of nails.  "Ready to get back to that roof?"

"Yeah."  Harm followed the older man up the ladder and they settled back into the rhythm of work.

************

 "I saw Jeremy today," Harm said over dinner.   

"And?"

He shrugged.  "I was over at the Delgados, putting in a couple of hours on their house when Jeremy showed up with his friends.  One of them made an inappropriate remark and I encouraged them to find someplace else to hang out."

Mac snorted.  "I'll bet you did.  What did they say?"

Harm waved the question away.  "It doesn't matter, but I suspect I've made myself an enemy or two."

Mac smiled and tilted her head.  "Should I be concerned for your safety?"

"I think I can handle it," he grinned. "No need to call in the Marines."  He got up to pour them each another glass of ice water.  "Did you find out anything today?"

She shook her head.  "You know how small town people are."

"Not much for talking to outsiders, I know."

"Nope.  I did get a couple of names, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah.  One of them, a…  Now how did Miss Emily put it?  Oh yes."  She smiled slightly as she remembered.  "'Tall kid with pork fat hair and meatloaf skin'…"

Harm nodded.  "Sounds like the kid I had words with this afternoon.  What's his story?"

"Miss Emily didn't tell me much.  His name's Mark Emerson. His dad owns the car dealership on the outskirts of town, and he's never been what you might call a model citizen."

"Did she know anything about any of the others?"

Mac shook her head.  "She mentioned Jeremy, but we didn't get to talk about him because I had a client show up at about that time."

The phone rang, and Harm set down his fork and reached for the handset.  Mac listened to the one-sided conversation while she cleared the table.

"Hi, Bill…. Yes, we've talked about it.  We're going to see what we can do." Harm handed her his plate, his attention still on the phone call.  "I saw them today, in fact.  Over at the Delgados."

Mac began loading the dishwasher, her mind drifting back over the day.  She was thinking about a possible new angle for one of the insurance cases when Harm's hand on her shoulder made her jump.

"Sorry," he said, squeezing lightly.  "I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's what I get for letting my mind wander.  What did Bill have to say?"

"Apparently there's been another burglary.  He wants to know if we'd like a look at the scene of the crime."

"Let me slip into a clean top, and I'll be ready to go."

"Need any help?" 

She grinned at him.  "I think I can manage.  Thanks for the offer, though."

"Anytime."

Chapter 5

When they arrived at the address Bill had given Harm over the phone, they found a lone police car in the driveway.  The neighborhood was quiet, with only a few porch lights still lit.  Miss Emily opened the door at their knock, her small dog cradled in her arms.

"Hi, Miss Emily," Mac said. She reached out to scratch the dog behind the ears.  "And hello, Magwitch."  Magwitch responded with a quick lick of tiny pink tongue.  Mac moved into the house, listening with half an ear as Harm greeted their friend and followed her into the cozy living room.  Bill looked up from his notebook. 

"Hi, Mac… Harm," he said, nodding at the two of them.  "Sorry to spoil your evening."

"Not a problem," Harm answered.  "We told you we'd help, and we can't do that if we don't know what's going on."

Mac turned to their elderly friend, who'd followed them into the room.  "Can you tell us what happened?" 

"Nothing much to tell," Emily said, settling into an overstuffed armchair and arranging Magwitch on her lap.  "I went to my daughter's house for dinner.  When I got home, it was gone."

"What time was that?  Do you remember?" Mac asked.

"Of course I remember."  The reply was acerbic.  "I'm old, but I’m still sharper than my granddaddy's pocket knife." 

A smile twitched at Mac's lips, but she stifled her amusement.  "I know you've probably already told this story to Bill, but would you mind telling it again for Harm and me?"

"I got home by eight," Emily said. "That's when Magwitch and I always go for our walk.  We were out for about twenty minutes.  When we got home, I read for a while, and then I went to get ready for bed.  That's when I noticed it."

"Noticed what, ma'am?"  Mac asked. She knew the story, because Bill had explained it to Harm on the phone, but it was always possible that a victim would remember a new and vital detail.

"My brooch was gone."  Emily's voice trembled.  "I'd set it out on my dresser so I'd remember to clean it before church on Sunday.  I never expected…" She pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.  "I checked my other jewelry right away.  It's all there.  And as you can see.…" She waved a hand at the small television on its stand in the corner. "They didn't take my TV or my VCR."

The small television probably wasn't worth much, and VCRs were virtually worthless, but an antique brooch could be pawned in the next town for a tidy profit. 

"Do you have a picture of the pin?" Bill asked. 

Miss Emily looked doubtful.  "Years ago, my husband took pictures of all of my jewelry, but I don't know.... "  Setting Magwitch on the floor, she stood and moved to an antique desk that stood against the wall. She pulled the lid open and began rifling through its contents.

Mac signaled to Harm.  He nodded, and they excused themselves to check the outside of the house. 

Emily's home was small, but impeccably maintained.  Flowers bloomed in window boxes, the shrubs were trimmed, and the sidewalk was swept clean.  They checked the front porch first, their flashlight beams moving in rhythmic patterns across the wooden planks.  They checked the window boxes, hanging baskets, and wicker furniture, hoping to find a clue.  But there was nothing, so they moved into the yard, years of partnership sending them in opposite directions without the need to confer.

Mac was searching underneath the flower-laden branches of a lilac bush when she heard Harm's call.  She brushed off her knees and moved around to the other side of the house, where she found him standing beneath a dimly lit window.  A dark object dangled from his fingers.

"Find something?"

"Maybe.  Take a look at this."

It was a jelly bracelet.  Solid black and about a quarter of an inch wide, it was no different from hundreds of others she'd seen. She took it from her husband and examined it in the flashlight beam.  The narrow black band looked new, with no signs of wear or fading. The phrase Together We Stand was imprinted along its edge in thick white letters.  She examined the inside of the band, then looked up.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Remember that incident I told you about?  The one this afternoon at the Delgados'?"  Harm kept his voice low.

"I remember."

"Those kids were wearing these.  I remember, because I thought it interesting that all of them had the same color."

Mac nodded.  She knew the bracelets came in every color imaginable, so it did seem a little odd that a group of kids would all be wearing the same style.

"Gang ID?"

"Maybe." Harm shrugged.  "At least it's a change from backward baseball caps."

"I don't think I like this any better."

"Neither do I." Harm put the bracelet in his pocket and turned to scan the window ledge with his flashlight.  

Mac reached up and pushed against the window.  It slid open easily.  She glanced at Harm. 

He shrugged again.  "Small town trust," he said. 

"Her insurance company won't be happy about that."

"What makes you think she even has insurance?"

"Good point."

They were startled by a deep voice from over their heads.  "Find anything?"

Bill looked down at them from the open window. 

"I'm afraid not," Harm said.  He sent Mac a warning glance.

"I'm about finished here," Bill said.  "I'll stick around long enough to make sure she locks up properly--for tonight, at least."  His expression was tolerant, but tinged with frustration.  "I doubt she'll make a habit of it, though.  People are pretty trusting around here."

"It's a shame that has to change," Mac said.

Bill nodded before pulling his head back inside.  The window slid shut, and they heard the latch click into place.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?"  Mac asked quietly. 

"Mac… You know what would've happened if we'd given that bracelet to Bill."

"He'd have been forced to act.  I know.  Still, withholding evidence is against the law."

"It's not the first time one of us has pushed the limits to solve a case, Mac."

She nodded.  "Probably won't be the last, either."  She took his hand as they walked around the front of the house.  "So now what?"

"Now we talk to Jeremy."

"Maybe I should do that."

Harm stopped and looked over at her curiously.  "Why's that?"

"Bad blood."

"Excuse me?"

His grin was infectious, and she smiled back at him, planting a quick kiss on his chin before moving past.  "He isn't afraid of me yet."

She heard Harm's soft chuckle as he followed her into the house.

Inside, Mac knelt beside Miss Emily's chair.  Magwitch was back in his mistress's lap, fast asleep.  Mac stroked the soft fur. "We're going to do our best to find it for you, Miss Emily."

Emily patted Mac's hand absently, her gaze distant.  "I know you'll do your best, dear."  But it was evident from her tone that she didn't have much hope.  "That brooch was my mother's and her mother's before that," she said sadly.  "It was the only piece of jewelry my mother didn't sell during the Great Depression.  Mama used to say that it had survived the Great Famine in Ireland, and it would survive the Great Depression here."

She looked up at the men.  "I was wearing it the day my husband came home from the war." She shook her head. "To have brought it through so much, only to lose it this way…" This time she didn't bother to wipe away her tears.  They slipped down her face, following the worn and wrinkled contours until they ran out of real estate; then they dripped, one by one, into Magwitch's thick fur.

Harm crouched on the other side of the chair, resting his hand gently on Emily's shoulder.  "We'll find who did this.  I promise." His gaze met Mac's, hers questioning, his determined.  Emily finally nodded and accepted a tissue from Mac.  Harm stood and crossed to Bill. 

"I've got a couple of students in the morning," he said, referring to his part-time job at the small nearby airport.  "But when I'm done with that, I'd be happy to check out some pawn shops for you."

"I'd appreciate that," Bill said.  "You might try the ones on the other side of the pass first.  A lot of the locals go there to pawn their stuff when they need quick cash."

"Then that's where I'll start," Harm said.

"Stop by my office on your way out.  I'll get a copy of the picture for you to take with you."

"Will do." 

Mac rose from her place at Emily's side with a final word of comfort. She and Harm said their goodbyes and let themselves out. By the time they got home, they'd agreed that Mac would try to talk to Jeremy the next day. 

Chapter 6

Mac nursed her soda and watched the ebb and flow of kids around the town swimming pool. She'd been here for more than an hour, ostensibly enjoying a relaxing afternoon of warm sunshine, but behind her sunglasses she studied the frolicking children.

It had only taken a few moments to spot Jeremy and his friends.  They congregated in a group near the deep end, bathing suits riding low on their hips.  All the boys wore black jelly bracelets. With the exception of a few bikini-clad girls, the other kids avoided the rowdy group.  Mac shook her head.  What she wouldn't give to be able to warn those girls about the dangers of fire.

It was nearly midday when the boys left the pool. Mac sat up when she saw them coming in her direction. Apparently they were off to find food, since she overheard a raging debate over which restaurant in town made the best burgers.

"Jeremy?" she called. 

A sandy-haired boy turned at the sound of his name.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Jeremy looked at his friends, who'd stopped and were waiting impatiently for him. He folded his arms across his chest.  "What for?"

"I'd rather discuss it in private, if you don't mind."

"What if I do mind?"  The other boys snickered, and Jeremy gave them a smug grin.

"Fine," Mac said.  "I guess I'll just have to talk to your parents."

Fear flitted through Jeremy's hazel eyes so quickly that Mac would've missed it if she hadn't been paying attention.  With studied nonchalance, he turned to his friends.

"Go on, guys.  I'll catch up to you later."

A tall, black-haired boy answered, his expression sour.  "Whatever." 

The group sauntered off.  Jeremy watched them go and then turned to Mac.  "What do you want?"

"Have a seat, Jeremy."

He perched on the other end of the picnic table.  He kept his eyes on the kids playing around the pool, but he twisted the jelly band around and around his wrist.

Mac waited.  Often, silence could accomplish what words could not.

"So," Jeremy said at last. "You got somethin' to say to me or what?"

"Actually, I have a story to share with you."

He gave her a disbelieving look.  "A story?"

"Yep." 

With a huff of irritation, Jeremy slid off the table. "I'm too old for stories, Lady.  Find some other patsy."

Mac caught his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"You aren't going anywhere."  She didn't raise her voice, but there was a note of steel in it, and he glared at her for a beat before subsiding with a melodramatic sigh.

She waited until he'd settled himself again before continuing. "Have you ever heard of the Great Famine?" 

"Uh huh."

"Do you know when and where it happened?"

"Nope."

"1845. Ireland."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Just listen." 

He settled into reluctant silence, and Mac told her story, mixing the bits she knew with enough color to add interest and hold the restless boy's attention.

"A lot of people left Ireland because of the famine.  Nearly a million of them resettled here in the United States.  Most were poor, and the cost of passage across the Atlantic was high.  Those who survived the trip often arrived with little more than the clothes on their backs."

Jeremy scuffed a toe.  "So?"

"One little girl brought with her the single most beloved thing she owned.  It was a pin her grandmother had given her on her tenth birthday." Jeremy stiffened, but Mac gave no indication that she'd noticed.  "Her family made a life here, and she grew up, and married, and eventually had children of her own.  When the time was right, she gave the pin to her daughter, who gave it to her daughter, and so it went."

Jeremy wasn't impressed.  "I still don't get what this has to do with me." 

"Maybe nothing," said Mac.  "But hear me out."  She set her empty drink can aside and continued.  "One woman managed to keep the pin even though her family was starving during the Great Depression.  Another wore it when her husband went to war, and still another wore it when her husband came home from a different war." 

She looked at Jeremy, waiting until he finally turned and met her eyes.  "Isn't it amazing," she said then, "that a simple piece of jewelry might've been handed down, mother to daughter, for as many as eight generations?"

He shrugged and looked away. 

"And isn't it sad," she went on in a low voice, "that it's lost now, because somebody broke into a nice old lady's house and stole it."

"They did?" 

He was no actor, Mac thought, but she nodded.

"That sucks."

"It sure does."

They were silent then.  Mac didn't push, aware that if she did, whatever tenuous connection she had to this kid would be severed. 

A horn blared in the parking lot, and Jeremy looked over. 

"I gotta go," he said, sliding off the table in obvious relief. "That's my dad."

Mac nodded and watched as the young man crossed the grass.  A younger boy joined him, and Jeremy cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder as they walked.  A brother, she wondered?  As the two neared the car, a man stepped out on the driver's side.  He said something to the boys, who ducked their heads and sped their steps. 

She continued to watch as the road-weary Ford rattled out of the lot, its rusted under-carriage squealing as it crossed a speed bump. 

"This is my lucky day," said a deep voice at her shoulder.  "I've stumbled upon a beautiful woman sitting alone in the park.  I think I'll kidnap her and take her off to a deserted island where I can have my way with her."

Mac smiled, but didn't turn.  "You can try your luck," she answered, "but you should know that I'm a Marine.  I'd recommend caution."

"I'm not worried."  His hand settled at the small of her back. "I have a way with women."

She laughed and turned to give him a deep, welcoming kiss that drew a chorus of catcalls and whistles from the direction of the pool.  Afterwards, she leaned back in his arms.  "Now," she grinned.  "Who's going to have their way with whom?"

"Maybe," he said, sliding his hand up her spine to tangle in her hair, "we'll have our way with each other."

"Oh, I like the sound of that."

He tugged at her hand, pulling her off the picnic table and back into his arms for another kiss.  The catcalls and whistles were louder this time. 

"Get a room!" called a youthful voice.

Mac broke the kiss and buried her head in Harm's shoulder, shaking with laughter.  She heard his voice above her left ear. 

"What do you think, Mac?  Should we get a room?"

"If it means I can have my way with you," she said with a smile. "Lead on."

They held hands as they left the park, enjoying the sunshine and the sounds of happy children at play.

**********

Harm propped himself on one elbow and trailed a lazy finger across Mac's collarbone, drawing a contented feminine purr in its wake.

"You know what I like best about this whole retirement thing?" he asked.

Mac opened one eye and offered a lazy smile.  "Nooners?"

He laughed.  "That too."

"And what else?" She tangled his hand with hers and brought it down to rest just over her heart.

A wave of tenderness swept through him as he looked at her.  This woman, with her impish smile and warm brown eyes, was everything to him--lover, companion, confidante, best friend.  He kissed her, then looked into her eyes, his own gaze serious.

"What I like best, Mac, is that we get to spend more time together." 

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the lean fingers. "Yeah," she said.  "I kind of like that, too."

Content, he lay down beside her.  She snuggled into him, her head on his shoulder, her leg tangled with his.  Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close, and they lay that way for several minutes before Mac spoke again.

"Weren't you supposed to do something for Bill this afternoon?" 

He could tell from her voice that she wasn't in any hurry to move. "I told him I'd check out those pawn shops across the county line."

"Then why are you here?" 

He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she swatted his shoulder.  "Besides that."

"I finished teaching early and stopped by your office to see if you wanted to join me for lunch.  Linda said you'd taken the afternoon off, so I grabbed a couple of sandwiches from the diner and headed over to the park."

"I wonder why she was still there. I'd told her to go home."

"She looked like she was doing some filing."

Mac sighed.  "The woman's more of a workaholic than I used to be."

"I seriously doubt that."  He squeezed her shoulder.  "Anyway, when I got to the park, you were just finishing with Jeremy."

"Which begs the question, Counselor."  She pulled back so that she could see his face.

"Which question?"

"Where's my lunch?"

He grinned sheepishly.  "In the car." Where it had been for the past two hours.  By now, those sandwiches were garbage can fodder.

"Damn."

"I'll make you a deal."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I don't know, Harm.  I've known you to drive some pretty steep bargains in your time."

He shook his head at her.  "No pain, no gain, MacKenzie."

"Ugh!"  She rolled her eyes at him. "Surely you can come up with something more original than that!"

"Come with me."

"Pawn shopping?"  She snorted.  "And what do I get out of the bargain?"

"Lunch."  He dropped a kiss in the hollow between shoulder and neck, amused when she tucked her chin and lifted her shoulder against the tickle.  "And dinner—" Another kiss. "—and the pleasure of my company."  The last kiss was longer and infinitely more interesting than a road trip.

When he pulled back after a last gentle tug at her lips, she sighed. "I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon." 

Harm stood and stretched before reaching for his clothes.  "I tell you what," he said turning back in time to catch her staring.  "I'm going to get a shower.  You think it over."

"Wait!  I'm coming!"  She grabbed her robe and hurried after him as his rumble of amusement filled the air.

Chapter 7

Six hours of tedious detective work later, they'd learned nothing about the missing jewelry.  Mac would've considered it a wasted effort, if not for the fact that they'd given pictures of the stolen brooch to every pawn shop operator in a tri-county area.  At this point, they'd have to hope that if somebody tried to sell the jewelry, an honest store owner would pick up the phone and let them know. 

They’d ended their fruitless trip with dinner at a local steak house and were now on their way back up the mountain.  It was quiet in the car, Mac’s attention divided between the road and the radio program they were listening to.  Harm had leaned his head back against his seat several minutes ago, and the soft sounds coming from that side of the car hinted at a delicate masculine snore – a charge he would’ve hotly denied. 

Mac glanced over at him and smiled.  His silver-dusted hair was still cut with military precision, and even in sleep his posture bore the signs of long military service.  One of his hands rested in his lap; the other warmed her thigh through the fabric of her jeans.  She switched on the headlights to combat the deepening gloom and thought about the events that had landed her in this place.

Much had happened in the years since they’d finally confessed their feelings for each other.  His career, hers, their friends’… Assignments in hot dusty places and cold rainy places.  Service.  Promotion.  Retirement. 

When they’d finally retired from military life, they’d agreed that they wanted to move someplace quiet--someplace where every step and word wouldn’t be scrutinized for political or military correctness.  In a way, she supposed they’d run away from home. 

It had been an accident that they’d found this place, actually; the happy result of one of those Sunday afternoon drives where they’d taken turns deciding when and which way to turn the car.  They’d headed west, and when they’d discovered the little town with its tree-lined streets and wrap-around porches, they’d fallen in love. 

It had taken another six months to find the perfect home, a two-story log cabin with its own pond and several acres of wooded land.  The house fit into its surroundings as though it had grown up alongside the oak and maple trees that shaded its yard.  Now, more than three years later, they rarely talked about their military past, preferring instead to spend their time helping others and enjoying their time together. 

An orange glow on the horizon distracted Mac from her thoughts, and it took her a moment to realize what it meant. When she did, and realized where it was coming from, she took one hand off the wheel to shake her husband’s shoulder.

“Harm.”

“Wha--?”  He blinked groggily and looked around. 

“Look.”

She pointed, and he sat up in his seat, rubbing his eyes. 

He looked where she pointed, and then back at her, his face grim in the dim interior light.  “That’s coming from…” 

“Town.  Yeah.”

Harm pulled out his cell phone, dialing quickly.  Mac pushed the car a little faster, risking a traffic ticket.

“Bill.  It’s Harm.” 

They were close to town now, and Mac guided the car in the direction of the glow, which had grown as they’d approached and taken on an ominous red tinge.  It was too dark to see smoke, but she figured it was a safe guess that what they were approaching was a house fire–a big one.

“We were coming up the mountain when we saw the fire," Harm said. "What’s going on?" He gestured left.  Mac nodded and turned the car, listening to the one-sided conversation as she drove.  "When?"  There was a brief silence while Harm listened. "Was anybody inside?” 

His muffled curse made her glance at him in concern.  “I don’t care what he says,” Harm said.  “You can’t let him go in there.”

Mac was close enough now to see the flashing glare of warning lights. 

“Yeah.  We’re almost there.  See you in a sec.” Harm clicked off the phone and dropped it into the console between them. 

“Delgados'?”  Mac asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“Yeah.”

“Damn.  Wasn’t the house almost finished?”

Harm nodded.  “Getting close,” he said.  “They were hoping to move in next month.”

“Everybody safe?”

“As long as they can keep Joe from going in after his tools.”

“You've gotta be kidding.”

“I wish.  First the mudslide, and now this.”  Harm shook his head.  “I can’t imagine what they must be going through.”

They arrived at the site, and Mac sucked in a breath.  The house was completely engulfed, flames reaching high into the night sky in a macabre dance.  The town’s volunteer firefighters were pouring water on the blaze, but it was obvious that their efforts were meant to keep the fire from spreading, rather than to put it out. 

Harm and Mac slipped through the crowd of spellbound onlookers and made their way to their friends. 

“Joe!” Harm called as they got close.  “What happened?”

Joe and Maria turned.  Joe had his arm around his wife, whose tearstained face and stunned expression contrasted sharply with her husband’s furious one. 

“Nobody knows for sure," Joe said. "But I have my suspicions.”

“Were you here when the fire started?”  Harm asked.

“No.  I’d gone home to get some dinner.”  He gestured down the street toward the town’s only apartment complex.  “We were on our way back here for another couple of hours work before calling it a night. We saw the flames and called 911, but it was already too late.”  Joe turned back toward the house.  “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”  Defeat and exhaustion had replaced the anger in his face.

“We’ll start over,” said Bill, coming up behind them.  “We’ll rebuild.”

But Joe shook his head.  “I don’t think I can do it again.”

“This isn’t the time to make that decision,” Mac said.  “Wait a few days, at least.”

Maria spoke up, her voice trembling with emotion. “I have family in Texas.  We will go to them.” The trace of accent she'd inherited with her olive skin and dark eyes gave her an exotic look that was enhanced by the glow of the fire.

“I don’t understand,” Harm said.  “The mudslide was an act of nature, and this—” He gestured toward the house. “—was an accident.  Why are you giving up?”

Joe shook his head again.  “I don’t think it was an accident.”

Harm and Mac exchanged a startled look.  “What do you mean?”

“I saw somebody running away.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Mac said.  “It could’ve been somebody running for help.”

“I’m sorry to say it, but Joe’s probably right,” Bill said.  “The building went up too fast.  Joe said he was only gone for about half an hour.  I suspect an accelerant.  Probably gasoline.”

Mac turned to Joe.  “Did you recognize the person you saw?”

“No.  There wasn’t enough light.”

“Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably a man.”

“Did anybody else see this person?” Harm asked.

“Not that my deputy’s been able to find,” Bill answered. 

They watched the fire for a few moments.  Starving for fuel, it was finally subsiding into sporadic pockets of flame.  The roof collapsed in on itself, sending up a shower of sparks and spurring a flurry of orders from the fire chief.  Maria buried her head in her husband’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, looking over her head at Harm, Mac, and Bill. 

“We need a fresh start,” he said. 

Harm finally nodded.  “I don’t like it,” he said.  “But I understand.”  The two men shook hands, and then Joe and Maria walked slowly back to their apartment, arms still wrapped around each other, heads bowed.  Harm pulled Mac close.  They looked at Bill.

“Now what?”  Harm asked.

“I’ll call in the state arson team first thing in the morning," Bill said. "They’ll take a couple of days to poke around, confirm what we already suspect, and be gone by the end of the week.  Then we see.”

“Assuming it is arson…”

Bill’s expression was grim.  “Assuming it’s arson, and considering what’s been going on around here, I’ll have to talk to Jeremy and his friends.”

Harm and Mac nodded.  

“I have things I need to do here." Bill looked around. "I’ll talk to you two tomorrow?”  They nodded, and Bill started to leave.  “Oh, I almost forgot," he said, turning back. "Did you have any luck with the pawn shops?”

Mac shook her head.  “We hit the entire tri-county area, but nobody’s seen it.  We left pictures at all the shops.  Hopefully it’ll turn up soon.”

Bill sighed.  “Bad day all around, I guess.”

He left them, and Harm and Mac walked back to their car. 

The acrid smell of smoke followed them home, attaching itself to their hair, clothes, and even their skin.  Mac turned to Harm as they pulled into the driveway.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a shower.”

“You and me both. Care to share?” 

“I’ll wash your back if you’ll wash mine.”

“Deal.”

They entered the house hand in hand, locking the door behind them, but not bothering to turn on any lights until they reached the bedroom.  Once there, Mac switched on the small lamp on the night table and turned into her husband’s embrace.  He kissed her softly, then lifted his head and touched his forehead to hers. 

“I love you,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose. “I bet you’d love me more if I smelled better.”

He laughed.  “I doubt it, but it’s worth a try.”  He took her hand and led her to the bathroom, where they helped each other out of their smoke-filled clothes, throwing the smelly garments in the hamper before stepping into the shower enclosure. 

They took turns soaping each other’s skin and then standing under the hot spray.  Tired by the day's events, they said little.  Joe and Maria had been among their first friends here in the mountains, and although Harm and Mac understood their decision to leave, they were saddened by it.

And so, as the warm water sluiced over their bodies, their touches were soothing rather than provocative. Afterwards they helped each other to dry off before climbing into bed. Mac spooned into the secure warmth of Harm’s chest, sighing when he pulled her close.  As they fell asleep, his even breath stirred the damp strands of her hair.

Chapter 8

The abandoned factory's grime-covered windows presented a formidable challenge for the morning sun, but here and there a determined sunbeam slipped through broken glass to play in the dust motes. Jeremy picked his way across the littered floor and up the cracked concrete stairs with their rusty handrail.  Reaching the top, he took a breath and pushed open the door.

Half a dozen boys looked up at his entrance. One of them, a fat kid named Jeff, crammed the last bite of a jelly doughnut into his mouth. 

Mark shoved the door closed with his foot.  "Did ya' do it?"

Jeremy shook his head and eyed the box of doughnuts on the scarred desktop. 

"Chicken-shit."  Mark pushed greasy hair out of his eyes.  "Shoulda had one of the others do it."

"I told you so." Tim, Mark's second in command, swiped at a bit of chocolate with a dirty hand. "If you'd given it to me, I'd have done the job right."

"It isn't my fault," Jeremy said defensively.  "My dad decided not to go."

"We showed you how to get some wheels," Mark said.  "Why didn't you just swipe your dad's car?"

"Are you kidding? He would've killed me!"  Jeremy watched the last doughnut disappear into Tim's mouth.  His stomach rumbled.

Mark shrugged.  "Who says he had to know?"

Jeremy backed away.  "No way."  He hadn't liked that they'd lifted the old lady's pin, but it wasn't like they were hurting her or anything. If he'd gotten caught with it he could've just said he'd found it on the ground someplace. But the idea of hotwiring Rick's new car, clunker though it was, made him shudder with fear in memory of the night they'd wrecked the other one. If it hadn't been for Uncle Bill, Jeremy was certain Rick would've used his shotgun that night.

Mark and Tim exchanged a look.  "He ain't got the guts," Tim said.

Jeremy looked to the other boys, desperate.  "Come on, guys."

"I've seen his daddy's shotgun," Jeff said, finally speaking up on Jeremy's behalf.  "Seen him take out a rabbit with it.  Blasted the critter clear across the yard."  He took a gulp of soda, then crushed the can and tossed it over his shoulder.

Mark considered Jeremy.  "Got a job tonight," he said at last.  "You in?" 

"What kind of job?"

Tim snorted.  "Either you're with us or you ain't." 

Jeremy knew that Tim didn't like him. He also knew that if he didn't join them tonight, they wouldn't give him another chance.  He couldn't take that risk.

"Yeah," Jeremy said.  "I'm in."

"Meet at the school at ten o'clock," Mark said. "And don't be late."

"I'll be there."

"And leave your brother at home."  Mark settled into the room's only chair and stretched out his legs.  "Now get lost, kid.  We got plannin' to do."

Jeremy did as he was told, pulling the door shut behind him. He was halfway down the stairs when a familiar voice brought his head up.

"Jeremy?"

"Billy!  What are you doing here?"

"I came to get you, Jeremy."  Billy's too-thin body fit neatly between a pair of errant sunbeams.  "He's mighty mad, Jer’.”

Jeremy sighed.  "What'd I do this time?"

"He says you were supposed to mow the yard." 

"I had to do somethin' first." 

Billy glanced up the stairs.  "What'd they want?"

"None of your business." Jeremy stepped off the bottom stair and moved across to his brother, taking him by the elbow.  "Come on."

"Ow!"  Billy pulled away and glared at his brother.  "That hurts!"

"Don't be a baby," Jeremy said, but his voice lacked conviction.  "And where are your other shoes?"

"Hid 'em."

"Why?"

"So Dad wouldn't see.  He'd a wanted to know where I got 'em."

"You kidding?  He don't care what you got on your feet." 

"Mebbe not." Billy scuffed the dirt with a well-worn shoe.  "But I wanna save the new ones fer school.  'Case you don't find another pair."

As much as Jeremy hated Mark and his cronies, they'd made it possible for him to get things Billy needed; things his stepdad wouldn't buy, and his mom couldn't. Now winter was on its way, and Billy's only jacket was about three sizes too small.  He sighed.  He'd be there tonight.  He'd do whatever he had to do to look after his brother.  It was what his dad would've wanted.  

"Come on," Jeremy said. "We better hurry."

**********

Having made the decision to leave town, Joe and Maria didn't waste time.  By noon, their car was packed. Lingering wisps of smoke curled up from the smoldering ruins as they said their goodbyes.

"You sure we can't change your mind?" Harm asked.

Joe shook his head.  "Sorry, my friend."

Mac stepped up to hug Maria.  "We'll miss you."

"No, you won't." Maria smiled through her tears.  "You will only miss my cooking."

"You do make the world's best chili rellenos," Harm said.

"I will send you the recipe. You can make them yourself."

"They'll never be as good as yours."

Maria shook her head.  "You should save those compliments for your wife."

"Oh, God," Mac said.  "Don't get him started on my cooking."

Harm chuckled.  "Don't sell yourself short, Mac.  You make a mean salad."

"Yes, and it may be all you get for dinner tonight."

"Good thing I'm doing the cooking, then."

Mac rolled her eyes, and Joe and Maria laughed. 

Bill pulled up in his patrol car and climbed out. 

"Leaving already?" Bill asked as he joined them.

"Yes," Joe replied.  "I trust you'll call us with any news?"

Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card.  He handed it to Joe.  "Let me know when you're settled."

"I'll do that," Joe said.  He tucked the card into his pocket and turned back to Harm and Mac. "Take care, my friends."  He shook Harm's hand and gave Mac a warm hug.  "And thank you for all that you've done for us."  He waited while Maria said her goodbyes, and then held her door for her while she settled herself in the car. 

"Take care of each other," Harm said. "And keep in touch."

"We will."

A few minutes later, the three friends watched the car pull away, waving until it turned the corner and disappeared from view.

"I need to check in with the arson team," Bill said, turning back to Harm and Mac. "Join me?"

"They're already here?"

Bill nodded.  "Got here about an hour ago."

Mac looked at her watch.  "I've got an appointment with a client at two," she said. "But I'd like to know what their first impressions are."

"So would I."  Harm looked around the nearly empty parking lot.  "Mac?  You game for a walk?"

"Doesn't make sense to take the car," she answered.  "It's just down the block."

"I'll see the two of you there, then."  Bill grinned.  "That is, unless you'd like to ride in the squad car..."

Mac laughed.  "I think we'll pass."

"Suit yourselves."  Bill touched a finger to the brim of his hat and left. 

"Think it was Jeremy?"  Mac asked as they crossed the elm-shaded street.  "Joe's description would match."

"That description fits a lot of people, Mac." 

"If it was Jeremy, Bill's going to have to arrest him."

Nearby, church bells began to chime their familiar hourly melody, and Harm tilted his head to listen.  "I don't think I'll ever get tired of that."

"Can you hear the bells all the way out at the airport?"

"Sometimes, yeah."

"You know…"  Mac kicked an acorn, watching it spiral down the walk in front of them. "I used to worry that we'd be bored here.  We're both so used to city life...I thought we'd go stir crazy in a small town."

Harm shook his head.  "I knew I'd be okay.  My grandmother's farm was always one of my favorite places to visit.  I wasn't sure about you, though."

"There are some things I miss."

"We're overdue for a visit to Mattie," Harm said, glancing over at her.  "Maybe a dose of city life would be good for us after all this peace and quiet."

"I'd like that." 

They'd arrived at the ruins of the Delgado home, and Bill waved them over.  When they reached him, he introduced his companion, a burly man with soot stains on his white shirt and a pencil behind his ear. 

"Harm and Mac, this is Lee Meyerson.  He's heading up the arson investigation."

"Pleased to meet you," Harm said. 

Lee shook their hands, and then turned back to Bill.  "No doubt it's arson," he said.  "We found evidence of an accelerant in the kitchen.  If I had to guess, I'd say probably gasoline, but it'll take a while to get the test results back."

"Was there any sign of a timing device?" Harm asked. 

"Not that we've found yet, but we aren't quite finished poking around in there."  Lee gave Harm a sharp look.  "Is there something I should know?"

"Not at all," Harm said, glancing over at Mac.  "I just wondered."

No timing device meant that whoever started the fire had to have been present to light the match.  It was another black mark against the person seen running away the night before. 

Lee nodded and turned to gaze at the blackened mess.  "Terrible thing," he said.

Bill nodded.  "Joe and Maria are good people.  They didn't deserve this."

"Nobody does." Lee nodded toward the group of chattering townsfolk on the other side of the property.  "Those people are like vultures," he said.  "They're just waiting for us to leave so they can pick over the remains."  The harsh pronouncement startled Mac.

"I doubt that," Bill said firmly.  "Most of them are just hoping the same thing doesn't happen to them."

Lee looked at Bill, eyebrows raised.  "How many of those 'good folks' offered to help rebuild?"

The unpleasant answer to that was that none of them had. 

An uncomfortable silence descended on the group until Mac cleared her throat.  "I need to get to the office," she said.  She looked at Harm.  "Can you get a ride home?  This meeting's probably going to take a couple of hours, and I've got another one after it."

"I'll run him out," Bill said.  "We done here, Lee?"

Lee nodded.  "I'll give you a call when the test results come in."

"I appreciate that."

"Looks like I get a ride in that squad car after all," Harm said.

Bill laughed.  "Don't worry.  You can ride up front."

"I can live with that." Harm gave Mac a quick kiss.  "I'll see you at home later."  He turned to Lee.  "Nice meeting you," he said.

Lee nodded.  "You, too."

One of Lee's people called to him, and with a nod to the others, he left. 

"Want a lift back to your car?" Bill asked Mac.

"No thanks.  I'll leave it there until I'm finished at the office.  I'd better get going, though.  I don't want to be late."

Chapter 9

Jeremy pushed the lawnmower into the shed and looked around.  When he was certain nobody was watching, he ducked inside and pulled the door closed.  He worked his way to the back, swatting aside dust-encrusted cobwebs and the occasional startled spider.  A stack of old magazines spilled out of a mildewed cardboard box in the corner, and Jeremy dug through it, searching. His fingers finally closed around a small, solid object. 

His heart raced, and his skin grew clammy with nervous sweat as he pulled it out. He knew he was alone, that nobody could possibly see what he was doing, but he couldn't help the furtive glance behind him at the closed door.  For long seconds, he held the wadded newspaper in his hand and listened for the sound of approaching footsteps.  All he heard was the freight-train huff of his own labored breathing.

He glanced down.  How, he wondered, could something so small feel so heavy?  He pulled at the frayed bits of paper until the jewel-encrusted edges of the pin glinted in the dim light.  For a moment, he imagined that the cameo woman glared up at him.  The thought made him clench his fist, hiding his guilt from that ice-perfect profile.

Jeremy thought about what the lady in the park had told him, about how this pin had been passed down for generations, through famine and war and world travel, to somehow end up on an old lady's dresser.  Why, he wondered, couldn't he have grabbed something else, something less valuable?  He'd seen the TV and the ancient VCR, but he'd passed them both up, heading for Miss Emily's bedroom and the pin she wore to church every Sunday.  A small voice at the back of his mind whispered the ugly truth. He'd wanted to prove his worth to the others, wanted to prove that he was just as bad as they were.

In Heaven, Dad was disappointed in him. Jeremy was certain of it.  Dad would never steal, would never understand why Jeremy had done it. Sudden tears filled his eyes, spilled over, washed down his cheeks, and melted, unheeded, into Jeremy's worn cotton t-shirt. 

"Damn you!" he yelled. "Why'd you leave me?"  He sank, sobbing, to his knees. 

The pin dug into his palm, its sharp edges gouging his skin. Jeremy squeezed harder, welcoming the pain.  Then, in a burst of rage, he flung it across the shed, watching through tear-blurred eyes as it bounced off the wall and dropped into a rusty bucket with a dull clang.

A quiet knock at the closed door startled Jeremy, and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his arm. 

"Jer'?"  Billy's voice drifted through the panel.  "You in there?"

Jeremy sniffed.  "Yeah."

"You better come out, Jer'.  He's lookin' for you."

Jeremy sighed.  "Why?"

"Dunno."  There was a pause.  Then, "He's mad, Jer'."

"He's always mad."  Jeremy got to his feet.  "I'll be out in a minute."

"'Kay."

Jeremy moved across to the bucket, looking down at the jeweled pin.  It didn't belong here, didn't belong in a rusty bucket or a wad of mildewed paper or a rickety old shed.  It belonged in a fur-lined jewelry box on an old lady's dresser.

He lifted his eyes, searching the dim recesses of the shed for something...there.  He picked up the pin, wiped it on his shirt, and wrapped it in a clean piece of newspaper. Picking up the pencil stub he'd spied on the shelf, he scribbled a few words on the faded paper.  Then he tossed the pencil away, shoved the package into his back pocket, and pushed out of the shed.

**********

The light knock on Mac's office door brought her eyes up from the file she'd been working on.  "Come in," she called.

Jeanne Westerman had been Jeremy's seventh grade teacher.  Pale-haired and freckle-faced, she looked much younger than her thirty-something years.  When Mac had called to ask if she had time to talk, Jeanne had readily agreed to meet Mac at the office.  Now she offered an apologetic smile from the open doorway. 

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said.  "I was at the library, and I guess I lost track of the time."

Mac stood and crossed to meet her.  "It's no problem, really.  Thank you for coming in."  She shook Jeanne's hand and indicated the chairs in front of her desk.  "Have a seat," she said.  "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thanks."  Jeanne sat down, crossed her slim legs, and got right to the point.  "You said you wanted to talk about Jeremy. Is he in some kind of legal trouble?"

"Not yet," Mac said, sitting down in the other chair. 

"I don't understand."

"He's been in some trouble.  Nothing serious yet, but my husband and I are worried about him. We want to help." 

Jeanne nodded. "What can I do?"

"You had Jeremy in your class last year.  What was he like?"

"He was one of those kids who sort of lives on the fringes of life, you know? Average student, average behavior... Nothing really stood out."

"Did he seem unhappy?"

Jeanne shook her head.  "Not really, but I wouldn't say he seemed very happy, either. He was kind of a loner."

"No problems with the other students?"

"Most of the time, the other kids ignored him.  Poor kid; I felt sorry for him.  He seemed like such a lost soul. I tried to talk to him a few times, but he never really opened up."

"Did you ever meet his parents?"

"Once," Jeanne said.  "At a parent-teacher conference.  His mom seemed nice enough, but his dad was a jerk."

"How do you mean?"

"Loud. Bossy.  I remember wondering why he came since he spent the whole time complaining.  He didn't seem the least bit interested in how Jeremy was doing, and he was insufferably rude."

"Rude?"

Jeanne nodded.  "Told his wife to shut up at one point.  Everybody in the room heard it.  The poor woman must've been mortified."

"Was Jeremy's brother there that night?"

"Billy. Yeah.  Looked like he hadn't eaten in a week. I had some refreshments in the room, like I always do."  Jeanne shook her head. "I've never seen a kid try to cram so much food into his pockets."

"Was Jeremy undernourished?"  Mac was starting to wonder if the boys were victims of child abuse, but if that were the case, how come the authorities hadn't been contacted?

"He was thin, but I don't know that I'd call him malnourished."

There wasn't an easy way to broach the next question, so Mac didn't bother trying to sugar-coat it. "Did he ever show up with unexplained cuts or bruises?"

Jeanne didn't flinch, and Mac wondered how many cases of abuse she'd witnessed in her career.  "No.  Nothing like that.  I'd have reported it."

"Did Jeremy ever talk about his father?"

"You mean his real dad?"

Mac nodded.

For a moment, Jeanne was quiet, thinking back.  The she shook her head.  "No, but I do remember one essay he wrote for English.  I'd asked them to write about their role models, and Jeremy wrote about his dad. It was one of the best assignments he ever did for me. I wanted to put it in the end-of-year anthology, but Jeremy wouldn't let me.  He said it was private."

"So he was a good writer?"

"He had a lot of potential," Jeanne said.  "I knew it was there, saw it in that one essay, but he was pretty stubborn about keeping his talents hidden from the world.  I'm not sure why."

"Maybe he didn't want to draw attention to himself."

"Maybe."  But Jeanne sounded doubtful. 

Mac stood up.  "Thanks for coming, Jeanne.  You've been very helpful."

"I wish I knew more, but he was so closed off from the world, didn't let anybody get close except his brother."

"They got along well?"

"Yeah.  Jeremy and Billy were always together when they weren't in class.  It was sweet.  You don't often see that between siblings."

Mac grinned at that. "No, you don't.  Usually they're trying to kill each other."  Then she grew serious.  "But problems at home can change kids in all kinds of ways."

"True."  Jeanne stood and glanced out the window.  "It's getting late.  I should be going." She looked back at Mac. "I hope you can do something for Jeremy.  He seems like such a sweet boy."

"We'll do what we can," Mac promised.  She showed Jeanne to the door, then closed it and leaned her back against the solid wood.  Jeanne hadn't painted a happy picture of Jeremy's home life, but she'd given Mac a few clues that might prove useful.

Chapter 10

"You're late."  Mark's voice grated on Jeremy's frayed nerves. 

"I'm here, ain't I?"

The boys had gathered under a cluster of trees in a remote corner of the school grounds.  The dark night, made darker by an overcoat of storm clouds, rendered the boys invisible to anybody who might look their way.

Mark turned to Tim.  "Hand 'em out."

A duffle bag lay at Tim's feet.  When he unzipped it, light flashed against metal. He lifted something out and handed it to Mark, who passed it on to one of the other boys.  Tim dug in the bag again and again, each time handing something off to Mark who passed it on to the others.  In the darkness, Jeremy couldn't be sure what the items were, but unease made his hands clammy. He wiped them against his jeans.

"That's it," Tim said, handing a last item to Mark.

"Right," Mark said.  "Here."  He held the item out to Jeremy, who automatically accepted it.  Cold steel burned against the palm of his hand.

"What is it?"

Tim snorted derisively, but Mark hushed him and flicked the pencil-thin beam of a flashlight in Jeremy's direction.

Tim had given him a knife.  An eight inch long, lethal-looking knife.  Jeremy swallowed hard.  "What's it for?"

"Kid ain't got the brains God give a skeeter," Tim said in disgust.

"Shut-up, Tim."  Mark's harsh voice didn't brook argument, and Tim subsided, but Jeremy could feel the other boy's icy stare. 

"You did a good job robbin' that old lady," Mark said, turning back to Jeremy. "But now it's time you did some real work."

"He was too chicken-shit to swipe some wheels and pawn the piece," Tim said, despite Mark's earlier orders.  "I can't see why you'd want him along tonight."

Mark rounded on Tim. "I thought I told you to shut-up!"

"It just don't make sense," Tim whined. 

There was a sudden movement, a fleshy thud, and Tim landed flat on his back.  In the dark, Jeremy wasn't sure what had happened, but he figured it was a safe bet that faces and fists were involved. 

"Anybody else got any questions?" Mark asked, bending to pick up the flashlight he'd dropped. 

The only sound was a low moan from Tim. 

"Good."  Mark reached into the duffle bag, shining the light inside while he fished about.  Jeremy thought he saw the gleaming muzzle of a handgun, but then Mark flicked the light away and stood up.  He nudged Tim with his foot. "Let's go."

Tim rolled to his feet and reached into the bag. Pulling something out, he shoved it into the waistband of his jeans.  Soundlessly, the group moved out, blending into the shadows of the night.

**********

"Tea?"  Harm asked, offering Mac a steaming mug.

Mac looked up from the open file in her lap.  "Thanks."  She took a sip and set the mug on the table beside her.  When Harm sat down at the opposite end of the couch, she shifted, stretching out and putting her feet in his lap. 

She wiggled her toes. "You make a good pillow."

"And you make a good book-stand."  He opened the novel he was reading and propped it against her feet, then leaned back with a contented sigh.  Soft music played on the stereo, and an array of candles flickered amid the framed pictures on the mantel.  They often spent their evenings this way, content with only each other for company. 

Harm was deeply involved in his book when Mac cursed and started rifling through the files she'd brought home.

"Something wrong?"

"Forgot a deposition I wanted to review tonight."

"Can it wait?"

She sighed and sat up.  "No.  I'm due in court on Tuesday morning.  I'll have to run into town to get it."  She closed the file and put it on the coffee table.  "Do we need anything at the store?"

"Coffee, if you think of it.  There's barely enough for the morning."

"I'll stop on my way home."  

"Want me to come along?  You can drop me at the store on your way."

"No need.  Both stops combined shouldn't take more than a half hour or so."

"All right then."  He turned, putting his feet up on the couch and opening his book.  "I'll keep your spot warm."

"Gee, Harm.  That's nice of you."

He grinned.  "I do what I can."

She shook her head and picked up her keys from the end table.  "See you in a bit.  Love you."

Already involved in his story, Harm nodded absently.  "Love you, too."

**********

The boys regrouped for a final whispered conversation in the shadow of an overflowing dumpster.  Nervous excitement pinched their voices and dampened the armpits of their t-shirts.  Jeremy was scared.  The sheathed knife, shoved inside the waistband of his jeans, felt like a living thing against his skin. 

Jeremy wanted to run.  In his mind, his father's voice urged him to drop the knife and walk away before it was too late.  Only it already was too late. It had been too late the minute Mark invited him along, and Jeremy was certain that if he backed out now his own life could be forfeit.  Besides, at this time of the night, the store would be empty except for the night clerk, and what clerk would buck these odds? 

"Put this on," Tim said, handing him an old ski mask.

The others were already putting on hats of their own.  Jeremy nodded and pulled the mask over his head, grateful for the anonymity of its dark folds.

"Right, then," Mark said.  "In, get what we came for, and out.  No chatter.  And—" He looked pointedly at Tim.  "No stupid stunts."

The others nodded.  Jeremy tried to remember to breathe.

Chapter 11

It was nearly closing time when Mac arrived at the store.  She waved a greeting to Tom Greeves, the night manager, and hurried to get what she needed so that he could go home to his wife. Few customers did their shopping at this hour, so the aisles were dimly lit and quiet.  Mac perused the coffee selection, looking for the brand she and Harm usually preferred.

A commotion at the front of the store made her look up.  She couldn't see anything beyond the displays at the end of the aisle, but there was something new in the air, an indefinable wrongness that made her put the can of coffee she'd been looking at back on the shelf.

She eased down the aisle.  With luck, she'd find that Tom had dropped something, in which case she'd round the corner to see him busy with broom and dustpan. But an abundance of close encounters over the years had taught her to be cautious. She'd rather laugh at herself later than walk into an ambush now.

Her caution paid off.  A quick tally revealed six masked intruders.  Most brandished knives, but two were armed with handguns.  Tom was pulling money out of the cash drawer and shoving it into a nylon duffle bag.  Mac dropped to a crouch behind a soup can display.  Judging by their build, these were teenagers - maybe even the gang Jeremy'd been hanging out with.

The odds were against her.  Six men, two with guns, and all of them looked nervous.  They shifted uneasily, turning this way and that like anxious rabbits.  It wouldn't take much to provoke a violent and possibly deadly reaction.

In her pocket, her cell phone rang.

Heads swiveled in her direction.  She ducked out of sight and pulled the phone out of her pocket, glancing at the screen. Harm.  She hit the receive button.

"I'm at the store. There's trouble."  She hoped he could understand her whisper.

"We know you're there."  The youthful voice carried a note of authority augmented by steel and lead.  "Come on out before someone gets hurt."

Mac left the phone on.  Hastily tucking it behind the cans of tomato soup, she stepped out of her hiding place.

"I'm unarmed," she said, raising her hands. 

"Get over here."

The boy gestured with his gun.  Mac walked slowly, buying time. 

"Hurry up.  We ain't got all day."

"Actually," Mac said, "it's night."  Her voice was calm, but her pulse pounded in her ears.

"And I'm just dyin' to shoot me a smartass bitch," another kid said.  Tough Guy, Mac thought, she'd call him that.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the boys stiffen. 

"You don't have to be that way."  The voice was young.  Familiar.  Damn.

A flick of the wrist, and Tough Guy had Jeremy in his sights. "Didn't we tell you to be quiet?"

Jeremy nodded, but sidled in Mac's direction.  Tough Guy sneered.  "Babysittin's about all you're good for anyhow."

"Shut up. Both of you."  Leader, as Mac dubbed him, was taller than Tough Guy.  Was this Mark Emerson?   The body type matched Miss Emily's description, but his head was covered with the same black ski mask the others wore, so she couldn't see his hair.

Leader turned to Mac. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" 

"Don't play dumb, lady."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."  A quick glance through the big front window revealed a nearly empty parking lot and the deserted street beyond.  No help there.

With a grunt of annoyance, Leader turned to the other kids.  He gestured to three of them.  "Find it," he said.  "And make sure there ain't nobody else hidden away someplace."

The boys melted away to do his bidding.  Black ghosts.

"You," Leader said, turning to Tough Guy.  "Check the other registers."

The last few bills went into the nylon bag, and Tom set it on the counter. "That's all there is."   

Leader shook his head.  "You think I'm stupid or somethin'?"

Tom looked over at Mac, a silent plea in his eyes.  She shook her head.  Don't fight them, she thought.  It's too dangerous.

"They're all locked," Tough Guy said, coming back.  "Can't open any of 'em."

Leader waved the gun at Tom.  "Open 'em."

"But they're empty," Tom said desperately.  "I already closed them out for the night."

"Then where's the rest of the cash?"

"In the safe."

"Show me."

The ghosts returned from their mission, and one of them handed over her cell phone. 

"All clear?" Leader asked, pocketing the phone with a swift glance in Mac's direction.

A chubby boy in a too tight t-shirt nodded. 

"Good."  Leader looked at Tough Guy.  "Keep an eye on things.  I'll be right back."

Tough Guy nodded and turned his gun on Mac.  "Be happy to."

"Don't be stupid," Leader said, though Mac couldn't be sure whether he was talking to her or to Tough Guy.  "You and you." He gestured to Jeremy and the chubby kid.  "Stay here.  You others come with me."

This improved the odds somewhat, but it was still one of her against three of them, and they had weapons.  She glanced outside again.  Still nothing.

"What are you lookin’ at, Bitch?"  Tough Guy had seen her furtive look.  "Ain't nobody gonna rescue you, if that's what you're thinking. This town's deader'n dead once the sun goes down."

Mac took a half step closer to Jeremy, hoping to get near enough to talk to him without being overheard.  A few feet away, the chubby kid was stuffing his pockets with candy bars and gum.  Tough Guy backed up a step to watch.

"Get some of that for me," he said. "'Specially them M&M's." 

"Jeremy," Mac whispered, when she was certain Tough Guy wasn't watching. "Don't do this."

Jeremy stiffened at the sound of his name and glanced toward Tough Guy.  Seeing that the other boy was preoccupied with the candy, he looked back at Mac. "It's too late," he whispered back. 

"It's never too late to do the right thing."

Sad eyes looked back at her through the slits in the ski mask.  "My dad would say I made my bed, and now I gotta lie in it."

"Your dad was a smart man," Mac said. "But we can fix this if we work together. Isn't that what your dad would want?"

Another glance at Tough Guy and Chubby, then back to Mac.  "How?"

"Distract Chubby long enough for me to handle Tough Guy." Chubby held a knife much like Jeremy's, but Mac didn't worry about that.  Only the two older boys looked like they had any real interest in using the weapons they held. Besides, Jeremy was wiry and fast.  He could take care of himself while she dealt with Tough Guy.

Jeremy shook his head at her.  "You crazy?  He's got a gun!"

"You've got to trust me, Jeremy. I know what I'm doing."

For long seconds, he watched her, considering her plan.  Then he nodded and took a step in Chubby's direction. 

"Jeremy," Mac whispered urgently.  "Be careful." 

Another nod.  

A few seconds later, Jeremy had involved Chubby in a conversation about the merits of different types of candy bars.  Mac watched them, biding her time and waiting for Chubby's interest in the candy to outweigh his interest in her.

A gunshot gave her the opening she needed.  Without stopping to think about the sound's source or meaning, Mac hurled herself toward Tough Guy.  Three strides and two rapid-fire kicks, and Tough Guy went down with a grunt of pain.

He still held the gun.

Mac saw the glint of light on steel, saw his hand come up.  She ducked, rolled, and came up on her feet, but not before he fired off a single shot in her direction.  Fire bit at her arm, but she didn't stop to check the damage.  Spinning around, she kicked out once more and felt bone snap beneath her foot. Tough Guy screamed and dropped the gun.  She kicked it away, only now becoming aware of a commotion behind her. 

Busy with Tough Guy, Mac hadn't seen the struggle between Chubby and Jeremy.  Now she saw Jeremy on the floor and Chubby running for the door.  She heard sirens, saw the glare of lights in the window. 

No time to check on Jeremy now.   

Chubby wasn't fast enough to escape an angry Marine.  She caught up, tackled him, brou