Come What May

By Rebecca Grant

Hi. I’m Alexandra Hollingsworth. You know...being an FBI agent is definitely not as glamorous as it is on TV. Ten years of near misses finally caught up with me when I was shot in the line of duty. I’m missing a spleen and I have what my little brother calls, a “metal stick” in my leg. And just when I think things couldn’t get any worse, I find out I’m wanted by the FBI for the deaths of four agents.

So my well-meaning family took it upon themselves to send me to Mackinac Island, a place where fudge is the major export, motor vehicles are banned, and mystery can be found within the hidden underground tunnels. More importantly, according to my family, there is a man there who can keep me safe. Accompanied by my K9 partner Caleb, and my geriatric arch nemesis, Doreen (who is supposed to be my “nurse” and not my reason for an insanity plea), my current mission is to recuperate and try to figure out why I’ve been framed. Unfortunately, not one person in my family seemed to think it was necessary to inform me that my temporary guardian is my ex-husband, Michael. Well won’t this be interesting?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Grant
• Release date: Oct 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301485857

Rebecca Grant

Rebecca Grant is a freelance journalist based in Portland, Oregon, who covers reproductive rights, health, and justice. Her work has appeared in NPR, The Atlantic, VICE, The Nation, The Washington Post, Mother Jones, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, HuffPost, and The Guardian, among other publications. She has received grants and fellowships from the International Women’s Media Foundation, the International Reporting Project, and The Investigative Fund, reporting stories around the US and the world. Rebecca studied English and art history at Cornell University and served in the Peace Corps in Thailand. Before full-time freelancing, she worked at Washingtonian Magazine and wrote about startups in San Francisco.

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Prologue

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Orson’s voice popped through loud and clear. Tiger, how much longer until you reach the rendezvous point?

It was the voice of Noah Orson, the tall and distinguished leader of my team. Having spent most of his life on an American military base in Great Britain, he’d yet to lose the rather uptight quality to his speech pattern. But I could not ask for a better boss. He was strict but fair. If he had to drop the roof on our heads, you could guarantee there was a damn fine reason. There wasn’t anything I would not do for the guy; we all felt the same way. We eat together, shop together, and even cry on each other’s shoulders. It’s the way it is with a group of people who spends as much time together as we do. But I guess we tend to be even closer than the average agents within the Federal Bureau of Investigation mainly due to our assignment as a secret Black Ops team.

I go by the codename of ‘Tiger.’ Any other day, my name is Alexandra Hollingsworth, Alex to those to know me best. Pulling in now, I answered.

Is everyone in position? Orson asked.

A female voice identical to my own answered. Smokey here, confirm that. Just waiting on Tiger’s arrival.

That gives us a few more minutes for Tiger to run through the briefing on account of Doc being late. The censure in Orson’s voice was clear and I knew that Clifford Doc Hellman would be catching hell later.

Hey, her husband came home early and I was stuck… I rolled my eyes but Agent Paul Malone’s hysterical laughter was contagious and more chuckles came over my secure audio transmission. Hellmen had been on an assignment in Vermont and missed his original flight back to Miami due to extra-curricular activities.

His voice tight with strain, Orson said, Tiger, report.

Igor Mazanov is the objective. Born and raised in Miami, he is the youngest and the only illegitimate child of Viktor Mazanov. Viktor is head of one of the biggest European crime families operating within the old U.S. of A. Unfortunately, he was a little light on the fatherly love. His older brothers followed Dad’s example and now Igor is the Russian mob’s version of Fredo Corleone, skinny, nerdy, and he hiccups when he’s nervous. I slowed to a stop, glanced for oncoming traffic, and turned the corner. The man lives in a state of perpetual nervousness. Igor’s in his early thirties, with thinning hair, and needing some payback. A contact of mine in the DEA busted him and turned him over to us when she saw an opportunity to send Daddy up the river. He’s given us a lot on the family and the structure of the organization but he’s so damn scared, most of the information’s crap. So far the only useful thing he’s done was get me into Papa’s house so I could plant those bugs.

Which were a bust, Drew Smokey Hollingsworth mumbled. I still don’t understand how all of them could’ve been defective.

Glancing around, I saw a billboard advertising the fun to be had at the Everglades National Park…as if. Anyway, I met up with him last week and he said he had a guy that knew information regarding the orphanage we busted last year. The guy’s name is Larry Rusinski also known as ‘SCP.’ He’s a member of the Vengeance Motorcycle Club and a bunch of them work security and enforcement for the Masanovs.

I pushed up the sleeve of my leather jacket and checked the time. I had 15 minutes before Fredo, shit, I mean Igor was to show with Rusinski. The parking lot wasn’t full, but it wasn’t as empty as I would’ve liked at 4:13am. Even with my team inside, that still left, ugh, twelve vehicles unaccounted for. I don’t like this, I said looking around the lot. There are too many people here.

With Igor’s father and brothers away on vacation, we won’t have another opportunity like this again, Orson said.

Copy that, I replied, but I did not have to like it. I sat for a moment and watched the activity on the inside of the diner. The lamps hanging over the tables allowed me to view the patrons with ease and confirmed that my team was in place.

We need this clean. All audio and video coming through? I asked, taking off my helmet, placing it on the back of the bike. I ruffled my auburn colored hair so that it scattered helter skelter over my shoulders and down my back.

Affirmative, replied Paul Malone sitting in the center of the diner in an Air Force flight uniform, now…

What’s that supposed to mean? came a fairly hostile voice that belonged to Zeus Camdon, also in a flight uniform. Watching him through the window, it looked like he was about to leap across the table and choke Malone.

It means, Malone said looking directly into Zeus’ eyes, we don’t let you set up surveillance anymore, since you always fuck it up.

Zeus’ deep voice was full of anger when he said, You don’t like how I do things? Kiss ass!

While Orson broke up the fight, I adjusted a side mirror to check my appearance. Earlier, I’d applied black liner with a heavy hand to draw attention away from the distinctive blue color of my eyes. A pro and con of the job? The change of appearance. I was a master at it, depending on where I was working, what I was doing and who I was meeting, but it gets old and I’m getting tired.

Tonight, for all intents and purposes, I looked like what I appeared to be, a hard-partying biker chick that was going to be meeting a biker. Criminals tend to spill more information when talking to someone who looks like they walk on the same side of life.

After a cursory check for any alligators wandering freely through the parking lot, I swung a leg over my motorcycle and started for the front doors. I looked across the street where the headlights of a black van flashed once. Special Agents Orson and Caleb, sat inside monitoring via audio and surveillance feed.

While slowly removing my jacket, I took a moment to scan the layout of the restaurant. The diner was by no means a five-star restaurant. The walls were ensconced in wood paneling, covered with what the owners must have thought was tasteful décor, road signs and stuffed alligators. Ick.

I looked toward the back, where Clifford Doc Hellman was seated. Hellman has black hair and midnight blue eyes, both of which he uses to ensnare women whenever possible. Tonight, he was disguised in ratty blue jeans, a semi clean wife-beater shirt, and a black bandana with skull and crossbones. A leather jacket was slung over the back of his chair. Hi baby, he said as I reached him, wrapping his arms around me. His hands snaked their way around my bottom. I slid my fingers through his hair and tilted my head till our lips were a breath-length apart. There was no way I was kissing Hellman. God only knew where those lips had been.

Excuse me, shouted a velvety voice from behind. Either sit down and order something or take that outside. I extricated myself from Hellman’s rather enthusiastic embrace and glanced back at a waitress with long blonde dreadlocks who only moments before had been practically sitting in Malone’s lap.

Both Zeus and Malone were veteran agents, having served for fifteen and twenty years respectively. Both tall and good-looking, they wore those Air Force uniforms very, very well. Zeus has a tough and somewhat sadistic demeanor while Malone has that mysterious thing going for him that women loved. Malone was jovial with an infectious laugh. Zeus just had that sort of gorilla gone wrong mentality.

Whatever, I said rebelliously in response to her comment about my make-out session with Hellman. I threw myself into the chair next to him, our backs to the wall, allowing us an unobstructed view of the entire place.

You know, Zeus muttered to the waitress, his gruff voice carrying over to us all, we could give them a run for their money…show them how it’s really done.

She used a menu to smack the back of his head and marched in our direction, Should of thought about that before you took off for solo assignments and then disappeared on vacation for a month.

What’ll it be? she asked with a bored expression. And wipe that smile off your face Hellman before I smack it off. In my ear, I heard snickers and scanned the room to find the culprits. Joy Chen and Bradley Crouse, makeshift students cramming for midterms, immediately lifted a couple of books to hide their toothy grins.

Chen, the daughter of Chinese immigrants, and I have the added duty of toughening up our newest member, Crouse. Though technically not a rookie, he was still the cub of our unit. With his short dark hair and puppy dog brown eyes, he was an almost exact replica of Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles.

Coffee and make sure it’s fresh, I answered leaning close so that I could make a big production of reading the nametag on the light blue uniform she was wearing. Oh and Cookie? Love the dress. The snarl she sent my way did little to distract my attention away from the fact that I was thoroughly enjoying my sister’s irritation. I shrugged. It was his idea, I said nodding my head in Hellman’s direction.

Cookie? she asked with a furious glance his way. Seriously?

Well, he grinned leaning back and putting his arm across the back of my chair. I love me a good cookie.

She spun around on her black converse high tops and marched toward the service station. Now safely outside her line of vision, we felt it safe to smile. You do know she is going to get even with you for this.

Hellman scratched his knee through the hole in his blue jeans. She’s a Goddess. Hard to believe you’re identical twins. He looked me over. What happened to you?

You’re such a flatter, I said trying to look dreamily into his eyes. Hard to wonder why she won’t sleep with you.

Drew slammed the coffee in front of Hellman so that it sloshed over the table and landed on his crotch. Oops, she said with a wide smile. She was much gentler with mine, and added, It’s because he wanted you first, then gave up and tried to settle for me.

Oh snap! I said with a cheeky grin.

My earpiece crackled and Orson said, If you idiots are done screwing around, look alive. Rusinski just arrived on his motorcycle and he’s by himself.

Hellman picked up a thin braid that was woven into my hair and put it into his mouth. I kicked him. What the…? Without Fredo? Dammit I mean Igor?

You know, Malone said, you keep calling him Fredo and it’s really no wonder the guy has a complex.

I’m getting twitchy, Zeus mumbled. I think we should abort. Let’s just nab Rusinski while he’s sleeping and take him away for questioning. Or better yet, why don’t we just get those badasses from Caldina Designs to snatch him?

Irritated, Crouse asked, What’s Caldina Designs? It would of course annoy him that he was uneducated in all the ins and outs of covert work.

A mythical agency of secret government contractors, Chen answered with a sneer. Zeus seems to think they exist. Zeus growled in response.

On her way to greet the informant, Drew smacked Zeus with another menu. Good Morning sir.

Rusinski shifted from foot to foot. He was wearing blue jeans and a Daytona Bike Week t-shirt beneath his leather biker vest. He peered at Drew through thick glasses. Um, yeah, Good Morning. I’m supposed to meet a few people here.

Ok, Drew said shifting to the side. There are quite a few people here right now. Do you see them?

Oh yeah ask the guy with glasses magnifying his eyeballs to the size of dinner plates if he can see, Zeus said.

Drew smiled and behind her back, she raised a slim finger to wave in his direction. Zeus saluted her back with his coffee cup.

You mean do I see all the people or the people I’m here to meet? Rusinski asked her.

Stunning him stupid with a smile, Drew said, I bet I know who you’re here to meet. How about you follow me?

Okee dokee, he said.

Now would you like anything to drink? Drew asked Rusinski as he sat down.

Rusinski opened his mouth to answer, but I beat him to it. He’s fine, I said wanting to get this over and done with so we could get the hell out of dodge. There was a hot bubble bath at home with my name all over it.

Oh, he said with a confused look on his face. I guess I’m okay.

Right, Drew said as she turned to walk away. I’ll bring you some coffee.

Hellman leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. His jovial demeanor turned to one of stone. So, SCP.

Yes sir, Rusinski said nodding his head furiously, his long, dirty and very oily hair moving not at all. That’s me.

What exactly does the SCP stand for?

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Snap, Crackle and Pop, sir.

I leaned back in my chair to mimic Hellman’s posture. You want me to believe that you’re in good enough shape to be a spine cracker?

Oh no ma’am, he said, I just sit on them. They tend to break then.

I dropped my head back to stare at the ceiling. Hellman rubbed his face. The ahs in my ear said the rest of the team agreed that made sense.

Where’s Igor? Hellman asked.

Rusinski turned and looked about the room. I dunno. He was supposed to meet me here.

Don’t fuck me with Rusinski, I snapped. You were supposed to come with Masanov.

No, no, no, he said holding up callused hands. He called me about an hour ago and said there was a change of plans. He reached into his pants pocket, Want to see my cell phone? It should have his name on it and the time he called. Not wanting to touch anything that came out of his pants, I held up my hands and adamantly shook my head.

Liking this situation less and less, I leaned forward and put the most menacing expression in my arsenal upon my face. I felt an abnormal bit of pride when Rusinski’s larynx bobbled up and down. Just tell me what you have to say.

Uh, he said, his voice shaking slightly, Igor told me I was going to be compensated for my information.

I’m not giving you a damn dime until I hear something worth your weight in gold.

Okay, that’s fair, he said. He drew his eyebrows together and said, Hey! Was that supposed to be an insult? I narrowed my eyes at him. Okay, okay, he said nervously looking around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. His fingers began a nervous tap and the table was jiggling in time to his bouncing knee. Last year there were these guys that were into some bad shit. Kiddy stuff. You guys probably heard about it, they had taken over this orphanage. Half the place was legit but they blocked off the back end and used that to keep the kids that were for sale. One kid was special and they had big plans for her. But it got all fucked up."

I knew it intimately. I was the one who discovered the girl, then the orphanage. I leaned forward, placing my elbows onto the table. Hellman folded his arms and said, And?

Well they lost a lot of money when that place closed.

I rolled my eyes. That’s just tragic.

They’re planning on recouping their losses.

The buzz of conversations, the smell of grease, the clinking of glassware, everything that made up the sounds of the diner disappeared. At this very moment, no one existed to me but the man in the chair before me. The girl’s face, Gracie’s face, flashed in my mind throwing me into a panic. I reached across the table and grabbed a handful of his shirt. What do you mean by ‘recouping their losses’?

The gesture wasn’t lost on Rusinski. He began tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. They lost money in sales and in all they put into training them. Masanov is really pissed about losing the special girl. The Courier totally fucked him over and took the kid. No one has seen either of them since.

I knew about the training. Hell I knew about The Courier. I was The Courier and it took me years to establish that cover and make it credible. I blew it all in about 30 seconds when I saw little Gracie naked and wrapped in a urine-infested carpet, beaten and all but broken.

What they did went beyond anything I’d come across before. It was beyond vile, beyond evil and she was only the first we’d come across. Later, we found the orphanage where they were keeping the others. How exactly are they planning on getting the kids back? What’s your stake in this? I asked.

Look. I don’t lead a good life. I fully admit it. I’ll scam anyone if I think I can pull it off. But I draw the line at kids, he said slamming his fist on the table for emphasis causing everything upon the table to jump, coffee and all. What they were doing was just sick and if I thought I could get away with it, I’d sit on every one of ‘em.

The back door opened and a slight breeze wafted through. I was at a slight loss of words after his impassioned speech. Hellman, on the other hand, was busy mopping up his crotch again. I slid a hundred-dollar bill across the table where it quickly disappeared into Rusinski’s pocket. How are they going to get the kids back?

From what I understand, they have someone on the inside…a cop.

What agency does the cop work for? I asked, a ball of dread filling my stomach. It’s bad enough when it’s only a bad guy, but when that bad guy is a cop, it’s worse. Much, much worse.

A red dot appeared on Rusinski’s chest and began to steadily grow larger and larger. I cocked my head to the side, my brain not connecting with what I was seeing. It got up to speed real quick when another bullet forced Rusinski’s brain to come shooting out toward us.

The diner erupted in pandemonium. Bullets flew everywhere. My team was firing back as quickly as they could from whatever shelter they could find. Mine happened to be beneath a table with a scared female, who I’d been afraid had been shot. Instead, I took a bullet in the shoulder.

I’m hit, I ground out between my teeth. Left shoulder. In other words, not my shooting arm.

It became increasingly difficult to differentiate between the screams of terror and those of pain.

Words drifted through my earpiece. Crouse is down. Another voice shouted, Jen is down.

Hellman’s down, I screamed.

In horror, I looked up to see Igor Masanov standing in the back entrance with an automatic weapon. His eyes were wild, his face filled with nerves and glee. He hiccupped between words. Now I’ll be my father’s favorite. Hiccup. I shot a snitch and blasted… hiccup …a federal agent. He used his free hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Now maybe I’ll get some respect! And then he laughed. Oh, he really should not have done that.

Don’t bet on it asshole, I yelled. Throwing caution to the wind, I pounced. My gun came up and I knew the instant Masanov recognized he would die by my hand. He reacted instinctively, his finger unconsciously squeezing the trigger.

The weapon was much too powerful for him to control and rounds flew randomly throughout the room. I screamed as I felt the bone in my thigh shatter.

Anger such as I’d never known quickly coursed throughout my body, mingling with a new rush of adrenaline, and providing a brief relief from the pain. My vision began to blur and my head was pounding with the concentration it took to aim. Not wanting to waste any time, I forced my finger to squeeze the trigger, watching with great satisfaction in how Masanov’s body began to dance with each bullet that entered his body.

I woke up to Drew issuing some rather stinging slaps to my face. Alex! Stay with me Alex! You hear me? she yelled.

Of course I hear you, I roared right back.

You need to calm your breathing. The more you pant, the more your heart pumps, the more blood you lose. Tears were streaming down her face. She unconsciously raised a hand to wipe them away from her face and it was then I noticed her hand was covered in blood. Blood that she’d now smeared across her face. Her blue uniform was ripped and red splotches covered over three-quarters of it. Was that all mine? She quickly replaced her hand against my side, pressing down and applying pressure. A horrific scream reached my ears and it took me a second to realize that I was the one making all the noise.

Chapter 1

I sat on the plane, staring blindly out the window thinking how I used to have the perfect life. It was ten years ago when it all fell apart.

It’s been said that a person tends to wield an enormous amount of power when they don’t have anything to live for. So the fact that I wanted to die ten years ago, should explain exactly how much power I had at my fingertips.

To me, the job was black and white. There was no bargaining, no negotiating. There was nothing to distract me. There were no shades of gray. It’s what made me perfect for Black Ops. Fortunately, my perspective on death changed recently, practically overnight. Of course, things tend to be a little clearer when you wake up from a coma with a forehead gash, three bullet wounds, a missing spleen, and a titanium rod for a femur. Guess I had something to live for after all. Just my luck, I haven’t figured out what it is.

Of course the way I see it, I would never have had to figure anything out had my investigation not gone to hell in a hand basket three weeks ago. What we thought was a small ring of human traffickers answering to the Russian Mob, turned out not to be so small what with its ties to South American revolutionaries.

That night was supposed to be easy, a standard meeting with a couple of informants. It turned into a blood bath. There were multiple casualties, the country lost four good agents and I lost four good friends.

It was while I was in the middle of this highly complicated, stressful and well...I guess evil is a good word for it, case when I realized I was tired. Not just sleepy, but emotionally, mentally, and physically drained.

So after the shootout began and realizing that one of my confidential informants, Igor Masanov, had deceived us, I realized I really, really, wanted some tequila. Shortly thereafter, I had a slight disagreement with the E.R. doctors who refused to see things my way, but were able to placate me with some top-notch drugs instead. Hey, I could be amiable...whatever works right? It didn’t hurt their cause that I had lost so much blood I could not argue properly with them. Comas and .357 caliber weapons will do that.

To say that my time up to this point had been boring is nothing short of a major fabrication. One would think that two weeks in the hospital would be uneventful. I would have to disagree since during that time I was saved from an assassination attempt in my hiding place on the geriatrics floor. I was then secreted away to the maternity ward and didn’t that just add to my hospital joy (NOT!). Just when I was about to take my sister’s service revolver and put myself out of my misery, I was granted two of the greatest words I’d heard in a long time. Hospital. Discharge.

Once I was sprung, my Dad and a plane were waiting to take me home to Michigan. Soon I’ll be ensconced in my parents’ house where my time will be divided between recuperating, climbing the walls, and fretting about what was going on in the investigation.

Now, I’m far from a genius, but all things considered, it did not take me any time at all to figure out that I wasn’t entirely happy in my current line of work. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to survive at the pace I was on. So during my exile, my plan was to make a decision on what to do with the rest of my life. If I decided to leave the job, it would not be until after the case…I made a promise to little girl named Gracie and I’ll be damned if I won’t see it through to the end.

After a bit of airplane daydreaming, I turned on a portable DVD player and tried to lose myself in a Natalie Portman movie. I had not gotten very far into the flick when a character announced, Home is where your history begins, home is where they catch you when you fall. I could not help but see the parallel in that statement to my own reality. It’s ironic really. I spent the last ten years of my life running from my own problems yet there I was chasing down those of others. But it was the truth, I had fallen, not only almost in the line of duty, but emotionally and it was time to deal with it.

It really is silly to be nervous, but since I basically ran away from home, my neuroses should be accepted. My family often came to visit me in Florida, hell one of my sisters even spent the summer with me interning for the family business. But I just could not make myself go home where the demons waited for my return. I knew the day would finally come when I’d have to go back…to face my problems and put my demons to rest; I just wasn’t counting on it being so soon, or under these circumstances.

My three youngest siblings, Ivan, John-Zachary, and Kayin met us at the airport. As we rode the escalator down to the lower platform, I spied them standing there waiting for us, three of the most precious people in my life. I watched my Dad out of the corner of my eye. Who would have thought that the guy in faded blue jeans and an old Harvard sweatshirt was a Fortune 500 mogul? He blended in so well. Perhaps that was one of the reasons my siblings and I excelled at our jobs.

My dad’s name is Evan and he is President of the Hollings Corporation, which controls Hollings Hotels, Cruise Lines and World Resorts among many other interests. The company was the baby of my great-grandfather. Rumor has it, he left Italy after witnessing a mob hit and came to America to begin a new life. Ever fearful of mafia retaliation, he entered the United States as Domenico Conti and left Ellis Island as Dominic Hollingsworth, having borrowed the last name of a British soldier he’d met during WWI. It wasn’t too long after that he met my great-grandmother and together they opened a small hotel for weary travelers. Fortunately for us, my great-grandpa had an excellent work ethic, which was reflected in the numerous customers who would return for more of his undivided attention.

This enabled him to expand, eventually making the Hollings Corporation into an empire. The family has other interests but I’ve lost track, having taken no interest. I have two sisters who work for the company, but other than that, the rest of us really have nothing to do with it…yet. If I’m needed, of course I’ll assist but after spending several summers working in our hotels, I really have no interest in pursuing a post-law enforcement career within the family business. I may change my mind at some point, but today is definitely not that day.

My dad is fifty-five, about six foot two with a full head of premature gray hair. He’s fond of teasing us kids by saying it used to be dark brown before he had children. He has dark brown eyes and thin lips. His smile can light up a room, but if he works it just right, his scowl can damn near make you wet your pants. I’m glad I have the job I do. I would not want to sit across from him in the boardroom. I imagine it’s similar to those interns on that Donald Trump show.

I looked back at the younglings and tried to hide a smile. With the exception of my baby sister, we got into the habit of calling each other by names of the opposite sex to irritate our father. My brother Ivan loves it, but John-Zachary is at that sensitive age where he isn’t quite sure if he is manly enough to handle it. At fifteen, John-Zachary who we call Kari is quickly catching up to the rest of the family men in height. Actually, he may surpass them. With a lanky body waiting to fill out, dark brown hair and eyes that resemble my dad’s, Kari is the peacemaker and ultimate baseball fan. If anyone should ask (and I really recommend against it because he’ll lecture me then I’ll be pissy) he’ll announce with pride that he has never once missed Sunday mass.

Kayin, or Kaylee as the rest of the family calls her, is the family princess. Just thirteen, she is rarely seen in anything except skirts or dresses. She has straight blonde hair that reaches to her waist and even though I avoided looking directly into them should the old feelings of hatred emerge, I knew her eyes were the same sky-blue as my own.

Little Kaylee is currently in her boy crazy phase. None of us are worried though; Ivan and Kari jump any guy that looks twice at her.

Seventeen-year-old Ivan, who my siblings and I have christened Ivy, is the bane of everyone’s existence. I’m surprised my parents have not needed to be committed for exhaustion just trying to stay one step ahead of his antics. Ivy resembles my oldest brother Dana, in almost every way. But where Dana has light brown hair with brown eyes, Ivy is more of a dirty blond with hazel. Unfortunately, Dana is also his idol which means Ivy is quickly following in his footsteps in becoming the consummate ladies’ man.

I limped off the escalator and slowly made my way to meet them, my left arm in a sling, my left leg in an immobilizer, and a cane in my right hand. Hi guys, I said grinning among hugs and kisses.

My backpack slung over his shoulder, Dad turned to my brother and said, Ivy, could you grab one of those wheelchairs over there?

Don’t, Ivy, I said waving him off. After that plane ride, it feels pretty good to walk right now. Besides, I said nudging Kari playfully, the trip home is fifteen minutes away.

Well I hope you brought Dramamine with you, snickered Ivy putting a protective arm around Kaylee. Kari is driving us home.

Kaylee elbowed him. Be nice. Kari’s a good driver.

Shut up butt-plug. I followed the voice to the driver in question who was scowling at Ivy and seemed to be waging an inner battle over whether to jump him or not.

Not here… Dad warned.

Patience and probably a little I’ll kick his ass later, won with Kari who dangled the car keys in front of me and said proudly while wiggling his eyebrows, I got my learner’s permit.

Congratulations squirt. I knew you could do it. Besides, I said as we slowly shuffled toward the baggage claim, my brown ponytail hanging limply over my shoulder, it’s not like you ever stole Mom’s car in the middle of the night, crashed it into the mailbox, took out her precious flower beds, picked up four friends, drove to a college party where time was spent in the pursuit of drink while practicing severe underdeveloped powers of sexual persuasion, only to discover too late that Bluto and Otter had toyed with the underage party crashers, introducing all four to laxative induced beer, which incidentally was an accident some poor Omega Mu will never forget in her entire therapy-riddled life!

Well, I see recent events haven’t damage your twisted sense of humor, Alex, my dad said, merriment dancing in his eyes. I grinned back.

You guys aren’t ever gonna let me live that down, are you? griped Ivy adjusting his blue Varsity jacket.

NOPE! we all declared with more cheer than Ivy deemed necessary.

So where’s Mom? I asked looking around. Is she bringing the car around?

Nope, I’m going to do that right now, Kari said right before he sprinted away quickly followed by Ivy dragging Kaylee with him.

Dad just gave me a smile like my brothers were completely normal and this was average every day behavior with them. Oh, she’s waiting at home for you.

Okay… For some reason that statement did not sit well with me and the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand on end. I soon found out why.

So, the traitors get me home and unload my bags. I stood outside with them taking in the sunny autumn Michigan weather. The old trees lining our isolated road were a potpourri of maroon, fuchsia and yellow with just a touch of burnt leaf smell in the air. I had forgotten how much I’d missed it. Even though I often traveled to locations where autumn color tours were popular, it wasn’t the same as home.

Pulling into the circular drive of my parents’ old Tudor brick house, Kari maneuvered the vehicle he was soon to share on a full-time basis with Ivy to a spot near the garage.

Wait Alex, lemme help, Ivy shouted as he hopped out of the vehicle and ran around to my side. Kaylee, grab a bag, he ordered.

Kaylee’s response was to pull out her ringing cell phone and promptly declare how bogus her brothers were.

It’s ok, I can do it. I said grunting to heave myself out.

I know you can, but you’re down both an arm and a leg plus, you have that cane. It can’t be easy to walk in the grass with that thing.

I’m not an invalid, I said grumbling wondering what his Samaritan work was going to cost me.

I heard a muffled, Damn near.

Since he seemed so determined and since he was practically carrying me, I let him have his way, though I wasn’t happy about it. I do have to admit that though I am proud of the man I see emerging within him, I decided I was going to toast his little chestnuts later if he did not get over this need to push his weight around.

Ivy tried to steer me toward the back of the house but I waylaid him by making a detour to the bathroom. When I came out, the traitors were gone from the house and Dad was driving, beating a hasty retreat.

Not quite sure what to think over that oddly telling behavior, I retraced my steps toward the back patio.

I slid open the French doors leading to the backyard and hobbled outside. I was in the process of closing the door when it suddenly occurred to me what was going on. I looked around frantically. Did they notice me? Yeah…they did. The conversations came to an abrupt halt and they all stared. Shit.

It was one of mom’s female parties. My mother, Clare Medina Hollingsworth and her friends were famous for their parties. They had rubberstamp card-making parties, Pampered Chef parties, Tupperware parties, Lia Sophia jewelry parties, Candlelite parties, Doris Day video parties (yeah…right there with ya), and the Neighborhood Hood parties. But this couldn’t be a Hood party because none of the men and kids were there. Where was the TV, or any of the other gizmos, gadgets and general stuff for the rest of the parties?

My head swiveled back and forth taking it all in...bunch of punch bowls...food trays placed strategically around the deck. Oh shit! Sangria party.

Alex? Mom yelled. "Where the hell have you been?" There were very few people who could tell my sister and I apart, but my parents, my siblings and my ex-husband, Michael were among them. The fact that I look like I was run over by a bus, should have been a clue to everyone present. I was the fucked up twin.

I simply froze. It wasn’t often Mom used that voice and every muscle, including my ass, constricted and froze. Uh, I said not sure what else to say, Florida?

I’ve been going out of my mind! Agent Caleb arrived hours ago, she said rushing over to me for a hug. Ah. So that was the reason for the voice. It was Mom-Fear, not to be confused with Mom-Rage that is synonymous to one being informed one’s seventeen-year-old daughter just came home knocked up.

CALEB?!? I yelled outraged. What do you mean Agent Caleb arrived hours ago?

She pointed to a papa-san chair where Mr. Perky Ears had made himself at home.

Well, I replied in a huff, Caleb can just take his big hairy butt outta here.

Alex, don’t be rude, she said in a fierce whisper. He had a long trip too you know, she took a moment to slide a smile in Caleb’s direction, and not nearly as comfortable as yours. Unlike some people, he had to sit caged up in a cold cargo hold for a few hours.

I decided it probably would not be prudent to inform her that I’ve spent my share of time in cold cargo holds, I just did not have to sit within a dog kennel to do it.

And we’ve had a good time pampering him, she continued.

My lip curled in disgust as I stared at the mutt in question. He doesn’t need pampering. He needs to go back to Miami.

Catherine piped in. Oh Alex, he’s awfully cute. Just look at those big brown eyes. Couldn’t you just give him a chance? Catherine Graham, our next-door neighbor has been a friend of my parents for as long as I can remember.

Nope, I replied adamantly. He’s been tried, tested, experimented, and evaluated. It didn’t work out.

What did you do wrong? said Doreen, my crazy ex-grandmother-in-law. What? she said when everyone simply stared at her. It’s not like you all weren’t thinking it.

What didn’t work out? My mom said pressing for information. She gestured to her followers. We’ve been having a lovely time with him. He seems very well mannered.

Well of course he’s acting well-mannered. You’ve been stuffing him full of food.

Everyone stared at me in silence with silly grins on their faces. Ugh. Mom tried to hide hers. Yep, it’s official. Alex is home.

She took my face into her hands and looked me all over before gathering me in for another hug. This, more than anything, was where I needed to be. Home and babied by Mom. There’s just something about getting a hug from her that can make everything better. I buried my head into her hair and inhaled the sweet scent of flowers.

Not wanting to get into too many details with her friends present, I simply said, ‘I’m tired," and I knew she would understand.

Well it’s about time. Come on and see everyone, She gently shoved me into a lawn chair, whispering an apology when I squealed ouch. She knew that due to the presence of certain people, I was likely to make my excuses and bolt.

Hi, I said resigned to the inevitable and a cacophony of female voices came alive shouting out Hey Alex, How you been, Alex, About time you showed up Alex, and How’s the sex life Alex? The last coming from, Doreen the 70-year-old-something loudmouth who cannot hold her liquor. (FYI...I said Hey to the first, So-so to the second, Yeah to the third and flat out ignored the last.)

Mom made a couple of introductions but other than that, I was familiar with everyone here. However seeing them after such a long time was awkward, especially Michael’s mother and grandmother, the reasons for said bolting. The demons I spoke of before. I almost let out a whimper of distress. Don’t get me wrong; they aren’t bad people or anything. It’s just what they represent…Michael’s relatives. Seeing them here makes me remember my past and those pesky personal demons (kinda like pesky STDs…but not).

My Mom drew my attention back toward