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Chapter One
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Once upon a time, there'd been a brief period where Victor
Mansfield had had been in control of his own destiny.

Not when he was a kid, no. Growing up, he'd been kept firmly
under his father's thumb. His father, a successful business man,
had mapped out his son's life for him from an early age: He would
graduate from high school at the top of his class, go to Queen's
University for a degree in business management, then move into a
vice-presidency in his father's company. Eventually he would
marry the daughter of one or another of his father's business
contracts, raise a couple kids of his own, preserving the
Mansfield name. And eventually he would take over the company
from his father.

Basically, his father wanted a clone, not a son. Too bad for him
his son had different plans.

Sure, he'd graduated from high school, top of his class, right on
schedule, but then he'd dropped the bombshell: He wasn't going to
university or joining the family business, he was going to the
police academy. His father had ranted and raved, then had thrown
him out of the house. Vic had packed his bags, kissed his baby
sister goodbye, then left without a word. He never saw his father
again.

His mother had called on a regular basis at first, trying to
change his mind, but Vic had ignored her pleas and eventually she
had given up. He had thrown himself into his training and had
graduated top of his class. He had hit the streets of Toronto,
doing exactly what he wanted to do with his life: Stopping crooks
who preyed on the weak.

And for a while, life was perfect. He loved his job, he had a
great apartment and he fell hard for Stan, a fellow cop he'd met
at the academy. They'd had to be discreet, of course, but life
was good. For the first time in his life, Vic had been in
control.

But that had only lasted a few years. Then Stan had convinced him
to transfer over to the drug squad with him, and being in love,
Vic had agreed. Only thing was, the squad had been dirty, and
when he had refused to play ball, they had taken him out of the
game.

In a flash, life had spiraled out of control. Faster than he
would have believed possible, Vic had found himself behind bars,
framed for drug trafficking. He had spent the next year dodging
would-be rapists and monsters who wanted to amuse themselves with
the disgraced cop.

And worst of all had been knowing that Stan had done nothing to
stop it, had *helped* them do it to him.

Then one day a woman had come to see him. She had offered him a
way out. He could come work for her, doing the law enforcement
that was part of his soul, but there was a catch. He would never
again be a cop. Despite his attempts at bluster, he'd known he
had little choice.

He had said yes.

Since that day, his life had been out of his control. The Agency
controlled where he lived, what his hobbies were, what he did,
even who he did it with. He knew that the Director had
deliberately arranged things so that LiAnn would dump him.
Perhaps it had been for the best. After all, if it had been that
easy to drive them apart then they hadn't had much of a chance
anyway.

It was about that time that he had started to give up on the idea
of a permanent relationship. It just wasn't going to happen as
long as the Agency controlled his life. But, oh how he wanted
someone. Someone to share his life, someone to be there when he
went to bed, when he woke up. He dreamt of it constantly. And as
time went by, that dream had started, more and more, to wear the
face of his other partner, Mac Ramsey, a man made commitment-shy
by as many bad experiences as Vic.

Then, during a trip to San Francisco, life had changed
irrevocably -- again -- and he had learned a new fact: The Agency
didn't just control his life, it controlled his afterlife as
well.

But he'd also learned that maybe his dreams weren't as impossible
as he'd thought.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic hummed under his breath as he headed through the corridors of
the Agency headquarters in Toronto. It was just after sunset on a
beautiful early-spring evening and as usual, the place was
deserted.

"Someone's cheerful tonight."

Vic grinned as he entered the Director's main briefing room. Mac
was sitting alone at the table, a cocky grin on his face. He
hadn't seen his partner in several weeks and it was good to see a
friendly face.

"Why not? It's a gorgeous night and I don't have to deal with
Moira tonight. In fact, I don't have to deal with her ever again.
Trust me, Mac, if you get a choice, you don't want to be
Gangrel." After San Francisco, they both knew that it was only a
matter of time before the Director arranged Mac's Embrace, just
like she'd *planned* to arrange Vic's. Unfortunately -- or
fortunately, depending on your point of view -- circumstances had
taken care of it before she could.

Mac snorted. Moira was the Gangrel leader for the few members of
the clan in Toronto. The Director had ordered her to train Vic in
his new abilities, using threats to back up the order. To say
that Moira had been upset would be an understatement, but the
Director was *not* going to let one of her agents be Caitiff --
clanless.

The Gangrel clan didn't have enough of a presence in Toronto to
command any power, let alone a seat in the Prince's council. They
were there on the Prince's sufferance, and if they wanted to
stay, they had to follow her orders. Vic had quickly learned that
his sire's -- Cash's -- position in San Francisco was a rare one
for the clan these days since they'd decided to go independent.

However, obeying the Prince didn't mean that Moira couldn't make
his life hell, just as long as she taught him. She had done both
with great skill.

Some of the basic skills had come quickly -- surprising so, Moira
had admitted once, then denied ever having said anything -- such
as seeing in the dark and growing the animal-like talons of the
Kindred. He'd also found it easy to summon animals in the area
and even understand their strange forms of communication,
although he had the best rapport with cats.

But there were a few skills that still eluded him. No matter how
hard he tried, he still couldn't manage to merge with earth like
Moira could. She'd finally given up, saying that the first time
he was stuck outside on a sunny day and weakened he would either
figure it out or die; she didn't really care which. Vic just felt
it was too much like being buried alive.

The other skill he'd had little success with was shape-shifting.
Again, it seemed more a mental block than lack of ability. A part
of him was scared that if he *did* succeed in turning into an
animal, he wouldn't be able to change back.

Moira also hadn't been shy about telling him just how unusual all
this personal training was. Most Gangrel were Embraced, then
abandoned to figure out all of this on their own. They would be
watched and eventually brought into the clan if they didn't
manage to get themselves killed first. She made no secret of the
fact that she thought that all this hand-holding was a disgrace
that would weaken him in the end. She also made it plain that she
considered him Caitiff, even if he *did* know his sire.
Certainly, she wasn't going to acknowledge him as part of the
Toronto clan.

Vic didn't much care.

"So that's it, you've learned everything you need to know?" Mac
asked, breaking his train of thought.

Vic shrugged. "She said she's taught me everything that *can* be
taught and tossed me out last night. Told me to stay the hell
away from her from now on." Vic grinned. That last injunction was
one he had no problem with; he and the older Kindred got along
like, well... cats and dogs. Moira's preferred shape was a wolf,
while Vic's best attempt at shape-shifting had been definitely
feline. And Moira's job -- if you could call it that -- was at
the Toronto Zoo, so it wasn't like they were likely to ever run
into each other. He hoped.

"Indeed. Well then, I suppose you're ready to go back to work."

Both Mac and Vic jumped at the unexpected voice behind them. They
turned and found the Director watching them with an amused
expression on her face. She moved over to her usual seat on the
other side of the long conference table. She dropped the folder
she was carrying in front of her seat with a bang, making them
jump again.

"We have reports that a small farm about an hour north of Toronto
is being used for the manufacture of a new designer drug," she
said, sliding the folder towards them. The first item in it was a
map, followed by the lab's report on the new drug, detailing its
make-up and effects. It sounded pretty nasty from what Vic read.
It provided incredible hallucinations, making it very popular,
but was addictive from the first dose and inevitably fatal.

"The two of you are to go check out the farm. If you see signs
that it *is* being used for that purpose, you will simply report
it. You will *not* act against them. Is that understood, Mr.
Ramsey?" She stared at the younger man pointedly.

"What? I can follow orders," Mac protested. Vic snorted,
remembering all the times when Mac's enthusiasm -- not to mention
impatience -- had led to trouble.

Mac finally sighed and nodded. "Fine. Yes, I understand. Okay?"

"Good. Now get going. And boys?" she called out as they headed
for the door. "Try to be back before dawn."

>>>~~~<<<

Emerging into the cool night air, Vic took a deep, grateful
breath. Indoor air had always seemed stuffy to him, but since his
Embrace he'd found it almost choking in its deadness. Thankfully,
his job allowed him to spend most of his time outdoors.

He started to head for his truck when Mac grabbed his arm and
started to steer him towards his own car. "What's wrong with the
truck?" Vic snapped, suddenly irritated. He *liked* his truck. He
certainly preferred it to the ostentatious thing that Mac
insisted on driving. Besides, if they were going to farm country,
a truck would be better camouflage.

"Nothing," Mac told him soothingly. "However, the truck doesn't
have a trunk modified to let in plenty of air while still
blocking out light. Just in case, you know."

Vic blinked in surprise. It wasn't a response he'd expected. "You
let them modify your beloved car?"

Mac's eyes slid to the side in an 'I'm embarrassed or hiding
something' look. "It was my idea," he mumbled.

Vic stopped in his tracks, completely thrown by the answer. He
and Mac were friends -- Hell, more than friends since San
Francisco -- but still, that was Mac's *car*. A classic...
something; he'd never been big on car types. "Thanks," he said
honestly. Of course, the thing had a tiny little trunk that would
be unbelievably uncomfortably, but like they said, it's the
thought that counts. Still, it was the little things like this
that made him wonder if maybe there was a chance for him and Mac.

They'd slept together, during the trip to San Francisco. It
wasn't exactly planned, or anything. After his Embrace, the
Director had locked the two of them in a room for almost two
days. She'd said that he had to learn control of the Hunger fast,
and she had just the incentive: If he didn't, Mac was the one he
would end up killing. That was unthinkable to Vic, so he'd
controlled the Hunger. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that
he'd *channeled* it. He'd fed off Mac without killing him, but
he'd also practically raped the younger man, even if Mac had
cooperated enthusiastically. Mac may have been willing, but if he
hadn't been, it wouldn't have changed anything.

It had taken Vic a while to deal with that after their return to
Toronto.

Afterwards, Mac had suggested continuing as casual lovers, but
Vic had been reluctant. He still wanted something permanent, and
Mac had admitted that he wasn't really ready for the level of
commitment that Vic was looking for.

However, Mac had pointed out that maybe they *shouldn't* get that
serious right away. He'd suggested taking it one day at a time
until they were both sure. As he said, it didn't have to be
*that* complicated. Vic was wondering if maybe Mac was right,
maybe he *did* ask for too much, too fast. They would see. After
his exposure to the Gangrel of Toronto and their loose, almost
pack-like relationships, suddenly what he had with Mac was
sounding more and more stable all the time.

But in the meantime they had a farm to check out. No longer
protesting, Vic climbed into the passenger's seat and opened the
glove compartment to see what CDs Mac had, hoping he'd find
something worth listening to since there wasn't a chance in hell
they'd be able to agree on a radio station. Inside, mixed in with
the latest in the flash-in-the-pan dance bands, he was surprised
to find a couple of his favorite blues albums.

Mac noticed what he was looking at and shrugged nonchalantly.
"Hey, if we're going to be using my car more often, I figured I
should have *something* you'd listen to. Just as long as I can
listen to my music at least *part* of the time. Besides, they're
not bad," he added, looking embarrassed having to admit liking
something older than a month.

"You've listened to them? Mac Ramsey actually listened to Muddy
Waters? And the world didn't come to a sudden and explosive end?"
Vic shook his head in amused disbelief.

"Hey, watch it or I'll toss them."

"Don't you dare," Vic said, sliding one of the CDs into the car
stereo. Immediately, the sound of an un-amplified guitar filled
the air. Vic sighed happily and leaned back in his seat.
"Thanks," he said.

"No problem. But we listen to *my* music too, right?"

"Right." If Mac was willing to make this gesture, the least he
could do was reciprocate. Yeah, maybe they did have a chance.
After all, compromise made a relationship. "So, what have you
been up to for the last of couple months?" He hadn't seen either
of his partners since their return to Toronto when the Director
had handed him over to Moira and had told him not to come back
until he was finished his training. He'd missed them, especially
Mac.

Mac shrugged, keeping his eye on the road as they headed north on
the 401. "Not much. Lots of surveillance and grunt work, really.
Booooring," he drawled. "I get the feeling that the Director
doesn't trust us with the juicy stuff if we don't have you around
to be the voice of caution." Mac grinned at him.

"And LiAnn? How is she doing?"

Mac sighed. "Well, better, I suppose. She's still a little
twitchy around anyone she knows is Kindred, but she works with
them. The only one she doesn't have a problem with is the
Director."

"Well, we already knew *she* was a blood-sucking creature." They
both laughed, even though they knew there was probably a bug in
the car recording their conversation. "Seriously, though, she
always got along with the Director. Teacher's pet."

"Anyway, being forced to work with Jackie for a couple of weeks
took care of most of the problem. It's kind of hard to be scared
of the Kindred and contemptuous of one of them at the same time."

"And you?"

"Well, Jackie still scares the shit out of me. Some of her come-
ons these days--" Mac shuddered theatrically.

"Please, I don't want to know anything more." Vic could just
imagine. Jackie flirted with everyone, male and female, and her
old style of flirtation was bad enough. He could just imagine
what it was like with someone who knew just what she *really*
was.

He'd met a couple other Malkavian clan members during his
training and had discovered that the Director was right: the clan
was completely loony-tunes. They were also practically psychic.
There was one that had told him...

Well, he wasn't going to go there.

"So where is LiAnn tonight?"

Mac frowned. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen her for more than a
week and the Director won't tell me where she was. She also
wouldn't tell me where you live now, which is why I didn't drop
by to see how you were doing."

Vic felt a tension he hadn't even realized was there relax. "I
wondered about that," he admitted.

"Yeah, well I tried breaking into the Agency records to find the
address, but there was just a note saying 'moved, see the
Director or Dobrinsky for details.' Needless to say, I was *not*
going to do that."

Vic grinned. "I can just imagine what Dobrinsky would say. Then
again, maybe he would have traded the info for a nibble?"

"Nah. It seems I'm not his type."

"What?" Blood was blood, Vic had found, and the blood type didn't
matter.

"Well, I've been learning about the Kindred while you were gone.
*That*, the Director was willing to tell me about. Seems that the
Ventrue tend to be very picky about who they feed from. For
example the Director only feeds from people she's danced with."

Vic snorted. "You've got to be joking," he said in disbelief.

"Weird, huh? Anyway, Dobrinsky only feeds from car mechanics, if
you can believe it. I guess it goes with that car collection of
his."

"Or maybe he just likes the taste of motor oil." That made Mac
laugh.

After that, they fell into an easy silence for the rest of the
drive. Vic was a little surprised at that; he'd expected things
to be a little edgier after everything that had happened, but it
was like they hadn't just spent more than a month apart, let
alone the change to Vic's... situation. Instead, Vic lost himself
in the music, which Mac really *did* seem to be enjoying, until
they pulled to a stop.

Mac pulled out the map and a small flashlight to read it by.
"We're about a mile from the farm," he said. "We should go on
foot from here, so they don't hear us coming."

"Sounds good to me."

Vic got out of the car and drew a deep breath. The air here was
so much clearer than in Toronto, although he could still smell
the taint of pollution. From what he'd been told, there were few
places left in the world that didn't have that taint. Someday
he'd like the chance to see some of those places before they
disappeared too.

But he could also smell the clean, healthy scent of growing
things, along with the spoor of a variety of living creatures.
The air felt... alive.

It was a clear night and the sky was full of stars. The moon,
nearly full, was just above the horizon and rising. To Vic, it
was as clear as day used to be. Even Mac shouldn't have too much
trouble.

"I'll take point," he said. Mac nodded, after making sure that
the car wasn't going to be obvious to anyone driving by. They
both checked their guns -- just because they were only supposed
to case the place didn't mean that they couldn't run into trouble
-- and set off through the trees. The farm they were checking out
was bordered on three sides by forest, no doubt chosen to keep
any neighbors from becoming suspicious. However, it also gave
anyone trying to sneak up on them plenty of cover, which was a
good thing for Vic and Mac.

In the shade of the trees with their new leaves, the available
light decreased dramatically. This wasn't a problem for Vic, but
Mac had to turn on his flashlight in order to move quickly
without breaking an ankle or his neck. Vic could see the light
reflecting off the eyes of watching animals.

They were three-quarters of the way to the farm when Vic stopped
dead in his tracks. He lifted his head and sniffed the air.

"What is it?" Mac asked, clicking off his flashlight and scanning
the surrounding woods, although he probably couldn't see a thing.

Vic waved him silent, listening. There no unusual sounds. Just
the normal night noises of the woods, completely undisturbed by
the intruders. Finally he shook his head. "Nothing. Sorry."

But he could have sworn he'd scented something. Something that
shouldn't have been there. He just wasn't sure what it was.

>>>~~~<<<

They reached the farm, just before midnight. At that hour, a real
farm should have been dark and silent, everyone asleep. Instead,
the house and outbuildings were brightly lit and there were men
moving around. Vic came to a stop at the edge of the woods and
gestured for Mac to move parallel to him.

Already Vic could smell a heavy chemical smell coming from one of
the barns. It was similar to what he'd been exposed to during his
brief stint working the drug squad during raids on drug labs back
in his days as a cop. Then again, it smelt slightly different. He
wasn't sure if it was because they were making a different sort
of drug or if it was due to his enhanced Kindred senses. As a
result, he wanted to investigate a little closer before they
headed back to Toronto.

Vic moved closer to the barn that the odor was coming from. His
nose wrinkled. As he got closer, the stink became more and more
overwhelming. It would be obvious to anyone, even a normal human.
Across the central space, he could see Mac heading towards the
farmhouse.

As he approached the barn, he could hear voices, all male and
joking crudely. They complained about the late hours spent
brewing whatever it was they were brewing and about not getting
paid enough for it. They belched and scratched and generally
behaved like pigs.

Suddenly, a low growl broke his concentration and he cursed
himself for a fool. He'd seen the guard dogs, but they had all
been asleep so he'd forgotten about them. Unfortunately, one of
them had woken and was now prowling in his direction. Any second
now, the beast was going to start barking, waking his fellows and
alerting the men in the barn.

Vic took a deep breath and locked eyes with the beast. He growled
deep in his throat, urging the dog to go back to his bed and to
sleep. He hoped it would work. He didn't really communicate well
with dogs.

He held his breath, concentrating hard. If this didn't work, he
was going to have to kill the beast so that they could get away,
which he didn't really want to do. For one thing, he didn't want
to kill the animal just for doing its job. For another, a dead
guard dog would alert the drug manufacturers that someone was
checking them out.

He was just about to give up and just kill the dog when it
whimpered slightly and turned and headed back the way it had
come. It reached its fellows, turned three times and dropped to
the ground, its eyes already closing. Vic breathed a deep sigh of
relief.

Then he froze. For a moment, there was the same scent he'd smelt
before.

Then it was gone again as the breeze shifted directions. This was
beginning to bug him.

Deciding that they'd seen enough, Vic looked for his partner. His
eyes went wide when he saw the man coming out of the farmhouse.
He was going to have to talk to the man. Trust him to do
something this risky.

They headed away from the buildings, back the way they'd come.
Once they were well out of earshot, even of the dogs, Vic grabbed
Mac's arm. "What the hell were you doing? You could have been
caught!"

"Relax! I checked first to make sure that no one was moving
around. I found an office and some records of materials and
sales." Mac slipped a small camera out of his pocket. "The
Director wanted some evidence, I got it. Don't worry, I put
everything back where I found it. No one is going to notice."

"You better be right," Vic muttered. He wasn't really angry, he
just wished that Mac wasn't quite so reckless. Although he had to
admit that the young man had improved over time. The old Mac
would have just walked up to the barn and asked the men inside
what they were doing. He'd done it before, just because he was
bored with surveillance.

Vic paused a moment to shudder at the memory of the contents of
the van that they'd been watching that time. They'd been told
that the thugs were smuggling guns. Instead, they'd been
smuggling *lungs*.

They were nearly back to the car when Vic stopped. The wind had
changed and the strange scent was back again, stronger this time.
It was almost... floral. Like a perfume?

The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Suddenly he
was sure that they were being watched.

"Vic?" Mac whispered, obviously worried.

Vic slipped his gun from his holster, but no matter how hard he
scanned the surrounding woods, he couldn't see a thing.

Finally, he tapped Mac's arm. "I don't know what's going on, but
I suggest we get the hell out of here."

They only had the chance to take two steps when there was the
sound of a loud explosion behind them. Spinning in shock, they
could see the glow of flames through the trees. It looked like
every building on the farm had gone up.

"Shit! What the hell was that? Do we go back and check it out?"

Vic shook his head. His instincts were to run and run fast, but
he refused to give in to the panic. "No. We head back to Toronto
and report to the Director. She can decide what to do next."

They quickly reached the car and Vic paused before climbing in.
The feeling that they were being watched was still strong. But
whoever or whatever it was, they were good. Other than the scent
and the feeling, he couldn't find a trace.

"Vic?"

Shaking his head, Vic climbed into the car. "Let's get out of
here."

As they drove away, he rolled down the window to let in some
fresh air and for a moment, he could have sworn he heard
laughter.
 

----------------------------------------
Chapter Two
----------------------------------------

By the time they reached the Agency headquarters in Toronto, Mac
was breathing a little easier. The investigation of the farm had
not exactly gone as planned.

First there was Vic's strange behavior. From almost the moment
they'd arrived on-site, the man had been twitchy. Well, twitchier
normal. Mac hadn't noticed anything, but Vic was convinced that
they'd been watched.

At the farm itself, everything had been by the book. They'd
skulked around, seen that whatever the farm was being used for,
it certainly *wasn't* farming. Well, he couldn't be completely
sure, never having spent any time on a real farm, but still, this
one didn't look right.

So, while Vic checked out the barn where the most activity had
been, Mac had broken into the farmhouse.

Actually, breaking in was the wrong term for it. The door had
been unlocked and the papers had been strewn all over the desk in
the small office off the kitchen. In fact, the most difficult
part had been putting the mess back *exactly* the way it had been
after he had photographed everything.

But he needn't have bothered. They'd been on the way back to the
car when Vic had suddenly decided that they were being watched
again. Even Mac had felt like there were eyes drilling into his
back. Finally, Vic had suggested getting the hell out of there,
and Mac was more than willing to go along with that plan.

And then the farm blew up.

>>>~~~<<<

"It... blew up?"

The Director's eyebrows went up in disbelief. Mac fidgeted
uneasily under her stare, but Vic was as cool as a cucumber.

"Yes, it blew up."

She paced for a moment, taping one fingernail against her lip.
"Perhaps the workers made a mistake in the brewing process. Drug
processing isn't exactly a safe occupation."

Vic shook his head. "I doubt it. Their setup might not have been
high-tech, but I saw nothing that looked like it was about to
blow. Besides, I heard a series of explosions, too many to just
be a chain reaction in the equipment. Someone rigged the place to
blow."

Mac blinked. He'd only heard one explosion, but he knew that
Vic's ears were now sharper than his own, so he took the man at
his word.

"And," Vic continued, "we were being watched."

That caught her attention. "By who?"

"I don't know. All I know is that there was someone else out
there."

"And that someone blew up the farm without you noticing?"

Vic shrugged. There was no way of knowing whether or not that was
true or even possible. Again, Mac was trusting his partner on
whether or not anyone had really been there at all. He considered
himself a pretty observant guy, but he hadn't noticed anything to
suggest that they'd been watched.

The Director was looking distinctly peeved now. "So there's
nothing that could lead us to the people behind this operation?
Is that what you're saying?"

"Not exactly," Mac said, raising his hand. For some reason, she
always made him feel like a kid in school. He pulled the mini-
camera from his pocket. "I photographed everything on the desk
inside the house. I didn't exactly have the time to read
anything, but there might be *something* useful."

She took the camera from him. "Very good, Mac. Not exactly what
you were supposed to do, but fortunate." Then she reached out and
pinched his ear. Hard. "Next time, don't take risks when you
aren't supposed to."

Rubbing his throbbing ear, Mac glared back at her. "It wasn't a
risk. I checked to make sure that there was no one around before
I went in."

"Whatever. Give the film to Otto for developing. Then I suggest
the two of you go home. It's been a long night and sunrise isn't
long off. Be back this evening."

Mac headed for the door, glad to have gotten off so lightly, but
Vic paused. "What about LiAnn?"

"What about her?"

Vic rolled his eyes. "Where *is* LiAnn? She is a part of this
team, after all."

The Director sighed theatrically. "LiAnn needed... time. She
decided to go home to visit her family."

Mac stared at her in disbelief. "That isn't funny."

"It isn't intended to be."

"They *sold* her when she was twelve years old. To a brothel! Why
would she want to visit them?"

She shrugged. "She has issues. Many of those issues start with
her family. I suggested that she needed to deal with them and her
feelings about them. She'll be back in a few weeks."

"Assuming that she doesn't get hauled in for murder," Mac
muttered.

Despite her cool exterior, LiAnn had a temper and he knew how she
felt about what her family had done her. The few times she'd
spoken of them, the hurt and anger had bled through, even though
she would be the first to admit that she was better off because
of what they had done. If they hadn't sold her, she would still
be living in a dirt-poor village in China, probably married at
sixteen and old before her time.

Instead, when the Tangs had bought the brothel and Father had
sent all the under-aged girls home, she'd picked his pocket,
which got his attention. He'd taken her in and instead of the
village, she'd had Hong Kong, an education, a new family.

But deep inside was still the little girl who'd been handed over
to the recruiters who scoured the villages of China looking for
fodder for the brothels frequented by foreign businessmen. A
little girl who still wanted to know 'why.' It was the same 'why'
he'd had when his father had turned up out of the blue after
being gone from his life for years.

Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten his answer before the man had
vanished again.

Mac hoped she'd be all right.

>>>~~~<<<

Report delivered, they headed for the parking lot and Mac
fidgeted, wondering how to ask the question he wanted to ask. It
was strange. Before, he wouldn't have hesitated to demand Vic's
address. After all, they were partners. They needed to know how
to get in touch with each other.

But they weren't just partners anymore, and asking might be
considered a come-on, which it wasn't. Well, mostly it wasn't. It
might be considered a hint.

Finally deciding to just go ahead and ask, Mac looked up to find
Vic watching him with an amused expression. "I'm a little tired,"
the man offered. "Would you mind dropping me off at my place and
picking me up again tonight? If it's not *too* much trouble."

"Sure," Mac said, grabbing the excuse. "You'll have to give me
directions, though. Um... you don't think that the Director will
mind, do you?"

"Who cares?"

Mac wasn't so sure about the bravado, but then again, she had to
have expected that he would find out as soon as they started
working together again.

Then Mac laughed and shook his head as he headed for the car, Vic
already there and waiting impatiently. He couldn't believe that
*he* of all people was getting worried about what the Director
wanted. Before San Francisco, he would have just gone ahead and
done it. Being on his own for the last month -- minus both his
partners -- had obviously affected him, and now it was time to
correct that.

"You're right," he said, climbing behind the steering wheel. "Who
cares. Now. How about some directions."

>>>~~~<<<

As he pulled to a stop in front of the building, Mac felt a flash
of uncertainty return. He wondered if inviting himself up would
be pushing it a little too fast, since Vic had said he wanted to
take it slow. But it had been a while, so you couldn't exactly
call it *rushing* things.

And damnit, he wanted the man.

The building was a bit of a surprise, though. It was only a few
kilometers from his own apartment, a ten-minute drive at the
most, and that was only because this area of Toronto had a ton of
one-way streets. The suspicious part of his mind wondered if the
Director had chosen it *because* it would put them close
together. It was a nice idea. It was an older building than his,
but looked to be in good condition. Unlike his, this one even had
balconies. It also bordered on a large park, something he knew
was important to Gangrels, based on what the Director had told
him. He would even bet that Vic's new place overlooked the park.

The Director might be a manipulative bitch, but she did try to
keep her people reasonably happy, if only because they worked
better that way.

"My spot is over there, if you want to come up and see the
apartment," Vic said, matter-of-factly.

Mac grinned. "Sure. Let's see if your sense of decorating style
has improved any." He aimed for the indicated parking spot.

They were silent on the ride up the elevator, old and creaking.
Mac winced a little at the sound of metal on metal, but Vic just
ignored it. After all, he'd had more than a month to get used to
it. Unlike the elevator, the corridor it opened onto was clean,
bright and well-lit. Vic led him to the end of the hallway and
unlocked the several dead-bolts to open the apartment door.

Unlike the exterior of the building, the apartment was pure
modern, obviously recently re-modeled. At the same time, most of
the furniture was familiar from Vic's old apartment. The wall of
bookcases holding books, pictures and stereo, including the old
eight-track player that his partner insisted on keeping, god only
knew why. The sofa, the old dinette set in the corner, the
pictures on the walls.

Even the over-abundance of kitchen equipment that Vic had bought
when he'd taken up cooking as a hobby was there. Mac wasn't sure
why the man had kept those, since he didn't exactly eat any more.

Mac hung up his jacket in the closet and prowled around, checking
every corner, indulging his curiosity. Vic watched him with an
amused expression, but didn't say anything, so Mac took it as an
invitation to continue.

The bedroom, as billed, was an interior room, with no windows to
let in that pesky and potentially fatal sunlight. The bed was the
same one he'd spent more than an hour in one night waiting for
Vic to get home so that he could drag him into a caper with the
Rivers family. Mac smiled to himself at the memory.

The sheets were new, though. He ran an appreciative hand over
them. Silk. He might have wondered if it was part of a seduction
scene if it weren't obvious that they'd already been slept on.
Either the Director had had all his sheets tossed and these left
in their place or Vic was turning into a sensualist in his...
afterlife.

The bathroom was a typical bathroom, with a separate tub and
shower. However, the towels were thick and fluffy, as luxurious
as the sheets on the bed. Bath salts and oils sat on the ledge of
the tub.

"Do you approve?" Vic asked, only slightly sarcastic, as Mac
headed back to the living room. The television was turned on to
CNN -- one of the few channels that wasn't showing infomercials
at four in the morning.

"Very nice. You're even developing some style. The sheets are a
nice touch."

"My old sheets... itched. Moira suggested the silk and she was
right: They do feel better."

"I'll bet," Mac said, grinning.

"You hungry? I've got some stuff in the freezer that I can heat
up, if you like."

Mac blinked in surprise. "Why?"

Vic shrugged. "I still like to cook," he said. "It's relaxing.
Besides, I figured that someone would eat it eventually. Either
you or LiAnn. Or I could always send it to the local food bank."

"Okay. Thanks."

Vic headed into the kitchen and pulled a container seemingly at
random from the freezer. He stuck it in the microwave and started
the machine whirring.

"It'll take a while to defrost," he said apologetically. "I hope
it's okay, though. I've been playing with a few new recipes.
Authentic Chinese, stuff. Nothing raw or that had tentacles when
it was still alive, though."

The man looked embarrassed and Mac understood what he was really
saying. It was sort of like Mac buying some of Vic's favorite
blues albums for the car: Compromise.

"I'm sure it will be fine," he assured his partner. Then he
grinned. "And if it isn't, you can keep practicing. I'll eat it."

Then a thought occurred to him. "What about you? I mean, you
haven't had anything since we headed off to check out the farm."

Vic turned back to the kitchen. "I've got some bagged stuff," he
said.

Mac grabbed his arm. "Hey, if you're going to feed me, the least
I can do is feed you."

"You don't have to..." Vic's voice trailed off, but the hunger in
his eyes was obvious to Mac.

"Please, let me?" Mac turned on the pleading eyes. It was silly
really, but he liked having Vic feed from him. It wasn't *just*
because of the intense sexual feelings it provoked. He just liked
knowing that he could do something this important for someone he
cared about.

The physical rush was just a *very* nice bonus.

Vic wavered a moment, then stepped in close, lifting his hand to
run a gentle finger down Mac's neck, right over the big vein
pulsing there. Mac shuddered and pressed up against Vic. It had
been so long. How could he have gotten so addicted to a feeling
he'd only experienced for a few days?

Vic was licking his neck now. Mac hummed low in his throat in
anticipation. He wrapped his arms around his partner, leaning
against the hard muscled form. Already his knees were going weak
and Vic hadn't even bit him yet.

And then the fangs went in and the rush flooded through him, as
perfect as he remembered. Vic was sucking and Mac felt that
connection flare to life. Cash had told him that drinking a
Kindred's blood formed a bond with that Kindred. He wondered if
the reverse was true.

When Vic finally pulled back, Mac found that they'd moved somehow
while he wasn't noticing. He had a wall against his back and he
was glad for the support. Vic lifted his head to meet his eyes
and Mac found himself drowning in a green ocean.

Not willing to hold back anymore, Mac dived in for a kiss. Vic's
mouth was cool and perfect, lightly flavored with the coppery
taste of Mac's blood. The kiss was also as perfect as he
remembered, with none of the nose-bumping, tooth-scraping
awkwardness that new lovers had.

When they came up for air, Mac was breathing heavily. "Bed?" he
suggested hopefully.

Vic hesitated and Mac worried that maybe he was pressing too
hard. Then he smiled that little-boy smile and Mac grinned back.
Without a word, they headed for the bedroom.

Quickly stripped and pressed back into the mattress, Mac
rediscovered just how sinfully good silk felt against the skin.
He loved silk shirts, but the silk sheets caressed every inch of
him. The cool, sensuous touch was almost enough to distract him
from the feeling of Vic pressing down on top of him.

Yeah, right.

As he ran his hands over Vic's back and sides, Mac could swear
that Vic had lost weight since the last time. Either that or he
was more toned than before, although he hadn't exactly been a
slouch in the hard body department. Whatever the difference was,
he felt great.

And what he was doing felt great too. For the longest time they
were both happy just to touch and kiss and reacquaint themselves
with each other's bodies.

Then Mac remembered that Vic had done one hell of a lot more
exploring than he had last time, so he decided to even things up.
He surged upwards and Vic allowed himself to be flipped over. Mac
loomed above him, just admiring for a moment. Vic's sheets were a
dark emerald green and his pale skin looked delicious against it.

Mac lowered his head and started to nip at Vic's face, enjoying
the little shivers it sent through the man. He nipped his way
down, spending a long time on the man's neck. *That* made the man
go absolutely nuts, groaning and writhing underneath him.

But it still wasn't enough. The man's chest called him;
especially the nipples. They were small and rose-brown in a
nearly hairless chest, and they stood up just begging for
attention. He bent his head to lick one, then waited for the
reaction. Michael had hated having his nipples played with -- it
was something only women should enjoy, he'd said -- and his two
male lovers since then had been more into fuck and suck, skip the
foreplay, please.

But Vic just moaned and arched up into the touch, so Mac went for
it.

It was a revelation. He'd thought that Vic's neck was sensitive,
but playing with his nipples turned him into a madman, completely
inarticulate but definitely appreciative. Mac licked, then sucked
them until they looked swollen, then nipped at them gently. That
got him a scream and nearly bucked off of the bed.

Mac wanted to play a lot more with them, but Vic obviously had
different ideas. He flipped them over again, landing on top of
Mac hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Mac's protest was
muffled by the man's mouth coming down on his, hard and hungry.

Mac parted his legs in open invitation and let Vic land between
them. Vic grinned at him, then reached into the bedside table for
a tube of lubricant. It was half-empty and Mac felt a surge of
jealousy, wondering who Vic had been playing with. Then he
squashed it down. Whoever they were, they were out of the picture
now.

Vic squeezed a generous pool of lube into the palm of his hand,
then tossed the tube aside, not even bothering to recap it. Much
better than LiAnn, who would have complained because he squeezed
the tube from the middle, let alone not putting the cap on. Of
course, with LiAnn, the tube wouldn't have been necessary at all.

The Vic reached between them and all thoughts of LiAnn vanished.
Vic gathered up both their erections in one callused hand and
started stroking. Mac closed his eyes and moaned, his hips
thrusting up into the grasp.

But then the touch was gone, along with the weight pressing down
on him. Mac's eyes flew open as he groaned in protest. Then he
groaned again, for very different reasons.

Vic was poised above him, crouched directly over his cock. While
he watched in disbelief, Vic held Mac's cock steady, centered
himself, then slowly lowered himself onto it.

"Shit!" was all that Mac could think of to say as he was
engulfed. Vic's ass was tight and yielding and ever so slightly
cool. The feeling was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.
Then Vic started moving and he felt like the top of his head was
going to blow off. Sex had *never* been this intense before in
his life.

Only one thing would make it more intense.

Immediately, as if Vic could read his mind, his wrist was seized
and raised to Vic's lips. Wicked green eyes grinned at him as Vic
slowly licked the vein, then bit down, never pausing in his
steady rise and fall, milking Mac's cock.

The rush hit him again and he screamed, arching upwards,
embedding himself as far inside Vic as he could get. It was like
a double orgasm, pumping out of both his cock and his wrist.

And then everything went black.

>>>~~~<<<

A distant ping woke him, some time later. A glance at the glowing
numbers on the clock radio next to the bed told him that he
couldn't have been out for very long. Long enough for someone to
clean him up, at least. He pushed himself up into a sitting
position and groaned. He felt... He felt better than he had in
weeks.

"Awake yet?"

Mac looked over at the doorway. Vic was standing there in a white
bathrobe, holding a tray. He could see the steam rising from the
plate on it.

"Breakfast in bed? For me? Vic, you shouldn't have."

"Yeah, well, it was finished defrosting so it was either heat it
up or throw it out. But if you don't want it..." He turned away.

"Don't even think about it," Mac said, sitting up a little
straighter. His stomach was growling so loudly that not only
could Vic hear it, the people in the next apartment could
probably hear it. He didn't care *how* bad Vic's attempt at real
cooking was, he'd eat it.

Vic grinned and placed the tray in his lap, then sat back and
watched.

It didn't look great, but the aroma was fantastic. It was some
sort of basic stir fry with vegetables and tofu on noodles in an
oyster sauce. Mac picked up the lacquered chopsticks sitting next
to the plate (chopsticks? Vic?) and picked up a piece of carrot
and popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly.

Vic was watching him expectantly, with only a hint of
uncertainty. Mac closed his eyes and considered the taste.

Then he grinned and picked up the plate, his chopsticks moving
fast. Vic's expression was one of satisfaction as Mac stuffed his
face.

"So?"

"Vic, you *have* been practicing," Mac mumbled around a mouthful.
"This is *good*."

"Yeah, well a stir-fry doesn't take a lot of skill." Still, he
sounded pleased.

Mac emptied the plate in short order and gave serious
consideration to licking it clean. He was still hungry, but at
least his stomach wasn't trying to wrap itself around his spine
anymore.

By the time they'd cleaned up, Mac deciding to do his part and
wash the dishes he'd used, the sun was coming up and Vic was
looking a little droopy. Mac herded him through a quick shower,
then put him to bed. He found that a sleepy Vic could be a fun
Vic as he cleaned and dried the man, then tucked him in.

He crawled in next to Vic, deciding to get a little quality
cuddling time in. He hadn't actually slept with anyone since
LiAnn, choosing instead to leave and head to his own apartment
and bed, and even she wasn't much into cuddling. Now that he
could, he was going to take advantage of it.

"You going to be here when I wake up?" Vic mumbled, his eyes
already shut.

"Probably not," Mac answered. "I do need to get out this
afternoon to do some things. But I'll be by at sunset to pick you
up."

"'Kay. Keys with the green tag on the hook next to the door are
yours."

That caught Mac off-guard. "You're giving me a key to your
apartment? You never did before."

"Yeah, well if you need to get a hold of me during the day, I
don't know that a phone ringing would wake me up. You might have
to come in person to do that."

Mac shrugged. "I could always pick the lock."

"I know. You've done it before," was the wry, if sleepy response.
"Easier to just give you the key."

"Faster, too."

"Hmmm..."

Mac glanced down at the man and his smile turned fond. Vic was
out like a light.

He wrapped himself around the sleeping man and shut his eyes,
wanting to get a few hours of sleep too. Amazing how right this
felt, he thought to himself as he drifted off.

Maybe white picket fences weren't as scary a thought as it had
been before.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac woke at about one in the afternoon. Careful not to disturb
Vic, he found his clothes, neatly piled on the sofa in the living
room where he'd put them before they'd gone to bed, got dressed
and closed the apartment door behind him softly. He locked it and
tossed the keys in his hand a couple times before slipping them
into his pocket.

The day was overcast and damp, the wind chilling him. It wasn't
actually raining, but it had earlier and it was certainly going
to again before the day was out. Mac shivered and pulled the
collar of his jacket up. It was a far cry from the pleasant,
almost summer weather of the day before.

He headed for his car, making a mental list of the things he
needed to do before coming back to pick up Vic. He needed to pick
up his dry cleaning, buy some groceries for himself and maybe a
few for Vic's place. Unlocking the car door, he thought he might
even bring over a few clothes to keep there, in case he stayed
over the full day in the future. Worst thing that could happen
was that Vic would say no, and after that morning, he didn't
think *that* was very likely.

Before he could get into the car, he froze. For a moment, it felt
like every hair on his body -- and there was a lot of it -- was
standing on end.

He stood up straight, twisting to search the area. Nothing.

But the feeling didn't go away. He could swear that someone was
watching him. It reminded him of Vic's insistence that someone
had been watching them the night before, out at the farm. Maybe
it was the same someone. Except that meant that the person had
followed them all the way back to town and the Agency, then to
Vic's place, which was ridiculous.

Bit by bit, the watched feeling faded, then finally disappeared.
All Mac saw was a twitch in the curtains at a house across the
street from the apartment building, backing onto the park.

Mac shook his head ruefully. Just a nosy neighbor. He was jumping
at shadows.

But as he drove away, he noticed the curtains move again and felt
a chill. After the last few years, he couldn't help wondering if
maybe there was more to it.
 

----------------------------------------
Chapter Three
----------------------------------------

When Vic woke, he was alone in the large bed. It wasn't very
surprising -- the day was too long to expect Mac to stick around
while he was comatose -- but he was still a little disappointed.
The younger man gave a good cuddle.

But Mac would be back soon to pick him up, so he didn't have time
to lay about in bed. Of course, that thought *did* have some good
points, but it would get them to work late, and that was *not* a
good idea. Even if the Director didn't punish them, she'd never
let them live it down.

So he got up and headed for the shower. He didn't dawdle, washing
thoroughly, but quickly. He brushed his teeth and checked to make
sure that he didn't need to shave yet. One side-effect of being
Kindred was that his hair had slowed down its growth. As a
result, he only needed to shave every week or so. It was a good
thing he didn't have any real desire to grow a thick beard.

Heading back to the bedroom, he took a deep breath and grimaced.
While the thick scent of sex had been intoxicating when he'd gone
to sleep that morning, after a full day it was just... stale.
Wrinkling his nose, he stripped the bed, making plans for a trip
to the laundry room. Fresh sheets from the closet and the bed was
made. Then he pulled on jeans and a short-sleeved shirt.

A baggie of blood from the fridge was 'breakfast', although after
his feeding from Mac the night before left it tasting rather...
flat. There was no life to it, no sense of the person behind it.
He wondered briefly -- yet again -- where the Director got the
supply from. Did the Agency run a blood bank somewhere to keep
the city Kindred supplied? Or were Agency support staff expected
to provide the nourishment for their boss and her select few?

Vic shrugged. Knowing the woman, he probably didn't want to know.

Once he finished, he started strapping on his various guns and
other weapons. After years of working for the Agency, he felt
naked without them. While on the job, he never went anywhere
without at least three guns secreted around his body; something
that saved his life and the lives of his partners on more than
one occasion.

He was pulling his favorite leather jacket on when there was a
knock at the door. He pulled it open and found Mac leaning
against the frame, doing his best to look cool and nonchalant. It
was something he did very endearingly.

The younger man was wearing his favorite look; black pants and
jacket with a white dress shirt open low enough to show some of
his thick pelt of chest hair. He looked thoroughly edible, and if
it weren't for the fact that they were already going to be late,
Vic would have dragged him to the bedroom to do just that. Not to
mention that the man's careful grooming always made him want to
mess him up.

He was also secretly pleased to see that Mac was also wearing the
pendant that he'd bought him in San Francisco, just before
everything had changed for them. It was just a pendant, and not a
very valuable one, but it made him feel... appreciated.

Come to think of it, Mac had been wearing it the night before,
although he'd been more interested in other things about his
partner to notice. Vic felt his cock twitch at the memory, and
reminded himself again that they didn't have time.

"You know," he said conversationally as he moved past Mac,
stopping only long enough to lock the door behind himself, "I
gave you a key to the place for a reason."

"Well, you never know. You might have had company."

The tone was teasing, but Vic could hear the slight hesitance in
Mac's voice and grinned. "You mean you couldn't pose as nicely if
you let yourself in," he said, reassuring Mac in a slightly
oblique way.

"Busted," Mac said, his grin a little easier.

"We better move our butts, though," Vic said, heading for the
stairs, "or the Director is going to have them in slings for
being late."

"Oooooh, kinky! Think she'd take us to the Caligula to do it?"

Vic snorted. "More likely she'd hand us over to Dobrinsky to do
it."

"Ouch. In that case, let's get a move on."

>>>~~~<<<

The Director was waiting for them when they arrived. She frowned,
but didn't seem *too* upset by the fact that they had still ended
up being late. Besides, it was only by twenty minutes or so.

"Glad you could join us," she said without heat, obviously using
the royal we. "The reports are in on the farm explosion."

Vic took his seat and Mac the one next to him. "And?"

"The Agency team finished their examination before the OPP
arrived. Every building had at least four bombs -- seven in the
case of the main house -- all the latest in high-tech and
carefully concealed. The men running the lab wouldn't have
noticed them."

"So what set them off? Timer?" Mac asked.

The Director shook her head. "No. Radio control. Someone, less
that a mile away from the farm set them all off, almost
simultaneously."

Vic hissed under his breath, and by the glance Mac shot him, he
knew that the other man was thinking the same thing.

"Yes, your mysterious watcher, no doubt," the Director said.

"Yeah, but who is she?"

"She?" the Director said, one eyebrow going up. She leaned back
against her desk, arms crossed over her chest. Vic was a little
surprised at his own comment too. His eyes narrowed as he
considered what had made him say that.

"When we were being watched," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "I
smelled something light and slightly floral. A fragrance.
Perfume, maybe."

"And that does imply female, doesn't it. Well, anyway, thanks to
Mac's little info raid *before* the big bang, we've linked the
operation at the farm to one Jonathon Ramirez."

She picked up a control and pointed at the screen set in one
wall. A man's image appeared. He was heavy-set, with thick jowls.
His black hair was almost greasy and very carefully done. His
suit was Armani, and yet he managed to make it look like it had
come off the rack, with no adjustments to make it fit better. He
looked like a drug-lord wannabe. Vic wasn't impressed.

"I wonder who he thinks *he's* impressing," Mac muttered under
his breath, echoing Vic's own thoughts.

"The local drug community," the Director replied, pointing out --
in case he'd forgotten -- that Kindred had sharper hearing than
the average human. "Mr. Ramirez arrived two months ago from
Florida and has been quickly establishing himself as *the*
supplier of illegal drugs in town. Competitors have had
unfortunate accidents and incidents that left them without
product, and in at least two cases, without heads. Literally."

She clicked a control and the image of Ramirez was replaced with
the image of another man. This one was black, dressed in blue
jeans and a jacket that was a motley of colors.

Other than that, it was hard to tell anything about him, since
his head was gone. In fact, from the look of what was left of the
guys neck, his head had been twisted off. Next to him, Mac looked
decidedly green.

Vic looked a little closer. After a moment, he turned to meet the
Director's eyes. "Kindred?"

She nodded. "Or a werewolf, possibly," she said thoughtfully.

"Werewolves?" Mac said, his voice rising to a squeak.

"I doubt it," Vic said, considering the suggestion. "After all,
they rarely go anywhere near cities if they can at all help it,
from what Moira told me."

"True," the Director said. "However, it *has* happened,
especially if they are fighting for territory. And there is
always the occasional pack outcast who becomes a mercenary.
However, I do agree that it is unlikely. Kindred is a far more
likely answer."

"Werewolves?" Mac hissed in Vic's direction when no one responded
to his original squeak.

"I'll explain later," Vic said in an undertone. "So now what?" he
asked, raising his voice again.

"Find Ramirez and shut down his operation. More importantly, find
his pet killer. Whoever it may be, they're risking the
Masquerade." And if it was a Kindred, the penalty for that was
True Death, Vic reminded himself with a shiver.

"Find him? Do we get anything to go on besides a name?" Mac said
sarcastically.

The Director glared at him, then slid a file folder across the
table to them. "If you need any more information, talk to
Nathan." She headed for the door, then stopped and turned around.
"And boys, do try to keep your minds on the job. I would hate to
have to separate you."

"Yes, ma'am," was the subdued response from both men as she
disappeared from view.

Mac turned to Vic as soon as she was gone. "So, what have we
got?"

Vic shuffled through the papers in the folder. "Not a hell of a
lot. One condo in Forest Hill, a dance club--"

"Really? Which one?" He could see Mac perking up.

"Um... De Plata Lobo." Vic knew that 'lobo' meant wolf, but
wasn't sure about the rest.

"The Silver Wolf? I've heard of it, but I've never been in. Latin
stuff is more the Director's thing, from what LiAnn tells me."

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Vic looked up, a little confused.

"The Nicholas Love case. While we were locked up at my place with
Dobrinsky, they went to meet an informant at Salsa Night at the
Lubianka." Mac snorted. "The Director dressed LiAnn up in a men's
suit with a penciled on mustache and took her as her date."

The image made Vic snicker too. Then he frowned. "There's no
Salsa Night and the Lubianka," he said.

Mac shrugged. "There is when the Director *says* there is," he
replied. "Any way, De Plata Lobo is one of those places that
plays Selena and Ricky Martin and other over-hyped Latin types.
Not my style."

"Well," Vic said, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe you should
*make* it your style."

Mac glared at him, then rolled his eyes. "What are you looking
for?"

"Oh, I don't know. This," he said, pointing to the paper in front
of him, "says that the man probably runs most of his business
from the club's upstairs offices. Might be something interesting
in the safe, assuming that you can get into it."

Mac bristled. "Of course I can. I've never met a safe that I
*couldn't* get into."

Vic suppressed a grin. In some ways, his partner was *so* easy.
"We'll see," was all he said, ignoring the insulted look that Mac
gave him.

"Well, if we're going clubbing tonight, we better find something
a little more appropriate to wear," Mac said, getting to his
feet.

"What 'we', kemosabe?"

Mac turned his big eyes on Vic. "You wouldn't make me go alone,
would you? I need someone to watch my back. Someone to--"

"Someone to protect you from the underage and underdressed
teenyboppers?"

Mac grinned. "Something like that. So, are we going or aren't
we?"

Vic rolled his eyes, resigning himself to a night of loud music
and too many people in an enclosed space. "We're going," he said
and let Mac lead the way to the clothing department to find
something that would let them blend in.

>>>~~~<<<

They could already hear the music from a block away, the heavy
beat making windows rattle. Vic was a little surprised that the
neighbors hadn't called to complain about the noise. On the other
hand, there probably weren't many neighbors around, he supposed.
They were right on the edge of one of the industrial areas of
town. From the look of it, the building was a converted warehouse
or factory.

And despite Mac's put-downs, the place was obviously popular.
They'd had to park several blocks away, and considering the area
of town, Mac hadn't objected to taking Vic's truck. Vic just
hoped that it would be in one piece and where they left it when
they were ready to head home.

The bouncer at the door gave them a sharp look before letting
them in. Glancing around the dance floor, Vic quickly understood
why. While the crowd was reasonably ethnically diverse, the
average age was maybe twenty. Even Mac looked a little too old
for the place.

Then he noticed the few that *were* older. Other than the
bartenders -- who looked like they were being more than a little
lax about checking for ids -- there were a scattering of middle-
aged men, mostly around the edge of the room. It only took Vic a
minute to pick them all out, not to mention the bulges of
concealed weapons. At least he and Mac were better at concealing
weapons than these shmucks.

And as quickly as he identified them, he was able to tell that
they weren't Kindred. They might be werewolf, but he'd never met
one, so he didn't know how to recognize one. Still, the name of
the club was... suggestive.

"Vic, you look like a cop," Mac said, just loud enough to be
heard over the din of the music. "We get a drink and dance for a
while until they stop watching us. Got it?"

Vic snorted. "What, doesn't my outfit do the job?" He gestured at
the black leather pants tight enough to be a second skin and the
shirt of shiny emerald green.

Mac's gaze swept down his body and back up. "It does the job for
me," he said, his voice gone husky. Vic rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Drinks?"

By the time they made it through the crowd around the bar, Vic
*needed* a drink. "Whatever's on tap," he shouted to the
bartender, deciding not to play twenty-questions with the man
over what was available. Mac, on the other hand, ordered
something in perfect Spanish that sounded complicated.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish," Vic said as they moved away
from the bar with their drinks.

"I have a *lot* of hidden talents," was the purred reply.
"Seriously, though, Father had business around the world. He made
sure that we were *all* multi-lingual."

"How many languages *do* you speak?" Vic asked, intrigued.

"You'll just have to find out, won't you?"

He could tell that Mac was just itching to continue with the
mildly suggestive conversation, but Vic refused to give in: They
were there to do a job and he didn't want to face the Director
and say that they didn't do it because they were flirting. She'd
been scary enough back when she'd just been his boss. Now that
she was his *Prince*, she was twice as scary.

Some girl who didn't look old enough to be out alone, let alone
this late at night, sidled up to them and asked Mac to dance. The
younger man glanced at him to make sure it was okay before he
took the invitation.

Vic watched them move out onto the crowded dance floor and start
gyrating in the way that was popular these days and felt old. In
his day -- God, did he just think that? -- dancing with someone
implied that you were touching them. These two weren't even
*looking* at each other.

But he was also a touch jealous. No one looked twice at the two
dancing together, but if it were him and Mac, they'd probably
have a crowd ready to kick their asses within a minute. Canada
wasn't a bad place to live when you were in a gay relationship,
but the types here didn't look too forgiving, despite their
youth.

Just as well that no one seemed interested in dancing with *him*,
though, since he definitely wasn't up to those sorts of moves.

But he was drawing a different sort of attention. Some of the
hard men that he'd noticed coming in had moved to bracket him.
They weren't making any hostile moves, but they were making no
secret of the fact that they were watching him. Considering what
their boss did for a living -- not to mention what had happened
to their drug production setup the night before -- it wasn't very
surprising.

But the attention did have its plus side: If they were focused on
*him*, then Mac could sneak upstairs. He hoped.

A glance around the dance floor told him that his partner had
made his move. Mac was nowhere to be seen or sensed. The younger
man favored an unusual cologne, and Vic's Kindred sense of smell
could easily pick it up. The only traces he found were rapidly
fading, indicating that he'd left the room.

Then Vic frowned. There was another fragrance, one both strange
and familiar. It was the same fragrance he'd scented the night
before in the woods outside the farm.

Vic turned to scan the room again, looking for the source of the
fragrance, but it was fading. Like Mac, whoever it was had left
the room. He hoped that it wasn't going to be a problem for the
younger man.

"Can I help you?"

The sarcastically drawled question drew Vic back to what he was
supposed to be doing. He cursed himself for letting himself get
so distracted that one of the hard men was able to sneak up on
him.

He looked the man up and down. "I doubt it," he said with more
than a touch of disdain, a plan starting to occur to him. "I've
got a message for Ramirez."

The man's eyes narrowed. One of his hands twitched, like he was
restraining an urge to go for his gun. "Fine. I'll pass it on."
He waited expectantly.

Vic snorted. "I *don't* deal with underlings," he said, easily
slipping into the sort of underworld persona he'd used often in
his undercover days with vice.

"Well, too bad. Mr. Ramirez doesn't deal with street punks."

Vic smiled coldly and let his Kindred side out, just a little. It
wasn't much; just a flash of silver in the eyes, a hint of
menace. The turkey probably wouldn't even notice consciously.

Sub-consciously, on the other hand, he definitely noticed. He
paled, no doubt realizing that he was in the presence of very
nasty predator.

"Mr. Ramirez isn't here right now," the thug said, beads of sweat
forming on his brow. It was obvious to Vic that the man was
lying, but he didn't press.

"Fine. Give him this number," Vic pulled a pen from his pocket
and in a flash of mischievousness, he wrote his cell phone number
on the back of the guy's hand. It was more like something Mac
would do, although the younger man probably would have written it
on the moron's forehead.

The thug looked at his hand a grimaced. "Fine. Is there a name to
go with the number?" he asked, showing some pretty impressive
self-restraint.

"Mansfield."

"All right. Consider your message delivered. Now, get lost."

Vic smirked a little. "What, can't I enjoy the music?"

"I don't think it's your style."

"Finish my drink?"

The man glared at him. Amused, Vic quickly tossed back the last
of his beer.

"It's been a pleasure," he said sarcastically and headed for the
door. He could meet Mac outside just as easily.

Outside the club, he headed around the corner, then pulled out a
miniaturized headset from his pocket. An ear piece on a wire went
in the ear, and a mini microphone adhered to his throat to pick
up the vibrations of his throat. A last wire ran inside his
jacket to a small battery pack. Altogether, he could wrap his
fist around the entire package and have none of it show.

"Mac," he whispered, hoping his partner had remembered to put on
his *own* headset.

Silence for a moment, then, "Here," at a barely audible level.

"I've been ejected. I'll meet you at the truck."

"'Kay. Give me a half-hour, max."

"Got it."

Instead of heading straight back to the truck, Vic decided to do
a bit of scouting first.

Now that he thought about it, his off-the-cuff plan was looking
better and better all the time. If he presented himself as a
rival supplier, got on Ramirez's bad side, then they wouldn't
have to go looking for the man's pet killer, as the Director had
put it; he or she would be looking for Vic. They would be able to
set a trap.

Of course there were always risks to that sort of plan. Maybe
Ramirez wouldn't fall for it -- although based on his files, Vic
would bet that he would. Maybe his killer *would* turn out to be
Kindred and would either sense the trap or be too old and too
strong for him to fight back against. Still, it was the fastest
way they had to meet the Director's orders.

By this point in his musings, he was in the back alley, behind
the club. The light was low, allowing him to keep to the shadows.
With night-vision, he could easily see the thug keeping watch
outside the back entrance. Ramirez might not be the brightest
criminal Vic had ever gone up against, but he wasn't completely
stupid.

There was a bright flare as the man lit a cigarette. Vic wrinkled
his nose at the acrid scent of tobacco. Okay, maybe the guy
*wasn't* a guard, just a moron on a smoke break. Then he paused.
Once more, that perfume. He scanned the alley, but whoever it
was, she wasn't to be seen or felt.

This was getting damned frustrating, he thought, growling softly
to himself. He didn't know who this person was, or what her
interest in Ramirez was, but she better not get in their way.

With that thought, he headed back the way he came to wait for Mac
at the truck.
 

Go to Part Two