A/N: This story originally appeared in House Blend 2, published by Agent With Style. If you're not familiar with their work, check them out; they have a lot of good stuff to offer. And, many thanks to Susan Z., who many moons ago contributed a lot of time and effort to help me get this thing done.

Wilde gave a low whistle as they cruised up the drive at Gull's Way. “This is your place, huh, Judge?”

Hardcastle grinned as he glanced at his passenger. Did all kids have that same reaction to his house? “You’re not going to tell me anything about studying psychology with Charlie Manson, are you?” he asked, remembering McCormick’s comments the first time he had arrived at the estate.

“What?”

“Forget it." Trying to explain McCormick’s rather warped sense of humor would definitely lose something in the translation. He parked the car in the drive for the moment and climbed out. He retrieved Wilde’s duffel bag from the trunk and tossed it to the officer.

“C’mon, I’ll open up the gatehouse. I’m sure McCormick left his keys in there.”

“Gatehouse?” Wilde asked as he followed the judge. “McCormick gets his own house?” The disbelief was evident in his tone, and he was only half joking when he asked, “Whatever happened to crime doesn’t pay?”

Hardcastle stopped suddenly and whirled on the officer. “Something you want to say, Wilde?” His tone was unexpectedly low with an undisguised fury, his face carved in stone, and every muscle in his body was tensed.

“No, sir,” Wilde replied, immediately all business. He had only transferred to L.A. a few years earlier, but Hardcastle was practically a legend…and the legendary tales rarely had happy endings for anyone who crossed him. Having never met the judge personally, Wilde had been inclined to believe that the stories had been exaggerated. Feeling the weight of the cold stare on him now, however, he wondered if maybe some of the more gruesome parts hadn’t actually been edited out. “No, sir,” he repeated, “nothing at all. Sorry, sir." He breathed a silent sigh of relief when the judge turned and resumed his approach to the gatehouse. As he followed the stomping jurist, Wilde could hear him muttering under his breath-something about kids needing their butts kicked from here down to Seagull Beach-and wondered briefly if McCormick might not be better off in prison.

In his anger, Hardcastle had hurried away from the young officer, but he stopped suddenly, holding up a warning hand, and Wilde came to an immediate stop at his side.

“Got your weapon?” Hardcastle whispered, as he pointed at the gatehouse door standing wide open.

Wilde nodded, and pulled the gun from its holster.

Hardcastle was cursing himself for being unarmed when he knew good and well something strange was going on, but he had been unwilling to carry a gun when he drove McCormick to the station. He hadn’t really understood the feeling, but he had heeded it. And he was regretting it now.

With a mental shrug, the judge motioned for Wilde to stay alert, and he peered cautiously through the open door. Seeing nothing in the living area, he led the way over the threshold. He started toward the stairway, trying to be as stealthy as possible, though he realized the wide-open floor plan didn’t really lend itself to remaining inconspicuous.

Hardcastle had reached the bottom step when he felt something drop over him, shutting out the lights. “What the hell?” Immediately, there was activity coming from both sides, and he struggled to free himself from the cloth draping over his head. He heard Wilde’s identification and warning from behind him and the startled gasp coming from above him. “Hold it!” he shouted, understanding the situation immediately.

“Wilde, put your gun down!” Hardcastle finally managed to free himself from the tangle of bed sheets. “And, Sarah, get down here!” He retreated to the main living area and waited for the others to join him.

When they were gathered, Hardcastle introduced them. “Wilde, this is my friend, Sarah Wicks; she holds this place together for me. Sarah, this is Officer Bill Wilde; he’s going to be staying here in the gatehouse for a while." The two exchanged their greetings, and Hardcastle turned his attention back to his housekeeper.

“Sarah, what are you doing here, anyway? I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.”

“The weather reports said there was a storm blowing in late tonight, Your Honor, and it’s not expected to move out until mid-day tomorrow. I didn’t want to make the trip in the weather. Anyway,” Sarah continued, “since I’m here, I’ll go ahead and set up the fold-out bed for Mr. Wilde.”

“Don’t bother,” Hardcastle instructed, “he can use the bed upstairs. Apparently, it’s getting fresh sheets anyway, though I’m pretty sure I told you just last week not to be coming over here babying McCormick. If he wants his sheets washed, he can sure as hell drag them over to the house himself.”

Sarah glanced quickly at Wilde, suspicion dawning in her eyes. “Where is Mark?” she asked, ignoring Hardcastle’s laundry instructions much as she had ignored them the previous week. She was surprised to see the discomfort that suddenly came over the judge.

“He’s not here right now, Sarah. We’ll talk about it later at the house.”

“Is he all right?” Sarah didn’t mind waiting for other details, but she wanted that answer immediately.

“He’s fine, Sarah,” Hardcastle replied. “I’ll be over in just a bit and explain everything.”

“Very well, Judge. It will just take me a minute to finish the bed." The seriousness in her tone made it clear she wasn’t pleased with the task, even though she had been willingly doing it for McCormick just moments before.

“Never mind, Sarah, we’ll take care of it.”

“Yes,” Wilde chimed in, “I can get it.”

Sarah looked at the newcomer severely. “That’s fine, Mr. Wilde. You’ll find everything you need upstairs, and I’ve already replaced the linens in the bathroom.”

“Thank you,” the officer answered. “I’ll be careful with McCormick’s things,” he added, somehow feeling that might be important to this woman.

Sarah just sniffed and left the gatehouse without further comment.

Hardcastle turned to Wilde with a grin. “I don’t think she likes you.”

“No,” the younger man agreed, “I don’t think so. Is she close with McCormick?”

“Not exactly,” the judge replied, not bothering to offer further explanation. He clapped his hands together suddenly. “Now here’s the plan,” he said eagerly. “You get settled in here for a bit, maybe wander around the grounds, you know, just get to know your way around. Come on over to the house about six and we’ll have dinner. Then maybe you can go out for a while tonight. If we get lucky, maybe this will be over by tomorrow.”

Wilde nodded. Hardcastle had filled him in on the situation as they made the drive to Malibu. He didn’t understand why the judge seemed to have trouble believing the ex-convict was really guilty of the crimes, but this little decoy assignment looked to be shaping up into a pretty cushy gig, so he could certainly go along. Besides, he seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot with Hardcastle, and that didn’t feel like a good place to be. So if he could help the man work this out, Wilde would feel much, much better.

Hardcastle entered the house and headed directly for the basement to drop off the linens he had carried over from the gatehouse. Then he returned upstairs, wondering how best to explain about McCormick. Sarah was one of the few people allowed to speak her mind entirely to the judge and, consequently, one of the few people who could make him really question his own behavior. He was doing enough of that already without someone else adding to it. But he was a firm believer in taking responsibility for your own actions, so he walked into the kitchen.

Sarah was standing at the counter, cutting vegetables for the stew that was already smoldering on the stovetop. “I’ve got cornbread in the oven,” she commented as Hardcastle sniffed the stew pot. “I thought something warm might be nice since it’s cooling off a bit. And,” she added pointedly, “when I started, I had thought Mark might enjoy it." She looked at Hardcastle sadly.

“Have we lost him already?”

Hardcastle stood across the island counter and patted her hand. “No, Sarah, we haven’t lost him. At least, I don’t think so. But I had to put him back in jail for a little while.”

Sarah looked at him in confusion. “You’re not making any sense. Why don’t you tell me what happened this weekend?”

Hardcastle briefly elaborated on the phone calls he had received, as well as giving a synopsis of McCormick’s own explanations, or lack thereof. He ended by explaining why there was a stranger living in the gatehouse temporarily. “I’m hoping that Wilde will make a passable substitute for McCormick so that the accusations will continue even while he’s in jail. That way, I will know for sure.”

Sarah carried the last of the vegetables to the stove, and turned back to face her employer. “Do you really think there’s a chance Mark’s guilty?”

He met her gaze. “A chance? Absolutely. But I think it’s a slim one."

Sarah’s eyes flared with sudden anger. “Then you’re being foolish, Milton Hardcastle. Don’t you know how hard he’s been trying? If he were going to continue being a criminal-which I don’t think he would-this is not the way he would do it. As long as he’s in this house, Your Honor, he’s going to be doing exactly as you ask.”

Hardcastle sighed deeply. “That’s mostly what I think, too, Sarah, but I have to be sure. You know, it’s easy for you: you simply get to know him and decide he’s a good kid, and make your decisions based on your emotions. I almost envy you.

“But I’ve seen too much, Sarah. Too many kids just like him with their bright smiles and easy laughs, only to find out that it was all an act." He hesitated, then continued, hating to make the admission, but needing her to understand. “Even the ones who’ve come here, Sarah…most of them fooled me. He’s a likeable kid, Sarah; I’m not denying it. And he seems so sincere, but….” His voice trailed off, his uncertainty written on his face.

The housekeeper softened immediately. “They didn’t fool you, Your Honor. You just tried to give them a chance, even when you knew they probably didn’t deserve it. But Mark is different, Judge, and you know it. You’re trying to be cautious because you think that you should, but deep down, you know that you don’t have to be this time. This time, it will work." She paused for a moment to let her words sink in, then made her argument. “It will work,” she repeated, “if you let it. Don’t turn your back on him, Judge Hardcastle. You need to go bring him home.”

Hardcastle studied her intently, knowing she meant the best, but still amazed by her defense of McCormick. Sarah had never been overly fond of his rehabilitation project, and she had been dead set against his plan to continue working after retirement. And the night he had brought McCormick home and insisted he be put up in the gatehouse rather than the gardener’s trailer…he knew Sarah believed then that he had completely lost his mind. And yet, somehow McCormick had gotten to her almost immediately, and not a month later, here she was defending the kid. Telling him flat out to his face that he was wrong. She was rarely so blunt, so Hardcastle knew he must have screwed up royally. Even so….

“Not yet, Sarah,” he said firmly. “Besides, McCormick understands.”

She sniffed at his rationalization. “Understands that you don’t trust him? That’s a great way to start a partnership.”

Hardcastle smiled slightly. “No, Sarah, it isn’t, but it will be okay. I’ll make it up to the kid later. Now, I’ll set the table and you can tell me all about your weekend, okay?”

Understanding that the discussion was closed-and knowing she could re-open it at another time-she returned his smile. “Well, you know, we had great weather…”

McCormick sat on the bed, his arms circled around his legs pulled up to his chest, and his head resting on his knees. He had already done enough pacing for one day, and he had resigned himself to sitting several hours ago. Really, he would have liked to just go to sleep and forget it all for a while, but he knew it would be late in the night before he was exhausted enough to sleep in the cell. And even though he had dismissed Hardcastle’s concern over the isolation stand point, he would have vastly preferred the cell block to this holding room; at least there would’ve been someone to talk to. Oh, well. This isn’t forever, he kept reminding himself. Even so, hadn’t he started this day knowing that this was the last place on earth he wanted to be? Someday he would learn when to keep his mouth shut.

When he heard the door open without warning, he raised his head, but knew better than to surprise his visitor by jumping to his feet. He felt his hopes fall just a bit when he realized it was Lieutenant Harper entering the room, but he brushed the feeling aside. He knew it was too soon for Hardcastle to be back, and just sitting here waiting and hoping wasn’t going to do one bit of good for his sanity. Seeing that the lieutenant had his hands full, he rose slowly.

“Let me give you a hand, Lieutenant.”

“How are you doing, Mr. McCormick?” Harper greeted as he handed McCormick a stack of denim clothing and a small bag of personal toiletries. “I brought you some basic necessities.”

McCormick smiled slightly as he took the items, still impressed with the detective. “I’m okay, Lieutenant, thanks for asking. And thanks for the stuff…though I’m hoping I won’t need a lot of it.”

Harper grinned at him. “I’m not making assumptions, I just figured as long as I was grabbing supplies, I’d get enough to last a while. It wouldn’t bother me at all to have to take them back."

After McCormick had placed the clothing neatly on the foot of the bed, Harper held out a small sack and a paper cup. “Milt said you liked Burger Man, and the beauty of these multi-purpose rooms is that you even get a table to eat at.”

“Yeah,” McCormick laughed as he took the offered meal, “it’s a regular Ritz Carlton." He glanced quickly at the lieutenant. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling his face redden; he hadn’t meant to run his mouth to this man.

“It’s okay,” Harper assured him. “I certainly understand the limitations of the accommodations.”

McCormick relaxed and placed the food on the table in the interrogation area of the small room. He grabbed a fry from the bag and folded it into his mouth. “Almost like home,” he grinned.

“Okay,” Harper said, “do you need anything else before I go?”

McCormick resisted the impulse to ask for a key to the door. “Nope. Thanks again.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. McCormick.”

McCormick nodded, and moved further away from the door. “Good night, Lieutenant." The words reminded him of something. “By the way,” he continued before Harper turned away, “what time is it, anyway?”

“About 7:40,” the officer replied with a glance at his watch.

“Okay, thanks. You kinda lose track in here, ya know? I try to keep a rough idea, though. Keeps you from going too loopy.”

Harper hadn’t really thought about that before, but he could understand. He nodded, and wished McCormick a good night as he walked out the door.

McCormick watched him go, and then turned immediately to his dinner, grateful that Hardcastle had apparently instructed Harper to bring double everything. A bologna sandwich could only carry you so far, after all.

“Okay, Milt,” Harper’s voice said through the phone receiver, “he’s all tucked in for the night.”

“Is he doing all right?” Hardcastle asked.

The police officer snorted. “If he can handle a couple of years in maximum security, I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna fall apart after a few hours here.”

“Of course not,” Hardcastle replied indignantly. “I just meant, is he behaving? I don’t want him to make things worse for himself while he’s there.”

“Oh, okay,” Harper said in his most conciliatory tone, “I guess I misunderstood your meaning." He grinned, knowing that Hardcastle didn’t expect him to believe the cover story. “And, yes, he is behaving himself. He’s a pretty well-mannered kid, really. You sure you found him in Quentin?”

“Well-mannered?” The judge was incredulous. “McCormick? Are you sure you didn’t end up with another decoy in your cell, Frank?”

Frank laughed. “Well, you know how kids are…always the angel when they’re away from home. And speaking of which…how’s my little angel doing out there?”

Hardcastle gave a brief laugh. “He’s feeling a little bit brought down to size right now, but I think he’ll be fine.”

“What did you do to him, Milt?”

“It wasn’t me,” the judge replied, pretending to be hurt. “I only asked him to drive down the highway for a while to make his presence known, but that car of McCormick’s is something of a monster. Wilde had to take it for a few spins around the driveway before he got over the bunny hopping. I don’t think it did much for his ego, but he’ll survive." He smiled to himself, replaying the image in his head. It served the young man right, really, considering his earlier comment about McCormick’s arrangements at Gull's Way.

Harper laughed lightly. “Well, okay. I guess it sounds like both our boys can take care of themselves, so I’m gonna head out of here for the night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Milt.”

Hardcastle hung up the phone, then leaned back in his chair, listening to the wind pick up outside. He hoped Wilde would remember his instructions to only be out a couple of hours; he didn’t think the officer’s driving skills were up to the challenge of the Coyote in a rainstorm just yet. He was laughing again as he headed to the other room for popcorn.

Mark McCormick stood at the small metal sink and splashed the cold water on his face again. It wasn't that he really wanted to be awake, but he knew he was going to be, anyway, so he would prefer to look a little better than he felt. He looked closely at his reflection in the mirror-thankful that Harper had smuggled him a decent razor-and decided the bags weren’t too bad yet.

After the morning ritual, he pulled on one of the jail-issued denim shirts. He would have preferred his own clothes, but he had known it would be better to save those for returning home. Since it had already been a day and a half-and two very long nights-he was glad he had decided to go ahead and change. Feeling as refreshed as he was likely to get, McCormick decided to start his day in the chair at the table. He rested his face in his hands, wondering if he would get to go home today.

The first day in the cell had been hard, mostly because he had been so upset by the whole idea of it, but it had only been a few hours. And, of course, the long night. But the second day had seemed eternal. Frank Harper had been by three times to bring him food from the cafeteria, but other than that, he had been alone. Each time the detective had visited the room, McCormick had checked the time, and he had been discouraged to find that his guesses had gotten further from the truth as the day wore on. At this point, he had no idea how long he had actually been in the small room, and it scared him just a little bit. All in all, he was beginning to wish he’d taken his chances with general population and the parole board.

McCormick was at the table for a long time-though he wouldn’t be able to say how long-then moved back to the cot. Feeling tired, he had stretched out, hoping that he would be able to rest, but so far that wasn’t happening. Now, he heard the doorknob beginning to turn, but he didn’t have the energy to get up, and he figured Harper wouldn’t care one way or the other, anyway.

“Mr. McCormick?”

“Yeah, Lieutenant?” McCormick didn’t even open his eyes.

“There’s someone here who’d like to see you.”

McCormick sat up then, anxious. He looked at Harper quizzically, then saw a small gray head poking from behind the officer.

“Sarah!” McCormick was so excited to see the housekeeper that he jumped off the bed and rushed to her. He grabbed her up-causing her to give a small yelp of surprise-and swung her around joyfully before he placed her safely back on the floor.

“McCormick!” Harper’s stern voice cut through his short-lived happiness.

Looking around to determine what had suddenly upset the lieutenant, McCormick realized that he had whirled himself right into the open doorway. Too bad it had never been so easy to break out of any of the other cells he’d found himself in over the years.

Wearing an embarrassed grin, he stepped purposefully back into the room. “Sorry, Lieutenant, it was an accident." He moved back to the small table and seated himself. “I’m not going anywhere." Only then did he see Harper relax, and only then did he notice that Sarah was very tense. He slowly got back on his feet and moved to stand next to her.

“It’s okay, Sarah,” he said gently. “Come sit down with me; it will make Lieutenant Harper much happier." He threw a quick grin at the lieutenant to prove that no offense was intended.

Harper smiled as he watched McCormick hold a chair for the woman. “I’ll be back in about half an hour, Sarah. McCormick….”

The prisoner held up his hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know. I’ll behave. Can’t have you sending bad reports back home to the judge.”

Harper laughed slightly. “Good to know." He started out the door, then stopped again. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you a little present." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small square, and tossed it over to McCormick.

McCormick grabbed the small box out of the air, and looked at it uncertainly. He examined it a second, then pulled it open to reveal a tiny travel clock. He looked back up at Harper sharply, a deep gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said simply.

“Can’t have you getting ‘loopy’ on me,” Harper said with a grin. “Hardcastle says it’s my job to take care of you." With those words, he disappeared out the door.

McCormick dropped into the chair across from Sarah, stunned. He looked at the clock, and shook his head. Such a simple thing, but in many ways such a grand gesture. He looked up at Sarah. “The judge said Harper was one of the good guys,” he said softly.

“He is,” Sarah confirmed. She looked at the clock, then patted McCormick’s hand. “I don’t know what that was all about, Mark, but it obviously was important to you, and I am not at all surprised that Lieutenant Harper understood that. You know, he and Judge Hardcastle are very similar in many ways.”

“Hah!” McCormick grunted. “Don’t know who you’re trying to fool with that load of malarkey, Sarah, but I’m not buying." He paused then, and met her eyes. “I appreciate you coming, Sarah. Really.”

She smiled gently at the young man. “We were worried about you.”

“You mean you were worried, Sarah, and you’re just trying to make the judge look good by association. Sorry, but still no sale.”

“He really has been worried, Mark.”

McCormick shook his head. “He may be worried about his project. And he might be concerned that he’ll have to haul his butt back down to the parole board to find someone else to shanghai. And…he might even be feeling just a little bit guilty about this whole thing. Maybe. But he absolutely is not worried about me."

He spoke with confidence, though the tiniest of voices whispered disagreement in his mind. He couldn’t deny that Hardcastle had demonstrated a few moments of compassion, but he didn’t have to dwell on those few moments, either. Honestly, it had been much simpler when he could keep the judge in a nice dark corner of his mind and just take him out and spit on him once in a while.

Sarah looked at him disapprovingly. “I was going to give you the breakfast I brought, young man, but with that kind of an attitude, I might just let you do without. Honestly, Mark, sometimes I don’t know which one of you is more stubborn.”

McCormick smirked. “If you really think it’s even close to a contest, Sarah, you haven’t been living in the same house I have. At my most hardheaded, I am running a distant second to Hardcase Hardcastle. That man needs an outfit with a cape and a capital ‘D’. Super Donkey to the rescue." He stopped himself before he could really get rolling. “But…did you really bring me breakfast?”

She laughed at his sudden change in subject. “Yes, I did. I don’t imagine it’s quite as good as new, but Lieutenant Harper did let me use a microwave to heat it up again." She opened her large purse and brought out two sealed plastic containers, a small thermos, a fork, and napkins.

McCormick grinned as he pulled the items toward him greedily. He opened the containers and found scrambled eggs and sausage in one and a couple of homemade biscuits in the other. He grabbed the fork and took an eager bite, then reminded himself not to rush. As he worked on the eggs, Sarah opened the thermos and poured a cup of coffee.

“Sarah, you are the best,” McCormick commented between bites. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Hard time?” she suggested mildly.

McCormick almost let his coffee spurt across the room at the woman’s dry response.

“Sarah! Did you just make a joke?” He giggled at her innocent face. “You’re killin’ me here." He took another drink of coffee, then spoke again. It was good to have someone to talk to.

“How was your trip last weekend? The judge said you were visiting friends.”

“Yes. One of my dearest friends lives up in Santa Maria, and we needed a girl’s weekend." She paused before speaking again. “But I’m sure my weekend isn’t really the most important thing on your mind, Mark.”

“You might be surprised,” he replied. “I do have a lot of interests." He placed one of the sausage patties into a biscuit and took a bite of his sandwich before asking the question that was really weighing on his mind.

“Has the judge found out anything yet?”

Sarah shook her head sadly. “Not really. He tried to talk to your girlfriend, but she’s apparently out of town. He went to that pawn shop, and the house that was burglarized. And he’s spoken to every police officer involved in both investigations, as well as some of your friends down at the racetrack, but he says there’s no lead anywhere. He did say, though, that there really isn’t anything to connect the two crimes together, either, and he thinks that’s a good thing.”

“Have there been any more phone calls?”

“No, Mark, there haven’t. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It really hasn’t been that long, but still…I wonder how long he’ll wait?”

“What do you mean?” Sarah was confused.

“The calls could just stop forever,” McCormick explained. “If someone was trying to set me up, they’ve already done enough damage. If they don’t call again, Hardcastle will send me back to Quentin for sure. I just don’t know how long he’ll wait before he makes that decision.”

Sarah looked at the young man sharply. “Judge Hardcastle does not send innocent people to prison, Mark,” she replied indignantly.

McCormick looked at her levelly. “We might have to agree to disagree on that topic, Sarah. Besides, what about right now? Are you telling me you think I pulled those robberies?”

“Of course not, but this is hardly San Quentin, and I notice the judge is trying to make this situation as bearable as possible.”

He smiled slightly as he ate the last of his biscuit. “I suppose. At least he let you come visit me.”

“My visit was the second choice; I wanted him to come and bring you home.”

McCormick reached across the table and took the woman’s hand. “He has to do this, Sarah; he has to be sure. I need him to be sure.” He tried to explain. “You know, this isn’t like the occasional restless night when he wonders if I’m gonna take off down the PCH and never come back; not like the mild distrust that I know stays in the back of his mind just because he doesn’t know me yet. We could both live with that kind of vague uncertainty for a while, and it serves him right, anyway, for dragging me into this crazy scheme of his.

“But this is different, Sarah. He’s got specific doubts about me now, specific crimes he thinks I committed. Or might’ve committed, or could’ve committed, or whatever it is that he thinks. I can’t live with that any more than he can. If I’m really going to work with him, he has to know that he can at least trust me not to be running around breaking all sorts of laws. I just hope this plan of his works.”

Sarah smiled up at him. “The judge said you understood.”

“I do,” McCormick answered, returning her smile. “I don’t like it, but I do understand it. So,” he said cheerfully, quickly changing the subject, “how’s that cop treating my car?”

“He’s treating the car just fine,” Sarah replied with a laugh, “but I’m not sure the car is doing much for him.”

“I should’ve warned him,” McCormick said sheepishly, “and given him a few pointers." He grinned at the housekeeper. “But I was annoyed that Hardcastle didn’t tell me about his plan, so I didn’t want to make it easy on anyone."

“He’ll survive,” Sarah assured him. “Besides, Judge Hardcastle seems to find it rather amusing.”

“Glad somebody could get some entertainment out of this situation,” McCormick muttered as he ate the last of his breakfast. “I’d hate for the judge to be bored.”

He replaced the lids on the containers, and wiped the fork with the napkin, then leaned back in the chair, sipping on his coffee. “That was great, Sarah. You should get a job in the kitchen here; you’d make a lot of guys very happy.”

“And just who would take care of you and the judge if I did that?”

He grinned. “Okay, you got a point there.”

They sat for a while in companionable silence while McCormick enjoyed the warm coffee, wishing he had a way to make the visit last. It was completely unfair, he thought, that the hours alone dragged on forever, but this half hour with Sarah was flying by at the speed of light.

Sarah caught him looking wistfully at the clock and knew McCormick was counting down the minutes. “I can come back anytime,” she told him.

McCormick looked at her with a small, lop-sided grin. “That’s okay, Sarah. It’s a long drive. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be here all that much longer…one way or the other.”

“You’ll be home soon, Mark; I’m sure of it. Judge Hardcastle is not going to let you go back to prison for something you didn’t do.”

“If you say so, Sarah." Clearly, McCormick was not convinced, but he smiled at the sincere woman. “You just keep reminding him of that, would you?”

“He doesn’t need reminding, Mark,” Sarah said as she began packing up the dishes, “but I’ll keep it up, anyway.”

They lapsed into another moment of silence, and McCormick started when he heard the doorknob turning. “Looks like time is up,” he commented unnecessarily. He grinned at Sarah, not wanting her to worry. “I’ll try not to worry the lieutenant this time around.”

“The lieutenant would appreciate that,” came the response from the door as Harper entered the room.

McCormick rose slowly with Sarah, and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks so much, Sarah.”

She smiled at him. “Is there anything you want me to tell the judge?”

A million responses leapt immediately into McCormick’s mind, but none of them were appropriate for relaying through Sarah, so he clamped his mouth shut tightly.

The woman saw the merriment dancing in the ex-con’s eyes, and slapped his arm playfully. “Mark! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Hey,” he said defensively, “at least I didn’t say anything! A guy’s still allowed to think, isn’t he?”

Harper laughed at the exchange. “I think he’s got you there, Sarah. Even Milt couldn’t make a case against him for thinking.”

Sarah smiled, and clarified her question. “Do you have any messages I would be willing to give the judge?”

“Actually, yeah,” McCormick replied finally. “Tell him not to forget about Billy Joel." With those final words, he stepped away from Sarah, and watched as Harper escorted her from the room.

“Hah!” Hardcastle snorted as Sarah relayed the message. “He’s been singing that same song as long as I’ve known him. He should work out some new material.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah asked. She had not questioned McCormick about his unusual message, but Hardcastle’s response had piqued her curiosity.

Hardcastle waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, the kid says he’s innocent.”

“I thought you believed that?” The housekeeper was becoming confused.

“Not just now, Sarah,” the judge explained, “but even before, when I sentenced him to prison. It’s why he resents me so much.”

The housekeeper examined him thoughtfully. “He’ll get over the resentment, Your Honor. But was he? Innocent?”

“Not legally.”

“That’s a very precise answer, Judge Hardcastle." She thought for a moment. “What about morally? Was he morally innocent?”

Hardcastle met her eyes. “Probably.”

Sarah was shocked. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“I don’t make the rules, Sarah. McCormick made some wrong choices that landed him on the wrong side of the law. The jury had to convict, and I had to pass sentence; that’s the way the system works.”

“The system works by putting innocent men in prison?”

“He broke the law, Sarah,” Hardcastle said strongly. “That doesn’t make him innocent.”

“It doesn’t make him a criminal, either,” Sarah shot back.

Hardcastle shook his head. “You don’t understand. Laws were broken and a price had to be paid. Besides, it’s not like he came up before me on his very first offense, you know. He’d done a lot of stupid things in his life that snowballed on him and rolled him right into San Quentin. If you can ever catch him when he’s not wallowing in his self-pity, he’ll probably even tell you that himself. Anyway, neither one of you has to agree with my decision, Sarah, but I don’t want to keep defending myself to you. It’s bad enough I have to hear the ‘poor me’ crap from McCormick all the time.”

“Of course,” Sarah answered, contrite. “If there wasn’t a choice, there wasn’t a choice. It’s just unfortunate, is all.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” the judge said with a heavy sigh. “I just hope history isn’t trying to repeat itself.”

“Me, too,” Sarah whispered as she left Hardcastle alone in the den. “Me, too.”

“Now,” the judge muttered as he rummaged through his desk drawers, “what did I do with that tape?”

"You look like hell, kid." Harper’s observation from earlier this afternoon echoed in McCormick’s head. He had uttered some comeback that was undoubtedly snappier in his mind than in reality, but the truth was, he wanted out of this cell. He was facing his fifth night in the small room, and his patience was wearing thin.

Since Sarah’s visit two days ago, McCormick’s days had gone back to the routine of seemingly endless solitude, only broken three times a day by Lieutenant Harper. He wondered if the man didn’t ever take a day off. On the other hand, if he did, who would stop by and see him then? No other officers had even poked their head in the door all week, and McCormick had the very definite idea that he was well insulated in this small room.

He thought again of the lieutenant’s comment, and wondered how much longer he would be here. He remembered well the weeks it had taken him to learn to sleep in Quentin, though he wouldn’t say he really rested the entire time he was inside. He desperately hoped these last few days were not the first of many more to come.

As he considered his situation, he also remembered the promise he had made to himself the day he was paroled: he wasn’t going back inside. Ever. Of course, he had hoped to get back to racing full time, and that would have given his life some direction and kept him out of trouble.

But even if that didn’t work out, he had sworn he would sweep floors or flip burgers for the rest of his life before he would even come close to crossing the line again. He wondered sometimes if Barbara Johnson fully understood the sacrifice she had asked him to make, but that wasn’t fair, and he knew it. All he would’ve had to do was explain it, and she would never have asked again. But how was he supposed to say no to something like that? They both needed some kind of closure with Martin Cody.

Besides, he wasn’t supposed to get caught. Damn fool cop, anyway, trying to out-drive a racecar. Trying to out-drive him. They should’ve just let him go; it was only a car, after all. But there they were, God knew how many of them, trying to be heroes. Unbelievable. But being stupid was no reason to die, so he had stopped to free the officer from the burning car. It was supposed to be a good thing, but it had landed him back in jail. And back in Hardcastle’s court. And, ultimately, right here in this infernal cell. How such unrelated events could come together to create a rather haphazard whole was a mystery. Life was funny that way sometimes.

He mulled over that thought for a minute, and was hit with an idea. There was a connection to Cody. He didn’t know what prompted the idea, and he certainly didn’t know what the connection was, but he was suddenly certain the connection was there. Somewhere. Somehow. He just had to find it.

He glanced at the clock-and a smile formed as it always did-and stretched out on the cot. It would be at least another hour before Harper was here with dinner; he hoped he could either think of something useful or rest for just a bit. At this point, either choice would be welcome, because he was certain that he felt worse than he looked.

McCormick looked up blearily as the door opened. He hadn’t come up with any brainstorms, and he hadn’t really rested, but he had dozed off for a few minutes, and it was taking his mind a moment to clear. He sat up slowly to greet Harper.

“Hey, Lieutenant.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Harper apologized. “You need the rest.”

“Agreed. But I’m not getting much more rest asleep than I am awake, so don’t worry about it." McCormick flashed a grin. “Besides, I’d never want to sleep through meal time.”

The lieutenant held up a large pizza box and a six-pack of soda. “I thought you might be ready for a break from the cafeteria menu." He placed the meal in the middle of the table and placed himself in one of the chairs. “And I thought you might be ready for some company. Mind if I join you?”
McCormick approached the table warily. “I never say no to the man who’s buying,” he said, trying-not entirely successfully-for a light tone, “and I never turn down a chance for company when I’m in jail.”

“But?”

“But…what are you after, Lieutenant?” He leaned on the back of the chair and gazed at Harper intently.

Harper laughed. “I’m not ‘after’ anything, McCormick. Just sit down and eat.”

But McCormick didn’t move. “This wouldn’t be your version of a last meal, would it?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “Why are you so suspicious?”

“Why?” McCormick was amazed. “Maybe we haven’t met, Lieutenant. Mark McCormick, ex-con. Two to five courtesy of a good friend of yours." He gestured around the room. “Currently under lock and key for something I didn’t do, courtesy of that same friend. You tell me why I shouldn’t be suspicious.”

Harper held his prisoner’s gaze. “Because if you had been one hundred percent innocent, you never would’ve ended up in San Quentin. Because whether it was two years ago, last month, or this week, my friend has cut you more breaks than you probably deserve. And… because I brought pizza. You can be suspicious if you want, but let’s eat." Not bothering to wait for a reply, he grabbed a slice from the box.

McCormick had the grace to look abashed as he seated himself at the table. “I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you, Lieutenant,” he said apologetically. “But I hope I don’t have to agree with you in order to eat your pizza." With a slight grin, he reached for a slice of his own.

“No,” Harper answered with a laugh, “you don’t have to agree." He cast an appraising eye on the man across the table. “You still look like hell, by the way.”

“Maybe real food will help,” McCormick replied, his mouth full of pizza.

“Maybe. Personally, I think it’s rest you need. What’s with the not sleeping, anyway?”

McCormick shrugged. “I don’t like it here,” he said simply. “Makes me uptight, and it’s hard to sleep through uptight.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t sleep the entire time you were in Quentin?”

“Eventually I slept,” McCormick answered, still wondering what was going on with the detective. “Just not well. I managed then; I’ll manage now. Unless you’d like to convince Hardcastle to let me the hell out of here?”

The lieutenant made a face. “You been having any luck convincing him of stuff so far?”

“Not so much,” McCormick admitted with a small smile.

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t expect that to change much, either. He can be rather-”

“Stubborn?” McCormick interrupted. “Hardheaded? Mulish? Inflexible? Pig-headed?”

Harper laughed at the litany in spite of himself. “I was only going to say adamant,” he told McCormick. “Or maybe, firm but fair.”

“Adamant, I’ll buy. I’ll even settle for firm. But I’m not budging on fair.”

“You know,” Harper remarked, “you’re gonna have to let go of that ‘wrongly convicted’ melodrama one of these days.”

McCormick’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the comment. What, exactly, did this man know about him? And what was he trying to find out? Aloud, however, his only comment was, “I thought I didn’t have to agree?”

“True enough. But it’s going to be hard for you to be with him if you don’t lose the attitude.”

“You mean hard for him,” McCormick corrected. “It’s not bothering me at all.”

The lieutenant shot him a perverse grin. “Which one of you do you think goes away when the situation gets too difficult?”

McCormick popped open one of the cans and considered the question. “Is that your way of telling me it’s gotten too difficult already? Should I be packing my bags for an extended stay somewhere?”

“Not that I know of,” Harper replied. He paused. “At least, not yet.”

They ate in silence for a while, and McCormick discovered that he really did appreciate the company, even if he was still convinced Harper was up to something.

Finally, he spoke. “Do you know about Martin Cody, Lieutenant?” Might as well give the man something to take back to Hardcastle.

“The car guy from the Vegas deal?”

“Yeah. Anyway, whatever’s going on right now, I think he’s connected.”

Harper looked at him speculatively. “You think Cody’s setting you up?”

McCormick shook his head. “Not exactly. Although, come to think of it, why wouldn’t he? I’m sure he’s not happy with me, and he certainly knows about my connection with Hardcastle. But what I actually meant is that I think it’s connected to that whole case somehow. I don’t know why; it’s just a feeling I had earlier. Can you ask the judge to find out if there’s any connection to Cody at either one of the jobs?”

“I’ll pass it along,” Harper promised.

The men resumed their meal, and again, McCormick broke the silence. “Got a question for you, Lieutenant." He waited for the lieutenant’s attention, then went on. “Tell me the truth. After we’re done here, are you taking me over to central booking?”

“You seem awfully fixated on that idea, McCormick. Have a guilty conscience, do you?”

McCormick smiled slightly. “No, Lieutenant Harper, I do not have a guilty conscience. What I have is a very personal understanding of Hardcastle’s sense of right and wrong. I think the man might literally be incapable of looking the other way when he thinks a law has been broken. Call it my melodrama, if you want, but that’s precisely the character flaw that landed me in prison for two years, and it’s not all that hard to believe it will land me there again.”

“So, let me get this straight. His sense of right and wrong is a character flaw?”

“And you can tell him I said so,” McCormick answered firmly. “But you’re avoiding my question.”

Harper glanced at him quizzically; he had almost forgotten. “Oh, yeah…central booking. You are definitely too damn suspicious for your own good. Okay. Let me be clear: I am not booking you tonight. I am not processing you in any way into the system officially. Nothing has changed. You will be staying right here until Milt is satisfied, one way or the other. And for the record, if he does decide to put you back inside permanently, you can bet he’ll be down here to do it himself.”

McCormick picked at his pepperoni and contemplated the answer. “You’re probably right about that last thing,” he decided finally.

“You’re supposed to be relieved,” the officer told him.

Keeping his attention focused on the pizza, McCormick answered quietly. “I don’t know how to be relieved when I still don’t know what the hell is going to happen." He glanced up at the lieutenant. “I really need to get out of here.”

Harper examined the young man closely. What had happened to the light-hearted banter? He had intended to give the kid a little diversion, not make the situation worse.

“You know,” he said lightly, “you shouldn’t say things like that to a cop. Believe it or not, we can be suspicious, too.”

McCormick laughed, somehow guessing that had been Harper’s intention. “You don’t have to tell me that, Lieutenant. I saw your face the other day, remember? I was thinking you might’ve shot me if Sarah hadn’t been here.”

Harper waved his hand in the air, brushing off the idea. “Nah, too much paperwork. I woulda just clobbered you.”

McCormick cackled at the thought. “Yeah, regular he-man stuff. I can see why you and the judge are friends, Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant grinned at him. “This is a pretty unofficial situation, you know, McCormick, so you can drop the title. The name’s Frank.”

The slice of pizza in McCormick’s hand froze halfway to his mouth as he gaped at Harper. What was this man up to? But he couldn’t find even a trace of duplicity in the detective’s features, so he decided to play along.

“Okay, Frank,” he replied as he finished his bite, “and you can call me Mark. We’ll be buddies just like you and old Hardcase.”

Harper chuckled at the tone that somehow managed to be conspiratorial and patronizing all at once. “Yeah,” he agreed, “that’s what we’ll be, all right. You and me, we’ll be like Tonto and…” he thought for a long moment, “...Sancho Panza,” he finally finished.

McCormick slapped the table in sudden glee. “Right. Sidekicks 'R' Us. First we’ll write a book: How to Find Your Very Own Super-Hero Wannabe. Then we’ll do the lecture circuit. ‘You, Too, Can Help Save the World’. We’ll be the talk of the town, out promoting Truth, Justice and the Hardcastle Way.”

Despite his best intentions, Harper burst out laughing. Damn, but the kid could paint a picture. And it seemed he was well on his way to really understanding the Hardcastle mentality, which was one of a kind, he had to admit. But still, probably wouldn’t do to let the kid think he’d won him over.

Still grinning, the lieutenant said, “I’m guessing your mouth was running like that last weekend, shortly before you ended up here.”

McCormick thought immediately of the angry outburst that had probably caused-or at least accelerated-all of this, and his own grin faded slightly.

“Not exactly like that,” he answered slowly, “but I think it’s safe to assume my mouth was involved." He shrugged then, and put on his best long-suffering expression. “But what I can I say? The man says he’s all about honesty. I’m just trying to be a good stooge, do as he asks. Not my fault the old donkey can’t handle the truth.”

The detective could tell there was some true bitterness behind the wisecrack, but the ex-con really did seem to be trying to fight it. And at least for the moment, McCormick seemed content to let his humor carry him through the situation.

Harper thought that might not be such a bad approach, especially when it came to keeping up with Milton C. Hardcastle.

“Milt, you have got to quit harassing my men,” Harper was saying into the phone.

“I’m not harassing them,” Hardcastle huffed. “I’m just checking in with them.”

“Two or three times a day? That seems excessive. I told you we’d let you know if there were any developments. Trust me, I know how important it is to you.”

The judge relented…somewhat. “Okay. I’ll try to keep my calls to one a day. But, honestly, Frank, I don’t know how there can be so little to go on. I’ve talked to everyone I know at least twice. I’ve talked to everyone Wilde knows. And I’ve had that poor kid out at all hours of the day and night just trying to attract attention. I swear, I’ve thought about having him actually break in someplace just to see if we get a reaction from anyone.”

Harper chuckled lightly. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to just take the kid home and quit worrying about it?”

Hardcastle was startled by the question. “What?”

“It’s just that the longer he’s been here, the more convinced you seem that you’re definitely looking for someone else. If you know he didn’t do it, why don’t you get him out of here?”

“What are you talking about, Frank? I don’t know anything for sure. That’s why I left him there, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Harper replied. “Forget I brought it up.”

Hardcastle heard the masked disappointment in the lieutenant’s voice. “Frank? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harper countered.

“I mean,” Hardcastle said distinctly, “what is going on? Why do you want me to bring McCormick home?”

“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted,” the detective argued. “I said, since you clearly don’t believe he’s guilty, it doesn’t make sense to leave him here.”

Suddenly concerned, the judge wanted answers. “Has something happened, Frank? Is McCormick all right?”

Harper sighed. “Nothing has happened, Milt, but I don’t know if he’s exactly all right. I told you he’s getting antsy, and he sure as hell isn’t sleeping much. You know, it’s Sunday, one week since you dropped him off here. That’s a long time to go without any sleep to speak of. He’s trying to keep a stiff upper lip about the whole thing, but he’s becoming more and more convinced he’s down for the count. If you’re going to take him back home, you should just do it. And if you plan on sending him back to Quentin, you should do it sooner rather than later, because it’s the not knowing that’s killing him. He wants an answer.”

“He wants an answer?” Hardcastle repeated slowly. He considered the comment, and realization struck. “You’ve been spending time with him!” he accused Harper.

“Of course I’ve been spending time with him, Milt. You told me not to let anyone else in there with him.”

“Uh-uh, that’s not good enough. I’m not talking about just dropping in to bring him food a few times a day. You’ve actually been hanging out with him, haven’t you?”

Harper laughed, feeling slightly guilty. “I wouldn’t exactly say hanging out, Milt, but we had dinner a few nights ago. Remember, I told you about his whole idea about Cody?”

“You didn’t tell me you got all buddy-buddy with him to come up with that crazy theory.”

“Why, Milton Hardcastle,” Harper teased, “I do believe you’re jealous!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hardcastle snapped. “It’s just that I should’ve warned you, is all.”

“Warned me about what?”

“About McCormick. It’s kinda weird the way he seems to get to people.”

“People like you, you mean?”

“I actually meant people like you, Frank, and Sarah. And you know, his young friend, Miss Johnson, practically worships him. It’s just a little unusual.”

“Yeah,” Harper agreed, “and this cranky old judge I know seems to have developed a surprising soft spot of his own.”

“Hah! Don’t go jumping to any conclusions, Harper. At least I can see through his charmer act."

“Whatever you say, Milton, whatever you say." Harper was still grinning when he heard the line click closed in his ear.

Judge Hardcastle bolted straight up in bed with the very first ring of the phone. Taking a deep breath, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the receiver.

“Hardcastle.”

“Your prison rat is away from home again, Judge,” the voice told him. “You really should keep a closer watch on him.”

“What are you-” But just as each time before, the mysterious caller was gone without further comment.

Hardcastle replaced the phone on the hook and sat silently in the dark. That was the call he’d been waiting a week to receive, and yet he found himself wishing it had been the other kind-the kind with a crime to talk about. He realized that he would’ve found that somehow more definitive. Still, the caller clearly was trying to report McCormick for being away from the estate, and since it was Wilde currently cruising around in the Coyote, the caller just as clearly didn’t have accurate information, which meant it was time for the kid to come home. First thing tomorrow morning, he’d drive down to the station and pick him up.

He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, rather than immediately drifting back to sleep, he found himself thinking about his earlier conversation with Frank Harper. The detective had been telling him for the past few days that McCormick was starting to look a little worse for wear, though the judge had dismissed his concerns. Today, though, Harper had truly sounded worried. At the time, Hardcastle had chalked it up to McCormick’s inexplicable charm, though, in truth, Harper wasn’t really that easy to fool.

Hardcastle glanced over at the clock, and then forced himself to stay in bed. It was well after midnight already, and there was just no sense driving all the way to town at this time of night. The kid was probably already asleep, anyway.

But what if he wasn’t?

The first time Harper had relayed his concern about McCormick’s look of exhaustion, Hardcastle had laughed him off, saying the kid could sleep anywhere. But in the subsequent days, as Harper repeated his report, the judge had been forced to reconsider his position on the topic. Maybe it would make more sense to bring him home tonight so he wouldn’t sleep the entire day away tomorrow. At least that way, he could start catching up on some of his chores right away.

Yeah, he decided, as he swung himself out of bed. It’s not that he was worried. And certainly not that he felt guilty for putting the kid through it. It’s just that Wilde hadn’t been all that thrilled about doing any of the yard work this past week, and things were starting to pile up. Better if he at least got some work out of McCormick tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be able to do that unless he brought him home tonight. Yeah.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hardcastle yelled at the nervous young officer standing before him.

“No, sir,” the officer replied. “I’m sorry, sir. But Lieutenant Harper said absolutely no one was to be allowed to visit the prisoner.”

“I’m not gonna visit him, I’m gonna take him out of here. I put him here, and I can sure as hell take him out again. Check his file; you’ll see that he’s in my custody.”

“That may be, sir,” the young man said with no attempt to check anything, “but I have to follow the lieutenant’s orders.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, then, let me use your phone." Without waiting for permission, Hardcastle grabbed the telephone and swung it around, punching furiously at the numbers.

It took a few rings, but finally the line was answered. “Frank,” he growled, “it’s me. What? Yes, I know what time it is. Listen. I’m down here at the station, and your officer…” he looked closely at the name badge on the young man’s chest, “…Miller won’t let me have McCormick. Says he’s under strict orders not to let anyone in. You wanna take care of this for me?” The judge listened for a moment longer. “Yeah, I’ll fill you in completely tomorrow.”

He thrust the receiver over to the desk officer. “Lieutenant Harper would like to speak with you,” he said, taking immense pleasure in the sudden fear that came into the man’s face.
“This is Officer Miller,” the man said into the phone, but that was the last thing he said for several minutes. Hardcastle watched the physical changes play over the officer: his eyes widened, his cheeks reddened and his shoulders slumped. Finally, Miller muttered, “Yes, sir,” and hung up the phone.

The judge smiled at the young man sweetly, then followed as Miller led the way toward the holding cell. The officer unlocked the door, and then wisely disappeared back to his desk, leaving Hardcastle to conduct his business as he saw fit.

Hardcastle entered the darkened room slowly, and stood quietly for a moment, silhouetted in the doorway. He was going to feel pretty silly if he had to wake the kid up to take him home to sleep. The hesitant voice from the darkness quickly assured Hardcastle he needn’t have worried.

“Judge?”

“McCormick. I thought you might be sleeping.”

“You were hoping for the pleasure of waking me?” Hardcastle could hear the grin in the tone, and marveled that the smart-ass attitude also seemed to be wide-awake, even at this hour of the night.

“Not likely, kid. If you recall, I’ve already had that experience a time or two, and there is nothing pleasurable about it."

McCormick smiled in the darkness, ignoring the comment. “You planning on making a habit of these late night jail visits, Judge?”

“You planning on making a habit of being here?” Hardcastle snapped back, effectively silencing the younger man. He paused for a moment, then asked, “Mind if I turn on the lights?”

Assuming the answering grunt gave consent, the judge flipped the switch on the wall. He drew a sharp breath as he saw McCormick in the harsh fluorescence.

The young man was sitting on the cot, his back leaned against the wall. His legs were drawn up to his chest, hands clasped together in front, with his chin resting on his knees. His eyes squinted in the sudden brightness, but even when they began to relax, Hardcastle could see the face remained drawn and tense. The layers of dark circles under his eyes made clear that Harper had not been exaggerating his reports of sleeplessness, and even in the short week he’d been here, McCormick’s skin had already lost some of its healthy glow.

Looking at him now, Hardcastle thought that McCormick seemed both years older and yet immensely child like. He didn’t like the contradiction one bit.

Most disturbing, however, was the slightly haunted look that lived in the usually lively blue eyes. He could see the ex-con sizing him up, trying to evaluate the situation and withdrawing further into himself as he feared the meaning of the early morning visit.

“You’re looking a little ragged around the edges there, kid,” Hardcastle commented. “Maybe if you were sleeping at two in the morning instead of sitting here in the dark you’d be in better shape.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” McCormick answered dully. He stared at the judge, trying to read the older man’s face, but it wasn’t clear if the guilt in the eyes was caused by the current situation or something yet to come.

“So,” he began as casually as possible, “is the verdict in?”

“I had another phone call tonight, McCormick.”

“And?” McCormick forced himself to remain calm until he heard the whole story; no sense getting his hopes up for nothing.

“Just telling me you weren’t in the gatehouse. I had Wilde out running around again tonight."

McCormick wasn’t sure what to think of the unreadable, straightforward tone of voice. It certainly wasn’t giving anything away, and that was a little worrisome. On the other hand, at least Hardcastle was here. He didn’t think the judge would’ve made the trip tonight if all he intended was to move his prisoner to a different cell.

“And is that….” He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. “Is it enough?”

“Should it be?”

“Judge." McCormick’s voice took on a slightly pleading tone. “I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to play games right now. Don’t make me ask, please, just tell me what I want to know." He leaned his head back against the wall and locked his eyes onto the older pair across the room, then repeated his request. “Just tell me, Hardcastle. Whatever it is, I need to know.”

Hardcastle felt a twinge in his heart that he couldn’t quite explain. “I would’ve liked to have something more concrete, kid,” he admitted thickly. He hurried on when he saw McCormick’s eyes cloud over. “But beggars can’t be choosers, McCormick, and I’ll take what I can get. It’s good enough for me. Let’s go home.”

McCormick didn’t move from his cot. “I need you to be sure, Judge,” he said quietly. “I really don’t want to come back here again. It would be much easier to never leave.”

“Don’t be stupid, McCormick,” the judge growled. “I said it was good enough for me, now get up off your butt before I- -” He broke off his tirade and settled for a harsh glare at the young man.

McCormick managed a weak grin. “Before you change your mind, Judge?” he finished the thought. “My point exactly.”

“McCormick…” Anger seethed from Hardcastle in the single word.

“Okay, Hardcase, okay,” McCormick grumbled as he unfolded himself and rose from the bed. “I was just trying to be careful, but I’m sure as hell not going to argue the point."

He gratefully grabbed his own shirt and pants from the stack of clothing and took them to the small curtained bathroom area to change. He had to admit, for a cell, this one had some added features.

He returned a moment later, glad to be out of the standard issue denim. He seated himself on the cot again to put on his shoes. As he tied the Nikes, he cast a careful look over at the judge, wishing he could be more certain that Hardcastle was prepared to leave this situation behind.

“What’re you staring at, McCormick?” Hardcastle yelled.

McCormick jumped guiltily, and finished with his shoes quickly. “Nothing, Judge,” he mumbled. “Sorry." He stood and faced Hardcastle. “Okay, let’s go home.”

Hardcastle held open the door with an exaggerated flourish. “After you.”

McCormick grinned, and started across the room. There was just no understanding this guy, he thought. He stopped suddenly and turned back into the room.

“What'sa matter, McCormick? Can’t stand the thought of leaving? Think you’re gonna be homesick?”

McCormick didn’t reply, but threw a dark look back over his shoulder at the judge. He grabbed the travel clock and slipped it into his pocket before turning back toward the door.

“What’re you taking?” Hardcastle asked suspiciously.

“What do you think I could steal from here, Hardcastle?” McCormick demanded, and pushed past him. He didn’t wait for an answer, but started quickly down the hallway.

“McCormick, wait,” Hardcastle called after him, and the tone made clear it wasn’t an idle request. He was glad to see that the kid understood that, and he reached him in a few quick strides. “Is there a problem, kid? I thought you’d be glad to be getting out of here. I didn’t have to come all the way out here in the middle of the night, ya know.”

McCormick straightened his shoulders and turned slowly to face the judge. “No, Judge, there’s no problem." How was he supposed to tell this man that he was immeasurably relieved at leaving the cell, but still horribly fearful that he would be back? He couldn’t make that kind of admission without sounding weak. Or guilty. Or both. He certainly didn’t need that at the moment, so…. “And I am very glad to be getting out of here."

He forced a lighter tone and continued, “Of course, I told you from the beginning I didn’t need to be here, but you had to have your own proof, so don’t blame me just because you had an attack of conscience and lost a few hours' sleep.”

Hardcastle recognized the ploy, even if he didn’t understand all of the reasoning behind it, and he thought it would be okay to let the young man get away with it. “Yeah, I know, hotshot,” he replied with a grin. “I’m supposed to always listen to you, right?” He clapped him on the arm and started down the hallway again.

“Wouldn’t kill you,” McCormick answered as he followed. “And I’m pretty sure it would be a hell of a lot easier on me,” he added under his breath.

Hardcastle chuckled as he led the way outside, thinking McCormick might just have a wisecrack for every situation.

They reached the pickup, and McCormick laughed out loud. “This really is déjà vu, Judge. You and me leaving the jail in the wee hours of the morning, heading home in this old piece of junk. You got a real sense of irony, don’t ya, Hardcase? Got any new comics in there for me to read on the trip?”

Hardcastle glared at the laughing eyes over the hood of the truck. Knowing the kid had a comment for every situation and wanting to hear them were two very different things. “Don’t you ever just keep your mouth shut, kid?”

“Not often,” McCormick answered truthfully as he ducked into the passenger cab.

“Well, you might wanna start working on it,” the judge ordered as he climbed behind the wheel. “The smart-guy routine is wearing a little thin.”

McCormick glanced sideways at him as Hardcastle slammed the truck into gear and tore out of the parking lot. He figured he should feel guilty for needling the old guy so much, but it had been a long week, and that was absolutely Hardcastle’s fault, so he’d be damned if he was going to apologize.

It only took ten minutes of silence for McCormick to give in. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “All right, Hardcase, you win. I’m sorry about the attitude, and I’ll zip the lip, okay?” When he didn’t receive an answer, he slumped further down in the seat. He tried a different approach.

“I appreciate you getting me out tonight, Judge." He chanced another look over at Hardcastle and saw that his features had softened. McCormick smiled to himself. Even if the judge wasn’t talking yet, he knew he’d been forgiven, and that was enough for now. He crossed his arms over his chest, got as comfortable as possible in the corner of the bench seat, and went promptly to sleep.

Hearing the even breathing, Hardcastle glanced over at his passenger, and reflected that sleep took years off the features and gave the young man a slightly innocent look. He sniffed to himself. Hah! Things are not always what they seem, he thought.

Still, he was glad the kid went to sleep. Not only did McCormick need the rest, but Hardcastle recognized that his own patience had been dwindling, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Compared to many of their conversations, the kid’s attitude tonight had been pretty mild.

Actually, the judge thought, he probably did understand the reaction. He had been prepared for McCormick to be angry, resentful, and full of wisecracks and I-told-you-so comments. He hadn’t really expected that he would be accepting, almost grateful, and-for all intents and purposes-pretty much himself. Something about the kid’s behavior spoke volumes about trust, and Hardcastle had not been prepared for that.

He shook the thoughts from his head and drove on through the night, trying not to spend too much time checking on the sleeping ex-convict curled up in his truck.

PART THREE

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