Rachel the Warrior Pt. 02

Rachel the Warrior

Part Two

by G. Lawrence

An unexpected event changes everything

Having had a bad experience meeting Tom's parents, Rachel, Tom, and Rory are visiting the space center the next day. The novel is being presented in eight parts, two chapters per episode.

* * * * * *

Chapter Three

SPACE CENTERS

McLane drove the heavy town car down Nasa Parkway to the main gate shortly before noon, Rachel and Rory in the back, Tom had shotgun. Rachel had chosen a conservative blue wool dress and boots. A large floppy felt hat acted as a disguise. General Frank Taylor met them in the parking lot, a tall, thin soldier in his early sixties with square shoulders and a bushy white mustache.

"I'm pleased to see you again, Miss Montgomery," the general said, shaking hands. "You, too, Miss Benson. Commander Harper. Welcome to the Johnson Space Center."

"This is much better than an underground bunker," Rachel replied, looking up at the cloudy sky.

"Where you helped the FBI solve those kidnappings. That was very brave," Taylor complimented.

"I don't want any more government machines melting my sister's brain," Rory complained with a frown.

"That was unfortunate," General Taylor agreed, giving Rachel a second look. "How have you been? Since that episode with Level 13?"

"I'm getting better," Rachel replied.

"Have you been to the Space Center before?" Taylor asked.

"No. This is my first visit," Rachel explained.

"You'll enjoy the tour," Taylor said.

When they passed through security and entered the busy lobby, Rachel took Taylor aside.

"I've never had a chance to thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"The satellites. I've been borrowing your network for the last three years. And you were a little upset when I accessed those top-secret protocols."

Taylor looked around, making sure no one was listening.

"Miss Marbury, select members of the Joint Chiefs know what you can do. We know you've never abused your access, and at times, you've opened valuable channels for us. You have my complete confidence."

"Thank you, sir. I'll never disappoint you," Rachel promised.

They rejoined the group, escorted through exhibits, laboratories, and a museum. The artifacts went back to America's earliest days of space flight.

"Those were some brave guys," Tom said, standing before a tiny Mercury space capsule.

"You wouldn't catch me in one of those," Rory agreed. "What about you, Rach?"

Rachel got very close to look inside.

"It's not so bad," she decided.

"Easy for you to say. Ten of you could fit in there," Tom said. Rachel looked again.

"Not that many," she disagreed.

"Did any of these rockets launch from here?" Rory asked.

"No manned flights. But we've been testing missiles here the last few years," Taylor answered. "In fact, we're testing one today. Would you like to see it?"

"Wow, that would be amazing," Rory said.

"Let me confirm your security clearances and find a shuttle," Taylor offered.

"Security clearance?" Tom asked.

"The official story is that we launch weather satellites to test changing climate conditions," Taylor said.

"You don't?" Rory asked.

"You might want to ask your sister. Confidentially," Taylor replied.

Taylor went to check with the security desk. Rory and Tom looked at Rachel.

"I shouldn't say anything," she said.

"Yes, you should," Rory insisted.

"It's secret," Rachel protested.

"Apparently not that secret," Tom said. Rachel sighed, searching for a quiet corner.

"The military is developing a new medium-range missile. Last year, when their testing facility in Florida was compromised, they expanded their launch sites. One of them is here, in Houston."

"Compromised? How?" Tom asked.

"I'm not allowed to say."

"How do you know this?" Rory pressed.

"When the government insisted that I access their Level 13 matrix, I drew on their national security protocols to give the FBI the solutions they needed. General Taylor was very unhappy about it, at first, but I needed the information."

"Did they give you a national security clearance?" Tom said.

"I can't discuss that, either."

"You are so mysterious," Rory said with a grin, taking Rachel's arm.

A few minutes later, they boarded a tram that went down a long underground tunnel. When they came back up, the tram entered a four-story complex in a large open field away from the main buildings. Military police helped them disembark. There were numerous control consoles, monitor screens, and workstations.

"I need to check in," Taylor said. "There's a guest area over there. Good coffee. And tea for you, Miss Montgomery."

The waiting area was near a long steel balcony where outside staircases led up and down the sides of the tall rectangular structure. In the distance, they saw Clear Lake and boats in the harbor.

"It's pretty," Rachel said, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

"You seem to know a lot about missiles," Tom said. "More than I would have suspected."

"Not really. I just know the numbers," Rachel replied.

"How are the numbers today? Is your medication working?" Rory asked.

"They gradually disappeared the last time I was pregnant. I hope that happens again. Having a baby is hard enough without all that buzzing in my head."

"We're here to help you through it this time," Rory promised. A few minutes later, McLane arrived wearing a security badge. He didn't say where he'd been, and Rachel didn't ask.

After an hour, activity on the floor increased. Technicians took seats at their stations. A short, bald man in a long white coat came up. Rachel guessed him in his early fifties. Chewed fingernails indicated a nervous type.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Cyril Adams," he introduced. "General Taylor would like you near the big board."

They followed the scientist into the complex, reaching a centralized screen with maps and weather gauges. The staff rushed around. McLane remained in the guest area, sipping coffee while observing.

"Dad?" Tom said, seeing his father overseeing preparations.

"Son? What are you doing here?" Walsh replied. And then he noticed Rachel and Rory. "What the hell are they doing here?"

"We're watching the rocket launch," Tom replied.

"They need to leave. They need to leave now," Walsh demanded.

"They're General Taylor's guests," Tom defended.

"They certainly are. Why? Is there a problem, Walsh?" Taylor asked, taking a moment from his duties. Walsh took a step back, looking frustrated.

"No, Frank. No problem," Walsh said.

"Mr. Harper, can we speak for a moment?" Rachel requested.

"I don't have time right now, Miss Montgomery," Walsh said, returning to his station.

"We are a little busy at the moment," Taylor said, noticing Rachel's disappointment. "Dr. Adams, can you give our guests a rundown?"

"Of course, sir. Ladies, and Commander Harper, this is a Defender-7 rapid response test," Adams explained. "We're going to fire a missile into the Gulf of Mexico where several naval vessels are standing by. Because so many countries launch missiles of unknown capability, our interception systems are designed to evaluate the danger and relay the data back to NORAD."

"NORAD?" Rory asked.

"North American Aerospace Defense Command," Adams clarified. "This missile is carrying a nuclear warhead that should be detectable even at long range."

"A nuclear warhead!" Rory said.

"We won't be arming it, Miss Benson," Adams assured her.

"But--" Rory continued.

"Friends," Taylor intervened, "if an adversary launches a conventional missile at an American target, we have a set response. But if a nuclear missile is coming our way, that's a whole different ballgame. And we only have seconds to make the adjustments. If this program proves successful, our ships will know what to expect and take appropriate action."

"I guess that makes sense," Rory conceded.

"Miss Montgomery?" Taylor questioned.

"Psalms 34:7," Rachel replied.

"Which is?" Taylor asked with a smile.

"The angel of the Lord encampeth round them that fear him, and delivereth them," Rachel answered.

"Maybe we should rename the program?" Taylor said, going back to his command post.

"I need to find my team," Adams apologized. "This board here shows the launch status. Here we have telemetry, velocity, and targeting. USS Hawkeye and USS Barstow are on station. We'll be able to see what they see as the missile approaches."

"Thank you, Doctor," Tom said. He stepped back with Rory, but Rachel remained close to the monitors for a few extra minutes.

"Do you understand any of that?" Rory asked.

"It's not hard," Rachel said.

"Looks hard to me," Tom said.

"It's just numbers, Thomas," Rachel said. "Sequences. Progressions. Resolutions."

Half an hour went by. Monitors showed the missile in an underground silo. Different stations began calling out their readiness.

"This is exciting, isn't it, Rach?" Rory said.

But Rachel wasn't listening. Not to her. Her head was cocked to one side, as if hearing something unusual. She went to the coordination station, looking at the feed. She began to reach out.

"I'm sorry, miss, you can't touch that," the skinny tech said.

Rachel didn't touch the controls, but she did put her hand on the console, her fingertips lightly set on the smooth aluminum surface.

"Rach? Rach, is something wrong?" Rory asked.

"Something," Rachel said, her brow bent.

"What is it?" Taylor inquired, coming up next to her.

Rachel studied the inputs for another moment, her breath growing short.

"You need to stop the launch," Rachel whispered.

"Do what?" Taylor said.

"Stop the launch, sir. There may be a terrible accident."

"How do you know?"

"The math is wrong," she responded.

Taylor summoned his team leaders to the main control station. One of them was Tom's father.

"Miss Montgomery, we need you," Taylor beckoned.

Rachel walked over, her head down. Sentries kept Tom and Rory from following.

"Yes, sir," Rachel said.

"What makes you believe the launch will fail?" Taylor asked.

"Sir, I shouldn't--"

"Rachel, this is important. You need to be honest with me. Like I've been honest with you," Taylor insisted.

"Your system has been interfered with, sir," Rachel quietly said.

"That's ridiculous. The numbers are perfect," Walsh protested.

"The numbers are perfect," Rachel agreed. "The rhythm of the numbers is wrong."

"The rhythm of the numbers? What kind of b. s. is that?" Walsh asked, satisfied to see Rachel take a step back.

"It's how the numbers speak," Rachel explained.

"Come on, Frank, this is total crap. All systems are go," Walsh pressed.

"General, we need to launch on schedule or postpone this for two weeks," Dr. Adams advised.

Taylor studied the technicians, glanced briefly at Rachel, and then nodded.

"Continue the countdown," Taylor ordered.

Rachel didn't say anything more as Taylor took her by the arm, leading her to a quiet area off to the side.

"What are you thinking?" Taylor asked.

"I'm afraid, sir. This might be bad."

"You're always afraid. It makes you strong. And don't think I didn't believe you. There have been problems for a while now. Serious problems. If intruders have penetrated our secure facility here, I need to know."

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'm glad you did. There may come a day-- Let's just say, if you're right about this, there are people who will know. The kind of people who need to know."

"I'm not a soldier, sir," Rachel reminded.

"No, not a soldier. But you are a warrior," Taylor replied.

"I hope I'm wrong about this."

"Are you?"

"No."

The control center remained active, a score of scientists and engineers scurrying about. Large monitors showed a long, slender rocket expelling hot gases. Rachel went to stand with Rory and Tom, taking their hands. Clutching them tightly.

"Here we go," the launch coordinator announced. "Five, four, three, two, one. Lift-off!"

There was a vibration as the missile jumped out of the silo on orange flames, quickly clearing the facility on course for the Gulf of Mexico.

"A perfect launch," Walsh said with satisfaction.

"Go-on-go," the skinny tech excitedly agreed.

Monitors showed the missile's course and speed. Data from the U. S. ships provided updates.

"Couldn't be better," Walsh boasted.

"Looking good," the tech agreed. But not for long.

"Hey! What's that?" the targeting coordinator shouted.

Faces turned toward the giant monitor screen. The missile was gradually veering southeast. There was a burst of activity at every station.

"Destroy the missile," Taylor ordered. "Quick! Destroy it!"

"No response from the self-destruct," a tech said, punching his keyboard.

"Dive it into the sea," Dr. Adams said.

"Control negative," the tech reported. "Missile now headed due east."

Every station was frantically engaged, trying to gather data. None of it proved useful.

"This is bad, sir," the target coordinator warned. And then it got worse.

"Oh, wait. Wait. Oh no. Oh my God!" Adams cried out.

They all saw it. The nuclear warhead activated on its own, the warning flashing red.

"Shut it down! Shut it down!" Taylor demanded.

"Negative response," Adams said. "Command and control have been commandeered."

"Where's the damn thing going?" Taylor asked.

"Fort Lauderdale," Adams informed. "There isn't enough time to evacuate."

"Jesus Christ," Taylor muttered.

"What are we going to do? We've got to do something!" a young tech pleaded. General Taylor looked back to the lounge.

"Rachel!"

Rachel came running, not asking any questions. She shoved the tech out of his seat, donned his headphones, and took control of his console.

"What do you think you're doing?" Walsh asked.

"Shut up," Rachel answered.

Taylor motioned for the sentries to clear the area, leaving Rachel alone at the control station.

"What the hell, Frank?" Walsh complained. "Two hundred thousand people live in Fort Lauderdale."

"Walsh? Shut up," Taylor replied.

Most of the professionals in the room did not know what Rachel was attempting, though a few suspected. Her fingers moved rapidly over the inputs as she whispered into the communications array.

"She's accessing a subroutine that seems incompatible with our systems," Adams said. "The conflict is opening new channels."

"Can she regain control of the missile?" Taylor asked.

"I don't recognize any of those progressions," the tech said. "How is she even accessing those systems?"

"It's above your paygrade, Benny," Taylor responded.

Rachel selected special combinations of keys, whispered to the machine, and then placed her hands on the touch screen, using her fingers and palms to accelerate directives. Rory and Tom pushed past the guards to get closer. Rory saw Rachel slipping into a haze, her focus absorbed on the task. She appeared tense. Uncertain. Struggling. Which caused the haze to grow deeper.

Taylor looked at the clock, seeing the missile only ninety seconds from impact. It was all on Rachel to stop it. He held his breath.

"There! We've got it back!" Adams shouted, returning to his station. All the techs ran to their stations.

"What back?" Taylor asked.

"Guidance control," a tech answered.

"The self-destruct?" Taylor pressed.

"Too low to the city. If we can extend the distance, we can drop it in the Atlantic," Adams recommended.

"Do it," Taylor agreed.

The room watched anxiously as the big board showed the missile's direction and altitude. The staff was working hard to boost the engines so it would overshoot. Rachel stood up, having done what she could. Rory drew her back to the lounge.

"Let's get out of here," Rory whispered to Tom.

"What? Now?" Tom asked.

"If this fails, they're going to blame Rachel," Rory explained. "If it succeeds, they'll want to congratulate her. Hugs and handshakes. Rachel's already in a haze. She doesn't need the extra stress."

Tom saw it was true. Rachel was watching the map, but her eyes seemed glazed.

"Take Rach out on the balcony for some fresh air," Rory urged. "I'll have Big Bob call for the car."

Radar tracked the missile flying over downtown Fort Lauderdale, the deafening sound alerting thousands to its passage. Some took videos with their phones.

"It's cleared the city," the targeting coordinator reported.

"The warhead?" Taylor asked.

"Can't be sure. It may be deactivated," the tech answered.

"May be?"

"General, we only have marginal signals here," Adams said. "Montgomery had to wipe most of the programming to get control back."

"It's a miracle we have this much," the tech said.

"Yes. And I know who the miracle is," Taylor praised, looking at Rachel.

The missile hit the Atlantic Ocean and broke up. There was no explosion. U. S. Naval vessels converged on the site.

Walsh backed off, wiping his brow. The teams stood down. Taylor and Adams pulled the leaders together, trying to determine what had happened.

Tom brought Rachel to the outside walkway for the fresh air. Her eyes were still glazed. She seemed detached from her surroundings.

"That was amazing," Tom said.

"I almost failed," Rachel whimpered, her hands shaking.

"You didn't fail."

"The numbers were so confusing."

"Rach, calm down. Rach? Rach, look at me."

Tom realized the haze was getting worse.

"Let me find Rory. Stay here," Tom said.

In the control center, General Taylor had the techs tracking the malfunction. And Walsh on the carpet.

"You assured me this was under control. Even after Montgomery warned you, you said it was under control. Is there a problem here?" Taylor asked.

"No, Frank--"

"It's General Taylor, Mr. Harper. What was that dust up with Montgomery? Something personal?"

"A misunderstanding."

"I don't have time for misunderstandings. Your unit will stand down pending review."

"We can do the analysis," Walsh insisted.

"I need answers, not someone covering their own ass," Taylor denied.

"General--"

"That's all, Mr. Harper. We'll have a briefing at 0800. Whatever you have to say, I'll hear it then."

Taylor walked away, going to the electronic map. Smaller screens showed news reports relaying video from the crash site. Everyone was busy trying to assess the situation. NASA issued a statement saying a weather satellite had crashed.

Walsh grabbed his coat and stormed from the control center. No one said anything as he left. He looked ahead, seeing Rachel standing at the outside railing.

"Satisfied? Are you satisfied?" Walsh said, marching toward her.

Rachel turned. Startled. She couldn't hear what he was saying, it was just noise.

"Had to show me up, didn't you? To prove what?"

Walsh kept getting closer. Rachel stepped back, and then stepped back again. Her eyes grew big, filled with fear. An angry man was coming at her. She didn't know why.

Something was behind her. No, not something. An open space. A staircase. She wobbled and reached out, unable to find the railing.

"Wait! Watch out! Be careful!" Walsh shouted, raising his hands.

Rachel gasped, lost her balance, and suddenly tumbled backwards head over heels down the steep stairwell, crashing into a wall at the bottom. She wasn't moving.

"Oh my God! Dad, what did you do?" Tom shouted, shoving his father aside and jumping down the steps.

"Call an ambulance! Someone call an ambulance!" Rory yelled.

She followed Tom down, finding Rachel in a crumpled heap.

"Careful how you move her," Rory warned. "Watch her neck. Watch her back."

Tom slowly moved Rachel away from the wall, laying her on her side. She was unconscious. Blood filled her nose and mouth.

"This is bad, Ro. It's real bad," Tom moaned.

"Don't panic. Keep her airway open," Rory urged, adjusting Rachel's legs to take pressure off her diaphragm.

General Taylor appeared at the top of the staircase, waving to a medical team.

"Goddamn it, Harper, what the hell did you do?" Taylor asked.

"I didn't do anything. I never touched her," Walsh protested.

"She just decided to take a dive down the stairs?"

"Frank, I swear--"

"Guards! Detain Dr. Harper until further notice," Taylor ordered. "Have the sergeant-at-arms look at the security footage."

Medics raced down the stairs. Another team came up the other way, carrying a gurney. Tom and Rory were moved aside.

"Careful," Ro cautioned.

"We've got this, miss," a paramedic answered.

"The hospital is only a few minutes away," General Taylor said, standing next to Rory.

"Why would he do that?" Rory asked.

"Did you see him push her?" Taylor questioned.

"That's what it looked like," Rory replied.

* * * * * *

The waiting room was tense. Rory sat on a couch with Tom and Marissa McLane. Bob McLane paced near the door.

"I should have stayed with her," McLane said. "I only turned my back for a second."

"This wasn't your fault," Rory said. "There was security everywhere."

"Except where it was needed most," McLane replied.

"I don't understand," Tom said. "Yesterday we were talking about a wedding, and now this."

"It's been hours. Can't they tell us anything?" Marissa asked, going to take her father's hand.

"We should know something soon," Rory said, checking her phone again.

"Your mother?" McLane asked.

"Mom's on the way. Her plane landed twenty minutes ago," Rory answered.

"Bill?" Tom asked.

"He and Samantha were still honeymooning on their yacht off Maui. They're heading for the airport," Rory said. "Allie and John want to come, but someone needs to stay with the children."

A moment later, Tom's mother and brothers arrived.

"We just heard. Why didn't anyone call me?" Virginia asked.

"Do you care?" Rory responded.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Virginia said.

"What happened last night?" Rory asked, rising up. "What happened in that house to make Rachel run away? And make your husband go after her?"

"It was a misunderstanding. Just a misunderstanding," Virginia answered.

"It has to be more than that," Rory said.

"Leave my mom alone," Kevin said, standing in Rory's way. Tom hurried to get between them.

"Let it go for now, Ro," Tom urged. "We need to worry about Rachel."

Rory reluctantly backed off, going to sit with McLane's daughter. Eric sat with them, trying to calm her down.

"We talked to Dad. He's really sorry about what happened," Eric explained. "He said he never touched Rachel. She got scared and fell."

"That's not how it looked to me," Rory said. "Is he under arrest?"

"No. Not yet," Eric replied. "I'm sure he'll do anything to fix this. We all will."

"You know we will. Rachel is a wonderful girl," Virginia said. "We all feel terrible."

A slim, middle-aged doctor appeared, looking grim.

"Has Miss Marbury's mother arrived yet?" she asked.

"Soon. I'm her sister," Rory said.

"I'm her fiancé," Tom added.

Dr. Ocasio studied the room. Worried families were nothing new. She saw that all the time. This was something different. A palpable tension.

"We'll wait a few minutes," the doctor decided.

"You've got to tell us something," Marissa insisted.

"Miss Marbury's condition is serious," Dr. Ocasio replied. She went back down the hall, speaking with nurses.

Two bodyguards entered the waiting area. Pamela was right behind them, followed by Oliver Mendelson, her lawyer and boyfriend. Virginia was impressed. The famous Pamela Benson was tall, finely attired in a scarlet business suit, and just over sixty, with a presence that dominated the room. Her lanky attorney was distinguished, white-haired, and appeared prepared for any situation. Pamela reached for a hug from Rory.

"How is she?" Pamela asked.

"The doctor was just here. It's not good," Rory reported.

Pamela glanced at her security, now guarding the door, and went looking for the doctor. Ocasio was at the nurse station, studying a chart.

"Mrs. Benson?" Ocasio guessed.

"My daughter?"

"This way."

Ocasio took Pamela to the intensive care unit, letting her look in. Rachel was hooked up to IVs. Monitors charted her vital signs. Her eyes were closed. Ocasio drew Pamela back into a conference room. A nurse brought coffee.

"There's good news and bad news," Ocasio said.

"How bad is it?"

"Good news first. She has a serious concussion, but there's no brain damage that we can detect. Her EEG readings are erratic, but we've learned that's normal for her. She has a broken collarbone, bruised ribs, and she'll need to wear a neck brace for a few weeks."

"The bad news?" Pamela asked.

"She lost the baby," Ocasio revealed.

"Oh no. Oh no, no."

"We can offer counseling. Whatever you need."

"Rachel has a therapist in Los Angeles. When can she be moved?"

"Even traveling first class--"

"I have my own jet. It can be modified for whatever's needed."

"We're watching for internal bleeding. If she remains stable, maybe three or four days."

"My other daughter, Rory, is a registered nurse. I'd like your staff to brief her."

"Of course."

"Does Rachel know yet? About the baby?"

"No. She's been in and out of consciousness. We wanted instructions from her family."

"I'll tell her," Pamela decided.

"We know this is difficult, but we don't suspect any permanent damage. She should be able to conceive again."

"That will help. It will help a lot. When can I see her?"

"Tomorrow morning would be best. Give her a chance to rest."

"Thank you, Doctor," Pamela said, shaking her hand.

Pamela returned to the waiting area and took Rory aside, whispering.

"Oh God," Rory mumbled.

"The doctor is waiting for you," Pamela said. "Mr. McLane, please go with her. You, too, Miss McLane. I'm going to need your help getting Rachel home."

"What is it? What's wrong?" Tom asked.

"We should discuss it privately, Thomas," Pamela replied.

* * * * * *

Pamela emerged from Rachel's room the next morning, looking grim. Rory and Tom waited in the hall. Tom's family had not been invited.

"How is she?" Tom asked.

"Conscious. Her whole body is aching from the fall," Pamela replied.

"What did she say about losing the baby?" Rory said.

"She didn't say anything. Not a word. She didn't even cry," Pamela answered.

"That's not good. That's not good at all," Rory worried.

"I need to see her," Tom said.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea right now. Let's wait until we're back home. Back in a better environment," Pamela suggested.

"I can't do that. I can't wait that long," he insisted.

"Be careful," Pamela warned. "And whatever Rachel might say now, remember that she loves you."

Tom tapped on the door before entering. Rachel was sitting up, her shoulder wrapped and neck in a brace.

"Rach? Rach, it's me," he said.

"Go away," she mumbled.

"No. What do you mean? It's me."

"Go away, Thomas."

"I'm not going away. I need to see how you are."

Rachel rested back against the pillows, her eyes shut. She didn't move. She hardly seemed to be breathing. Tom cautiously sat on the bed, reaching to take her hand. She pulled away.

"They released Dad last night. The video showed he was fifteen feet away from you when you fell. He's really sorry he scared you. He said--"

"He killed my baby."

"What? No, Rach--"

"Please go away."

"Everyone is so sorry about this. Mom, Eric, Kevin, they'll do whatever it takes to make this right."

"I can't think about that now. I can't think about anything. We shouldn't see each other for a while."

"We live together. We're going to get married."

"I don't think so."

"Please don't say that."

"I thought this might work, but I was wrong. Your parents hate me."

"Rachel, they don't hate you."

Rachel pulled up the blanket and stopped talking. Tom felt someone take his arm.

"Not now, Tom," Pamela whispered. "She needs time. It's the way she is."

* * * * * *

Chapter Four

GOING AWAY AGAIN

"Thank you for letting me stay here," Rachel said.

The winter weather outside Pamela's Brentwood mansion was cold and windy. Leaves blew off the trees against her window. Rachel lay in the upstairs guest room, the medical equipment pushed back against the walls.

"Canby Place is chaotic, and you need rest," Pamela said, feeding her chicken soup.

"It will be quieter when everyone leaves for Aspen."

"You need to go, too."

"The doctors didn't even want me to fly home. Constantly monitored. Hooked up to machines. That's no way to spend a week at Marbury House."

"Then we'll stay here with you."

"No. The children need to be with their family. Aunt Hattie will be there. Aunt May. Uncle Sherbet. Your cousins. Most of them still haven't seen Danny, or Lisa and Gabriel. Samantha and William just got married. Many haven't met Ashley, even though she and Rory have been dating for two years."

"We can't leave you here alone," Pamela protested.

"I'm okay."

"You always say that."

"It's usually true."

"Honey, you can't imagine how badly everyone feels about this."

Rachel ate her soup, growing quiet.

"Tom wants to see you," Pamela said.

"Is he still at Canby Place?"

"Yes. And I'm not letting him move out. The sooner you patch this up, the sooner you can move on."

"He should be in Houston, with his family."

"You are his family. Honey, you are his world."

"He needs to find someone else. I'll only keep hurting him."

"You're a handful, but don't think for a moment that Tom doesn't love you."

"I'm going to be leaving for a while."

"What do you mean? You're not running away, are you?"

"I will never run away from you again. I promised. I'm going to spend a month or two in Ketchum. The clinic is letting me use my old trailer. Dr. Meadows will help me when I need it."

"Ketchum? What about Danny? Lisa and Gabe? You have a family to take care of."

"John and Allie sued me for custody of Danny. Remember? They have Mrs. McLane, and Martha, and you. No one will miss me."

Pamela put the soup aside, crawled up on the bed, and held Rachel in her arms.

"Everyone will miss you. And you know that. What is this really about?"

"I feel so empty. I was careless, and my baby is gone. I wanted Tom's parents to like me, and that's gone. In the space center, I almost failed to control the missile. It shouldn't have been hard, but it was. Something is wrong. I need time to think without all this noise."

"I can understand that, but you should still have Christmas. I'll make you a deal. Come to Aspen. Most of your time will be at the chalet. Just you, me, Rory, and Ashley. We'll put the children at Marbury House to drive their aunts and uncles crazy."

"That would be funny," Rachel said, offering a cautious smile.

"Then you'll do it?"

"Give me a little time to think, if that's okay?"

"Of course, dear. Sheba is here. She wants to see you."

"You're finally calling her Sheba? Have you forgiven her?"

"Sheila ... Sheba, slept with my husband while we were still married. That's hard to get over. But she's such a big part of your life, I'm trying to get past it."

"She's your cousin. Nothing is--"

"More important than family. Yes. And dear, you need to remember that, too."

"Proverbs 17:17."

"A friend loves at all times. A brother is born for times of adversity," Pamela quoted.

"You've been studying."

"I need to stay up with you."

Pamela left the remaining soup on the nightstand and went downstairs. Sheila Marbury appeared a few minutes later. Sleek and attractive, with short curly black hair, the CEO of World Health Database was about to turn forty. Her dark green eyes reminded many of a panther.

"I'm so sorry, Rach," Sheila said, sitting on the bed to take her hand. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"The Hague?"

"We don't need to discuss business. It can wait."

"I don't have a lot to do today."

"Well, it looks like the European Union is going to adopt WHD's basic program, and consider the advanced protocols for selected regions. Privacy is still an issue."

"Everyone keeps reminding me of that," Rachel complained with a scowl. "Do they think it's a conspiracy, too?"

"No reasonable person says that, only Lupe Manners and her army of crackpots. In time, WHD will prove itself, despite what the critics say."

Rachel reached for the bowl of soup. Sheila got there first, using a napkin to help her.

"You don't need to feed me."

"I need to do something. It feels like I'm always on the outside. With everyone. It's hard being the black sheep of the family."

"You're my friend," Rachel said, staring hard.

"You already scanned me. You don't need to do it twice."

"That's silly. No one can scan people," Rachel replied. There was a pause, and then they laughed.

"Juniper Springs?" Rachel asked.

"We have a consortium now. Mr. Beggs, Flo, Maisie, Sam, and Jay Silverhawk. And we've got options on the land we'll need. But our search isn't going to stay secret much longer."

"The engineers?"

"Haven't solved the problem yet, but they will. We have the money and resources that others don't."

"I want to be there when it's time. The visitor center should be named after Joanna."

"Sad about your friend, but Rachel Little Bear is thriving. She's a cute little girl."

Rachel fell quiet again. Sheila realized she was thinking about the baby she lost.

"Rach, it's going to be okay. Did you know Pam lost a baby?"

"What? No, I've never heard that."

"Between Johnny and Ro. She only lived a few days. It was tough on Pam and Daniel, but they moved forward. Two more children, and now three grandchildren."

"I'm going to take a month off. Or two. I'll be in Ketchum. Will you call me if they find the hot springs?"

"We won't open them without you. You're coming to Aspen, aren't you?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that."

"Please come. Last year, I was in New Delhi presenting WHD. The year before, it was Paris. It's my turn to spend Christmas with you."

"I'll do it then," Rachel said. "For you."

* * * * * *

"Aunt Hattie? What are you doing here?" Rachel asked.

"I'm too old for skiing, dear," Hattie Marbury replied. Eighty years old, short and stout with puffy cheeks, Hattie showed the breeding of a Gilded Age aristocrat. She was dressed in a warm wool coat and silver turban. Some believed she was the richest woman in America. Others said she was only in the top five.

Rachel rested on a sofa in the Benson chalet, a fire roaring in the massive stone fireplace. The house was quiet, nearly everyone enjoying good weather on Aspen's ski slopes. A copy of Sense and Sensibility lay on the end table.

"Who's watching out for you?" Hattie asked.

"I'm a grown woman. No one needs to watch out for me."

"You're in a big house all alone. Someone needs to watch out for you."

"Mother won't allow me to be alone. Sheba spent the night. Samantha and William were here this morning, then Allie and John visited with the children. Dr. Wilkerson is upstairs taking a nap."

"We'll finally meet the famous Ashley? Are she and Rory engaged yet?"

"They're thinking about it."

"Girls marrying girls. Times have changed since I was their age. With you being so religious and all, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Girls marrying girls."

"Who people love isn't any of my business."

Hattie placed a tray of chocolate cupcakes on the coffee table, took off her mittens, and made herself comfortable. The modern three-story structure was styled like a hunting lodge, with high beam ceilings, a large dining room and kitchen, and half a dozen bedrooms upstairs.

"How is your shoulder? Aren't you supposed to be wearing a neck brace?" Hattie asked.

"I'm okay. I have strong bones."

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"All these adventures you have. You're not an anonymous lab girl anymore. You're a Marbury."

"Adopted. You can always disown me."

"The family will never disown you. I will never disown you. I am so proud of you."

"You are? Even if I get crazy sometimes?"

"Even if you get crazy."

Hattie squeezed closer to give her a hug. Rachel almost started crying and then caught herself. Hattie noticed the sudden discipline.

"We need you at Marbury House on Christmas morning. You left us for two years, and then there was that terrible custody hearing, and the violence in Nevada."

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"The family just wants to see you, dear. You don't need to talk, or make speeches, or explain anything. Join us for a few hours and then take a nap in my room. Please?"

"Okay," Rachel agreed.

"Thank you," Hattie said, patting her knee.

"Did Mother send you? To convince me?" Rachel asked.

"No one sends me to do anything, Rachel. I do the sending in this family. And one day, when I am long gone, and you sit in my chair surrounded by your children and grandchildren, and a sea of nieces and nephews, I suspect it will be you who does the sending."

* * * * * *

Christmas morning dawned cold and clear. Pamela got Rachel finely attired in a white cotton suit with red lapels and a matching belt. Rory helped with her makeup. Ashley adjusted her sling for a more comfortable fit and made her wear the neck brace.

"I don't look like a mummy, do I?" Rachel asked.

"You look perfect," Pamela said, kissing her on the forehead.

The short drive down the hill to Marbury House only took a few minutes. The grand Victorian mansion was crowded with forty family members, ten of them children. It was noisy. Between the colorful decorations, towering Christmas tree, piles of gifts, and scattered toys, Rachel was allowed to escape without too much attention. Surrounded by cousins, Rachel's son was all smiles.

"Danny looks so happy," Rory said, sitting next to Rachel on a couch, holding a bottle of Maker's Mark. "Remember your first Christmas here? When everyone was so embarrassed by the scandal following Daddy's death, and you called them out?"

"I was awful," Rachel said.

"You were wonderful. The whole family fell in love with you that morning."

"I fell in love with them, too," Rachel confessed.

"After the holidays, let's travel. Paris. Rome. Monte Carlo. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I've never been out of the country. I don't even have a passport."

"That's not a problem."

"Maybe later. I'll be busy the next few months."

"Busy? Doing what?"

"Let's not worry about that now."

Samantha and William arrived, an attractive young couple in their mid-twenties. Many congratulations were received on their wedding in Hawaii a month before. John and Alicia sat near their two-year-old twins, holding hands. Rory cuddled next to Ashley. Rachel realized she missed Tom, but that couldn't be helped.

Young Danny Benson jumped in his mother's lap, laughing. With bushy auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a stocky build, the twenty-eight-month-old resembled his famous grandfather. Rachel grimaced from the sudden weight. John rushed to pull his son off.

"Sorry, he's fast," the broad-shouldered oldest son of the Benson clan said.

"He's beautiful," Rachel replied, reaching for a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Mommy," Danny said.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," Rachel responded.

Alicia came to sit with them. Recently turned twenty-five, she had gone from playing softball at Boston College to coaching at UCLA so that Lisa and Gabe could grow up with Danny as brothers and sisters. Canby Place could feel crowded at times.

"I'm so glad you made it. Isn't this wonderful?" Alicia said.

"Thank you for taking care of the children," Rachel gratefully offered. "It will be a while before I can help again."

"We understand," Alicia responded, nodding for John to take Danny away. "Will you be staying in Brentwood much longer?"

"I'll be back after New Year's, for a week or two."

"So little?"

"I need some time away. To think."

"How long? What about the children?"

"You have Mrs. McLane, and Martha is always there. And Rory and Ashley will help."

"They aren't the mother that Danny loves. Or the aunt that Lisa and Gabe love."

"They'll be fine without me."

"Rachel, is something wrong? I know things have been rough, with the accident and all."

"I'm okay."

"You've done so much for me. When John was walking away, you put us back together. When you discovered you were pregnant, you went away to protect my marriage. You risked your life to rescue Lisa and Gabe, and opened your home to us. You've given me everything, and I feel like I've given you nothing."

"That's not true, Allie. You care for Danny like he's your own. You'll never know how much I appreciate that. Don't worry. Before long, I'll be back demanding you and John pick up after yourselves. Chasing people out of my kitchen. We'll be fine."

"I'll want to hear from you every day."

"We'll stay in touch."

* * * * * *

The car went up the steep Palos Verdes hill toward the twelve-acre estate at the top of the ridge. Purchased by the late Daniel Benson to entertain clients, the rambling ranch house with a Spanish tile roof featured a bell tower, two garages, a huge swimming pool, tennis courts, and an orchard. Rachel had owned it since Benson's sudden death five years before.

"Thank you for picking me up at the airport, Mr. McLane," Rachel said, climbing from the back. She tried to lift her travel bag. Thick wraps around her ribs and shoulder made it difficult to move.

"Hold on there, Missy. You can't be doing that."

"Thank you," she replied.

"Who exactly is waiting for you?" McLane asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Your family is still in Aspen. Martha is visiting her daughter in Arizona. My mother is with her grandkids in Santa Barbara."

"And you are on your way to be with them."

"Missy, I can't--"

"That's an order, Mr. McLane. I'm still your boss. Canby Place has the best security in the world. If an alarm goes off, a thousand police officers will be here in two minutes."

"Not a thousand, but I will have Maverick and Darnell taking turns in the caretaker's cottage."

"They'll have more room soon."

"What do you mean?"

"I bought the Livingston estate. On the west slope. With the family so big, I needed more space."

"Missy, you already have twelve acres."

"And now I have twenty. You can build that gatehouse you asked for and fill it with security gadgets."

"That will make our job easier."

"See? I'll be fine."

"What if you go into a haze?"

"I've had dissociative disorder since I was thirteen. Do you think I had bodyguards standing around me all those years? I didn't even have friends back then."

"I'm taking the helicopter to Santa Barbara and keeping it on standby. If your alarm is triggered, I'll be here in forty minutes."

"That's fair. Now go enjoy New Year's with your family."

McLane unlocked the front door, put Rachel's bag in her bedroom, and reluctantly drove back down the hill. Rachel sighed with relief.

Standing in the foyer, Rachel saw her shining kitchen, formal dining room, and Daniel's Wild West saloon on an upper level to the left. Dropping in front of her was the sunken living room, several times larger than her entire apartment on 14th Street had been. Her kitschy knickknacks, soft leather couches, and oak coffee tables gave it a homey appearance. She was looking forward to a fire in the giant fireplace, lying on the thick blue carpet before the hearth, and watching Pride and Prejudice on the big screen TV. She'd make tea first.

Down the hall to her right were six spacious guestrooms, two offices, an exercise room, a billiard parlor, and a Roman spa. Alicia and John lived in a bedroom on the west side, Martha often stayed in another, and Jackie McLane had the queen's suite. One of the offices had been converted into a nursery. A formal library below the bell tower was still filled with Daniel's sports memorabilia. Famous footballs, baseballs, basketballs, and autographs. There weren't many books.

The master bedroom at the end of the corridor had a king-size bed, lush white carpeting, and his and hers closets. Picture windows looked at the Pacific Ocean to the west, the terraced gardens to the east.

Rachel undressed slowly, careful not to aggravate her injuries. Her wardrobe was filled with expensive outfits that Pamela and Rory bought for her. She preferred green gym pants with a red turtleneck sweater. The bathwater had just begun to run when a noise attracted her attention. From the backyard. She turned off the water and went out through the sliding glass door.

Beyond the patio, three gentle terraces rose to the crest of the hill. She saw broad green lawns, oak trees, and flower gardens. Rachel remembered it all well. Daniel Benson had been a vigorous sixty-year-old. Tall, strong, and handsome. He not only liked sex, with a notorious track record to prove it, he also liked bondage.

Rachel had not been enthusiastic about that, but wanted to please him. On a cool September evening, Daniel had removed her clothes, tied her up, and taken her to the second terrace. And died on top of her while they were making love. She had been trapped there, underneath him, for twelve hours. Hours of cold and rain. When gardeners found them the next morning, the scandal spread across the media like a firestorm. A clever reporter said she had killed the great Danny Benson with both hands tied behind her back. Internet fans thought it was funny.

There was an old red barn at the top of the ridge. Rachel realized that's where the sound was coming from. She went up the brick path slowly, not wanting to lose her breath. At the last minute, she realized she should have brought her gun. Why hadn't the alarms gone off? Getting past Bob McLane's security was no easy task.

"Rachel?" a tall man said.

"Thomas? What are you doing here?"

"Building our house," he replied.

Tom came down from a ladder, a tool belt around his waist. He wasn't wearing a shirt, his shoulders broad and brow sweaty. Rachel saw he was pulling the roof off the barn, stacking the wooden shingles in a pile.

"I thought you were in Houston," Rachel said.

"I'm not sure if I'll ever go back to Houston."

"It's where your home is."

"My home is here, with you. Nothing is going to change that."

He stood before her, cautious, waiting for an argument. When Rachel hesitated, he held out his arms. She rushed forward.

"I'm sorry I got so crazy," she whispered.

"Rach, you don't need to apologize to me. Not ever."

"What's this about a house?"

"Working on Level 14 isn't the only thing that makes you crazy. Too many people can do that, too. You need downtime. Between the kids, Allie and John, Jackie and Martha, Pamela and Oliver, Rory and Ash, and Bill and Sam, you go into overload. I'm just sorry it's taken me so long to figure out. I do have a graduate degree in psychology, after all."

"You're very smart," Rachel agreed.

"Want to talk about what happened?"

"Not yet. Someday. Maybe. What are you doing with the barn?"

"I'm going to build a home for us surrounded by flowers. We'll be happy here."

"I hope so."

"Is there more going on than you're telling me?"

"Yes."

Rachel walked out on the lawn where they had a clear view of the estate. Ivy-covered walls surrounded the property. The winter afternoon was cold with scattered clouds. She let Tom help her sit on the grass.

"The night my father tried to rape me, I ran away from home forever. Foster care was awful. I started getting crazy. One family after another said I was too much trouble. The Williams' son forced me to be his girlfriend, beat me, and put me in a hospital. Doctors gave me drugs. By the time the sisters at St. Mary's began caring for me, I was a shell. Life meant nothing. Then Sister Veronica quoted Matthew 15:30."

"My Bible studies haven't taken me that far," Tom said.

"And great multitudes came unto him, having with them those that were lame, blind, dumb, maimed, and many others, and cast them down at Jesus's feet: and he healed them."

"Is that what inspired you to create the health database?"

"Yes. I finally had a purpose, but no way to achieve it. Then Professor Borowski discovered my research and got me a scholarship to Harvard. Eight years later, I stabilized the Level 12 matrix which made WHD possible. And now people are saying it's evil."

"People don't think WHD is evil. It's a gift to the world."

"Your parents think it's evil, and they think I'm evil for inventing it. And they aren't the only ones. Millions of people think it."

"You can't let idiots stop you from doing great things."

"I guess."

Rachel grew quiet, gazing at the blue ocean several miles away. The sun would be setting soon.

"What are you thinking?" Tom asked.

"Life is so strange," she sighed.

Tom drew her into his arms, careful of the injuries.

"Tell me about it," he urged.

"When I turned seventeen, and left St. Mary's, I lived in a homeless encampment. Then in a storage room behind Mel's Eatery. I had a nice loft in Boston, but when my parents got sick, I moved back to California and started working for Daniel Benson. I knew what he wanted. Hell, the whole world knew the kind of man Daniel was. But he was nice to me. He brought me here, to Canby Place, on the weekends. He wanted to get an apartment for me, but I said no. I wasn't for sale.

"I told Daniel my plans for Level 12, and he got the equipment I needed. It was expensive, even for him. Then he fell in love with me and proposed. I wanted to say yes. For the first time in my life, I felt safe. But it was too complicated. He had two children older than me, and one not much younger."

"They don't seem to hold that against you," Tom mentioned.

"None of them even knew me then. That was later. After Daniel died. I felt so lost after that, and then Pam fired me. I'd lost Daniel. I lost my lab. I didn't have the money to pay my mother's medical expenses. And I had pneumonia."

"Rory says you almost died."

"I wanted to. I'd given up hope. Then Pamela barged into my apartment, yelling about Daniel's will, saw I was sick, and made Rory take care of me so my death wouldn't embarrass her family."

"That doesn't sound like the Pam I know."

"Something happened. I don't know why. Rory insisted on being my friend. My best friend. Pam began taking care of me. Guiding and protecting me. Before long, I wanted to live again and finish my work. I inherited Canby Place, and money. Everything changed."

"Changed for the better."

"In some ways. And then I met you."

"That's not a bad thing, is it?"

"It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

"Since that day at St. Mary's, my whole life has been dedicated to my work. Even when I was with Daniel, I didn't let him distract me. Then, before I knew it, Rory and Pam weren't just acquaintances. They became family. You came into my life, and little Danny, and now so many others. I can't concentrate anymore. I have work to do, Thomas. Important work. I can't afford distractions."

"Rach, if you were a normal person, I'd have good advice for you. But you're not normal. You're extraordinary. Whatever you decide, I'll help make it work."

"I'm sorry everything is always about me. This isn't what I want. It was your baby, too, and I never even tried to comfort you. I've never been good at that."

"Let's be thankful for what we have. I was so scared when you were hurt. But you're going to be fine. Everything else will take care of itself."

"I'm going away. For a while. To Ketchum. I need time to think, but I will come back to you. I promise."

"You never break a promise, so I'm good with that. Who's taking care of you now? Did Rory and Ashley fly back with you?"

"No."

"Pamela?"

"I kind of snuck out. But I left them a note."

"Jesus Christ, Rach," Tom said, trying not to sound exasperated. He took out his phone. "Pam? Looking for Rachel?"

Rachel could hear a little of the other end of the conversation. It wasn't calm.

"Don't worry, she's here with me. Yes, everything is patched up. Enjoy New Year's. I won't be leaving Rachel alone for a minute. Here."

Tom put the phone up to Rachel's ear, listening.

"Yes, Mother. I'm sorry, Mother. Yes, Mother. I won't. Okay. Okay. I have to go now. Thomas and I are having sex."

Rachel hung up the call.

"We can't have sex. You're still too injured," Tom complained.

"It was the only way I could get Mother off the phone. She was too shocked to say anything else."

* * * * * *

The day after New Year's Day, a gold Mercedes and a red Tesla pulled into the parking circle at Canby Place. Pamela jumped out of the first car. Rory and Ashley emerged from the second. They ran into the house, everyone having their own keys.

"Rachel! Rachel, where are you!" Pamela shouted.

"She's not in the kitchen, Mom," Rory reported.

"She's not in the pool," Ashley said, looking out the back door.

They started toward the master bedroom, but stopped outside the Roman spa.

"Rachel?" Pamela said.

"Hi, Mom," Rachel replied.

She was lying on the massage table, hastily covered by a towel. Tom was working her muscles, being careful of the injured collarbone. Lotions littered the shelves.

"Hello, Pam. Hi, Rory. Ash," Tom said, looking embarrassed.

"Hello, Thomas," Pamela replied. "What have you and my daughter been up to?"

"Not as much as I'd like," Tom answered.

"We've been up to plenty," Rachel disagreed, her eyes bright. Pamela suspected it was true.

Dr. Ashley Wilkerson, a slim brunette in her late thirties, examined Rachel's shoulder and the minor injuries that were now four weeks old. Then she had her patient sit up, took her pulse, and looked into her eyes. Rachel kept the towel tucked tight around her.

"She's fine," Ashley concluded.

"She is?" Pamela said.

"We'll order tests to be sure, but I don't see any problems," Ashley replied. Pamela and Rory let out relieved breaths.

"You ran off," Rory said.

"I didn't run off, Ro," Rachel replied. "Christmas was over, I can't go skiing, so I came home. And found my fiancé waiting for me." Rachel hugged Tom's arm, smiling softly. "Want to stay for dinner? I'm making chicken fettuccini. But for Ashley, no chicken. Just fettuccini."

"You only have one arm," Rory mentioned.

"Tom's going to help."

"You're letting Tom help you? In the kitchen? Mom, she is sick," Rory teased.

"I let people help," Rachel protested. "Sometimes."

"We're staying for dinner," Pamela announced. "And we're spending the night. We're not taking our eyes off you for a week."

"I'm okay," Rachel insisted.

"Honey, you scared me," Pamela said.

Rachel hopped down from the massage table, cautiously wrapping her arms around her mother. Rory made sure the towel stayed in place.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said. "Thank you for loving me so much."

They all noticed, exchanging glances. They were the first tears they'd seen her shed since the accident.

"Sweetheart, loving you is the easiest thing in the world," Pamela said, holding her tight.

They gradually disengaged. Ashley handed her a tissue.

"When are Allie and John coming back?" Rachel asked.

"Next week. They've taken the children to visit Allie's folks in Boston," Pamela said.

"Oh, good," Rachel said. "I mean, oh gosh, I'll miss them."

"Enjoying the peace and quiet?" Rory asked.

"I should get dressed," Rachel said, turning toward the door. Tom pulled the towel off her, smacking her on the ass. Rachel glanced at him briefly with indignation and then ran down the hall giggling.

"I'll give her a hand," Ashley said, following.

"Thanks, Ash," Rory said, giving her a kiss.

"So how is she really doing?" Pamela asked, all serious.

"Let's have a drink," Tom replied.

They went back to the foyer, up the ramp to the dining level, and turned into the saloon. The bar had an open view of the sunken living room and looked out on the lower gardens. The decor included an etched mirror of a cattle drive, Western movie props, rustic fixtures, and an autographed poster of Randolph Scott. Rory and Tom took seats while Pamela mixed three vodka martinis.

"Physically, Rach is getting better, but she's been in a haze every day," Tom said. "The numbers are giving her a bad time. Dr. Belcher stopped by for an impromptu therapy session. Rach didn't want to talk about it, and Dr. Belcher isn't allowed to."

"I don't wish to intrude, Tom, but what happened between Rachel and your family that might have triggered this?" Pamela asked.

"I'm not sure. Rachel won't say, and Rory won't, either," Tom answered.

"Ro?" Pamela questioned.

"I shouldn't talk about it," Rory replied.

"You should," Pamela insisted. "We need to get out in front of this before it gets worse."

Rory was reluctant to reveal a confidence, but guessed her mother was right.

"Rach overheard Tom's parents talking about Big Bob and his daughter," Rory related. "I don't know exactly what it was. Something about mistaking Marissa for a call girl. There was a confrontation. Rachel said ... Rachel said Walsh reminds her of her father. Just before he'd hit her."

"My father wouldn't do that. He'd never hit a woman," Tom protested.

"Rachel didn't say he would. She said that's how she felt. It was a gut reaction, bringing back a lot of pain from her childhood," Rory explained.

"I can see that. Dad can be a son of a bitch sometimes," Tom admitted. "I kept warning him to back off. Damn it, I wish I'd known this sooner."

"Rachel didn't want me to say anything," Rory defended.

"I'm not blaming you, Ro. I'm not blaming anyone but my dad," Tom replied. "I'll do what it takes to fix this."

"Don't do anything right now," Pamela said. "Give her time. Whatever happened in Houston, there's more going on. Is she still going to Ketchum?"

"Yes. Looking forward to it," Tom confirmed.

"With you?" Pamela asked.

"No, not with me. But she promised to come back."

Pamela finished her drink and made another round. When she saw Ashley coming, she added an extra two glasses. Rachel wouldn't be far behind.

"I'll get to the bottom of this," Pamela whispered. "Just be patient with her."

* * * * * *

Rachel needs time to think, but what is it that really worries her? Family? Friends? Relationships? Or perhaps something bigger?