She knelt beside him and wrapped her arm tightly around his shoulders.

With her other hand she touched Troy's cheek. "Don't quit on us now, Troy-boy. We can't lose you, too."

Sloan said nothing. Hope was a dangerous thing. He'd had hope once before, and it had led only to disappointment. He wasn't sure which was worse-losing hope, or never having it in the first place. He'd done it both ways, and frankly he didn't like either one.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Bree's fingers tapped rapidly on the picnic table.

Sloan covered her hand with his own, then thought better of it and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"I'm okay," she whispered. "You don't have to hold me together. I dealt with her death long before it happened. It came sooner than I expected, but I can handle it."

"I disagree," he said as the breeze ruffled his hair and toyed with the branches of the maple tree that shaded them. "That's my job-holding you up, and helping you to handle things. I've neglected you far too long. And today, of all days, I intend to make up for lost time."

"It was a lovely service," offered Franki, from her own little envelope of security on the other side of the table.

Craig had remained glued to her throughout the funeral and the graveside formalities. He had either held her hand or wrapped an arm around her waist, or hugged her shoulders in a perpetual show of support. Sloan was surprised that she didn't snap at him and demand that he quit hounding her and give her a little space. Franki had never enjoyed clingy men before. But, he supposed, her relationship with Craig was different-in so many ways.

"And thank God Lois decided not to come," added Franki.

Everyone silently agreed. Lois would be busy for months to come, baking cookies for her incarcerated son. She had not yet come to visit Troy. Not that he wanted to see her.

That was why they were here, lounging in front of the hospital. They had intended to come see Troy directly after the service, but as the edifice loomed, they had all decided they needed a little breather before slipping from one emotional wringer into another.

"What did you think, Lumberjack Man?" Franki nudged Craig in the ribs.

He grimaced at the name, but Sloan saw an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. They'd all insisted on teasing him relentlessly ever since his daring, albeit grisly, rescue of his friends. Usually he rolled his eyes, and groaned in misery, but it was obvious to everyone that he was loving every minute of it.

"Well?" prodded Franki. This time she traced a finger over Craig's knobby knuckles.

"What did I think about what?" He snagged her hand and kissed it.

She rolled her eyes. "The service. It was lovely, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It was nice," Craig said at last. "For a funeral. I've never been to one that I liked though."

"You're right," sighed Bree. "They're not enjoyable. And we've had far too many around here." She paused and her eyes flitted to the array of hospital windows that reflected the dwindling colors of a startling gold and magenta sunset.

Her unspoken words hovered silently above the group. I just hope there won't be another one too soon.

At that the conversation lagged, and the silence seemed strained. No one wanted to talk about what was really on their minds.

A bold sparrow alighted on the table, apparently in search of food. It managed to find a few crumbs leftover from some nurse's lunch. It plucked them from the cracks in the wood and took off without so much as a thank you.

Bree seemed to struggle for something to say. "I was surprised your mother didn't stay longer," she ventured with a sly glance at Craig. "Did Franki scare her off?"

He chuckled. "No. She said it was too violent around here. She went back to New York where it's safe."

They all laughed at that, and the tension ebbed. But the silence returned.

"I guess we should go in," said Franki.

But nobody moved.

"He's not doing very well," whispered Bree. "In the last week I lost my mother, and my last link with my father." She was referring to the ceramic jars that had long ago been reduced to rubble in order to retrieve their illicit cargo. "I don't know if I can face losing Troy, too."

"That's why we're here," said Sloan. "To make sure he knows that we don't want to lose him."

"No wonder he disowned his family," said Franki with a shudder.

"And no wonder he never really told us why," added Sloan.

Thanks to Perry's revelations they knew that Vance had long ago tried to recruit his oldest son into the Auction House fencing business. Troy had blatantly refused, but had sworn secrecy out of loyalty to his family. At the time stealing a few baubles from people who could well afford it, while reprehensible, was not enough to compel him to sacrifice his father's freedom. Once Perry joined the organization, however, things changed.

Not realizing this, Troy had, out of desperation, asked for his father and brother's help in a rather delicate exploit. Once the deed was done he'd been trapped in a web of his own making.

Troy had been torn between his conscience and outrage at the direction his father and brother seemed to be heading, and his need to protect his own interests. Perry had continued to taunt him with new information, filling him in on gruesome details of the drug deals and the murders, knowing full well that Troy would keep his secret. And hate himself for it.

Troy had only remained ignorant of the attack on Janelle Carver. Perry's motives for keeping that to himself may have been simply that he feared reprisals from his father. But no one knew for sure since Perry now spoke only through an attorney.

"He may have disowned his family," commented Bree, "but he didn't really get away from them, did he?"

Craig grunted softly. "Yeah. Those genetic codes are hard things to break." He surveyed the group. "I guess we can all attest to that."

Sloan stared at his hands-strong, long-fingered hands that were exact duplicates of his father's. "I guess. All these years, I was trying to disown my own genes, and I was wasting my time." He smiled without humor. "I was trying to crack the wrong damn code."

Bree's hand covered his. "At least now you can be proud of your heritage and your connections to your parents, instead of trying to pretend they aren't there."

"But can I?" he asked. "Can any of us? I mean look at who they were, and what they did. The Elliotts weren't the only ones involved, you know. All of them had a hand in it."

Bree seemed to consider this. "You're right. But I refuse to throw away their love for us because they made some poor choices."

"Yeah," he said. "I think you're right. I, for one, can hardly cast stones, can I?"

"They loved us and they were good to us. That's all that really matters now."

Franki nodded her tacit agreement.

Sloan added, "I suppose. Criminals or not, the very least we owe them is our respect and love." Actually Sloan had one more debt to his parents. But he couldn't tell them about that. Not quite yet.

Franki slapped her hands on the table. "Well, I've had enough of this maudlin topic. I think it's time we stopped talking about supporting Troy and started doing it."

They all muttered agreement and a few minutes later the four of them were sauntering soberly down the hospital hallway toward Troy Elliott's room.

Sloan had just reached for the door handle, when it opened of its own accord, allowing a battle-weary Carolyn to slip out. Sloan released his hold on Bree's hand and enclosed her in a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry I didn't come today," she murmured into his chest.

"Shush," chided Bree. "Don't be ridiculous. How is he doing?"

Carolyn pulled away and wiped at her eyes. "Not good. The doctors don't understand it. The surgery went well and there's no infection." She lifted her eyes and Sloan's heart broke for the rid-rimmed, puffy evidence of her torment. "It's been almost five days. He should be getting better. But he's sunk into some sort of depression. He won't even talk to me."

Fresh tears spilled out of her eyes. "I don't think he'll want to see you. I don't think there's any point in going in."

Franki stepped forward. "Don't be ridiculous. If anyone can knock some sense into him, it's us."

But Sloan grabbed her wrist. "No. I want to go. I have to talk to him."

Franki's gaze remained doubtful.

"Alone," he added, uncertain why he felt so strongly about this, but also knowing it was something he had to do. "Why don't you guys take Carolyn for a cup of coffee? I'll come get you when I'm done."

Bree squeezed his hand. "All right. Whatever you have to do." There was a world of trust in that

moment, and it squeezed his heart as surely as her hand had squeezed his.

Bree draped an arm over Carolyn's shoulders and Franki took her hand. With Craig in the lead they headed back the way they had come. And Sloan pushed through into the dimly lit room.

Troy lay on the bed, his brown eyes sunken, an array of tubes fed him medications and nutrients and

continued to do the job he seemed loath to do himself-keep him alive. Sloan settled himself in the chair that, no doubt, Carolyn had just vacated moments before. If Troy'swife-the love of his life and the mother of his son-couldn't get through to him, why did Sloan think hecould?

Because he had the inside scoop. He had been where Troy was now. He had lived there for the past eight years. He couldn't let Troy die there.

"Hi, buddy."

Troy stared out the window, his eyes glazed with pain and other things Sloan knew all too well.

"So, how long do you figure?"

It took an agonizing two minutes, but finally Troy's curiosity got the better of him and his pain-laced voice whispered, "How long 'til what?"

"You know. Until you kick the proverbial bucket. Buy the farm. Dive six feet under. Push up a few

daisies. Take your pick."

Slowly, like a hinge that had rusted from disuse, Troy's head turned to face his new tormentor. He said nothing, merely drilled into Sloan with eyes that had seen too much.

"That's what you're doing, isn't it? Killing yourself? Slowly? I bet it's even a bonus that Carolyn is here

every day to watch. That way you can torture her, too. I bet-"

"Shut up." Troy winced at an unseen agony, and Sloan suppressed an urge to get down on his knees and grovel. Troy didn't need his apologies. He needed to face the truth.

"I don't need this shit," whispered Troy. "If you came here to get even, to hurt me for...everything, then I'd say you've done a fine job. Now get lost."

"I didn't come to hurt you."

"No? Could've fooled me."

"But that's what you expected isn't it? That's what you want? You want us all to hate you, because that would make hating yourself that much easier."

Troy set his jaw, looked away. "That's not it."

"Oh, I think it is. I'm sure of it, because that's pretty much what I did eight years ago. I left like that, partly because I couldn't bear to be here. I couldn't bear to be near the memories and the constant reminders of what I thought my parents had done to me. But that wasn't all."

Troy didn't look at him, but Sloan knew he was listening.

"I also did it to punish myself. You were right when you said I felt guilty for Dad's death. I didn't realize it until all this other shit came out, but I did. And I also blamed myself for what happened to Mom."

He got up and walked around the bed, placing himself in front of Troy's face so he would have no choice but to look at him. "And it was easier to feel sorry for myself-to hate myself-if all of you hated me, too."

Troy shook his head in confusion. "But how can all of you ever forgive what I did? I knew. I knew everything, or almost everything, and I kept it to myself. God! Look at the hell that I left you in, Sloan. I knew how you struggled with his suicide, and still I kept it to myself. Maybe if I had told you... If I had just told somebody..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe none of this would have happened."

"We've all made mistakes, Troy. Look at the lies I told, and the things I've done. At least you had your reasons. You were protecting Carolyn and David."

"No!" Troy's voice was fierce. "I wasn't protecting them. I was protecting myself. And when I tell her, it will all be over. She'll leave me, and she'll take David." He closed his eyes. "And I don't think I can face that. So I can't face telling her. But I can't stand lying to her anymore either." His fists clutched at the sheets. "I can't tell her, and I hate myself for being such a coward. So maybe I was hoping I could just die and leave all this behind. Maybe it would be easier that way. For everyone."