"Right," mumbled Franki as she followed her out. "Kinda like you can't miss a woolly mammoth in your front yard."

She stepped out into the hall and there stood her favorite mastodon.

"How is he?" Derek's whisper could have put a trumpeting bull elephant to shame. He was wringing his hands and his eyes did, indeed, look a mite puffy. But Franki kept her heart as hard as the Canadian Shield.

"What the heck do you care?" she hissed. "And what are you doing here, anyway? I told you I never wanted to see you again."

"Oh, come on, Francie," pleaded her brother. "You didn't mean it."

"Like hell I didn't."

"I said I was sorry. What more do you want?"

Franki noticed a small cluster of nurses strolling in their direction, and hastily tugged her brother toward the small waiting room at the end of the hall. "How about a full confession to the police?"

Derek blanched. "You're not serious."

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Serious? Serious? You...could...have...killed...him." She said the words slowly in an attempt to burrow through his four-inch-thick skull. She didn't know where her mother had found the gall or the passion, but somehow Marie Waters had conceived her son out of wedlock. There was no way he shared all of Franki's genes.

"I didn't mean it," he whined. "I told you. I just drank too much, and what with all the stuff Perry was saying..."

Franki's mouth had opened a fraction in preparation for the delivery of a tongue-lashing that would have sliced about three inches off Derek's pecs. But his last comment froze her lips mid-scold. "Perry? What does Perry have to do with this?"

He blinked and a pair of whale-tears leaked out of his eyes. "Didn't I tell you?"

Franki took a step back for fear that her proximity would tempt her to physical violence. "No. You just kept babbling on about how gullible I was and how you thought he was hurting me, and how could I do that with a scrawny little fag in the first place. All kinds of things that were just so sweet and caring they just about made me want to pick up the kitchen cleaver and slice and dice your skull." She threw up her hands. "When have you ever known me to be gullible or naive, Derek?"

He shifted his eyes to the door as if hoping for rescue.

"Hmm? You're the one who believes that Mom and Dad only did it twice, and that Jesus was really an alien." She couldn't help herself. She stepped forward and grabbed him by his Molson Canadian T-shirt. "And you're the one who believes everything that falls from Perry Elliott's lips. God, I should have known he had something to do with this."

"He was just worried about you, that's all. We both saw what you two were doing down on the beach and-"

"You watched us?" She released his shirt and dropped her hands to her sides.

She watched as color flooded Derek's face until it veritably glowed. That was all the answer she needed. "God. You let him talk you into this, didn't you? And you call me gullible."

"He didn't tell me to do it. He just..." He shrugged and dropped into a chair. The metal supports groaned in protest. "He just said that guys like that should keep to their own kind. He said Craig might give you a disease or something. And he said it would serve him right if he got beat up someday. I'd had a lot to drink and-"

"And it all sounded like The Sermon on the Mount to you."

His shoulders drooped and then they began to tremble. "I'm sorry, Francie. I-I just didn't want you to get hurt again. I could never stop it before. For the first time I thought maybe I could help. I could do something. I was so drunk I don't even really remember doing it. I just remember waking up in the car with a ski mask on my lap and-and a kn-knife on the seat," he stuttered. "I was just up the street when I saw the ambulance come and take him away." He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He didn't look at her. "I panicked. I ran. I didn't know what else to do."

Franki sat down beside him and draped her delicate hand over his sausage-link fingers.

He stared at their hands. "Ever since Dad died I felt like it was my job to take care of you and Mom. I just..." He swiped at his eyes. "I just never knew how. You always seemed so sad, and I just hated to see you cry. Even when you would date all those guys and prance around in your makeup and your fancy dresses, you still didn't really seem happy. But I never knew what to say, or what to do to make it better. I still don't. You were the one that was smart like Dad. I was just the big, dumb-"

"Stop it!" she whispered, suddenly battling her own emotions. "You're not dumb. I've never called you that, and you're not, okay?"

He nodded, but his chin barely lifted from his wide barrel chest.

"You're just... You're just sweet. And maybe a little naive. And protective." She smiled as she recalled the day Sloan had invoked a curse on Derek's head and sworn to hate him for the rest of his life. "Like that time you beat up Sloan for me when you thought he had dumped me for Bree."

Derek frowned, obviously confused. "But you yelled at me for an hour, and then didn't speak to me for a month."

"I know. I couldn't let you know this, but I thought it was sweet. It was nice to have someone who cared that much. We weren't together and Sloan didn't do anything wrong, but even though it was unintentional, he hurt me." She quirked a half smile. "It was kind of nice to see him hurt a little bit, too."

Derek smiled, but a moment later it slipped off his face. "I hurt him, too, didn't I? Sloan, I mean. I didn't think about that part. If he...loves Craig..." He grimaced as if the words tasted of cod liver oil.

Franki gripped his hand a little tighter. "He does, but not the way you think. I told you this before, but you were so distraught I don't think you heard anything I said. He's not gay, and neither is Craig. Remember that. And..." She licked her lips as she searched for the right words. "And even though you did something reckless and, yes, stupid, you should know that I appreciate the sentiment. Really, I do. But you have to stop listening to Perry. I'm not sure why, but I think he manipulated you into beating up Craig. I wish you wouldn't talk to him at all. He's bad news. You two have nothing in common. You're nothing like him" "But he's my best friend."

"Then get a new one."

He seemed to consider that. "So, you don't hate me?"

"No," she sighed. "I don't."

"But...what if he doesn't wake up? You must really care about him to sit in there all this time. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do..."

"He'll wake up," she declared. "And he'll be fine. Jesus! I've never gotten anything else that I've really wanted. Surely Santa Claus will give me this."

"And what about me? Do you think I should really go to the police? I'll do whatever you say. You know best. And...I guess I owe you."

Franki chewed on her lip again. "You should. I know you should. But...let's wait a bit. Let's wait and see what happens. The police will always be there." She stood abruptly and smoothed out her shorts. "Now get lost. I've got a lover to tend to."

He pushed himself up out of the chair and trudged toward the doorway. He stopped on the threshold and said to the floor, "Do you love him, Francie? I mean, really?"

"I don't really know. Maybe. And I gotta admit, I'd kind of like a chance to find out for sure. But I do know one thing."

Derek looked at her and blinked big sleepy eyes. "What?"

"He makes me happy. That's a step in the right direction."

His face a mask of pain and regret, Derek nodded and turned around. His broad back disappeared out the door, and Franki blew out a breath of confusion and shame.

For almost as long as she could remember she had scorned and despised her little brother. Gawky and stupid, he had never seemed to run out of new and innovative ways to embarrass and humiliate her. From the time he had scored the winning touchdown-for the other team-to the time he had burst into her office and discovered her and Joe Something-or-other in the midst of negotiating the final terms for the sale of his house. Derek thought she needed rescuing from Joe's groping paws, and had come dangerously close to amputating the offending appendages-all three of them-before Franki had been able to calm him down, and rescue her client from the very jaws of a humiliating death.

But no matter how clumsy and oafish, no matter how naive and uncultured, no matter how much she tried to pretend that he was a distant cousin from some obscure Neanderthal branch of the family, she couldn't change the fact that they were blood. And she couldn't change the fact that his heart was in the right place and that he cared about his big sister. And maybe she didn't want to change that.

A clap of thunder boomed outside and she had the totally illogical feeling that Craig might be afraid and needed her. She gathered her thoughts back together and took a step toward the door, but drew up short.

Bree had appeared in the doorway. She frowned in concern at the uncharacteristically hard expression on her friend's face. "Bree? Is something wrong?" "Mom's in a coma," she said flatly. "Oh God, Bree. I'm sorry."

Bree's expression didn't change. "And I came down to talk to you about an idea I had to help Sloan." Shaken by the odd pair of comments, and their straight-faced delivery, Franki sputtered, "Oh? Is-is that all?"

"You can't keep this to yourself."

Franki shook her head in confusion. "Keep what to myself?"

"Derek."

Franki felt a ball of dread knot in her gut. "What do you mean?"

"I heard him, Franki. He beat up Craig. He almost killed him. In fact Craig's life is still in jeopardy. You

can't just overlook something like that." "He's my brother." "And he's my friend, but so are Sloan and Craig. We can't just forget about it." "I don't intend to. I-I just-" "You just what?" Bree's eyes were frankly accusing. "It wasn't his fault," she sputtered. "He was drunk. He doesn't even remember doing it." "Drunk? As if that's an excuse? You can kill somebody, and as long as you're not really in control of your faculties, it's okay?" Bree's voice had risen to a surprisingly passionate pitch. Not that she didn't have every right to be angry. No doubt the stress of her mother's condition, and the entire situation with Sloan and Craig were taking their toll on Bree's fragile emotional state. That could bring out the bitchiness in just about anyone. If anyone ought to know it was Franki.

Franki propped her hands on her hips, and glared at her friend, feeling her own surge of bitchiness, and reveling in it. "You're a fine one to talk about scruples and morals, my dear. Lying to Sloan, faking that big party, and then asking him to commit a felony for you? You can hardly cast stones at me for wanting to protect one of my own."

"Will you be quiet! I told you that in confidence."

"Exactly. I kept your secret and now I expect you to keep mine."

Bree set her jaw. "You just can't compare a few white lies to this. This is assault. This is a lot bigger than

a simple case of a little secret between girlfriends."

Franki felt the wind seep out of her sails.

"And Craig!" groaned Bree. "For God's sake. You care about him. I can appreciate that it's a difficult situation to be in-your brother versus your lover. But...you can't honestly just let this go and pretend it didn't happen!"

Franki flopped down in the chair, defeated. "No, of course not. But even so, I refuse to lay all the blame on Derek's shoulders. Perry is the one who maneuvered him into doing it. He's the one I hold responsible. He's the one who should pay."

Bree didn't move. She remained in the doorway, tall and slender, and as graceful and immovable as an elm. "Yeah, I heard a little of that. But I don't get it. Why would Perry want to talk Derek into this? What does he care who you're sleeping with, or who Sloan's sleeping with, for that matter?"

Franki stared at Bree's feet as she considered that question.

Gradually, as she sifted through the layers of remorse and guilt over years of belittling and ignoring a kid brother who adored her, the rage that had been put on the back burner in the face of Derek's tears and babbling, began to surface. The anger felt good. It sure felt a hell of a lot better than the absolute helplessness she felt sitting beside Craig, and watching him breathe. The anger made her feel like she was doing something. It was an illusion, but it was all she had. And it cleared her head.

Certainly Derek had a reason to go after Craig. He had wanted to protect his sister. But Perry? He was a homophobic moron, but Derek was his friend. And to incite his friend to assault, and thus risk his safety in the process...all for the sake of putting a queer in his place? And if that was the case, wouldn't he have picked Sloan, rather than a virtual stranger like Craig? What did he care if Craig took advantage of Franki? Surely, after what happened beside the pool, he'd love to see her get her heart broken, or better yet, get a raging case of HIV. Or maybe that wasn't the right way to look at it.

"Jealousy," she whispered. It had come to her like a revelation in a bolt of lightning.

"Jealousy? Perry? Of you and Craig?" Bree's expression shifted to one of stark horror. "You don't mean to tell me that you and Perry..."

"No! Jesus, what do you think I am? He's never touched me. But God knows he's wanted to."

Bree stared at her, and then nodded slowly. "I had almost forgotten. He had a thing for you our senior year, and then for a couple of years after that. But that was so long ago. I figured he'd gotten over it."

"I thought so, too. But now that I think about it, there've been times over the years when I've caught him looking at me strangely, or he's brushed up against me in the aisle at the supermarket..." Her voice trailed off as a shudder of revulsion passed over her. "Derek even mentioned that maybe I should go out with him. I laughed at him, thinking he was just desperate to set up his friend. And I just dismissed the rest as my imagination. But what if he asked Derek to ask me. What if..." Her voice faded away as the possibilities danced through her mind.

"You think maybe he still wants you, and he saw Craig as a threat."

"I'm not sure," she ground out from between clenched teeth, "but I intend to find out. As soon as Craig's out of the woods I fully intend to march right up to the Elliott mansion and speak to him, even if I have to hack my way through that brick wall he calls a mother to do it." Fleeting images of herself in black leather barreling over Lois Elliott and then standing over a drooling, pleading Perry with a cat-o-nine-tails, brought a welcome dose of satisfaction to her day.

She caught a smile twitching at Bree's lips. "Don't bother."

"Huh?"

"At least not yet. I have a much better way to get even with Mr. Perry Elliott, and I know just the man to do it."

"Sloan? But I thought he turned you down."

"I think, considering this new information, that I might be able to persuade him." But then Bree's smile faltered. "But eventually Derek is going to have to face the music for this. You have to promise me that."

"All right. If Perry gets a dose of justice, I guess Derek can take his lumps, too. But just let me wait and talk to Craig about it first." She waited a heartbeat. "Okay?"

Slowly, deliberately, Bree nodded. "Okay. But I have one favor to ask you in return."

"Favor?"

"Don't worry, Franki. This won't hurt a bit. You might break a few nails, but I think, in the long run, it'll be worth it."

Chapter Sixteen.

"Would you like some coffee?" asked his nemesis.

Sloan rammed his hands in his pockets and stared determinedly out Bree's kitchen window. The thunder had stopped, but the torrential downpour had completely undermined his threat to walk back to the Inn rather than allow himself to be pawned off on Sabrina.

The Inn was barely five blocks down the road, but in his current condition-with a headache, and ringing in his ears that rivaled a twenty-one gun salute inside a mausoleum-he just couldn't face all those huge raindrops pelting his fragile skull. Troy wouldn't even give him a damn umbrella.

He'd given Sloan the excuse that he had some things to attend to, and Carolyn was having guests at the house that morning. He refused to leave Sloan alone at the Inn, and Franki wouldn't have him over at the hospital. So that left Bree.

Troy had ushered him into the front door of Bree's little one-and-a-half story cottage on the beach, and left. Troy had left him there like that, bruised and aching, alone and weak...in the den of a lioness.

The whole thing reeked of conspiracy. What did she want with him anyway? His nuts were still raw from her last attack. Had Troy been coerced into luring him here so she could finish the job and castrate him completely?

The thought brought on a fresh pounding behind his eyes.

"Sloan? I really think coffee would help. And maybe some breakfast. I do a mean huevos rancheros."

His stomach rebelled at the prospect. "No, no. No eggs. But..." He regarded her suspiciously. "But I guess I'll take the coffee and I don't suppose you've got any Captain Crunch."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Caffeine and sugar. You haven't changed." She pulled open a cupboard door and began to take inventory.

Sloan took in his surroundings. Knotty pine cabinets and granite counter tops gleamed beneath a clutter of small appliances, earthenware canisters, scattered cooking utensils, and a stack of dirty dishes that might have been left by a platoon of hungry marines.