Love Conquers All

 

By: Kenda

 

Love Conquers All is an intense adult drama that includes adult situations and language.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Prologue

 

June 1997

 

            He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, the sand toasting his bare heels.  The man watched his children romp at the water's edge.  The girls squealed and shrieked, making a game out of playing tag with the incoming tide. They clasped hands and raced for the ocean, veering to the left at the last possible second to avoid getting their feet wet.  The seven-year-old led her four-year-old sister back up the beach.  They were giggling and panting for breath as they started the entire process over again, the older girl shouting, "One, two, three, go!"

 

            The two-year-old boy played far more sedately than his sisters, as was his nature.  He stood in sand made wet by the Pacific.  His pale brows scrunched in concentration as he scooped the thick muck into the red plastic bucket at his feet.  Every so often he'd stop what he was doing to watch his siblings, but never did he waver from his task.  His round, tan tummy ballooned out over the baggy blue swim trunks he wore.  The hem of the legs stopped just above full dimpled knees.

 

            The boy's father was happy to see the signs of returning baby fat.  The child had been sick on and off ever since he'd been born, though the local doctor was baffled as to what was wrong with him.  The trusted physician had finally concluded the boy had a ‘sensitive system,’ meaning his parents had to be cautious as to the foods he ate, and had to make certain he got a minimum of ten hours of sleep per night.  Recently, things were going better.  The child's father had studied everything he could get his hands on regarding allergies and the delicate digestive systems inherent to some young children.  He'd spent hundreds of hours on the Internet, a technology that was new to this isolated area, and had printed pages of medical information that proved helpful.  No prepackaged foods were allowed in the house any longer.  Everything the family ate was grown in untreated soil and prepared fresh with no chemical or preservative enhancements.   It had been just six weeks since they'd started the experiment, but so far it appeared to be working.  The toddler was regaining his health, and was no longer plagued by mysterious stomachaches that made him curl into a tight ball of misery and scream until he was too exhausted to voice his pain any longer.  The perpetual runny nose and fever had vanished, too, and for that the boy's father was grateful. He loved his daughters with all his heart; referred to them constantly as “my little dolls,” but with the birth of his male heir two years earlier, he'd come to discover how true it was that every man did indeed, want a son.

 

            As if he sensed he was being observed from afar, the tow-headed boy turned to look at his father.  A smile that outdid the afternoon sun spread across the cherubic face.  There was no doubt the father meant as much to the son as vice versa.  The boy's left wrist flapped up and down in an awkward wave.  Though the ocean breeze carried his words away, the father knew the child had said, "Daddy."   Not "Hi, Daddy," or "Bye, Daddy," but simply "Daddy," as though declaring to the world this was the most important person in his young life.

 

            The father smiled, mouthing, "Son," in return.  That one word held a wealth of emotion that caused the man to swallow down an unexpected lump in his throat.  Behind his sunglasses his light eyes shifted to his girls.  Just like his son was the spitting image of him, his four-year-old daughter was the spitting image of his wife.  Her honey-dew hair was bobbed to frame her round face, its thin strands constantly tangled by the ever-present Pacific winds.  She'd inherited her mother's eyes as well, gray with flecks of green that sometimes looked blue depending on the lighting of the room.  Mischief constantly shone from those expressive eyes, and in that respect she reminded the man of himself as a child.

 

            While his younger daughter was cute, his oldest daughter couldn't be called less than beautiful.  Her thick ivory hair fell to her waist, and her eyes were the color of a brand new pair of Levi's jeans.  Her arms and legs were long like his, her bone structure feminine and delicate. Her emotions forever played out on the heart-shaped face, its skin as clear and silky as a pitcher of cream.  She absorbed everything about the world around her, and then lovingly gave it all back.  She was a little mother to her siblings, making sure they brushed their teeth before going to bed and helping them pick up their toys without ever voicing a complaint.  She seemed to be possess a sixth sense where her younger brother was concerned, often announcing the toddler's likes and dislikes before the child himself could do so with a laugh, or cry, or stubbornly declared, "No!"

 

            Just like the man's sister had seemed to possess a sixth sense about him throughout their shared lives.

 

            Salt carried by the ocean breeze rained a refreshing mist over the man.  Nine years of casual living had almost made him indistinguishable from the natives.  His skin was dark bronze from the many hours he spent on this beach with his children.  His hair, once ivory hued like his oldest daughter's; was now bleached white from the sun.  He'd long ago adopted the relaxed atmosphere around him.  His mane grew to his shoulders, and something he'd never known he possessed sprung from that thick mass.  Curls.  Shaggy, pale curls that twisted like corkscrews and that no brush could tame.  His beard and moustache were white, too, though he preferred to keep his facial hair short and neatly trimmed.  Despite being the president of the company his semi-retired father-in-law owned on this island, he hadn't worn a suit and tie in years.  And he couldn't recall the last time his feet had been encased in shoes that weren't sandals, or didn't have the Nike logo on the side.

 

            All in all this South Pacific paradise called Kono had brought him a peace he never thought he'd again obtain.  Or perhaps it was the children who had tamed his soul.  Or maybe the millions of dollars he'd made in 1992, the year he convinced his father-in-law to turn this tropical haven into a pleasure port for those nine-to-fiver's who were always seeking a way to escape the grind of every day living.

 

             Expanding Emery Dalton's business from one of shipping empire to cruise line had been costly.  And beyond that, large amounts of money had gone to make this island the type of place vacationers would want to inhabit for a forty-eight hour stay when the Island Queen or the Sun Goddess docked at her shores. But, the upside to spending all that money was that now Emery Dalton and his son-in-law were getting it back ten fold.  Due to renovations funded by their capital, there was hardly a business or shop they didn't own.  Few islanders could be found who didn't work for them other than a handful of commercial fishermen.  Dalton, and more importantly his son-in-law, were considered heroes.  Revered as men who had turned this small dot on the map into a money machine.  Granted, some of the older people didn't like the changes tourism had brought.  But, so be it.  For the first time the youth of Kono were finding out what it meant to have money in their pockets and things to spend it on.  The new hospital, the video arcade, the grocery store with wide aisles and modern refrigeration system, the three screen cinema complex, the availability of satellite TV, and even the ability to hook up to the Internet, could be directly attributed to this man with the shaggy curls who could so easily be mistaken for one of the tourists his cruise ships brought in on a regular basis.  

 

            The sound of a woman's laughter caused him to turn his head.  Far down the beach a couple strolled hand in hand.  The copper headed lady gently bumped her body into her mate's, giving the impression she was on the receiving end of his teasing.   Without letting go of his hand, she scampered into the water, kicking a healthy chunk of the foam at him.  He cried out with mock indignation at the soaking his sunglasses and upper body endured, and then pulled her to him.  He held her close; kissing her full on the mouth for what seemed like an eternity, and for just that reason the observer pegged them as honeymooners recently disembarked from the Queen. 

 

            If the man hadn't taken off his sunglasses just long enough to wipe the water from the lenses with the hem of his shirt, the observer would have never recognized him.  Time had been kind to him, but then it usually was to those who possess what is often referred to as a ‘baby face.’ That face was leaner now; older, and even from this distance he could see that some gray streaked what once had been corn-silk blond hair.  The body that had been emaciated by injury the last time they'd been together was now filled out and healthy in appearance.  Still thin, but trim and hard muscled in a way that spoke of running, bike riding, and weight lifting.  The type of body other men pushing fifty years old would envy.  There was no trace of the old limp either, and if any other residual damage remained it was not readily apparent. 

 

            The honeymooners clasped hands once more and resumed their stroll.  They passed within twenty yards of him, stopping momentarily to observe his son at play.  The blue-eyed boy glanced up at the strangers, then returned his attention to his half full bucket of sand.

 

            They looked over at him, the woman cupping a hand atop her eyes to shade them from the bright sun.  She shouted to be heard over the roar of the surf.

 

            "Your little boy?"

            He nodded.     

 

            "He's cute!"

 

            He smiled with pride and thanked her with another mute nod.

 

            As the couple moved on, the unsuspecting man lifted a hand in a brief wave goodbye. The observer waved back, his lips curving into a cold smirk.  The feeling of power was awe-inspiring.  His nemesis had been delivered to him by one of his own ships, and the choice of whether that man got off this island alive was in his hands and his hands alone.

 

            The money, his children, and the passage of time, had caused means of revenge to become distant thoughts.  The daydreams about San Diego and the thoughts of unfinished business left behind there that he'd often submersed himself in when first arriving on Kono had long receded.  Until now.

 

            His eyes followed the couple until they were distant specks blending in with the horizon.  His thoughts were so far removed that he never heard his daughter's beckoning.  He glanced up when he felt his oldest child tugging on his elbow.

 

            "Daddy!  Daddy!"

 

            "What, princess?"

 

            "It's past Brooks' nap time.   Mommy will be mad if he doesn't get his rest.  You know what Doctor David said about that."

 

            In contrast to his dark thoughts from a moment earlier, the man reached out a gentle hand and ran it over the girl's soft cheek.  This beautiful child was so like her namesake it caused tears to burn under his lids.

 

            He cleared his throat, thankful that his sunglasses hid the sudden moisture swamping his eyes.  "You're right as always, princess.  Brooks needs his afternoon nap."  He pulled the child to him, hugging her thin body.  "My sweet little Troya," he whispered, looking down the beach at the back of the departing visitor.  "What would Daddy do without you?"

 

            Troya squirmed within the confines of her father's arms.  Sometimes his hugs were too tight.  She instinctively knew he would never hurt her; that he had nothing but tenderness and enormous love for her and her siblings.   But every so often he hugged her really, really hard, and pretended he wasn't crying even though she could tell by his voice that he was.  She never quite understood why her father singled her out like this.  She knew he loved Tiffany and Brooks just as much as he loved her, but she'd never seen him hold them and cry for no reason. 

 

            As always, the seven year old took charge of the situation when it appeared as though her father couldn't.   She squirmed again, pushing down on his arms in an effort to free herself.  "Let's go, Daddy.  We'd better get Brooks home or Mommy will come looking for us."

 

            The child's words shook the man from his thoughts.   He ran a ticklish hand over her ribs that caused her to squirm harder, then released her.

 

            "You're right, Mommy will come looking for us if we don't get Brooks home."  He made an exaggerated face of horror that caused his daughter to laugh.  "And heaven forbid that should happen.  We'll all be in trouble then, won't we?"

 

            "We sure will.  Mommy will ground us from the beach again for a whole day like she did last time we let Brooks skip his nap."

 

            The man leaned forward and kissed his daughter on the nose.  "Well, we sure don't want that to happen, now do we.  Okay then, get a move on, Lady Troya.  Have Tiffany help you gather up the towels and buckets then we'll head for home."

 

            Troya skirted off through the sand. "Tiffany!  Tiffany, help me pick up our stuff!  We havta' go home now!" 

 

            The man smiled at his daughter's back.  He pushed himself to his feet, brushed sand from the seat of his shorts, and headed for his son.  Five minutes later, with Brooks riding on his shoulders and his daughters walking along beside him each hanging onto a hand, Troy Andrews was headed for the hilltop mansion he called home.

 

______________________________

                                   

 

            Later that night, in a secluded guesthouse on the other side of this 40 mile wide island, a woman screamed in pleasure as her lover pounded into her for the third time in an hour.  There was nothing she enjoyed more than rough, wild, dangerous sex with a guy so damn good looking he could have been a movie star.   She spread her legs wider, bringing them up to wrap them around his thrusting hips. 

 

            "Oh God," she moaned, arching her back as he bit her right breast hard enough to make the nipple bleed.  "Oh God, yes!  Yes!"

 

            Sex with this man had always been a cosmic experience, but tonight it outdid a thousand falling stars.  He'd literally ripped her clothes off the minute he'd entered the posh bungalow, not giving a word of explanation when his tongue plundered the softness of her mouth.  Somehow he divested himself of his own clothing without removing his mouth from her ripe breasts.  Without asking if she was ready, without checking first to see if she was ready, he lifted her lithe form to his waist and plunged inside.  Because they were kindred souls in their taste for violence, her body was more than willing to accept him.  He spun them around, leaning her against the white stucco wall for support.  She rode him like an untamed stallion, never caring that the rough plaster of the wall was tearing open the flesh on her back.  She thought their wild ride would never end, and howled in pleasure when she finally felt his sperm scald her insides.

 

            They were sprawled out on the floor now amidst scattering clothing, a tangle of legs and arms bumping and grinding.  She looked up at his face to see his eyes squeezed shut as though he was fantasizing about another place and time.  In rhythm with his thrusting hips her, lover chanted,  "I'll kill him.  I'll kill him.  Someday I'll kill him.  I'll kill him.  I'll kill him.  Someday I'll kill him."

 

            She had no idea what his murmurings were about, but it was obvious his words excited him in a way she'd never seen during the twelve months she'd been his mistress.  His penis was hard and angry, the sex brutal and unforgiving just like she loved it.   She drew him in as deep as she could, unconsciously picking up the chant right along with him.  Their bucking bodies reached orgasm as one.  He spasmed inside her for what seemed like ages before collapsing on the floor next to her.

 

            After all the moaning and groaning and screaming and cursing, the night time sounds of the island that drifted in through the window screens seemed almost sacred.  The call of the cicadas, the hum of the crickets, and the occasional squawk of a parrot blended with her lover's breathless pants.  Like a racehorse lathered by a straight-away sprint, sweat coated his chest, back, and brow.  She turned on her side and ran a tender hand through his shaggy curls. 

 

            "I don't know where you got your inspiration from tonight, but please bring it back again tomorrow night."

 

            Tad Brooks chuckled and rose on an elbow.  He plundered the woman's mouth with his tongue as though they hadn't just made love three times.  Her beauty was so rich and wanton it gave off an almost evil aura, in turn fueling the evil within him.  He ran his hands through the wild tangle of her amber waves, his feeling of power increasing as he held her mouth to his even while she struggled to pull away.  When Tad finally released his lover her lips were bruised and swollen, the lower one bleeding from his rough treatment.   He felt no shame at the sight; she'd long ago shown him she thrived on the brutality.

 

            For all his mistreatment of her a moment before he now caressed one of her raw, tender nipples with his thumb.  "I saw a man today I haven't seen in many years.  A man I haven't thought of in many years.  I realized what a mistake that's been.  Not thinking of him, I mean.  He took a great deal of happiness from me.  And when the time is right, I will take a great deal of happiness from him."

 

            "And when will the time be right?"

 

            "To kill him, you mean?"

            Her eyes lit up and the flesh between her legs rippled with excitement.  Taking a human life wasn't foreign to her and her lover knew that.  "Yes.  To kill him.  When will the time be right?"

 

            "I haven't decided yet."

 

            Tad urged her head down toward his hardening penis.  She resisted at first. He well knew her appetite for oral sex didn't match his.  He yanked a handful of her hair and pushed harder on her neck, not caring when she cried out in pain.  Sometimes she needed to be reminded of who was in charge of this relationship.

 

            When the woman finally started servicing her lover he arched his back and moaned, his dark thoughts more of an aphrodisiac than her skilled mouth ever could be.

 

            "I haven't decided yet when I'm going to kill A. J. Simon.  But mark my words, my beautiful temptress, when the day comes you'll be the first to know."        

______________________________

                                   

 

            Out in the darkness a man slipped away from the open window of the bungalow. A frown of disapproval tugged at the corners of his mouth.  He treaded silently, using the moonlight for guidance until the lush foliage of the island jungle swallowed him up.

           

 

 

Chapter 1

 

One Year Later

 

June 1998

 

            The twenty-three year old man stood in front of the bathroom mirror running a razor over his skull like he did before sunrise every Saturday morning.  His hair was thick and grew back quickly, thus the need to shear it on a weekly basis.

 

            His mother had been mortified the first time she caught sight of his new look.  Admittedly, it dramatically changed his appearance.  His long-time girlfriend, Courtney, hadn't been approving either.  Not to mention what his sixteen-year-old sister had to say about it, which far surpassed his mother's and Courtney's objections in both its intensity and no-holds-barred honesty.  

 

            He padded barefoot from the bathroom in nothing but his boxer shorts.  The coolness of the hardwood floors chilled his bare feet as he walked through the enormous living room with its forty foot high beamed ceilings.  The room flowed as one into the kitchen, the entire area spanning sixty feet in length and thirty feet in width.  His 'bachelor pad' was nothing more than an old warehouse some enterprising businessman had purchased and converted into unique apartments much sought-after by the twenty-something set.  Not a stray coffee cup or newspaper littered the gigantic space. He entered his bedroom, that room as well so neat and precise it could have passed a drill sergeant's inspection.

 

            He'd always been considered a bright young man. Straight A's and a driving ambition in high school had allowed him to begin taking college courses when he was just sixteen.  He'd graduated from the University Of Southern California-San Diego at the age of twenty, and had been out of his mother's house and living on his own since then.  This one bedroom apartment was merely a brief stopping point.  Six months from now, on Christmas Eve, he planned to ask Courtney to a marry him.  He'd already purchased the ring and had it hidden away in a dresser drawer.  The dark-headed beauty who had caught his eye their sophomore year of high school had just graduated in May from UCSD with a combined degree in business management and computer science.  She'd started a job two weeks earlier that promised quick advancement and good pay.  He'd been working full-time since he graduated as well, and had packed away quite a nest egg for himself.  He thought if they set the wedding date for October of 1999, that he and Courtney would be able to buy a house as a gift to each other.     

 

            Courtney was still living with her mom and dad, though not by her choice.  She'd been hinting quite strongly about wanting to move in with him since she'd obtained her degree and was no longer subject to parents’ whims and ways, but so far he'd put her off.  There were parts of his life she couldn't be privy to.  At least not now.  Maybe later, when they were engaged, she'd have to know.  But at the moment she'd never understand.  She'd never understand, and he had no doubt she'd terminate their relationship because of his activities.

 

            He opened his closet door and reached as far in the back as he could.  He pulled out a hanger and took from it a pair of khaki colored cargo pants and a camouflage shirt.  He tossed the clothes on his bed, returned the hanger to its proper place, then bent and again felt for the rear corner of the closet.  When he emerged he was holding a pair of heavy black storm-troopers boots. 

 

            He walked over to the bed and slipped the pants on his trim form. The loose fitting shirt went on next, effectively covering well-muscled biceps and a broad chest.  Khaki socks were pulled from a dresser drawer and pulled on his feet, the boots were laced up last. 

 

            The young man exited his room.  No matter how soft he stepped the boots made a dull thudding sound against the floorboards.  He hoped he didn't wake Jennifer and Scott, the tenants below him. 

 

            He trotted up the wooden staircase that started in his living room, taking the steps two at a time.  The loft above him covered the exact length as the living area below, but was not quite half as wide.  The ceiling beams that ran from the loft through the living room were another twenty feet above him.  So far he'd kept his girlfriend, mother, and sister from coming up here by claiming it was a mess.  He'd told them it was filled with nothing of interest, just his weight bench, bar bell, cardboard boxes, and other clutter he'd brought from his bedroom at home that he had no place or use for at the current time.  

 

            But the loft wasn't a mess, or filled with useless clutter.  In fact, it was as neat and clean as the rest of his apartment.  He'd never been a slob.  Not even as a boy. It didn't fit his nature. 

 

            From the living room floor below a visitor could get a glimpse of his weight bench and the bar bell that hung over it.  Everything else was secreted in the far recesses of the loft making the testimony to his newfound hobby impossible for anyone looking up from the living room to see. 

 

            Pictures from magazines hung on two walls forming a montage of all that was evil about this century.  Men in white hoods stood watching a cross burn in Mississippi circa 1950.  A black man with a rope around his neck swung from a tree in another photo, the verbiage underneath the grainy image identifying it as a Texas lynching in 1924.  A group of spindly-limbed children dressed in rags and with shaved heads marched toward an Auschwitz gas chamber.  Adolph Hitler stood stiffly above a Munich crowd, right arm extended in the salute he'd become famous for.

 

            The young man turned and faced a corner.  A gigantic blood red flag hung in a stand.  Two black Z's crossed one another on the flag's surface. 

 

            The twenty-three year old got down on his knees in front of the flag.  He bowed his head, laced his fingers together, and cupped his hands over his beating heart.   What he was praying for was hard to tell, but slowly he lifted his head and stared up at the swastikas.  Because it was so important to be in the right frame of mind, Brendan Nash's right arm jutted from his body.   In a soft voice he said,  "Hail Hitler."

 

 

Chapter 2

 

            A.J. Simon stood at his kitchen counter slathering grape jelly over peanut butter that had already been spread on white bread.  Though this cuisine was far from being his personal favorite, the two boys whom he thought of as his sons loved it.

 

            One year earlier, on June 21, 1997, the blond detective had married Lauren McAllister Albright.  He'd begun dating the woman shortly after returning to San Diego from Seattle in 1995.  Their love and commitment to one another had blossomed over the next two years.  Because both of them were scarred survivors of first marriages that had ended in divorce, neither was in a hurry to tie the knot a second time.  But when it came to the point they were spending more time together than apart, and with a lot of not-so-subtle urging from Lauren's young sons, Shane and Tanner, the couple decided they wanted to face the future as husband and wife.

 

            By A.J. and Lauren's own choosing the ceremony had been casual and unpretentious.  The guest list was small, with only a handful of close family and friends invited.  Rick was his brother's best man, just like he was when A.J. and Janet Fowler had married seven years earlier.  This time A.J. had two additional groomsmen, however.  Five-year-old Tanner and seven-year-old Shane stood tall and proud in white trousers, white shirts, and festive vests brocaded with silver and blue.  The twin grins they wore threatened to split their faces in two as they watched their maternal grandfather walk their mother down the dock and up onto the deck of Rick's boat.  The vessel was adorned with streamers, wedding bells, and banners proclaiming good wishes to the about-to-be-married couple.  Even Rick's golden retriever, Rex, came dressed for the occasion. His collar had been replaced with a black bow tie, a black top hat sat perched on his head, and a sign hung from his neck that read, Congratulations A.J. and Lauren. When the minister pronounced their mother and A.J. husband and wife, Shane and Tanner whooped for joy and tossed birdseed on the newlyweds.

 

            The houseboat set sail fifteen minutes after the ceremony ended with twenty-five guests aboard.  With help from a caterer hired by the newlyweds, Captain Rick provided a magnificent sunset dinner cruise that was talked about for days to come.  Shane and Tanner spent most of that cruise glued to their new stepfather's side, which came as a surprise to no one. The boys had adored A.J. since the first night their mother went out with him, and in turn, A.J. loved them as much as he could love any children of his own. 

 

             Like all parties Captain Rick hosted, this one lasted long into the night.  Shane and Tanner remained behind on the docked boat with their favorite new uncle when the other guests departed at one a.m.  The newlyweds returned to the house on the Grand Canal alone.  They made love far into the morning hours, not caring that they were due to sail from San Diego harbor at eight a.m. on the Island Queen.  Their honeymoon promised to be relaxing and restful.  There would be plenty of time to catch up on sleep while the ship glided over the high seas.

 

            A.J. and Lauren had returned home ten glorious days later.  They quickly settled into the routine of working parents who also shared custody of their children with another couple.

 

            Lauren and her first husband, Robert Albright, had divorced when their sons were just one and three years old.  Ever since that time the boys had spent one week with their father in his home, then the next week with their mother in hers.  Perhaps if they'd been older when the divorce occurred this arrangement would have been difficult for them, but because of their young ages they didn't remember any other lifestyle than this one that literally gave them two places they called home.  Their father had since remarried, and the relationship the boys had with their stepmother, Kathy, was as amiable as the relationship they had with A.J.  They also shared their father's home with a seventeen-year-old stepsister, Erin.  Other than the typical sibling bickering and teasing, the boys and Erin got along fine.  A.J. attributed this full-circle harmony directly to Rob and Lauren.   Regardless of what disagreements had brought them to divorce, they had worked hard in the intervening years to give Shane and Tanner two stable, consistent environments when it came to both love and discipline.  The expectations in their father's household translated to the same expectations in their mother's.  The boys weren't put in the middle by battling parents, nor were they kept in a constant state of confusion over what rules they were to abide by in what household.   Though A.J. and Rob didn't know one another well enough to consider themselves friends, they didn't compete with one another for the boys' affection, either.  They were both secure in their roles as father and stepfather, and respected the influences each brought to the children's lives.  

 

            Lauren had filled the dishwasher with the dirty breakfast dishes that morning before retreating to the master bedroom to get ready for work.  The appliance cycled in the background as A.J. reached in an overhead cabinet for the plastic sandwich bags.  He heard a vehicle pull in his driveway, then booted feet on the wooden walkway that led to the kitchen door.  He didn't need to glance up from his work to know who had just entered his home.

 

            "Mornin', little brother."

 

            Rick headed straight for the mug tree.  He grabbed a cup off one of the metal spools and filled it with ebony liquid from the coffee maker. 

 

            A.J. didn't stop his flow of work. "Good morning."  He slapped at a questing hand, but wasn't quick enough to prevent a sandwich from being snatched up.

 

            "Hey!  Put that back!"

 

            "Oh, come on, A.J., give a guy a break!  I'm hungry."

 

            "Why didn't you eat breakfast?"

 

            "No time," Rick said around a mouthful of peanut butter.  Before A.J. could stop him, the oldest Simon brother pilfered two cookies and a banana to round out his morning meal.

 

            "And just what all-important worldly causes were keeping you from the kitchen table?"

 

            Rick waggled his eyebrows.  "Nancy."

 

            "Oh, I see."

 

            "Yeah, so except for the skipping breakfast part, I guess you could say my day started off on the right foot."

 

            A.J. snickered while thinking of the buxom, full-figured brunette who had been Rick's steady girlfriend for five years.  "Yes, I can quite imagine that it did."

 

            Before any further conversation could take place two sets of feet pounded down the stairs.  The boys' faces lit up with delight when they emerged into the den and caught sight of their visitor.

 

            "Hey, Rick!"

 

            "Hi, Rick!"

 

            "Hey, guys!"

 

            Eight-year-old Shane and six-year-old Tanner bounded into the kitchen.  A.J.'s pudgy basset hound, Toby, waddled along behind.  He plopped his round body down in front of the French doors where he immediately fell asleep on sun drenched carpeting.

 

            In what was obviously a long practiced routine the boys turned, presenting their backpacks to A.J.  He questioned them as to whether or not they'd brushed their teeth, made their beds, taken Toby for his morning walk, and had all their homework included in their packs.  Rick smiled as he listened to his brother's recitation.   Shane's dutiful responses came back as "Yes, yes, yes," and "yes."   Tanner, on the other hand, rolled his eyes, and in a voice wrought with long-suffering moaned,  "A.J., why do you ask us these same questions every single morning?"

 

            A.J. reached out with a thumb and forefinger to lightly pinch the freckled nose.  "Because when I came home one evening and found two unmade beds, plus discovered Toby had done his business on the living room carpeting, I realized you needed to be asked these same questions every single morning."

 

            Ever the comedian, Tanner heaved a dramatic sigh.  "Oh, A.J., you have a memory like an elephant."

 

            Rick's full mouth caused him to choke on his laughter.  When A.J. shot him a look that told him not to encourage the child, Rick sputtered, "Well, he's right.  You do have a memory like a godda--"

 

            "Rick." 

 

            "Gosh darn elephant,"  Rick swiftly amended.

 

            "An affliction that's never plagued you, that's for certain.  It amazes me on some mornings that you remember to put both of your boots on."

 

            The boys giggled, taking great pleasure from seeing Rick and A.J. bicker with one another just like they themselves sometimes bickered with each other.  The blond detective placed a lunch bag in the auburn headed Shane's pack and then zipped it closed.  To the red headed Tanner he said, "I'll have yours ready in a second, sport.  It was finished, but someone whom I shall leave nameless decided your lunch looked like it would make a good breakfast."

 

            Tanner wagged a teasing finger up at Rick.  "Naughty, naughty, naughty."

 

            Rick ruffled the boy's hair as he peeled the banana and took a bite.  "You bet, red.  Naughty to the core."

 

            "Who's naughty to the core?"   Lauren asked, rounding the wall from the stairs with briefcase, high heels, and purse in hand.

 

            Tanner was all too happy to supply, "Rick."

 

            With good humor Lauren intoned,  "Now why doesn't that answer surprise me?" 

 

            The vivacious copper headed forty-year-old was the marketing director for the city of San Diego.  It was through her work that she uncovered information about the little-known cruise line she and A.J. had honeymooned on.  They'd had a wonderful time.  The ship couldn't have been any more elegant, nor her crew more attentive to the needs of her passengers.  What made this cruise different from most was that its route took them to islands not traveled by other ship lines.  They were able to enjoy the natural beauty of these tropical spots without standing elbow to elbow with throngs of other vacationers.  Lauren got enough of that type of living in San Diego, she didn't want to partake in it when she got the opportunity to get out of the city for a few days.

 

            The second-time bride couldn't have been more in love with her blond husband, nor happier than she was in her marriage.  She and Rick had been good friends since the first day they'd met, and she thought of Cecilia as a second mother.  In turn, Lauren's family adored A.J. just as much as her sons did.  He got along well with Lauren's younger sister Lisa, and her husband Jeff, had a good relationship with Lauren's mother Annette, and he played tennis once a week with Lauren's sixty-three year old father.  Several times in the past year Virgil McAllister had pulled his eldest aside and whispered,  "You should have found this one the first time around, peaches."

 

            "I know, Dad," Lauren would agree.  "But you know the old saying, sometimes you have to save the best for last."

 

            Lauren set her briefcase and purse on the counter top by the stove. She struggled to bend and slip her shoes on her feet while A.J. put together another lunch for Tanner.  He glanced over his shoulder.

 

            "Don't you think those heels are a little high?"

 

            "A.J., I have three meetings today.  I can't possibly wear flats with a business suit.  Not even with a maternity business suit.  It looks unprofessional."

            "I just don't want you tripping and falling.  You might hurt yourself."

            "Sweetheart, on my honor, I swear I have never heard of a pregnant woman doing more than twisting an ankle if she trips wearing high heels.  Besides, I have a pair of tennis shoes at the office.  I'll put them on in-between meetings if it will make you happy."

 

            A.J. patted his wife on the stomach that protruded like a beach ball that had been blown to half its girth.  At seven months pregnant with their first child, the five foot eight inch Lauren was still blessed with a slender figure in every place but around her middle. 

 

            "Yes, that will make me happy."  The blond man bent over and cupped a hand against Lauren's belly.  "And it will make you happy, too, won't it, junior?"

 

            Lauren laughed at her husband while running a hand through his hair.  His love for this as yet unborn baby ran so deep it sometimes brought tears to her eyes. 

 

            "What if junior is a juniorette?"  She teased.

 

            "That'll be fine," A.J. smiled as he stood up straight.  "I'm not picky.  Boy or girl, there's no way you can disappoint me, Mrs. Simon."

 

            "Well, I'll be disappointed if it's a dumb old girl," Tanner said.  "Besides, Rick said if you hang upside down with a frog in your pocket when the moon is full and kiss your wife three times fast you're sure to have a boy.  And if you wanna girl then you have ta'--

            A hand shot out to cover the boy's mouth.  "Never mind what I said about that, pardner."

 

            Tanner squirmed his face from underneath Rick's grasp.  "So I wanna know, A.J.  Did you hang upside down with a frog in your pocket and kiss Mom three times fast?  I sure hope so, 'cause I wanna little brother."

 

            Lauren had to turn away to hide her laughter at her son's words, her husband's red face, and her brother-in-law's sheepish expression.

 

            Through gritted teeth A.J. said, "The only person who's going to be hanging upside down around here, Tanner, is Rick."   

 

            Rick was grateful the subject was dropped when A.J. deposited Tanner's lunch in his X-Men backpack and zipped it closed.  Rick had a feeling this was only a temporary reprieve, however.  The oldest Simon brother had no doubt he was going to hear about his version of human biology as told to a six year old at a later date.  He watched as his brother handed Lauren a paper bag.

 

            "What's this?"  The woman asked.

            "An apple, a banana, and a pint of milk.  The apple's for your morning break, the banana for your afternoon one.  I don't care when you drink the milk, but make sure you do.  Don't bring it back home like you did yesterday.  The doctor said you need to continue to increase your calcium intake until the baby comes."

            Lauren gave an affectionate roll of her eyes in Rick's direction.  He winked at her in return. 

 

            "You know my brother, he's not happy unless he's taking care of someone."

 

            "Then I guess that makes us both pretty lucky doesn't it, Rick." Lauren accepted the lunch bag and kissed her husband on the mouth.  "Have a good day."

 

            "I will.  You too."

 

            The woman gave Rick a peck on the cheek and then gathered up her children.  "Tell Rick and A.J. goodbye.  We have to get a move on."

 

            When the boys lived with their father they were close enough to walk to their public grade school.  Before Lauren and A.J. had married, Lauren had a condominium within walking distance of the school as well.  A.J.'s home was not in that school district, however, therefore when the boys were with their mother someone had to drive them to and from school.  In August they'd get a break from the routine for three weeks.  Like many Southern California schools, the one the boys attended held classes year round.  Short vacations spanning three weeks were given at the end of every three months of attendance.  Although A.J. had found that odd at first, as opposed to the traditional summer vacation he'd been used to during his school years, he was beginning to see how beneficial it was.  Not only was the learning process enhanced because it wasn't interrupted by a ninety day break, but this schedule was also a great help to working parents.  Between A.J. and Lauren, and Rob and Kathy, someone was always able to take vacation time from work that coincided with the boys' school vacations.  And, in the rare event there was a day a babysitter was required, two sets of grandparents and Cecilia, who the boys affectionately referred to as Grandma C., were always willing to make themselves available.

 

            The boys hiked their backpacks firmly on their shoulders and said their goodbyes.  Tanner, the more openly affectionate of the two, gave Rick a hug around the waist and A.J. a kiss on the mouth that the detective returned with one of his own.

 

            "Have a good day!"  A.J. called after both children as they scampered through the den toward the door that led to the garage.            

 

            "We will!"  Shane yelled in return.  The boy turned and backpedaled the rest of the way out of the house.  "And hey, A.J., don't forget you were gonna help me with my pitching when you get home tonight."

 

            "I won't forget."  A.J. promised.

 

            The blond man heard the rear panel door slide open on Lauren's dark blue Dodge mini-van, accompanied by the usual morning argument over who was going to sit where within the vehicle.  Before the dispute was settled the door was slammed shut, cutting off the boys' words.          

 

             Lauren plucked her purse and briefcase off the counter top.  "Will you be leaving the office early enough to get the boys from after-school club, or should I plan to?" 

 

            "You'd better plan to.  Rick and I have a meeting scheduled for three.  I have no idea whether we'll be done by five or not."

 

            "Sounds like an important client."

 

            Rick licked the last of the grape jelly from his fingers, deposited his banana peel in the garbage, then turned to rinse his mug out in the sink.  "The FBI."

 

            "The who?"

 

            "FBI, believe it or not.  Some dude calls us yesterday afternoon and says he wants ta' meet with us today."

 

            "Whatever for?"

            "Don't know."  Rick placed his mug in the drainer before turning to face Lauren again. "Wouldn't say."

 

            "I hope it doesn't involve anything that could be dangerous."

 

            A.J. shot his brother a dirty look.  This is exactly why he hadn't told his wife about the evasive phone call they'd received the previous afternoon.

 

            "Whoops," Rick covered his mouth with a hand.  "Guess I said too much, huh?"