Brandon was here, sooner than she'd ever expected him to be; with his car stolen, she'd thought he would have been delayed at least over the weekend. It appeared the man was more obsessed with her than she'd thought, and now he was on her doorstep at what must have been the worst possible time for both of them.

She opened the door, and it appeared he was still talking to someone (maybe on a phone with bluetooth?), but when he saw her he said, "Oh, Joanie, hi."

"Hi?" she said with an uptilt as if it were a question. "What are you doing here?"

"As I told the woman on the doorbell, before I discovered it wasn't you... she said it was her house... I came to apologize for ditching you last night."

Agnes. That must have been whom he'd been talking to. So, she was still alive, at least at the time Joanie opened the door. She was trying to process everything she was hearing while feeling the cold metal barrel against the back of her head, so her brain was a little muddled, and she sounded a little slow on the uptake when she repeated, "Ditching me?"

"Yeah," he said, his smile a little too stiff. Something on her face was making him hesitate, but he was here with flowers, and he was determined. If she actually liked him, she might have found his forwardness charming, but he'd creeped over here following the tracking device she'd left inside Agnes' car parked right outside the house, so she had more cause to suspect his intentions. "See, my car was stolen, so I had to deal with that, give a police report and all that, and by the time I had the chance to get back to your table, you'd gone. I just wanted to come here and explain."

"I see," she said. The gunman behind the door pressed the gun a little harder against the back of her head, a nudge to hurry the fuck up and get rid of this guy. "How did you find me?" she asked. "I never gave you my address."

Brandon smiled crookedly. "I have my ways of finding information."

"Uh-huh." Joanie felt like she was between the frying pan and the fire. What was she to do here? Brandon was definitely giving off a rapey vibe, and in a normal situation she was sure he would be a threat, but the gun barrel pressing into her reminded her that the larger threat, in fact, was behind her. "Well, Brandon," she said, "it's late, and I didn't invite you here, and I'd like you to leave."

She made to close the door, but he put his hand out. "Hang on," he said, smarmy and aggressive. "I didn't come all this way in a borrowed car just to be turned away without at least a hope of reconnecting with you in the future."

The best thing to do to get rid of this guy quickly, for her sake as well as for his, would be to promise that she would, that she'd get his number and call him, but indignation was warring with her sense of self-preservation, and the last thing she wanted to do was give this guy any opening at all.

"No," she said. "Your coming all this way without my invitation has negated any chance of your reconnecting with me. We talked in a bar. That was it. In fact, when I went to the bathroom, I was getting ready to leave. Without you. So, really, when you had to leave to deal with your car, it was just as well."

She pressed harder on the door, but he pressed back. "Hey, now," he protested.

"I'm going to call the police if you persist in preventing me from closing this door," she said.

"Aren't you the police, though?" he asked with a sinister grin. "I bet you could take me down with a choke hold, pin me to the ground, get all up against me. I'd let you."

"How do you know I'm a police officer?" she asked.

His face fell. "I've seen you around the city."

"Oh yeah?" she said, suddenly hot with anger. Any minute now, she was going to kick him in the balls. "Maybe you made a hashtag about me too?"

Suddenly his face twisted in an angry sneer. "You fucking bitch," he growled. "Did your friends steal my car?"

"What?!" she cried in disbelief.

"Those bitches who screamed at me at the bar last night, those guys who intervened. Were they friends of yours? Did they distract me while another of your friends stole my car? And did one of them make a hashtag about me? I saw my face on the Internet warning people about me, and the footage was from last night!"

How did he make that leap in logic in connecting the two events? Trying to figure that out made her hesitate, and Brandon took her hesitation as confirmation, and with a roar he slammed into her, forcing her backward, the flowers dropped in his rage, replaced with a box cutter at her throat.

He didn't get very far into the house before the gunman took his gun from against her head and casually shot him in the face. The blast was deafening in the small house.

Brandon fell to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. His blood and brains spattered against the floor and a nearby wall. Juxtaposed with the flowers he'd dropped, it made for a particularly gruesome tableau.

Joanie didn't even have the breath to scream. Her ears felt full of cotton balls. She couldn't take her eyes off the man lying on the hallway floor, his blood staining the hardwood. He'd come here to do her harm, the box cutter was proof of that, but she'd wanted to take him down and collar him, not kill him; that had been her intention when she'd brought the tracking device here. It might have been reckless and foolhardy, definitely against procedure, but she'd just been so fed up with his bullshit that she'd been willing to try anything. She'd lured him to his death, though, and while it wasn't at her hand, she still felt the guilt of it.

Not for long, though. The gun was back against her head.

"Jesus Christ," the second man said, looking down at the body as he closed the front door. This was the first look she'd been able to get of her assailants. It didn't do her any good, though. The man was wearing a balaclava and dressed completely in black. There was nothing she could see that would identify him. 

He turned to her and said, without any irony, "That guy was a fucking psycho."

She shrugged. "Just another toxic male I've had to deal with over the years. Maybe they don't all resort to violence, but they all start off the same, assuming women are there only for their pleasure."

The man nodded as if this were a universal truth. "You really weren't expecting him?"

"Didn't you see the box cutter?" she asked, marvelling at how calm she sounded.

"I did," the one with the gun said. "I shot him out of instinct. Not very professional."

"I might have done the same," Joanie said conciliatorily. This had to be shock. She was chatting casually with two men who had earlier suggested shooting her in painful places to get Agnes' whereabouts from her. It had to be the shock of seeing a man die in front of her. Except... and she was ashamed to admit it, but she had to be honest with herself if she was going to die soon... part of it might have been relief that they'd killed him. She could feel both guilt and relief at the same time, she realized.

"This is quite a mess, though," the second one said. "It wasn't professional. It was also loud, and I'm sure someone's called the police by now."

"Go, then," Joanie said, thinking furiously. "You know Agnes is with the Mercers now, so there's no reason to do anything to me. You're wearing balaclavas so I can't identify you. I could take credit for this shooting, I'll say it was a home invader! Hell, I could even say he was one of you, and then the police will stop looking for you!"

The second one shook his head. "Unfortunately, when the police find the bullet casing, which we'd have to leave to give your story credibility, they'll know the marks on it won't match your service weapon even if we use the same type of gun. They'll know someone else was here and keep looking."

Shit, that was true. "Leave the gun, I'll say it's my home weapon."

The second one chuckled. "Clever, but I'm not leaving you a gun you can then turn on us."

"If you kill me, you're still going to have the same problem," she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "They're going to look for you because of the gun."

They thought about it for a second. "Actually, they won't," the first said. "Not if we shoot you and then put the gun in his hand." He gestured to Brandon lying on the floor. "They'll think it was a suitor angry at being rebuffed. The flowers will tell the story."

Shit, shit, shit. That made a sick sense, because Brandon had been an angry suitor, except with a box cutter instead of a gun. How was she going to get out of this? "They won't buy it," she bluffed. "Do you remember which hand is his dominant hand? What about the angle of the gunshot wound and his positioning on the floor? They'll know if he was moved, and if you shoot me it won't look right for where he's lying."

The second one sighed, and she thought he was actually sad. "You're good, you know that? You think like a cop, for sure. We saw that press conference you gave, and we thought you were rather impressive; not in the way that sick fuck thought of you," he qualified, gesturing to Brandon, from whom he honestly thought he was different, "but in a worthy adversary way. I'll be sorry to have to kill you, but I think I'd rather take the risk of making this look wrong than leave you alive to tell the story."

She heard the click of the hammer being pulled back and closed her eyes. Oddly, her last thought was that she'd never see Joe again.

The sound of breaking glass sounded within the house, and the two assailants looked around. "What was that?" the first asked.

"Sounded like a window breaking," the second said, pointing to a door off the hallway. "Maybe that's a bedroom through there."

"You're not expecting anyone else, are you, Joanie?" the first asked.

"Honestly? The police," Joanie said. "I thought I'd at least be hearing sirens by now, after that gun shot."  

"I think we'll take you for a walk," the second said. "If anyone's in there and they try anything, you get a bullet in the head."

She released a slow breath as she was prodded forward. For another minute, at least, she got to live. One more minute to think of something, and if someone was in fact behind that door, maybe that person could help.

"Why don't I go in first and sweep the room?" the second said, and suddenly he was at the door with his own gun in his hand. Her odds of surviving had just plummeted. One gun was hard enough to avoid even with two people attempting to disarm someone. Two on two was nigh on impossible.

The second turned the knob slowly, then led in with his gun. The first followed, leading her inside.

There was the broken window, the slight breeze from outside blowing the curtains. Otherwise, the room was empty, but the glass from the window looked purposefully cleared in an area large enough for someone to climb through.  A bed stood in the centre, flanked by night tables, and chests of drawers stood against the other walls. This was where one of Patrick's kids slept when he had them over. No one was there, though. A rock lay on the floor near the window with the broken glass. Someone had thrown a rock through the window and, what, just left?

"Did you lock the front door?" the second asked as he looked down at the rock, getting the idea before even Joanie did.

"I thought you did," the first said. "You closed the door."

"I thought we'd be leaving soon after, so I didn't lock it."

The first turned Joanie around to face the door just as it opened wide and, to her astonishment, there stood retired Detective Rhodes, holding a revolver in his hand, probably his service gun from when he was still on the job. "Freeze, Snackpants!" he bellowed.

The second whipped around with his gun while the first pressed his harder against Joanie's head. Why they didn't shoot him immediately, Joanie didn't know, but perhaps it was the sight of the older man, white hair tousled, in an overcoat over pyjamas, so unexpected that it made them hesitate.

"Hey, hold on, old-timer," the first said. "I think you'll find we have the upper hand, here."

Then he bellowed in pain and fell forward, gun falling out of his hand, pushing Joanie down with him, and a gunshot rang out in the room. 

Silence. Joanie looked up, saw Rhodes kicking the gun away from her guy. What the hell just happened? She turned back around, saw the second on the floor with a hole in his chest. She scrambled up, saw the first guy in the fetal position, grabbing at his feet. It was only now that she could see blood pouring between his fingers. His achilles tendons looked to be cut. That was what must have made him fall forward, the loss of balance from the loss of counter tension.

She noted the cuts, where he was standing before and, putting two and two together, looked under the bed.

There was Lauren, lying on her stomach and waving at her, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin Joanie had ever seen, her dimples popping. In her other hand was her grandfather's antique samurai sword, streaked with blood. 

"Lauren!" Joanie cried with joy and relief. She offered her hand, and Lauren took it and slid herself out and to her feet. Joanie bear-hugged her, lifting her off her feet, making her drop the sword. It didn't matter. Rhodes still had his gun on the first guy, and now, finally, the police sirens were approaching.

"Quick, before the police separate us all for interviews," Joanie said, "Give me the story."

"Let me breathe first," Lauren gasped, still in Joanie's fierce bear hug.

"Sorry!" Joanie said, embarrassed, and put the smaller woman down.

Lauren smoothed her leather jacket and hair down, then took a deep breath before beginning. "When I heard your grunt over the phone and then we were cut off, I feared the worst. I was just across the bridge so I raced over, on the phone with nine-one-one the whole time, asking for a wellness check on your house. When I parked on the street a few doors down, I noticed a man at the door holding flowers--"

"That was Brandon, our hashtag man," Joanie said.

Lauren's mouth dropped open. "Shit. Is he dead? I heard a gunshot soon after."

Joanie nodded, unable to say any more about it.

"Well, after that I was on high alert. I had to figure out a way to get inside without alerting the shooters. As it happens, Detective Rhodes was out for an evening walk a little ways down. I asked him to assist me in checking on you after telling him who we both were. Luckily he remembered you from a few months ago when he was there for our questioning about Jordan's disappearance. And luckily for us, though maybe illegally, he was carrying his side arm in his coat pocket."

"Yeah, well," Rhodes said bashfully, "after what happened to Jordan, I kind of do my own little neighbourhood watch. I've never taken my gun out until now."

"Anyway," Lauren went on, "we decided to infiltrate from two sides. Rhodes, with the gun, through the front door, and me doing a Trybek house redux break and enter through the ground floor bedroom window. I went in first using the broken window as a distraction, knowing they'd come in and check, quickly sliding under the bed with the sword; I had no illusions I'd be able to take on gunmen with a sword."

"About that," Joanie said in amazement. "Why do you have your sword with you? I thought you keep it at your office!"

Lauren shrugged sheepishly. "I was bringing it home, because my daughter Naomi is doing a high school presentation on her Japanese heritage and the Internment, and my dad's going there to tell his story. I was giving the sword to him to present as a show and tell; he's the only other one I'd trust with it. He was then going to give it right back to me and then I was going to bring it right back to the office."

Joanie looked at the sword on the floor, smeared thinly with blood, and said, "I'm afraid you won't be able to do that, at least not if Naomi's presentation is soon; that's going to be taken for evidence now."

"Ah, well, fuck it," Lauren said, waving it off. "This isn't the first time the sword's been taken into evidence; in fact, I think it will be the third. Naomi's presentation will still be stellar, because my dad tells the best stories; he's the real resource for the project. The sword was just a bonus."

Joanie chuckled and shook her head. "That's magnanimous of you. That sword saved all our lives, I think; I don't think Detective Rhodes would have been able to shoot both gunmen before they shot him, they were pros."

Rhodes' chuckle sounded like rocks bouncing around in a clothes dryer. "Don't write me off so easily, Sergeant Mara," he said. "I didn't get to retirement age by being a poor shot. By the way, I saw your press conference. You did us all proud, kid."

By "us all," Joanie knew Rhodes meant all police, everywhere. To her surprise and embarrassment, his words, more than the shock and fear of the past ten minutes, were what finally brought tears to her eyes. She wiped them and squeaked, "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

Later, hours later, after they were all cuffed as per procedure, separated for questioning, and the first gunman put in an ambulance, Joanie and Lauren sat on the curb outside the house while police forensics technicians did their work inside. Joanie had a foil blanket over her shoulders again; she was determined quickly to be the victim of a home invasion, her story of events given most credence because she was the occupant of the house. Poor Detective Rhodes was given the third degree because of the gun; it would take more than Joanie's word to exonerate the retired detective and determine the shot was clean. As was predicted, he was in trouble for having the gun in his pocket in the first place. It was fortunate that Detectives Tracey and Goncalves were among the investigators at the scene. The old warhorse's younger partner, now a senior detective with the New Westminster police, would treat him as fairly as he could.

Lauren's story about the sword was met with skepticism, but as there was no real proof that Lauren planned to bring the sword to the house for the purpose of injuring two people no one predicted would be invading the house tonight, she was allowed to remain free for now, the sword taken into evidence, until prosecutors determined if charges should be brought against her, at least for assault, and that wasn't a guarantee since she'd done it to protect Joanie and Rhodes.

Joanie made the call to Joe because she was the first to be freed from questioning. Apparently, he'd been calling and texting Lauren every few minutes, wondering where she was and worried for her safety.

"She's fine," Joanie said. "In fact, she saved my life. I'll never be able to repay her."

Joe rushed to Queensborough with Naomi, Tosh and Logan in the Highlander, unwilling to take Joanie's word for it and wait for his wife to come home. When he arrived, Lauren sprinted to him and leapt into his arms, and he wept in relief, saying, "Thank God," over and over again.

Naomi and Tosh joined in on the hug, and soon the whole family was crying. Joe saw Logan standing awkwardly to the side and offered his arm to him. Lauren offered an arm too. Logan crept forward, leaned in, and when the two adults drew him in tighter, he relaxed and closed his eyes, smiling dreamily, finally discarding his teenage reservations about affection.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Naomi asked.

Lauren sighed in relief and said, "Yeah, I'm unhurt. I'm sorry to have to tell you you won't have Grandpa's sword for your presentation, though; I had to use it tonight, and now the police have it for evidence."

Naomi shrugged. "You kicked ass and saved Joanie, and that's all that matters."

Lauren and Joe chuckled at that. When they all unlocked and Joe put her down, Lauren wiped her eyes and told him, "I think someone else really needs a hug, too."

Joe looked to Joanie with hopeful eyes and opened his arms to her. She stood, threw off the foil blanket, and walked into his embrace. Rhodes might have gotten some tears flowing, but being in Joe's arms finally wrecked her, and she broke down in loud, ugly sobs.

"Oh, Joanie," Joe said, squeezing her tight. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here, I didn't know!"

When she could finally compose herself, she unlocked from his embrace and said, "How could you have known, it was so fast. But, again, thanks to Lauren's instincts, and the timely assistance of Detective Rhodes, the threat was eliminated."

Then, Lauren said, apropos of nothing, "Al was right, after all."

Joe frowned and looked at his wife. "What are you talking about? You mean he knew something would happen tonight?"

Lauren shook her head. "No, not that. It was about Detective Rhodes. He actually called the perps 'Snackpants.'"

Joanie blinked in surprise, then realized Lauren was right. It was such an absurd epithet that she started to chuckle, which got Lauren chuckling, and then even Joe got infected, and soon they were all laughing hysterically, saying 'Snackpants' over and over again, as if it were the funniest word in the world.

Thanks for reading this far! If you liked what you read so far, hit "Vote" to send this title up the ranks. Leave a comment and let me know what you think!

To see how Sunny and Tej are dealing with being left out of all the action, and how they're feeling about their relationship after last weekend, click on "Continue reading."