She was jarred alert by a noise.

Was she dreaming? No, it came again. It was a knock, a heavy, labored pounding on the front door. She gently shook Craig.

"I think someone's at the door," she told him.

Craig looked up nervously. He immediately got up and glanced around for his clothes.

"Were you expecting someone tonight?" Taylor asked, sitting up on the bed to hurriedly redress.

"Lord, no," Craig said, finding his shirt and quickly shrugging into it. "I can't imagine who it might be. Why don't you do me a favor, luv, and go in the kitchen and look for a bite in the 'fridge for us while I see who it is."

The slow, heavy knock came again.

"Go on," Craig urged, his voice beginning to tense. He practically pushed Taylor toward the kitchen. "I'll only be a minute."

Taylor picked up the wine glasses and walked into the kitchen. Craig closed the swinging door behind her, then went to the door. Then she heard him ask, "Who is it?"

She recognized the weak response as that belonging to Steve Mitchell, the band's lead singer.

"Yea, wait a minute," Craig called back to him.

Hearing the familiar voice, Taylor walked back into the room as Craig opened the door.

"Craig!" Taylor cried as Steve fell into Craig's arms from the open doorway.

Someone had worked on Steve with scientific precision. He had taken the worst beating that Taylor had ever seen. He was conscious but weak, moaning incoherently while Craig helped him to the bed. His hair was wildly unkempt, his face bruised and battered. His arm clutched his tousled shirt, presumably to protect a cracked rib or two. Blood slowly coagulated on the scrapes near his swollen mouth and cheeks, where fists had assaulted him. One eye was completely black and blue, and the other was on its way to the same condition.

They helped Steve to the bed, where he collapsed onto the sheets.

"Go get somethin' to clean him up with," Craig commanded, glancing back at her. "Hurry!"

Taylor immediately ran to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth while Craig stayed with Steve. Frightened, she listened to their conversation.

"Steve, you all right, mate?" she heard him ask.

Steve moaned softly. "God, me head kills worse than someone hittin' me with a fuckin' cricket bat."

"What happened?" Craig demanded angrily. "Who did this?"

"They did," Steve responded softly. "I met the frog tonight. He had a load of stuff. We got blitzed, and then we went to see the Bongiorno in a bar near the East End. He was real angry. He said he-" His words were broken by a painful cough.

"Easy, easy," Craig said softly. "Go on. What happened?"

Steve took a labored breath to gather his strength. "He said he was goin' to show us what happens to the ones who-who give him a hard time. He said we had to do as he told us from now on with no arguin', or next time-next time he won't be so easy on us. This is goin' easy, by the way."

Craig's fist slamming against the wall in front of him rattled the glass in the bay window and made Taylor jump in the bathroom like a startled cat.

"Montagne must have told him what I said yesterday," he said. "That bastard!"

"Yea," Steve moaned. "He let me go at first and I thought I was safe. Then I left the pub, and there were three heavies waitin' for me. I didn't see them at first 'coz there were a few other people around. But a couple of blocks later, everythin' got quiet and when I looked back and saw them, I knew. I started to run but they caught up with me. Then they just came at me. Before I knew what was goin' on, they were draggin' me into an alley and beatin' the livin' daylights out of me. I was so sloshed, I couldn't fight them. Next thing I remember was bein' thrown out of a car onto the street in front of your place- " He winced with pain.

Taylor had heard enough. She quickly returned to Craig's side. When Craig wiped the blood from Steve's face, he twisted with pain, but Craig held his head in place. Finally he started to relax a little while Craig fixed the cuts and bruises.

Steve slowly opened his eyes. Through a glassy, drugged gaze, he surveyed her with interest. "Who are-oh, I remember you now," he said weakly. "Yea, the American- "

"Shhh, don't talk," Taylor directed him. "Lie still and rest."

"Not the best introduction, is it?" he chided softly. "I'll be fine, but maybe you can find me a jigger of whiskey, darlin'."

His eyes turned to Craig. "I wouldn't have come up here if I'd known she- "

"Don't talk, Steve," Taylor repeated firmly, then stood up. "Craig, we must call the police!"

"No!" Craig jumped up. "No police. We'll take care of the situation ourselves. Don't worry about him, Taylor."

"Then we'll call a doctor. He could be seriously hurt." She reached for the phone.

Craig forcibly grabbed her arm with an iron-like grip. He took the receiver from her hand and put it back firmly in its cradle. He swung her around abruptly to face him.

"I said no, Taylor." His voice suddenly turned hard, as she had never heard before. His eyes, previously warm and inviting, were now clouded with an icy chill as they drilled fiercely into her. She stared back at him for a long moment, the force of his mood taking her completely by surprise.

"Craig, what is wrong with you?" she asked incredulously. "You're jeopardizing your own friend's life if you don't get him to a doctor!"

"And you, miss, are involvin' yourself in somethin' that is none of your affair," he responded coldly.

His insulting, hostile attitude triggered her anger in response. Breaking loose from his grip, she confronted him furiously.

"Let go of me," she said hotly. "I'm not some kind of doll you can just toss around, you know. I'm trying to help you, for God's sake!"

"And I told you we don't want your help," Craig said quietly, his eyes narrowing menacingly.

Without waiting for a response, he reached for the telephone and called for a cab. Then he turned back to Taylor.

"You'll have to take a taxi home tonight," he informed her stiffly. "I would take you, but I can't leave him here alone."

Taylor was so furious she could hardly speak. She felt like a common street girl, dismissed for the night. She shot him an icy glare as she gathered her things to await the cab downstairs.

Craig reached for his blazer. "Hold on a minute, and I'll walk you down," he said, his voice softening. "No offense about what's happened, I hope."

"Offense taken," Taylor retorted sharply. "Stay here with your friend and your dark little secret."

She stalked toward the door and glanced back one more time before slamming it shut.

She saw a mixture of regret and anger in Craig's eyes. But then she thought she glimpsed something else. A glimmer of relief.

Or was it fear?

Copyright © 2005 Diane Gilmore. All rights reserved