Okay, after the way I left ya’ll hangin’ from the last installment, all I have to say is:

….and, yes, this means you! J You’ll find out one way or the other soon enough… Now, on to the conclusion…

Most gang leaders did not have homes as grand as the one that belonged to Alfons Vega, but, then again, Alfons always strove to be the exception in everything.

Latino street gangs were by their nature disorganized and desultory. Young boys joined around the onset of puberty and were lured by the need to belong to something greater, to be a part of a family when their own was so often lacking. The home life of the typical Latino gangsta was more often than not a dysfunctional nightmare, hence the irresistible allure of being ‘down’ with the ‘homeboyz.’ The thinking being that at least with a gang there was someone who cared about them or seemed like they did. If the gang member wasn’t killed or imprisoned by the time he or she made it through their early twenties, they usually grew out of this stage and would move on to make something more out of their lives. But that was a very big ‘if.’

The Vartan Bloods, naturally, were different.

Alfons had known from the beginning that he wanted to take the street gang to a new level, to use the desperation of these young footsoldiers, as he liked to call them, to his advantage as he carved out his own relatively modest, though non less lucrative, cartel deep in the heart of Los Angeles. And he had done just that. But the turning of Resa Gustavez had put a very large wrinkle in his plans and nearly brought about the ruination of all his accomplishments. Her disclosure to the police had forced him into hiding, but like a weed beneath the pavement he had inevitably found a way back to the surface. It involved some bribing of lower-level officials here and there (never too difficult) as well as using a scrupulously crafted alternate identity that was good enough to fool the best of judges but eventually he managed to ‘hide’ in plain sight. Over time he successfully reestablished his empire, which included the reacquisition of his estate after the authorities had claimed it when the warrants for his arrest were issued and he failed to appear. Ironically, he bought back his own home in an open-auction in an audacious move that, alas, only he could truly appreciate…that is, after he got over being pissed off he had to spend heaps of money for something he already owned.

In the end, Alfons Vega was unquestionably a wanted man but he still lived his life in full, mocking view of any who cared to look. None did…and he considered himself indomitable.

But that was before Resa Gustavez resolved to take him down.

She did not come to this decision lightly. It went against all the principles that she had fought so hard to achieve but ultimately she knew she had no choice. Violence was the only language Alfons understood and as long as he remained comfortably ensconced in his way of life, as long as he wanted her, then Jennifer would be in danger and that was completely unacceptable.

Alfons’ house was well fortified and none knew this better than she since she was the one responsible for installing the security measures in the first place. But if she knew these boys as well as she thought she did, it was a sure bet that most of those measures hadn’t changed much over the years. Aflons was a brilliant man, no question, but he tended to suffer from a God complex that led him to delusions of invincibility, which right now was a quality that she very much liked about him.

One could conceivably refer to Alfons’ home as a mansion but the surrounding neighborhood was decayed enough to frighten away the heartiest of criminals, thus cutting back on its overall value by a few million or so. Nonetheless, behind the towering walls was a far from humble abode. Twenty rooms. Tennis courts. Pools indoors and out. Game rooms, a movie theatre, two kitchens, separate guest quarters, helicopter-landing pad, and a basement devoted to the growing of marijuana. In short, your basic drug lord lair.

The good news in trying to find Alfons within such a labyrinth was that he was a creature of surprisingly stringent habit. Resa used to joke that she could set her watch by his routine. At present, it was eleven o’clock at night and that meant he would be in his study, reading tomorrow’s New York Times and sipping his herbal tea laced with a spot of rum. It was his favorite indulgence. Next to her, of course.

The scent of fresh cut lawn was sweet in the cool night air and she detected the distinct fragrance of honeysuckle coming from somewhere close by. If she’d had the time she would have paused to admire the absolute beauty of the night…but she did not.

With feline stealth she crept up to the gritty side of the tan brick wall that wrapped around the estate and made her way through the shadows. Her eyes were on the alert for signs of security cameras but caught sight of only the one, which was in the alcove by the side entrance where they kept the garbage...exactly where she had placed it in years ago. This was the weakest area in the entire would-be compound and she knew just how to exploit it to gain access.

She did not carry a gun. Not yet at least. Purchasing one wouldn’t have been difficult with regard to her felon status (government bureaucracy had made sure of that) but it was more a question of money. She just didn’t have the cash on such short notice and she didn’t want to waste precious time getting the necessary funds. But it wasn’t something about which she was too worried. When she needed one -- and she would -- then she’d take one.

A noise caught her attention and she glanced down at her watch. 11:05. She almost smiled. Time to take out the garbage.

Years earlier she had established a procedure that took place once a day and always cloaked by the cover of darkness since often what was being disposed of was not something to be seen by the uninitiated (i.e., drug making paraphernalia and the like). It was an unappealing but necessary operation that, under her command, had entailed the use of at least two guards in addition to the unfortunate flunky assigned to actually drive the refuse.

She ducked back around the corner of the wall and waited. A few minutes passed and she heard the distinct rumble of a medium-sized Peterbilt truck as it made its way down the alley behind the estate.

Two headlights appeared as it pulled into the alcove and maneuvered its back end up to the steel, double doors. From her vantagepoint she caught a glimpse of the driver’s face from the dashboard glow and did not recognize him. No matter.

She glanced up at the camera and noticed it was starting to swing back in the direction of the side doors and her stomach clenched. Three, two, one…

She sprang forward, dashed with blinding speed to the side of the truck, and jumped onto the metal sideboard. The young driver didn’t have time to react before she reached through the open window and caught him square in the throat in a brutal blow. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped but no sound came out. She shoved the wadded up piece of cloth deep in his open mouth then she opened the door and shoved him aside so she was now in the driver’s seat.

She only had a few seconds in which to act and every one of them had to count.

She delivered two swift stomps to the young man’s sternum, further winding him to the point of temporary incapacity then she grabbed his baseball cap, shoved the tail of her long braid up into the back, and drew down the bill. It wouldn’t fool anyone in the long run, of course, but she didn’t need the long run. Only a second or two for her own advantage.

She then saw the other item she was looking for and reached down to retrieve the 45-caliber pistol tucked into the front waistband of his pants. Perfect.

A glance in the rearview mirror revealed the doors were open and she saw two armed Vartans on either side, waiting for the truck to be backed up inside the walls.

She gladly obliged by slipping the gear into reverse and driving the large truck back through the opening.

Apparently she went a little too fast for one of the Vartan guard’s liking. He shouted out, "Whoa, whoa!" and put his hand up to halt her progress as she drew the vehicle up alongside him. But he didn’t even have time to glance in her direction before she shot him in the right thigh, instantly dropping him to the dirt. She then spun and shot the Vartan on the corresponding side of the entrance, also striking him in the knee. Both men went down without getting off a single shot.

She didn’t wait around to hear them groan in pain.

Instead she hit the accelerator to back the truck further onto the grounds, spun the wheel, shifted back into drive and floored it.

Her destination was the main house. She knew her movements would attract attention but her plan wasn’t about secrecy; it was about getting inside and doing what she needed to do at all costs.

The estate’s layout was one she knew by heart. Eight acres of land with the main, two and a half story house located well in from the street. A circle-driveway lead from the primary gate to the ever-so-grand front door but that was not her point of entry. She knew a better way, one that would provide safe access through the entire house.

A slight movement to her right drew her attention. She pointed the barrel of the 45 at the dazed driver.

"Get out," she said, her voice flat and deadly.

The young man just stared at her, frightened and confused. "But - "

She cocked the hammer. "Now."

He scrambled to the passenger door, hesitated a fraction of a second before he opened it and jumped out of the swiftly moving vehicle. The truck’s momentum closed the door behind him.

Resa didn’t bother to look at the side mirror to determine if the young man was all right. She was going forty miles an hour, the lawn was a thick grass that would cushion the impact of his fall and if he was smart, he rolled. If not…

The house came into view through the trees and she felt a surge of recollection. The style was traditional Tudor and had been built before the infamous Wall Street Crash when land was cheap and developers were feeding on the post-war economic boom. It was unquestionably beautiful, but she knew too well the rot that dwelled within. After all, she had once lived there, though she never considered it her home. In the truest sense of the word, she had never had a home and likely never would.

She drove faster.

The sounds of gunfire reached her ears and she heard bullets ping off the metal sides of the truck. The troops were coming. A quick peek in the driver’s side mirror and she saw at least six Vartans running across the lawn in her direction. They were closing fast. By her calculations, she had maybe fifteen seconds to get to her destination unseen…if she failed, well then she would have to improvise.

Angling the truck around the ‘West Wing’ (as Alfons so pretentiously called it), she gunned her way through an ineffective metal fence and threaded the vehicle between the outdoor pool and the house itself. She was aiming for one specific room. The game room, which provided a perfect way inside.

She slipped on her seatbelt, ducked her head and held on as the mighty truck plowed its way through the enormous window.

The collision was jarring and quite loud as two tons plus of pure American ingenuity let nothing stand in its way. Sounds of glass breaking then the sight of thousands of shards hitting the front windshield, which cracked but did not shatter. She was thrown forward at the moment of impact, her safety belt catching abruptly and holding her until she was then forced back against the seat. The truck roared across the room, ramming into and knocking sideways the mahogany pool table (made by the finest craftsmen and imported from Italy), before colliding into the far wall and settling with a final, impossibly violent jerk that knocked the baseball cap from her head.

Dust hadn’t even begun to settle before Resa unfastened her seatbelt, grabbed hold of the 45, opened the driver’s side door, and leapt out of the truck.

She didn’t have to look around to know where she was going.

Across the room was a full bar, thoroughly stocked and beautifully maintained and though it was located in the opposite direction of the room’s actual door (and one would presume also her escape) she headed straight for it.

Her ears detected the rapid approach of footsteps still outside and the sounds of men’s shouts.

She ran faster, crossing the fifty feet between the truck and the bar in the blink of an eye. In a single, deft move, she one-arm vaulted over the bar, landed in a crouch, and pulled down on the faux bottle of Château Pétrus 1989 that acted as a lever.

The whole back of the bar popped open and Resa quickly slipped through to the hidden space behind. In the dark of the hallway, she pulled the door back into position right as she heard the muffled sounds of the Vartans entering the destroyed game room, looking for her.

But though she was close, they would not see her.

Resa did not pause to wait for her eyes to adjust to the inky blackness. She would let her instincts be her guide.

The inner corridor was acutely narrow with a ceiling so low she had to duck her head as she made her way along but it still allowed her covert access across the expanse of the residence and that was what she needed.

The secret passageways were always her favorite features of the old house. It reminded her of some of the old movies she’d watched as a young girl at the Sacred Heart and she’d been irrationally delighted to learn that Alfons’ home was full of them. It was also an aspect of the house of which few were aware. Indeed, she doubted if anyone besides Alfons and she even knew of their existence.

Which worked out just fine.

Muted sounds penetrated the secret hallway and she paused a moment to listen in an effort to gauge her location. After a moment, she realized she was most likely in the back, toward the east corner of the house. Her destination was the nerve center of the defensive operations and from there one could ascertain the various goings on in and around the property.

Urgent, raised voices of several Vartans reached her ears as they searched in desperation to locate her. She continued on, her mind and body focused, her shoulders barely brushing the wall.

A minute later and she paused, her hearing quickly detecting a familiar ticking and whirl.

The security room.

She slid the flat of her hand along the smooth, old wood of the wall until she encountered a cold metal handle. She pulled it slowly to the side, creating a slight opening that also let in a blinding sliver of light. She placed her face close to the aperture and peered into the room.

There were two Vartans present, one scanning the bank of fifteen video camera monitors and one on his cell phone, speaking in hurried, flustered Spanish. Both had their backs to her.

She considered shooting them then and there, when the advantage was so clearly hers…but could not. The old Resa Gustavez wouldn’t have hesitated a second. But now the mere idea of essentially murdering these two men whom she did not know and had nothing against turned her stomach. They were little more than kids. Granted, big, well-armed kids who, given the chance, would shoot her without the slightest misgivings and then brag about it to all their friends, but she nonetheless refused to kill them in cold blood.

Now, if they were coming at her…well, that was another story.

She slipped out from the hidden passageway and into the room. The element of surprise was in her favor but she also knew quite well that it was far more difficult to knock someone into unconsciousness in real life than the movies would have one believe.

In the end, she accomplished it in five swift, punishing moves. One guy took three blows while the other went down with a single shot to the temple and a sleeper chokehold that quickly had him out.

She turned her eyes to the security monitors and scanned for some sign of Alfons but saw only a dozen Vartans scrambling about in every direction. She gritted her teeth in frustration. Damn. She’d been hoping to locate him from here but it didn’t look as if that was going to happen.

She grabbed one of the downed Vartan’s automatic pistols and an AK-47’s and let loose on all the machinery. It was deafening. Bullets ripped into the computers, monitors, and controlling devices, effectively crippling the running of the house in one fell swoop.

Fire broke out almost immediately from the shower of sparks and within seconds thick smoke and noxious fumes began to fill the room.

She heard the sounds of men approaching and turned back for the passageway…only to find her path blocked by newly formed flames. She frowned in annoyance. So much for that…now time to improvise.

She spun back around as three Vartans entered and here she did not hesitate. She shot and took down two before they even had a chance to pull the triggers on their weapons. The third got off a couple cracks and she felt a searing heat as a bullet skimmed off her left side. But that was as close as he got. A moment later and he was on the floor with the others.

Behind her the fire was growing.

She slipped the AK-47 strap over her shoulder, gripped hard on the pistol and made her way out of the room.

A single Vartan was approaching but at the sight of her he froze in surprise…and more than a little fear. She pointed the gun at him.

"Now would be a good time for a career change," she told him calmly.

By the look on his face she could see he wholeheartedly agreed…even before he turned to run in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could carry him.

Resa turned away from him and proceeded on her course.

At the other end of the hallway was a back staircase that curved up. She moved fast, the rubber souls of her shoes silent upon the polished, hardwood floor. Her eyes remained on constant alert for movement and in the distance she heard voices coming from another part of the house.

She held the pistol with both hands in the ready position as she took the steps two at a time. As she came around a bend in the stairs, she was on high alert for anyone waiting for her at the second floor. A wall blocked off her visual field to the left of the top but she knew better than to trust only her eyes. All her senses were required and one absolutely did not peek around corners at such moments.

She slipped off the AK-47 and set it aside, then crouched down at the last step before the top, her whole body concentrating on receiving information. Her ears picked up on the faint but definite vibration of breathing and she knew she was not alone.

A beat, then she sprang forward, keeping her body low and parallel to the ground even as she twisted at the waist and swung her pistol in the direction of the two Vartans waiting for her against the wall. They were caught just a fraction off-guard by her surprise offensive but that was enough.

Boom, boom, boom.

She took out the first one and dropped the second with a shot to the stomach. Before he could react, she stopped her slide, spun around to her knees and came back for him, grabbing him by the shirt and tossing him down the stairs. His head smacked the far wall at the bottom and he slumped into unconsciousness.

She sensed someone behind her and without turning delivered a lightning back kick that landed hard against the soft of her would-be attacker’s abdomen. She heard the ‘whoosh’ as the air left his lungs and whirled around to unleash a barrage of blows to the young man’s face and neck. He tried to cover but she was too quick. A crunch as his nose broke and a squish as his lip split in two. Blood flowed. She did not let up until he dropped to the floor and it was then that she recognized him: Tres, the Vartan whom she had knocked unconscious outside of Jennifer’s apartment.

She paused, standing over the young man, her fists stained red.

"Well, hello, Tres," she said pleasantly then reached down to grab him by the shirt front and drew him up, her lip curling in distaste. "Fancy meeting you here."

"P-please…"

"Please, what?" Her voice was like velvet. "Please, kick my ass some more?"

"Please don’t kill me."

"Yeah? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t."

"I got a kid. I got a kid!" he insisted frantically.

She looked him over, her eyes narrowed into slits. Then she tipped her head to one side as if considering his plea. He could be lying. Hell, he probably was. But there was always the chance he had a child somewhere, perhaps even more than one, and it was enough reason for her. Besides, she had use for him.

She slammed him hard against the wall.

"Guess this is your lucky day," she said as she leaned in close to his ear, her voice low and full of confident menace. "‘Cause I’m going to let you go. Not because I like you or anything, but because I’m feeling generous. Now, the second I release you, you’re gonna run out of here without so much as a look back as you haul ass to your home and to your kid, if there is one, and when you see him or her, you’re gonna fall to your knees and say a big, ol’ thank you to God for letting you live tonight. And then you’re going to tell that same God you’re prayin’ to that you are never, ever going to be a member of a gang again ‘cause deep down you know that’s not the life for you, am I right? All it leads to is a whole lotta bad and you want more for yourself and for your kid, don’t you? Oh, and one other thing, Tres, and I’m going to need you to listen up because this is important…Are ya listenin’?" He nodded and she leveled him with a threatening look so pure he nearly wet himself. "I am holding you personally responsible for making sure no other member of the Vartans goes anywhere near Jennifer Logan ever again, ya got me? Because if something does happen to her, even the slightest infraction, the most mundane encounter, a paper cut…I will kill you, if I have to come back from the fucking grave to do so…Do you understand?" The wide-eyed young man nodded vigorously and Resa regarded him a moment longer, her lips drawn thin in a half-smile, half-sneer. "Good," she murmured then whispered, "Now go."

She released her hold on the terrified gang member who immediately stumbled away from her, bloody and visibly shaken. Resa pointed to the stairs and, without waiting to be told twice, he turned to lurch down the steps with the speed - if not grace - of a gazelle.

The acrid smell of smoke reached her and she knew it would not be long before the downstairs fire raged out of control. She had to get to Alfons’ study while he was still there, if he was still there. She estimated she had been in the house maybe five minutes, not much more, and Alfons undoubtedly knew of her presence. Time was running out.

She picked up her pistol from the floor, retrieved the AK-47 and ducked into the nearest room. It was a guest suite. Empty and quiet. She shut the door behind her and slid the lock into place.

For a moment she let the stillness wash over her and savored the feeling. It would likely be the last interval of peace she would know for a long time, perhaps ever, and that thought brought about an unexpected flash of melancholic reflection. She had never been one to dwell on the ‘what might have beens’ of her life but in that instant she could not hold at bay the near incredulous wonder at how she had gotten to this point. How she had come to be standing in a burning crime-lord’s mansion with automatic weapons in hand on her way to what could well be her final moments. She thought back to the time when she was fourteen years old and confronting Pedro Cajigas and a sad stab of longing went through her. She wished she could go back to stop the girl she used to be, to talk her out of the act that would ultimately doom her. But such supposition served no purpose and she squelched those thoughts, those feelings before they could paralyze her.

It was then she heard it. A roar. Faint at first, then quickly growing in intensity and a beat later she recognized what it was.

Her body tensed and grew cold.

Alfons was trying to escape….Oh, but she was not going to let that happen.

She crossed to the French doors and kicked them open, then strode out onto the balcony, her movements brisk and methodical, almost robotic. A woman with a mission.

Flipping the safety, she slipped the pistol into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, slid the AK-47 strap diagonally across her shoulders and bent to remove both her shoes and socks. She hoisted herself up onto the balcony’s cement railing and rested the flats of her palms against the brick siding of the house for a degree of balance as she arched back to better survey the potential for ascendance.

The edge of the roof hung down low enough for her to grab hold of it and in a daring move that would have reduced even the boldest of daredevils to caution, sprang straight up like a cat, using the momentum of her leap and the assuredness of her feet to propel her onto, and scramble up, the side of the pitched roof.

She leaned forward, bare feet and palms pressed hard against the asphalt shingles as she hugged her body against the incline. The sound of revving engines came from her right, in the direction of the helicopter pad Alfons had had specially constructed at the other end of the house. (His only gripe at the time had been that it didn’t match the overall architectural décor but, alas, sometimes compromises simply had to be made.)

She gripped the top of the pitch and pulled herself up, crouching down low with feet balanced on either side of the arch as she scurried forward under the radiance of the ever-present moon.

The helicopter pad was a good half-story higher the second-story roof she was now on, by necessity raising it above the rest of the structure. As she reached it she heard the familiar whine of the engine as the copter prepared to lift off.

She ran the last few feet and leapt up, her feet landing flat against the brick wall and the tips of her fingers reaching out to grab the decorative lip of the roof that projected outward. She pulled herself up and rolled over the side of the house just as the yellow and white copter rose into the air. Rage filled her, blinded her. That bastard was not going to get away that easily! Not with her around.

She reached back to draw forward the AK-47 and didn’t bother to aim before she emptied the clip into the side of the rising aircraft, counting on at least one of the bullets to reach its mark.

One did.

A second later and the copter erupted into a blinding ball of fire.

The kaboom of the explosion was deafening and the intense repercussion knocked her off-balance, almost sending her back over the edge as flaming pieces of wreckage rained down all around her.

The burning body of the helicopter veered grotesquely back toward the ground and slammed into the side of the house with an impact so mighty that Resa felt all the way to the marrow of her bones.

A cacophony of noise and heat filled her senses as hot fragments of debris pelted her in her tightly coiled position. Several seconds passed before she dared to peer up over the shield of her arm to see an orange wall of flame shooting up above the house and for a moment she paused in sheer awe at the destruction.

But then a sound cut through her amazement. Nearly drowned out by the thunder of confusion yet distinct enough to make itself heard. It was the sound of clapping. Sharp, deliberate, and undeniably mocking.

Her stomach dropped in sickening dread as she realized there could be but one person who was the source.

"Good shot," she heard him say as she turned to see a grinning Alfons standing off to one side by a hatchway, back-lighted by the orange glow of the fire and very much alive. He shook his head in feigned consolation. "Too bad you missed your mark though." He tapped his own chest.

Comprehension dawned and chilled her. "That was a decoy, wasn’t it? To flush me out?"

"Ding, ding, ding. And she goes to the head of the class." He approached her casually, clenching and unclenching the pistol in his grip. "The pilot was real, though," he said with a smile. "Emphasis, of course, being on the ‘was’ part."

For a fraction of a second her body slackened in bitter self-disgust but then she focused fully on the dangerous man standing only a dozen feet away.

"You killed someone just to get to me."

"No, you killed him. I just put him in the right place at the right time, knowing you’d do the rest. Which you did." He sighed in contentment. "I do so love being right."

She sat back on the roof and watched him in amazement, wondering how she could have ever felt attracted to someone as twisted and dissolute as he. Had he always been like this or had she really changed that much? The answer, of course, was both.

"You’re sick," she said quietly.

"I like to think of it as being dedicated." His black eyes glimmered in the fiery glow as he casually moved closer to her, watching her every move. "I can see that bothers you." He shook his head in disappointment. "Oh, Resa, Resa, Resa," he said with a sigh. "You have tried so hard to escape your destiny, to pretend you’re something you’ll never be…but there are some things that cannot be changed. Frankly, I don’t see why you even attempt to deny it. You’re a killer. It’s in your blood. Hell, you should be proud. It’s what separates people like us from the rest of these simians." He waved a hand in disdain. "We have the balls to do what needs to done, no matter what the cost. No matter who gets hurt. We have power. We have tenacity. Chutzpah, even. We are miles beyond the rest of these drones who stumble about wondering if they’ll get that promotion they’ve cheated so hard for or if their hair is really thinning on top. These people who live half-lives because they’re too afraid to commit, to grab life by the throat and demand nothing less than everything. These people who are flies while we..." He knelt down only a few feet opposite her to look deep into her eyes and whisper, "We. Are. Gods…And we can kill them for our sport."

But Resa shook her head, her heart and voice filled with hatred. "I don’t think like that anymore."

He pointed over her shoulder in the direction of the burning helicopter. "Bob there would beg to differ, as would a few of my boys you encountered on your way in."

"Self-defense."

"Hey, tell yourself whatever gets you to sleep at night." He tipped his head to one side, his eyes twinkling. "But we both know the truth."

Her upper lip curled in distaste. "Alfons, you wouldn’t know the truth if it came up and shot you at point-blank range."

"Which is what you were planning to do, yes?"

She lifted her jaw in defiance. "Yes."

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "But you’re not a killer."

She was silent a moment, her hardened gaze never breaking from his. "Only if necessity dictates," she said at last.

"I couldn’t agree more. The tricky part is defining ‘necessity.’ I have, as you can imagine, a more liberal view than most on the subject." He reached out to almost touch her cheek but she jerked away. "Time was, so did you."

"Times change."

"But people don’t."

"That’s where you’re wrong. I did."

"Is that what your cute little blonde friend told you? She seems like the type who’s really gung-ho about changing people for the better and all that crap."

Every fiber of her being stiffened in alarm at having him invoke the mere idea of Jennifer and somewhere in the distance she heard the faint wail of an approaching siren.

"Leave her out of this," she warned in a low voice.

His eyes flashed and she caught a glimpse of jealousy in their depths. "Why? She’s such an integral part of your being here, isn’t she? She’s the reason you’ve come charging once more unto the breech like some knight of old. So that you can protect her by eliminating danger. Eliminating me." He shook his head, dark hair brushing over broad shoulders. "Don’t try to deny it. I won’t believe you. You’ve been out for, what? Six months? And no one hears a peep out of you. Blondie gets shot yesterday and suddenly here you are, guns blazin’ after my ass. Coincidence? I think not." A grim smile. "Besides, I’ve seen how you look at her."

She didn’t bother to dispute his point. It wouldn’t have worked anyhow because he was quite right. She just didn’t like that he knew her so fully, didn’t like the implications, the perils such knowledge could bring. If she harbored any doubts about her course of action, they now vanished.

He sat back on his haunches, his gaze traveling over her and his body tensed. "Well, well, well," he murmured tightly. "I do believe I have at last uncovered the mighty Resa Gustavez’s Achilles Heel…And it turns out to be a little, blonde girl. Will wonders never cease?" Then all mocking dimmed from his eyes and a hint of anger, and even greater jealousy crept into his voice. "I find it rather amazing, really. Was her innocence the appeal? Her goodness make you feel all holy and clean inside? Was that it?" Resa’s silence only served to heighten his growing ire, as she knew it would. "Tell me, I’m curious. How’d she do it? How did that scrawny little bitch get past all those barriers you built up all those years when I who groomed you, who knows you better than anyone else am kept on the outside?" She again refused to reply and his intensity grew with every word. "I’m the one who gave you everything you could ever want. Money, access to unlimited power. Everything. And all I’ve ever really wanted in exchange was you…but you’ve always known that, haven’t you? It’s always been the trump card you hold over me, teasing me that maybe, just maybe, someday you’ll be mine again and I don’t have to go through every fucking moment wanting to get back what we once had." Black eyes burned into hers. "But that’s impossible, isn’t it? You’ve given yourself to someone else. To her." He reached out suddenly to grip her jaw, his voice and manner brutal. "What the fuck did she say? Huh? What could that bitch possibly do to get to you like this? Tell me! What did she do?"

Resa didn’t hesitate. Instead in a calm, certain voice that held nothing back, that destroyed him in three irrevocable words, she said simply "She loved me."

And then she took action.

In the blink of an eye she grabbed his leather jacket with both hands, rolled onto her back while simultaneously placing both feet on his abdomen and with every ounce of strength her legs possessed, heaved all 220 pounds of him over her head.

He went sailing across the side of the house.

But he did not go alone.

He took her with him.

As he fell, his hand clutched at her shirt and she was yanked across the edge, feeling powerless as gravity took over.

She reached out blindly and one hand found the leather belt of his pants. She grasped at it and with a sudden jarring jerk her plummet was arrested.

Her head snapped up and she saw Alfons holding onto the cement lip of the landing pad with both hands.

And she was holding on to him. Momentarily suspended…but it was then she looked down…and blanched.

Below her was the fire, raging out of control. She saw it growing with each gust of wind until it was eating up the side of the house and the ground between them and the nearby pool. She could feel the heat shoot up her bare feet, legs and back and she gritted her teeth against the pain.

Alfons struck out at her a couple times with the heels of his boots, hitting her chest with brutal desperation but she did not let go of her hold.

He ceased his efforts to kick her free and began to pull himself -- and by default her -- up, his powerful arms bulging against the restrictions of his jacket.

Her eyes shifted and fastened on the gun muzzle that just peeked over the side.

She reached behind her and drew out the automatic pistol she had earlier tucked into the back of her jeans and pointed it up at his head, her mind whirling as she assessed the situation from every angle.

If she allowed him to continue to pull himself upward he could, and likely would, go for the gun as soon as it was within his reach. And he would shoot her, of that she was certain. She didn’t care how much he professed to need her, to obsess about her, to want her back. This was about life and death. His life and his potential death, and in his mind she had no doubt that took precedence over all else. She was literally weighing him down, dragging at him and robbing from him the precious seconds required to escape.

But, if she shot him now, before they reached the top, then they would both fall and while the drop itself wouldn’t necessarily be enough to kill them outright, the fire below was another matter.

Either way, it did not look good for her.

But, then she realized with a sudden calmness and inner serenity, that it had long ago stopped being about her and her needs. It went beyond that. Well beyond anything she had ever before understood or thought possible of or for herself. This moment reached into the core of her soul and touched her heart and made her believe in something greater, something deeper. And with the purity of love, she knew what she had to do. To protect Jennifer, she would give everything.

Tears filled her eyes, tears for what might have been….

Alfons pulled his chest up over the side.

…what could have been…

He reached out for the gun.

…what should have been…

Grabbed it.

…yet was not.

And swung down in her direction.

Only one of them pulled the trigger.

As she stood at the edge of the gardens of the Sacred Heart, basking in the warm May sunshine, it occurred to Jennifer that the recent events in her life had truly come full circle. Here she was once again with Father Hector and they had been drawn together by the spirit of the inimitable Resa Gustavez. Only this time the purpose was to say good-bye.

She glanced over at the handsome priest and found a pair of contemplative blue eyes studying her. She smiled, though it was a more somber and reflective caliber of expression than she had projected upon their first meeting. Before she’d encountered Resa and had her life turned inside, outside, upside down.

Physically she was well on her way to being healed. Some therapy was needed to get her arm and shoulder functioning back at peak level but the pain had long since receded to a dull ache on the worst of days and nonexistent on the best. The scars would fade but never be gone. The doctors had repeatedly emphasized how lucky she was that the bullet hadn’t ricocheted in a different direction and that her damage could have easily been far worse. The puncture to her lung alone could have been enough to kill her had she not received immediate medical assistance. Fortunately she had and now her body would recover completely.

Her heart, however, was a very different matter.

She inhaled deeply and released a telling sigh.

Father Hector placed a gentle, strong hand upon her upper arm, his presence bringing a degree of comfort as she had hoped it would. It was indescribably important for her to be around even the smallest reminder of Resa since the other woman’s disappearance. When she had heard on the news about the fire and destruction to the house that had once belonged to Alfons Vega, she had been rendered numb. But try as she might, she never received official confirmation as to Resa’s involvement and exact identification had not been made on all of the charred bodies found at the scene. But the police assured her they were still working on it and they hoped to have everyone accounted for within the next several weeks. Perhaps a little longer.

Yet Jennifer didn’t need to be told from anyone else that Resa was involved. She knew.

And she knew why.

It was because of her and the guilt of that responsibility weighed heavily upon her shoulders. At times it felt like more than she could bear. And it was with her every day, from the moment she awoke to the last seconds before she was claimed by sleep and even there she was not immune for her dreams were both a solace and a hell. Solace because for a few hours each night she was with Resa again, no longer alone and hell because of the crushing disappointment she experienced each time she woke again to the harshness of reality, to the utter desolation of her beguiled and broken heart. Whoever had said that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all had clearly never lost love. This, she decided, was true misery.

Her friends and family did not understand. Ah, but how could they? She told them nothing of her anguish, choosing to suffer in silence and blame her depression on her injuries. Only Father Hector had a chance at insight but she had fought against telling him everything if only because she wasn’t entirely certain she could endure the pain of dredging it all up again.

She wasn’t a martyr. She knew she had to move on, truly she did. Yet knowing and doing were two very different things and for too long she couldn’t quite bring herself to take that first step.

But then last week the Padre had unexpectedly stopped by her apartment to express his concern for her and something changed. Perhaps it was actually seeing him again for the first time that had done it for she broke down and cried for God knows how long as the sympathetic priest held her without comment. And when she was once again composed, or very nearly so, she discovered she felt a little better. Not much. No sudden transformation or the like had taken place. But just a tiny bit less… forsaken. And she experienced the first sliver of relief in longer than she could recall.

It had been Father Hector’s idea to perform some act of closure and then one of symbolic beginning. The moment he raised the idea Jennifer knew exactly where she must go: to the Sacred Heart and the gardens within. Indeed, on some level it felt almost preordained, or perhaps she felt that way due to her precarious state of being.

Coming back to the Sacred Heart had been an almost surreal experience. While on the surface everything appeared the same, significant change had occurred within the hallowed walls since last she was an unscheduled visitor.

Jennifer was stunned to learn that not long after the frightening events with the Vartans, Sister Stephanie had taken a leave of absence to reevaluate her vocation and her life and was in all likelihood going to attend a local college in the fall. The Mother Superior hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised as she told this to Jennifer and indeed the younger woman got the impression it was somewhat expected. Deep down, Jennifer instinctively guessed the young nun’s decision was motivated in some part on the presence of Resa, she just didn’t quite know how or why. But it seemed right. It seemed entirely appropriate that Resa should leave her imprint on all whom she encountered.

She sighed and rubbed the crease between her brow.

"Do you regret any of it?" Father Hector asked, the timber of his voice reaching out to wrap around her like an embrace.

She didn’t need to look at him to reply.

"No," she said with quiet certainty. "No matter what the outcome, I’m glad you introduced us and that we got to be…close." She shut her eyes and a flash of distinctive blue appeared before her. She almost smiled. "Having known her will only make me a better person…Or, at least, I hope it will." Now she did glance at him and here her voice almost broke. "Otherwise, what’s the point?"

He nodded and she saw him swallow hard, the slightest betrayal of emotion to crack his normally stoic facade. She realized then that this moment was difficult for him, too, that Resa had been an incredibly important part of his life as well and she felt suddenly selfish. She immediately turned to hug the priest around the waist and felt his arms come up tight about her shoulders. The two held each other for several moments in mutual consolation before Father Hector at last pulled back and smiled down at her, revealing the faintest glimmer of tears.

"She loved you," he told her softly, a slight catch in his voice.

Jennifer could not speak for several seconds as she struggled to control her own sorrow, her cheeks already wet. "I hope so," she whispered roughly.

"I know so," he insisted. "Don’t ever doubt it."

Oh, how she wanted nothing else but it wasn’t that simple. There were some days when it felt as if all she had was doubt. She had gone through all the natural stages of grief since Resa left her in the hospital room. Disbelief, anger, depression. Only now was she making her first attempt at the most difficult step of all: acceptance. She wasn’t entirely convinced she could do it but she knew she had to make the effort.

She broke away from Father Hector, wiping her face with both her hands and sniffling, then she drew in a calming breath.

"I’m going to go off for a little bit," she said.

"You do what you have to," he said. "I’ll be here when you get back."

Impulsively she stood on her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she told him sincerely.

His smile was warm. "You’re welcome."

Jennifer turned to walk down one of the garden pathways, her shoulders squared as she prepared to encounter the ghosts that haunted her without mercy.

She threaded through the bushes, past the bench where months earlier she had sat with Sister Therase, listening to the story of a love denied; past the tall, green hedgerows where Resa once stood, tall, proud, cautious, and watching her…To her left she caught a glimpse of the guest apartment peeking through some branches and felt the invariable ache at the memories such a sight evoked within her.

She closed her eyes for a beat, steadied herself, then continued on. After what she supposed was several minutes, though the passage of time was somewhat deceptive for her of late, she found the tree branches above her growing closer together and the sunlight dimming as it was blocked by the green leaves hanging high overhead. Absently she let her fingers lightly trail along the rough bark of several trees as she walked and she noted how much cooler the air felt in this area than it did elsewhere. It was strangely inviting.

Even though she had only wandered deep into the gardens that one time, it was as if her feet knew where to take her on instinct alone, making turns without forethought and leading her in a very clear direction. She couldn’t say for certain why this one location was where she felt she needed to be. After all she and Resa had only spent the briefest interval there in comparison to the rest of their time together, but something within her drew her to this spot like a magnet. She decided not to fight the urge, to just give in, quiet her questioning soul and allow herself to be led, just as Resa had led her oh those many weeks ago.

And the moment she stepped into the area, she had a better understanding as to why.

She stopped in her tracks, her heart catching in her throat and a tiny gasp escaping her lips as she stared in awe at the sight before her.

The door to Xavier and Marianna’s vault was open. Not by much, mind you, just about half a foot, give or take, but enough for a person to squeeze through. And most curious of all was that it looked as if it had been pushed open from the inside out and not from the outside in.

Her mouth went dry, her heart fluttered in her chest and a queasy sense of anticipation churned in her midsection. She knew beyond reason that something was waiting for her within. The question was, what?

With increasing expectation she moved up the steps and up to the entrance. Out of curiosity she attempted to pull at the stone door but it was outrageously heavy and impossible for one person to move. Which, of course, raised the issue of how the door had been opened at all but she hadn’t the patience to ponder that now.

Instead she took a deep breath and ducked inside the tomb.

The interior wasn’t very large, perhaps seven feet by seven feet. But the ceiling was tall, arching at least ten feet above, and at the top of which were two decorative rectangles cut opposite each other that allowed in enough sunlight to make it possible to see. Still, she took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the murkiness around her and she was instantly seized by a sneezing fit brought on by the abundance of dust. She rubbed her nose and blinked back the tears, sniffling and coughing a bit before she calmed down and looked around.

Her eyes took in everything, not the least of which was the plethora of spider webs that hung heavy in all directions but through which she detected a very distinct and clearly formed pathway that could not be too long established. It cut all the way from the door to the far wall and looked to be about as wide as a person, as if someone had trekked across the width of the tomb.

She frowned and noted how the twin pillars of light that poured down from the high openings seemed to be highlighting two things in particular on the far wall.

She moved forward, following the already established path, and as she neared noticed for the first time the items that were affixed to the wall. Two marble memorial inscriptions were placed about four feet off the ground and three feet apart and they held the names and dates for Xavier James O’Malley and Sister Beatrice of St. Ruth’s of the Sacred Heart. Above the matching plaques, carved into the stone itself was the inscription:

Jennifer’s blonde brows knitted at the epitaph, finding it highly peculiar, especially given Sister Beatrice’s religious vocation. The words implied a reincarnation-type of relationship, which was most definitely not a belief held by the modern Roman Catholic Church and yet here it was on the tomb of one of its own devotees. It struck her as most odd.

Still, a part of her recognized it as a wonderfully romantic concept and one that held an instant appeal. Somehow it made her feel slightly better about the fact that though the Fates had conspired to keep these two people apart whilst they were alive, the duo had found a way to be together after death.

Then her attention was drawn further up to two pictures attached above the individual plaques. They were mostly covered by a thick layer of dust but each photograph had a single swipe across them as if having been freshly brushed aside. Probably by the same person who had made the trail in the spider webs, she decided.

Jennifer peered closely, squinting through the shafts of sunlight to get her first

look at the photos of the tomb’s occupants.

The portraits were from long ago, clearly taken in an early sepia-tone and later painted over with watercolor as was often the fashion back in the days of pre-color film but nonetheless it represented the subjects quite well.

In this portrait, Xavier was, if the likeness was accurate, a tow-headed, handsome Irish lad in his early twenties with laughing lips and a sparkle to his bright green eyes. Despite the fashion of the times, his face was bare of whiskers and it lent him a youthful countenance, one that would have probably taken him (as she could well relate to) years to grow beyond.

Sister Beatrice’s portrait had her mostly covered by her nun’s habit and wimple but enough of her appearance managed to peek through to reveal the woman also known as Marianna Ramirez had at least at one time been extraordinarily beautiful. Striking. Especially her eyes. Despite her Mexican heritage, whoever had decided to add color to the pictures had chosen to paint her eyes a shockingly bright shade of blue. Quite like someone else’s she knew.

It was disconcerting, to say the least.

She took a step back and her foot kicked something. She glanced down and it took a moment or two for her mind to register what her eyes beheld.

It was an envelope. Small and white and definitely not decades old. This had the appearance of being quite modern.

And it had her name written in bold, confident script across the front.

Palms broke out in a sweat and somehow her heart managed to flutter yet again. With fingers visibly shaking, she bent down to retrieve the item from the floor and for a few moments she just held it, savored it, before she turned the envelope over and saw additional writing on the back.

The tomb was open when I arrived. I hope it stays that way when you get here. I

She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Inside her emotions were an utter tumult and she felt her body fairly vibrate with expectation. A hundred questions leapt to the forefront of her mind, each tumbling over the other in a headlong rush but she willed them back down again.

With a slow exhale she opened her eyes, carefully slid her finger along the envelope’s fold and withdrew the letter from within.

It was a single sheet of white stationery and her eyes took in the lone paragraph that dashed across the page. A part of her was disappointed there wasn’t more. But, then again, what else could she honestly expect? Her heart may crave endless pages of communication but that was not Resa Gustavez’s style.

She began to read.

Jennifer,

Jennifer reread the note four more times while standing there, having the words consigned to memory by the time she was done. Then she pressed the paper against her heart and tipped her head back to stare sightlessly up at the ceiling. Tears rolled unhindered down her face, over her cheeks, to her arched neck where they either pooled in the hollow of her throat or were absorbed by the collar of her shirt. She did nothing to stop them. She barely moved at all, save the slight swaying of her body.

This was the good-bye she sought. Only it came from Resa to her and not the other way around. How perfectly ironic.

The letter did not provide ultimate closure…but she couldn’t help thinking it pointed her in the right direction and it was in that direction she would go. Per Resa’s request. Only time would tell if she could ever fully recover…

She straightened and looked back at the photographs. With a tentative hand she reached out to touch the likeness of first Xavier and then Sister Beatrice, her fingers holding over her extraordinary eyes for a couple extra beats as her heart sung out a silent thank you that she would never be able to explain to anyone else…except Resa of course. Resa would understand. Perhaps she already did, when she saw the portraits, recognized the brightness that radiated from these two people across decades of history. It was uncanny, but in a way Jennifer expected no less. So much of what had happened between she and Resa had felt destined at the time. Why not this, too? she wondered.

She dropped her hand and with one last glance, turned to walk back out of the tomb, this time realizing that the pathway through which she moved had been made by none other than the one she loved most in all the world.

When she was once again outside she paused to glance around at the trees, the magnificent branches teaming with buds and new leaves and felt the warm breeze as it drifted over her skin. The sounds of birds chirping filled the air, as did the scents of a dozen different flowers. Spring was preparing to give way to summer and the world was continuing its timeless spin, as it was wont to do, with or without her active participation. And for the first time in months Jennifer felt a glimmer of interest in resuming her part. Or at least making an effort. It would not be easy, of that she was acutely aware, but at least now she had a goal in mind, a purpose to get her through the countless agonizing moments that were yet to come.

Her hand clutched the letter.

After all, she thought as she walked down the steps and into her future, I have a book to write.

"So, are they or aren’t they?"

Jennifer blinked at the question from the redheaded woman in the front row and a little frown furrowed along her blonde brow.

"Are they or aren’t they what?" she asked politely, though she had a pretty fair idea.

"Lovers," confirmed the reply as the redhead watched her with intent amber eyes.

Jennifer just looked at her for a moment, then reached up to twirl a finger around a lock of her hair, now styled short, and sat back in her chair.

She let her glance steal over the surprisingly large crowd, noting there wasn’t an overabundance of room between the coffee counter and the wrap around second story window at her back but the lack of space just made the bodies pressed together seem all the more energetic and interesting.

Nearly a hundred people (mostly women but a significant number of men, as well) were gathered in the upstairs corner area of the Los Angeles Borders Books & Music to hear the small panel discussion on the role of women in literature, of which Jennifer was the fourth and youngest participant. Hers was the book representing modern fiction, its publication four months earlier having caused something of a titter. Oh, not so much in the staid literary world, of course (it was far too manifest to warrant their serious consideration), but rather amongst the book-buying public who embraced it with fervid enthusiasm. That the book was an unqualified success surprised none more than its young author who hadn’t given a thought to the possibility of publication once she began to spew out the words in a mad frenzy. That had come later. But once she had gotten started in her desert hideaway, Jennifer wrote as if she couldn’t capture the memories fast enough, almost as if afraid they, too, would disappear into the black void that had likewise swallowed up Resa, from and about whom she had had no word.

It had taken two weeks to get out the initial draft. Two weeks of near absolute solitude in that motel room where she did nothing but relive those few days, those extraordinary moments with Resa over and over and over until she was certain she was losing her mind, and then decided she didn’t care if she was. She only wanted to get it out, purge it from her soul and then maybe, just maybe, she would be able to get on with her life.

But it hadn’t worked out that way.

To her surprise, even though finishing the story had helped tremendously, it hadn’t completely eradicated the persistent sense of melancholy that haunted her. Eventually she grew to accept it as a natural part of the person she now was and while her sorrow had lessened, there was still a vacant aspect within her that made each day a little less engaging than it deserved to be and dulled the zest for life that had once been her defining characteristic.

She sighed and rubbed the crease between her brows but before she could answer the question posed to her, a tall, balding man in at the back spoke up in obvious irritation.

"Oh, come on, how can you even ask that?" he demanded hotly.

"Because it’s what everyone really wants to know," came the redhead’s haughty reply.

"Not necessarily."

"Right, just everyone with a pulse."

An attractive African American woman bristled, an irritated look on her face. "Can’t two strong women be friends without folks assuming they’re having sex?"

"Of course they can but in this instance I think there’s plenty of insinuation they’re a heckuva lot more than just friends."

"Such as?" This came from a matronly looking woman off to the side.

A young Asian woman in a green army jacket and several decorative piercings sat forward, her expression one of open incredulity. "Okay, hel-lo? Did we read the same book?"

The matronly woman crossed her arms over her ample bosom. "I don’t know what book you read, but I read about a devoted friendship between two women."

"Who, like, kissed!"

"So? She kissed the priest, too. Are you going to tell me they were getting it on as well?"

"Oooo! Kinky," an older woman said with a mischievous grin, then suggestively wiggled her gray eyebrows.

"What’s the big deal? I kiss my girl friends all the time," the African American lady said.

"On the lips?" asked a tweedy gentleman in his late forties, suddenly quite interested.

A professional-looking woman scrutinized the Asian woman. "Thelma and Louise kissed on the lips, too, that doesn’t mean anything."

The redheaded who had started the discussion in the first place turned in her chair to face the professional woman. "That’s subject for debate."

"Oh, come on!" Matronly exclaimed in exasperation. "Women are far more affectionate than men. We kiss each other all the time."

"Uh-huh. Have you ever kissed a ‘friend’ like those two did at the end there?" This came from a blonde woman off to one side.

"I’ve never had a friend go to their death for me."

Tweedy Gentleman piped up. "We don’t know for sure she’s dead," he pointed out. "They never found the body."

"Okay, ‘probable’ death." Tweedy smiled, satisfied, and the Professional Woman turned back to the Blonde. "Have you?"

"Not that I’m aware of," the Blonde replied tartly and took a loud sip from her cappuccino.

"So you don’t know what you’d do, how you’d react. Don’t you see this question demeans everything about the journey these two characters went through?"

Redhead rolled her eyes. "How does asking a question about love demean anything? These two characters obviously loved each other. They were willing to sacrifice their lives so the other could live."

"That doesn’t mean there was a sexual element."

"That doesn’t mean there wasn’t."

"Oh you are just being difficult."

"And you’re just being narrow-minded and homophobic."

"That’s right, play the ‘homophobe’ card. I’ll have you know some of my friends…"

It was about that time Jennifer’s attention reduced the bickering before her to the blessed drone of white noise, which she chose to ignore as a means of preserving her sanity. She swallowed a little sigh and glanced down at the other panelists who were watching the debate with varying degrees of interest. It took all her willpower not to roll her eyes at the absurdity of it all. What she really wanted to say was Who the hell cares? See what you want to see and move on already. It is not worth getting riled up over.

But she remained silent on the subject. Speaking up wouldn’t have helped anyway. She’d been to enough of these signings and discussions and been presented with that same question more times than she could recall. And if there was one thing she had learned along the way it was that people were myopic and would choose to see exactly what they wanted to, all else to the contrary be damned.

She leaned back in her chair…

…and her thoughts might very well have continued along that blasé path had not a rather interesting occurrence taken place…one that was on one hand rather peculiar and on the other stunningly, astonishingly, gloriously familiar. It wasn’t much, really. Nothing astounding, no bolt from the blue or Heavens opening up or anything so grand. Indeed, it was a rather innocuous event in its own right but to Jennifer Logan it was a moment she would never forget as long as she lived.

She tingled. Not just any tingle, mind you, but a very distinct needlelike sensation that went straight up her side, hard and sharp like a thousand pin-pricks of electricity scattered across her skin, leaving behind a hot and stirring trail that brought tears of recognition to her eyes.

She froze, not daring to so much as breathe lest the feeling should suddenly disappear.

But the tingling did not go away and with painstaking deliberation, almost afraid of moving at all, Jennifer slowly turned her head and looked down to her right, through the slightly tinted second story window, to the shadowed sidewalk below…

…where she saw a tall, darkened figure standing as a clear silhouette within the circle of a dim light from the nearby corner street lamp and quite possibly looking up in her direction. She really could not say.

Her heart may not have actually stopped, but it sure felt as if it did. Hell, everything stopped. The blood in her veins, the air being drawn into her lungs, the conversations not ten feet away…the world at large. It all came to a standstill as she stared down at the figure whose face she could not see…and yet…

Her pulse started again. Loud in her ears, like a locomotive.

And yet…did she need to?

She blinked back the teardrops and the figure started to turn away.

"No." She was unaware she had spoken aloud.

It didn’t matter. The instant the figure turned, she instinctively reacted.

Jennifer shot out of her chair and ran straight through the center of the quarreling crowd, splitting through the startled ensemble with a single-minded determination. She barely registered they were even there. It took her about ten seconds to thread through the second story book shelves, fly down the angled stairs, and dash out the front glass doors into the well lighted exterior sidewalk. She was afraid it was too long.

Outside, she paused to suck in her ragged breath as she glanced to her right, toward the direction of the residential street that ran parallel to the bookstore. It was night and thus the area was cast in deep shadow, the rows of elm and birch trees blocking out most of the store’s powerful security lights in an effort to prevent annoying the home owners in close proximity. It was a quiet street despite being adjacent to a major thoroughfare and there was no one else about.

Save one.

She caught movement in her peripheral vision and she saw the outline of the Figure as it walked down the sidewalk, away from the bookstore. A powerful surge of awareness grabbed hold of her and left her thoroughly shaken.

She ran. Fast and hard, heedless of her inappropriate shoes and long skirt flapping in the breeze. Side-stepping a car as it attempted to pull into the store’s parking area, she turned the corner until she was on the shadowed sidewalk and the tall Figure only a half dozen feet away. But there. Most definitely, undeniably there.

And then the Figure abruptly stopped.

And Jennifer stopped too.

And her breathing came to her in giant gulps as she felt her heart slam against her chest so loud and hard she thought it might very well burst through. Darkness enshrouded both, though a single ray of pale moonlight slipped through the overhead branches to rest directly between them and provide more than ample illumination for her hungry eyes.

A dozen details flooded her mind at once. The long black coat. The height. The distinctive stance. The breadth of shoulders over which spilled a thick lock of long, glossy, indigo hair.

For the briefest moment, as crazy as it might seem, Jennifer actually wished the Figure would not turn around. What if she was wrong? What if…what if she wasn’t…? At least in this tiny instant, for this one perfect moment in time she again had hope and that was something she hadn’t experienced in a good, long while.

But the darkened Figure did turn around. Slowly. Hesitantly. As if uncertain. Perhaps afraid that to do so was an unwise idea…yet equally unable to resist the temptation.

And then there she was.

The breath left Jennifer’s lungs in a painful rush and she experienced an almost overwhelming, otherworldly sensation as she looked into an achingly familiar pair of sky blue eyes that stared down at her for the first time in well over a dozen months.

She felt faint, but held strong.

Resa.

Alive. Beautiful. And standing before her.

A deeply emotional Jennifer didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if she could even speak at all, and for a long moment she didn’t. Instead she tried in vain to blink back the tears and gazed in mute amazement, hoping against hope that this was not another one of her dreams from which she would awaken.

It wasn’t.

Resa took a small, uncertain step forward, then stopped, her gaze roaming over every aspect of Jennifer’s face in open longing, drinking in the minutest detail. It has been so long, she thought. In that moment, she was reminded of her first impression of the young woman before her, at how bright-eyed and lively she had been and at all the questions that had poured forth from her insatiable curiosity like a never-ending wellspring. But one look now and Resa could tell she was no longer that same girl. Though it had only been a year and a half since last they were together, she could see a difference in the face opposite her, recognized a depth born from maturity and experience. It would seem the former college student had grown up…and it only served to enhance her appeal.

Resa nearly reached out for her but kept her hands right where they were, stuffed deep into her pockets and instead nodded in her direction.

"You…cut your hair," she said in quiet surprise and Jennifer’s hand self-consciously went up to the back of her neck. It was a gesture Resa instantly recognized, prompting her to add, "I like it. It looks good on you."

"Really?" Jennifer asked with a sniff, wiping the back of her hand across one cheek. "You don’t think it makes me look like a boy?"
A single dark brow arched. "Not even close."

Jennifer smiled a little at that. "Thanks," she murmured shyly. "I know it was kind of a drastic step and practically everyone I know had an opinion about it but I was getting so down and really felt I needed a change and...." She suddenly paused and frowned in bemusement as a wry smile pulled at her lips. "You know," she confessed as she tugged on her ear in keen embarrassment. "I have thought about this moment every day since you left…and I never, ever pictured it starting out like this."

Resa laughed, then bit back on her own crushing emotion. No, it hadn’t started out like this in her innumerable suppositions either. But that was all right. She knew too well how real-life seldom went blithely along with the intricacies of imagination. Sometimes, however, though certainly not always, it did manage to exceed them. But only on the rarest of occasions.

Like now.

The feeling of magnificent exultation that sung through her veins could never have been accurately imagined if she’d had a millennium to make the attempt. It had to be experienced. And even then she knew she didn’t fully assimilate it all, wasn’t capable of totally processing the barrage on her senses at being once again in the company of the most important person in her life. Perhaps she never would.

Jennifer took a step toward her. "I miss you," she said in a fine tribute to understatement, the tears glistening like silver in the moonlight as they laid poised in her expressive eyes, ready for their moment to spill over onto cheeks where the deep channels of sorrow had long since been formed.

It took every ounce of self-discipline Resa possessed not to show her just how much she desperately missed her as well. How she had thought of little else since their separation and how she had felt woefully diminished until this very moment, until she once again saw her and knew what it meant to be complete.

Instead she dropped her eyes a fraction, her rapid heartbeat thundering in her ears as a slightly panicked heat swept over her. This was not supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to actually meet Jennifer. Just come to the publicized discussion to catch a tantalizing glimpse from afar and then go away. Slink back into her personal oblivion with only the black and white author's photograph on the back of Jennifer’s book as a reminder. That had been the plan…but, then again, when did anything with Jennifer Logan ever go according to plan?

She shook her head with a gentle sigh. "I should have known coming here was too great a risk," Resa said, her voice rough and low, sending a shiver of urgency up Jennifer’s spine.

"Why did you?"

Resa paused for a brief eternity, then shrugged with an almost palpable helplessness. "I wanted to see you," she said heartbreaking honesty.

Jennifer took another hopeful step forward and faced the dark-haired woman with an expression breathtakingly naked in its candor. "I’m so glad you did," she whispered.

She was close enough now for Resa to feel her warmth, to smell the subtle, floral fragrance of her perfume and she started to shake, drawing the lapels of her coat closer with her left hand in an unconscious shoring up of her defenses. "I-I can’t…" she started but broke off in pain, the words lying stillborn on her lips.

Yet Jennifer knew too well what she meant. "Why?" she asked in an anguished plea.

"You know why." Her voice were barely audible.

"I know why you think. But, Resa, those reasons don’t exist anymore."

"They would if I returned." Blue eyes implored her to understand but Jennifer raised her chin in defiance.

"I don’t believe that," she said firmly.

"Well I do and I can’t take the risk. The Vartans may be destroyed but I have many enemies. Staying away is the only guarantee."

Jennifer dropped her gaze, her stomach clenched so tight that shards of pain shot out all over her body as a sense of alarm started to seep into her heart.

"Don’t-don’t you want…"

"Of course." Before she knew it, Resa took step toward the younger woman, her hand unwittingly reaching out at the unveiled insecurity she saw. "Of course I do." She quickly balled her fingers into a fist before she actually made the mistake of touching Jennifer and dropped it to her side. "But it wouldn’t be safe for you."

Jennifer laughed harshly, her voice and manner the furthest thing from amused. "You know, I can’t imagine a worse scenario than being ninety and looking back on my life and saying ‘Hey, at least I played it safe.’"

Resa’s lips lifted in a faint smile. "I just want you to get to ninety."

Green eyes flashed. "Who’s to say I won’t if we’re together? Who’s to say you won’t either?"

"Given my past, I think it highly unlikely."

Her jaw shifted in determination. "So then we’ll leave LA. I’m not really that crazy about the smog and bad drivers anyway. We’ll go someplace else to live. Anywhere."

"That’s still no guarantee."

"I don’t want a guarantee!"

"Well, I do. For you."

"What about for you?"

"That’s not important."

"It is to me. It means everything to me."

Resa dropped her gaze. "I’m sorry…" she whispered.

Jennifer closed her eyes in frustration. Her throat burned and she swallowed reflexively as she fought back against the mounting sense of desperation and defeat that threatened to overtake her.

How could she convince her? What could she say or do? In her heart of hearts, she knew she could not take losing Resa again, could not live her life with the awareness that her sundered half was out there…somewhere…agonizingly beyond her reach. The mere thought submerged her in a morass of despair that threatened to overwhelm her altogether. There had to be a way to reach her, to make her understand…there simply had to be…Life too seldom presented second chances and she was not about to let this one pass her by, to leave anything unsaid.

Several seconds of silence ticked by before she opened her eyes and began to speak with quiet conviction born out of the purity of her feelings and the depth of her need.

"It’s funny but ever since you left, I’ve done a lot of thinking about Xavier and Marianna," she said softly. "And it seems to me that they had their chance at happiness…and they let it slip through their fingers. Oh, I’m sure Xavier thought his reason for staying away was selfless and noble. But it wasn’t. It was just the opposite. And in the end they both lost out on so much. He should have trusted in Marianna and trusted in their love to overcome any obstacle and they should have been together in life…but they weren’t. They failed to fulfill their destiny as they were meant to do and that was their mistake." Her voice gained strength as she continued. "And I know that I don’t ever want to make a mistake like that with my life. I don’t want to look back on this moment and know that we were just as wrong as they were for all the supposedly right reasons." She took one last step until only a foot separated them, then without the slightest hesitation she said in complete candor, "I love you, Resa. More than anything…more than everything and I always will." She slowly reached up to cup her hand to Resa’s warm cheek and rapt blue eyes closed briefly to absorb the contact. "If I had a thousand lifetimes and an endless supply of words I still wouldn’t be able to tell you how much you mean to me, how much I need to be with you, how you make me feel." Ebony fringed eyelids opened again and the eyes that gazed down at her were filled with a blatant passion that left Jennifer literally weak in the knees. "And if you try hard enough, you can come up with a dozen different reasons why we should be apart …but there’s only one reason why we should be together." She shook her head and let the tears flow freely. "Oh, Resa, don’t you see? So many people never even make it to this point. They never know what we have the opportunity to know. This is our chance. Right here, right now, and we either take it for all its worth or coast through the rest of our lives on regret." She leaned a fraction closer. "Because, if you leave me again, Resa, that’s what will happen. I will not live…I’ll exist…And, I assure you that’s a far worse fate than anything any of your so-called enemies could ever do to me." Her other hand came up to lovingly cradle the right side of Resa’s face, her eyes beseeching. "Please," she implored in a whisper. "Please…Trust in me as I trust in you…Please…"

The seductive words washed over Resa and pulled at her like the tide pulling a swimmer into an unknown sea and deep in her heart, she knew she was afraid. Uncertain and afraid. Before her stood the embodiment of all she had ever wanted most out of life, so temptingly within reach. All she had to do was ask for it and it would be hers. All she had to do…but could she? It was not an easy notion to embrace, not for one who had lived a lifetime of dearth and denial. She had so little experience with happiness…What if she failed? What if she couldn’t be for Jennifer what she needed? What then?

But from somewhere within her a small voice rose up to softly whisper, You can always find a reason to say no, an excuse to deny…but that’s all it will ever be: an excuse. And you know that. You are like the parable about a man clinging to a rock in the middle of a raging river, being bashed about unmercifully but unwilling to let go for fear of the unknown that lies ahead. Only you have what he did not: a guide. In Jennifer.

The Vartans, she knew, were no more and while there were indeed others out there who hated her, who could say with anything approaching absolute certainty that any of them would make a move against her? Thus far, no one had. So why should I condemn us both to a life of loneliness when there is no virtue in it? When all it causes is pain? Why not embrace what will finally bring the happiness we both want? Why not?

Resa swayed, drawn in close until their foreheads were suddenly touching and before she knew it her hands were covering Jennifer’s own. Her body quietly trembled and throbbed with a need too long cast aside and she knew what she must do. She was so tired of being miserable…And yes, it was a risk, of that there was no doubt…but what worth having wasn’t? Jennifer said this was their chance…perhaps their last chance. And she was right. From every corner of her soul, Resa knew she was right.

Slowly she turned her head to place a kiss of infinite tenderness upon each of the younger woman’s palms. The contact sent a shock of fire traveling through the entirety of Jennifer’s body, leaving her to shiver at the awesome intensity she felt passing between them. Then crystal eyes locked onto green and all barriers permanently fell away.

With a tiny groan that choked in her throat, Resa scooped Jennifer up against her heart and buried her face in the curve of the smaller woman’s neck as their arms wrapped around each other in an embrace of both passion and promise.

"I love you," Resa avowed with the whole of her being and Jennifer nearly collapsed.

Who knows how long they held each other like that? They certainly didn’t. They were unaware of anything other than this impossible bliss in which they now found themselves enshrouded, the rapture thought hopeless only minutes ago.

Then Resa pulled back just enough and their mouths came together in a kiss unmistakable in its desire as bodies pressed hard and eager against each other and tongues intertwined in an erotic dance as old as time. They forgot everything but the other and the sweet yearning rapidly building within them. Hands slid over shoulders, down backs, along arms as breathing grew labored and heavy with each passing second, both almost swooning with exhilaration.

Resa was the first to remember that they were standing very much out in the open and she slowly eased away. Jennifer’s attention shifted to the tall woman’s neck and she began a new angle of assault with weapons of exquisite torture.

"Jen," Resa murmured, her voice thick with sensuality as she allowed her hands to slide down the well-toned back and draw firm hips into her own. "If we don’t stop we’re going to have to charge for the view."

She felt the warmth of lips and nip of teeth upon her collarbone. "So? We’ll split the profits," came the muffled reply and Resa gasped as she felt the heat of Jennifer’s hand slide under her shirt to caress her abdomen and stroke her ribs. Senses thrummed on full alert.

"Jennifer," she whispered again, this time in a tortured plea even as she rubbed her cheek against short hair that smelled of rosemary and a hint of sage.

Jennifer inwardly groaned but knew she was right. They had to put a halt to this…but only for the time being.

"All right," she reluctantly acquiesced even as she leaned forward to place a defiant kiss on the sensitive skin above her right breast, tasting the light salt of sweat upon her tongue. "I have a lot of questions for you anyway." She tightened her hold around the tall woman’s waist, laying her cheek against her shoulder and peering up into eyes dark with need. "For instance, what the heck happened and where have you been all this time?"

"Oh. That," Resa teased dryly, unable to resist kissing the warm and vibrant skin of the younger woman’s exposed neck.

"Yes, that." Lips found each other and for another wayward moment they were lost in the magnificent pleasure of kissing. This time it was Jennifer who first broke away. "C’mon. What happened?" The warmth of her breath and the vibrations of her voice sent an uncontrollable shiver throughout Resa’s already pulsating body and it took a moment for her to recognize what the younger woman had actually said.

"Long story…involves…" She kissed her ear. "Falling." Took the lobe between her teeth. "Rolling." Tugged a little, her voice a smooth rumble. "Fire, some broken bones and a nearby pool."

"Sounds complicated," she murmured, Resa’s warm breath tickling her until her back arched.

"Mmmm…It was," came the throaty reply and another nip.

Jennifer drank in her scent and for a moment she had to concentrate on just standing. "Are--you all right?" The question came out in a breathy rush.

Resa ceased tormenting her ear and let out a little sigh as she held her close. "Yeah. Still have some scars, though. Some burns."

Jennifer pulled back to gaze up at the face she held so infinitely dear. "Where?" she asked in concern.

Resa shrugged. "My feet mostly. But some other places, too." She held up her right hand and for the first time Jennifer noticed the white pattern of discoloration that wrapped around the wrist and palm. She frowned and took hold of it.

"Oh, baby…" she whispered and then leaned close to kiss the scorched flesh. "I wish I could have been there for you."

"You were." Resa laid a sweet kiss upon her brow. "In my heart. Every time I thought about you." She grinned. "Which was all the time."

Jennifer’s eyes welled with a fresh set of tears. "As I thought of you."

Resa smiled and leaned down to place a tender kiss on her lips then hug her close.

Jennifer shuddered, still not fully certain this was all really happening, that Resa was in actuality before her now and was not going to leave. That the running away had stopped and her greatest wish had in fact come true. It would take a while for everything to sink in and she had so many questions for her but they had time now…all the time in the world.

She smiled and said quietly, "Let’s go home."

It was on the tip of Resa’s tongue to ask whose home but then she realized that it didn’t matter. Home wasn’t a location; it was a state of being. It was a sense of belonging and acceptance and a totality of love unconditional. And as dazzlingly incomprehensible as it right now seemed, it was something she had found at last.

With Jennifer.

No matter where they ended up, as long as they were together, by each other’s side then there their home would be.

She ran a finger along her companion’s cheek, down her neck and reached out to take hold of her hand.

"Yes," she said with a smile and a quick kiss filled with wonder and tranquility. "I would like that. I would very much like to go home."

And, hand in hand, that is precisely what they did…

All right…admit it…how many of you skipped to the end? Uh-huh, I knew it. Sheesh, are ya’ll are a bunch of "Harry’s" or what??….;-) Welp, don’t fret; I’d have done the same thing….J

NOTE #1: Okay, the "sub" part of the subtext went out the window but hey, after all they’d been though, did ya honestly think they were just going to shake ands and go out for a capuccino? And for those who wanna see even more…yer just gonna have to use your imaginations cuz das about as much as this ol’ gal can do…J

NOTE #2: Now, one other thing I do have to say that’s been driving me insane (short trip)…I did the final spell-check of the first twelve chapters on my work computer which (for no apparent reason) spells ‘barrio’ with only one ‘r.’ It is correctly spelled with two. Hence, the first 12 Chapters have the word spelled incorrectly throughout. Grrrr….

Okay, that’s off my chest. I feel much better.

Now, I do hope you enjoyed the story. If any of ya’ll get a hankerin’ to communicate ‘bout this here little tale, feel free to contact me at: travelingpastry@yahoo.com

And mucho thanks to all of ya’ll who’ve taken the time out of your busy days to write to me already…tiz greatly appreciated and I hope it was worth the wait. Gracias!

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