Clattering sleet, ear-splitting hail pelt the fuselage, head winds roaring from an irate lake below; stomach-churning rattle, jolt and roll. Overhead luggage shifts, bins pop open; passengers white-knuckle the armrests; Descending, a seven-forty-seven from the West Coast circles in an angry sky; seventh go round the charm. Wheels grind into place. …

Magic carpet glide … touchdown. Bounce … bounce … screech. Bodies trust against backrests. Hot rubber scrapes a runway, sparks fly, flaming out. Slow promenade … accelerate. Ten-mile taxi searching out a bay. Captain Calm regrets rough landing. At last, a halt, the engines cut. Collective sigh. Applause. O’Hare—hub of major airlines—routine chaos.

Click, clack, clang, escaping, human cargo spills into narrow aisles, bins swing open, bags slide out and over. Single file, bump and funnel airless cabin, widening to a stagnant passage; terminal in sight. If he couldn’t carry it abroad, it didn’t travel.

Weaving like a full back through cut and run defenders, Austin makes his way through a crush of sharp-eyed greeters, wary passengers and crew. A crowded elevator to the lower level; block walk to an island where vans load weary travelers for far-flung parking lots.

The key turns in the ignition, engine comes alive. Finally in control, Austin wheels away on rain-slick roadways, the last stretch coming home. Behind, one more week of fire fights.

Rod Coleman—a Bates’ man—Austin’s partner in his current assignment, a no-show. True to form, Rod would show up Monday, he and Rod a traveling team dealing with disputes, freeing up the sales force to concentrate on bringing in new orders.

While working from the KC office, Austin had been called to Dallas for a meeting. Impressed with the skill he’d shown shepherding the Salt Lake project, corporate managers concluded, arbitration Austin’s strong suit. With the Salt Lake project winding down, he’d been the unanimous choice” –corporate double speak—to fill the new assignment. At first, he’d been mildly interested. For weeks, he’d heard rumors: Corporate found resistance filling arbitrator slots, positions out of the chain of command—upward prospects unknown. He pushed the envelope: gained concessions within a two-year contract. On the plus side, arbitration an asset he’d add to his resume, he took the job.

Then he told Jenny they were moving to Chicago.

In Chicago training at the Business Institute, he’d run into Tom Scott leaving the breakfast room in the hotel. Heading back to Calgary, Tom was on the last leg of a trip promoting Bates Welborne “across the pond.” He’d spent the night close to O’Hare so his luggage could catch up.

“One bloody, hell-of-a-voyage, this one,” Tom sputtered.

“Know what ya’ mean,” Austin agreed. “Traveling gets old real fast.”

At loose ends, they made plans. “Have the odd pint, aye, a bite of the local fare.”

Planning to stay over Saturday searching out an apartment, Austin had a rental. Later in the day, he and Tom pulled into the lot of a popular steak house a short distance from the airport, went inside and found a table. Austin raised a bourbon over ice; Tom, straight shot, Canadian style. “Here’s to ya’, mate.” They tipped glasses, downed a healthy swallow.

“TGIF.” A rare occasion these days, dinner and drinks with Tom Scott. Drawing iced amber liquid over his tongue, Austin swallowed hard. “Good to see you.”

“Righto. TGIF!” Tom let out a full-throated guffaw, commenting on the surroundings and the endowments of their waitress.

They ordered second rounds and T- bones—rare. All through dinner, Tom told war stories parroting accents specific to speakers he’d met across the pond. “Over there,” Tom confirmed, summing up, “Welborne still means: compressor. The more things change, mind you, the more they stay the same.”

“Good to know Welborne hasn’t lost name recognition since the merger,” Austin commented. Competition had been taking an ever increasing bite of their market. The noise level around them increasing with the flow of booze, to say nothing of aircraft overhead, their food arrived, they dug in.

“Soooo,” Tom ventured, “new assignment.”

Caught with a mouthful, Austin nodded.

“Your partner, Coleman, you two get on?”

Austin dabbed his mouth, careful how much he revealed. “We’ll make a good team.”

Eyes narrowed, Tom poked a hunk of beef. “You know his reputation?”

He and Tom connected to the same industry pipeline, Austin avoided confirmation. “I’m just getting to know my partner.” The subject dropped in favor of projects he and Tom worked as a team while they finished the meal.

A waiter brought coffee. Austin produced his American Express.

“Catch you next time, mate.”

“Enjoyed the company,” Austin responded, cramming receipts in his pocket. “We’ll grab a nightcap back at the hotel.”

Walking through the parking lot exploring pros and cons, the sounds of a scuffle attracted attention. A woman’s cries cut through the dark and damp. Austin stopped in his tracts. A step behind, Tom did the same, a turn in the direction from where the cries had come.

“BITCH!” a male voice shouted, followed by a stream of obscenities. A jet screamed overhead.

Out of the shadows, a look of terror on her face, a woman ran towards them. Black overcoat flapping like the wings of a vulture, a big, burly guy overtook the woman. Before Austin could react, the attacker put the woman in a chokehold, threw her to the ground. Terrified, she shrieked just as a taxi pulled into the lot, spiking blinding beams of light into the blackness.

Tom saw it first; the flash of a knife slashing the fallen woman. “Bloke’s got a weapon!”

A step ahead of Tom, Austin grabbed a forearm on a downward trust before the bloodied blade could slash again. A well placed foot, Tom kicked the weapon from the assailant’s hand. Enraged, he wheeled about; spewing obscenities, he lashed out. In overdrive, Austin deflected wild punches. Tom grabbed the assailant around the knees, Austin around the neck, together they wrestled the brute to the ground.

“Call the Constables,” Tom shouted, sitting on the assailant’s knees as the brute flailed, threatening to even the score. Austin twisted the attacker’s arm behind his back.

Blood gushing from deep gashes on her chest and face, the woman cried out for help. Pulses throbbing, Austin caught the smell of blood. “Ambulance!” he shouted. “This woman’s cut!” Patrons from the restaurant had by now collected near the melee. A young guy pounced on the pile holding a thrashing attacker on the rain-slick pavement.

A woman stepped from the crowd.

“She’s cut bad,” Austin shouted, his knee in the attacker’s back.

The woman knelt beside the woman; put pressure on the wounds.

He didn’t know how long before he heard sirens, saw flashing, red lights, two squad cars and an ambulance. Four officers, EMTS swarmed over the scene going about their peace-keeping or life-saving missions. Some fight left in him, the attacker resisted arrest.

Austin and Tom stepped away from the action, bracing against the hood of a vehicle. In spite of a coughing spell, Tom croaked, “You Yanks... hack … hack ... one-bloody hell-of-a- violent life style ... hack ... hack.”

Winded, Austin laughed, a muffled, rueful sound.

Tom drew himself up, took in a huge gulp of air, wiped the sweat from his brow. Dusting off his London Fog, he clamped a hand on Austin’s shoulder. “Aye, mate! The odd brawl comes this Canadian’s way … hack … hack. I’ll be havin’ this Yank in my corner.”

“Right back at ya’,” Austin countered, gulping air. “Man! I need a stiff one.”

Hacking, Tom gave a sign of agreement. They headed back towards the bar.

Cops were dragging off the trussed-up culprit as EMTS pushed past them with a stretcher, the injured woman covered in a blanket. “Will she make it?” Austin asked.

An EMT mumbled, “Don’t know.”

He watched as they loaded the stretcher, wondering what in bloody hell made a man do that to a woman. It wasn’t a robbery, too vicious. The attacker knew this woman.

He and Tom moved on, until a badge flashed in their faces.

“Detective Rossi.” The badge read the same. “I’ll need your names.”

Austin responded. Tom cleared his throat, followed Austin’s lead.

Rossi wrote their names on a pad. Looking up, he reported, “Cabby called it in … tells us you two gentlemen intervened.” Eyes narrowed, he questioned, “How did this go down?”

Austin and Tom glanced at each other. Austin collected his thoughts.

Tom spoke up. “Well sir,” he began, “My colleague and I left the restaurant heading for his car, aye?” Hacking once, twice, he continued. “We hear a ruckus, mind you,” reporting the action beginning to end.

Rossi took notes, stroked his chin. “Not local, are you, Mr. Scott?”

“No sir. Canadian citizen, in the States on business, passing through as it were.”

Rossi turned sharp, dark eyes on Austin. “Mr. ... Austin,” he began.

“Burdette,” Austin countered. “Austin Burdette.”

“Sorry. Anything to add to what your friend reported, Mr. Burdette.”

“He’s got it covered. The woman, will she make it?”

“The medics say she’s got a chance. Thanks to you two gentlemen.”

“Any man would step into the fray, aye,” Tom commented.

Rossi closed his notebook. “You’d be surprised how many turn a blind eye to disputes, domestic in nature.”

“They’re a married couple?” Austin questioned.

“Separated,” Rossi responded. “Crime of passion, I figure.”

Passion, Austin questioned silently, thoughts and feelings clashing one upon another. Uncle Lyme, his mother. He felt sick projecting what could have happened there. Shaking off the images, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, handing it to Rossi. Tom did the same, adding they could be reached at their hotel.

Two annoying buzzes from the bedside phone woke him the next morning. Cotton-mouth, belly twisting, he and Tom got plastered. Picking up the receiver, he croaked, “Yeah.”

Rossi tracked him down through the switchboard. Not good practice getting sideways with local police; he agreed to a formal interview. Tom had booked an early morning flight. Would he and Tom be called to testify, he wondered, crawling out of bed. He’d face that when he had to.

Showered, dressed casual, he got directions to the local precinct where he was directed to Rossi’s cubicle. A bloody hunting knife encased in plastic found under a vehicle near the assault appeared to be the one he’d seen the night before. “Didn’t get a good look,” he conceded. “It was dark. Tom kicked it away.” Austin signed a statement describing what he’d witnessed. No one knew at this point if or when there would be a trial.

He’d let it be known he was in process of moving his family to Chicago. In the course of conversation, Rossi made reference to a crime wave—muggings, break-ins, sexual assaults—under way throughout the city, as well as surrounding suburbs.

Sexual assaults! His antenna went up. His wife and son alone all those days and nights while he was traveling. “Thanks for the heads up,” Austin remarked, offering his hand.

Leaving the precinct, he drove through sections of the city with easy access to O’Hare until he found the one: up-scale apartments, parks, grade school; shopping center. Top priority—security, he described what he had in mind to a local agent. She knew a complex that would suit his needs. More than he’d planned to spend; Austin signed a lease that afternoon.

Later in the day, he walked into his apartment, headed for the coffee maker.

Jenny came into the kitchen, placing a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal in the sink before she rose up on her toes, kissed his cheek. “I could be contagious.”

On the phone she’d told him, Danny had a virus. “How’s our boy?”

“No appetite. His fever broke last night ... a good sign.”

Austin poured a cup, “The virus came from school, I guess.”

She nodded. “Highly contagious, they’re saying.”

He couldn’t focus on a virus after what he’d seen last night. “I found an apartment this morning. We can move the first of the month.”

“Oh!” Avoiding thoughts of another uprooting, she pulled a note from the pad next to the extension. “A Detective Rossi called. He said you’d know what it was about.”

Austin studied the note, getting his story together. “I had dinner last night with Tom Scott,” he began. “Outside the restaurant we witnessed an accident.” Why wouldn’t she buy that? “A woman was hurt. Rossi took our statements.”

“Will she be okay?”

“EMTs said she has a chance.” He turned away. “I’ll call Rossi from the bedroom.” The woman who’d been assaulted refused to press charges, end of story, Rossi reported. Austin left a message for Tom.

By the time he left for Tulsa Monday morning, Danny was on chicken soup and toast.

From his room in Tulsa, Austin groaned into the mouthpiece. “Ugggg. Virus.”

“You too,” a nasal tone matching his own.

“Couldn’t get out of bed. Rod went to the meetings without me.”

“Daniel’s looking after me.”

“He’s feeling better?”

“He wants to go back to school. One more day, I think.”

“I’d rather be there than here.” Austin flopped back on his pillow. Seldom under the weather, he was an ugly patient.

She let out a sympathetic sound. “Awwww. Can you come home?”

“I can’t leave the room. Ache all over, cramps, the runs.”

“Suck ice,” she advised.

“What?”

“You need fluids. Ice chips, Coke or ginger ale. Let the fizz go off.”

“Stale soda, that’s therapeutic?” When it came to remedies, she usually had the answers.

A cramp hit. Austin slid off the edge of the bed. “Gotta go. Nature call.”

Later in the day, he called again. “How are things there?”

“We’re coping.”

“It works, stale Coke. Who knew?”

She made an amused sound. “Homeopathic medicine.”

“Hang out your shingle. I’m coming home.”

Danny greeted him. “Hey, how are ya, son?” He dropped his hand on Danny’s forehead—cool, no fever.

“I’m okay, Dad. How are you?”

“Don’t ask,” Austin mumbled. Dropping his bag, he looked around for Jenny. “Heard you took care of your mom. Good Man.”

Danny nodded. “She feels better.”

Wearing a robe, Jenny was in the kitchen, a cup of clear tea in hand.

“Hey, can I get one?”

She poured him a cup from the pot. A few sips, he felt nauseous. In the bedroom, he kicked of his shoes, fell back on the bed, rolled over, groaning.

She pulled a blanket over him, “We’ll let you rest.”

“Real sick puppy.” he mumbled, “too weak to be a pest.” The lights went out.

Three AM he rolled over, opened one eye, a gnawing in his belly. Jenny was asleep in Danny’s bedroom. Unsteady from hunger, Austin wandered to the kitchen, hauled down a box of crackers. Nibbling, he sorted through mail collected in his absence; laid aside bills he’d take care of in the morning. Around the apartment, moving boxes, packed and labeled, pictures off the walls, a good start; he could count on Jenny.

Alone and miserable those days in a hotel room, he felt a need of human contact. “Shhhhh.” He pressed a finger against her lips, coaxing her from Danny’s room, into theirs. Settled in their bed, he whispered. “Tangled up with you ... that’s how I got the virus.”

“I warned you I was contagious.”

“You didn’t kick me out.”

She made an amused sound.

Austin yawned. “No entanglements. I don’t want to sleep alone.”

She caught his yawn. “I’ll keep you company.

She hadn’t had an opportunity to see the new apartment before the movers came to load up their belongings. He sent her car on the van. They took American to Chicago where he’d reserved a rental. Austin took the route through city streets, past factories, homes, apartments, a sedate business district into a tree-lined enclave surrounded by concrete walls. Pulling into a private drive between stone pillars, he placed his ID in the scanner; iron gates swung wide.

Danny’s eyes grew big as saucers. “We’re moving to a fortress!”

“Security, state-of-the-act,” Austin responded.

Jenny scanned the walls and gates, no comment.

Turning the key of the unit he’d rented, he held the door wide as Danny burst inside. New carpet spongy underfoot, cautiously, Jenny stepped into the freshly-painted main room. He could almost read her thoughts. “Here’s your room Danny,” Austin directed, taking charge. “Your mom and I are down the hall.”

Standing in the kitchen doorway, she scanned cupboards, pristine counter tops. So far, she hadn’t made a comment. Nor did her face express emotion.

“What do you think?” he ventured.

“Spacious.”

“More square footage than the last place … we’ll buy what we need, fix it up.”

She focused on his face, a thin smile breaking. “It’s very nice.”

The movers came along with furniture to place—decisions a wife makes. “There’s a play ground. Danny. Let’s check it out.” Monday he’d be enrolled in his new school.

They settled in that weekend; the last dish towel and pair of socks put in a rightful place. They lay in bed engaged in pillow talk and foreplay. She began an interrogation.

Stroking his face, her eyes focused on his. “Is there something you haven’t told me about moving us into a fortress?”

“Hey, where did that come from?” Not wanting an argument, he took a light tone. “You’re questioning my motives.”

She laughed. “Your motives can be mysterious at times.”

“Hummmm.” Quick thinking, he came up with a distraction. “I might not have had the purest motives when I carried you off to get married.” Suggestive banter turned him on.

“Mmm,” she purred. “Do you think I did?”

“I don’t know.” He bit her lip. “Confess.”

She rubbed her nose against his. “You were the number one catch in the County.” Her lips touched his; she trembled. “I had to have you.”

“Soooo.” He licked her earlobe. “You reeled me in ... or … did I jump into your boat.”

She sighed, gave in. “Attraction is soooo compelling.”

Foreplay progressed to the edge ... and over. They didn’t talk about the move again.

He could travel; do his work, confident his family would be safe in their urban fortress.

Rod Coleman came from legal; Austin had the engineering expertise. Within the first few months, this firefighter team had mastered a routine resulting in win/win resolution for conflicts flaming out of control. Out of the chain of command, the team was being tested, reports on their activities fed across the desks at the highest levels; Austin’s prime objective, a leap up the ladder. Long hours, tough negotiations, constant travel a means to an end.

On a professional level, resolving sticky conflicts powerfully rewarding.

Each night before he turned in, he called home, knowing she’d be curled up with a book. “Tried to call earlier,” he began. “Line was busy ... you’re mom?”

“No,” she paused before she went on, “Linda Coleman.”

“Rod’s wife? I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“We had lunch,” she revealed. “I liked her ... at first.”

He picked up on some reservations. “Not working out.”

“She’s ... how do I put this?” Thoughtful, Jenny continued. “She’s pumping me for information.”

“About?” Austin prompted, dreading what was coming.

Again she paused. “About what you and Rod do after work.”

“Ahh.” No reason to get defensive, he gave an honest explanation. “Rod and I are a work team. After hours, we go our separate ways.”

“I told her you watch games and movies or you like to shop.” A pause, Jenny went on. “How did she put it? ... ‘Rod has a girl in every port’.”

Rod’s wife knew or strongly suspected he cheated. He sounded a warning. “Not a good idea getting involved in the Coleman’s marriage.”

“She says, ‘men on the road have too many temptations.’”

Austin scoffed. “Crock a’ bull.” If he told her what he knew about Rod’s after-hours’ activities, he’d put her in a difficult position.

She sighed, sadness in her tone. “She tells me, it doesn’t bother her what Rod is doing. I don’t believe her.”

“Don’t talk to her,” he interjected, annoyed that the Coleman’s had put them in this position. “Jenny.” Taking a softer tone, he laughed. “You know me. I’m a one woman man.”

She purred. “I couldn’t be with anyone but you.”

The conversation turned mundane; an undercurrent left him uneasy.

No man could miss what was happening out there around the country: Married men and women, hook-ups, one-night stands. More cheating now that women were breaking into businesses, and available. He tried not to judge. Once, he’d slipped with Pam. He wouldn’t let that happen again. No reason Jenny had to know the sordid details.

Unfortunately, her involvement with Linda Coleman continued.

On the flight back to O’Hare, Austin closed his eyes. Tough week. The hum in his ears made sleep come easy. An open window on the drive home revived a lazy libido.

“Man, it’s good to be home.” Sated, he drew a breath, making love, wild and sweet.

She clung. “We’re apart too much.”

Together, chances of a pregnancy improved. He took a different tact. “Together more … we’d fight.”

“Fight? About what?” she questioned.

He came up over her. “Money, raising Danny … Sex. I’d want it and you wouldn’t.”

She laughed, muffled against his shoulder. “Never.”

“Not serious, ya’ know.”

“Neither am I.”

Two weeks later, he returned home from a firefight in Colorado. Danny was sleeping; his class on a field trip that day; Jenny had gone along to keep the kids in line. While she made an omelet and he ate, she glossed over the day’s events, before taking dishes away.

Austin pushed from the table, stretching, his arms clasped over his head. “Soooo, heard from the family?”

“There’s a letter from Grandma Ivy.”

He shuffled through the mail collected while he was gone. “Any phone calls?” The second the question came out, he wished he hadn’t asked.

“Mom called, and ... Linda Coleman.”

“We’re not getting involved,” he snapped.

She nodded agreement, aimed a dishcloth at the counter where it landed with a slap. “She excuses Rod’s infidelity … everybody’s doing it.”

“You don’t believe that,” he shot back.

She turned to him. “Linda does.”

“Then, she retaliates.”

“I don’t know.” Jenny pressed her arm against her belly. “For all her denials, deep down, she’s hurt and very angry.”

She’d seen through Linda’s pretense, into an ugly way of life she hadn’t known existed.

They went to bed, an understanding they would have sex. She was in a different place.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “Let it go.”

“You want to make love?”

“You have that effect on me.” He kissed her breasts, licked her belly, turned on the charm. “Smell good, taste good, can’t resist you.”

She drew a breath, let go of bad thoughts, yielded.

Pale morning light filtered through the shades when he opened his eyes. She was beside him, sleeping. The ugly stuff they’d talked about these past few weeks ran through his mind. He had to confront the issue without bringing up the Coleman’s and what he knew.

She stirred, reached out, stroking his arm. “You’re here.” She drew a breath, snuggling against him.

“In the flesh ... and bone.” He looped his arm around her, drawing them together. Do it now, he decided, caught up in the moment. “You have to know something,” he whispered against her cheek. Adjusting, he looked her in the eye. “I’m not the kind of guy with a girl in every port.” Emotion running deep, firmly, he took hold of her, kissed her.

Surprise fading from her face, tenderly, she kissed him back. “I trust you, Austin. I couldn’t be like this with anyone but you.”

He took her hand, kissed her fingers. “The same.” His heart leaped, a lump rose in his throat. Commitment was in the kiss, a tangle of bodies.

Sounds from Danny’s room put sex on the shelf. “He’s up,” Austin remarked, as Danny padded to the bathroom.

Jenny released a sigh, disappointment, he decided.

They eased apart. Austin swung his legs to the floor, a gnawing in his belly. “How about one of your super, special breakfasts. I’m starved.”