----------------------------------------
Chapter Four
----------------------------------------

Vic was proud of himself. He actually managed to restrain himself
through the trip back to The Garden House. He even managed to wait
until he and Mac were back in their room before opening his mouth.
He didn't trust himself to say anything before that.

"What the *hell* do you think you're doing?!" were the first words
out of his mouth, confirming his instinct to wait until they were
alone.

Mac shot him a wide-eyed parody of an innocent look. "Taking a
shower and then going to bed?" he suggested, tugging at his shirt
buttons.

Vic growled. He was not in the mood to play word games with the
younger man. "I mean," he said, deceptively quiet, "making a *date*
to go *out* with a *stranger*."

Mac grinned. "Aw, is Viccie jealous? I promise, Vic," he added,
patting Vic on the shoulder. "You and I will have a night out
together too. I'm sure that the Director won't object. And now I'll
know the best places for us to go."

Vic rolled his eyes. "That isn't the point! The point is, you don't
know this guy. He could be planning to... to..."

"Show me a good time?" Mac finished for him, waggling his eyebrows
suggestively.

"You know, Mac. He might be expecting a little more than just a
night of clubbing."

"I certainly hope so," Mac said in a low purr. Vic's eyes snapped
wide open.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, Cash made it clear that he was... interested. I certainly
hope *I* did. What?"

Vic swallowed, his mouth gone suddenly dry. "You're straight," was
all he could think to say. Mac laughed.

"I don't discriminate. Okay, I haven't done *many* men. Three if you
really want to get picky. But it's not like I'm a complete babe in
the woods." He grinned. "Although I most definitely *am* a babe," he
said, preening a little.

"Who?" Somehow, the only thing that had stuck was the comment about
'three men.'

Mac blinked. "Well, Michael of course. Before he dumped me to go
after LiAnn. Joke was on him, though. I got there first." Vic glared
at him. "Don't look at me like that. I *did* love her. I just didn't
have a reason to pursue her while I was involved with Michael. When
I did go after her, it was partly because I was in love with her and
partly revenge, keeping her away from Michael."

"And the other two?" Vic asked, choosing to drop the no-doubt still
painful subject of Michael Tang.

Mac shrugged. "You wouldn't know them. I met Jack at a dance club a
couple months before the big boom. We got together a few times.
Nothing serious. Haven't seen him since I got back on my feet. Both
of us were horny, but we weren't really looking for anything like
commitment at the time. That's the nice thing about men. They don't
ask nosy questions about what you do for a living and they don't
consider sleeping with you to be proof of a *relationship*.

"And Mark... Well, you might have seen Mark. He slipped his card in
my back pocket when we were leaving the Caligula."

It was a good thing that Vic wasn't drinking then, otherwise he
would have sprayed the room. "What?! You... with someone from that
kinky sex club?" he almost shouted. The Caligula was a sex club
they'd gone to with the Director while investigating a case, since
they needed a woman to get in and LiAnn was taking the moral high
ground and refusing to go near the place. The Director, of course,
had turned out to be a founding member of the club.

"What can I say? I was curious. I got home and there was a business
card in my pocket, so I called him."

"But..."

Mac's eyes glazed over. "Man, did he know how to use a whip."

Vic choked. The image of Mac, bound, gagged and blindfolded with a
shadowy figure standing behind him flashed through his mind, both
arousing and repulsive at the same time. Mac laughed.
 

"You should *see* your face! Relax, Vic. I am *not* into pain. Mark
was into pretty vanilla stuff. He prefers to get the kinky stuff
from women. The Director, on the other hand, he would have had tie
him up and do a tap-dance on his back in spike heels while wearing
that outfit with the leather bustier."

Vic winced at the mental image. "Sounds like just your kind of guy
then," he said. "So what *did* you do with him?" he asked, his
curiosity getting the better of him.

"Vic, please," Mac said in an exaggerated patient tone. "I don't
kiss and tell."

"Aren't you doing just that right now?"

"Well, you don't count. You're my partner, so I can tell you. But I
draw the line at the intimate details."

Vic stared at Mac for a moment. That comment seem to imply a lot
of... trust. That surprised him.. "This is all nice and fine," he
finally said, "but that doesn't mean that *this* guy is safe."

"I'm a big boy, Vic," Mac said gently. "I can take care of myself.

"Now. If we're playing true confessions, how about you? Any walks on
the wild side of the street in your past?"

Vic glared at Mac, but had the sinking feeling that his face was
turning bright red. The crow of triumph from his partner told him he
was right.

"You have! C'mon, Vic, I told you all. Who is lurking in *your*
closet."

"Stan," Vic said, hoping that Mac would be satisfied with one name,
but not really expecting him to be.

"Your cop partner? I suppose that's not a big surprise. I had
Michael and you had him. Anyone else? Any prison stories to tell,"
he asked with a leer.

Vic shuddered. "No thanks. It took a few fights to convince some of
them to keep their hands to themselves, though. But there was one
guy... He was circling in. That's the main reason why I took the
Director's offer. What about you? Hong Kong prison and all?"

Mac waved it off. "They were hoping to get me to testify against the
Tangs, so they needed to keep me alive. My life expectancy in the
general population would have been measured in seconds. They kept me
in solitary the entire eighteen months. So. Anybody more recent?"

Vic sighed. He should have known that Mac wouldn't be satisfied.
"Moorcock," he finally said, looking anywhere but at his partner.

Mac was silent for a moment. "Moorcock? You mean the Shakespeare-
spouting Irish terrorist slash thief? That's a joke, right?"

Vic was sure his face was completely crimson by that point. "I ran
into him that evening. He was flying out in the morning. We drank a
bit, we ended up at his hotel. I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

"Moorcock," Mac repeated, his voice full of amazed disbelief. "And
you think *I'm* nuts for agreeing to go out with Cash."

"Well, we knew that Moorcock had never *hurt* anyone," Vic said
defensively.

"Still, you don't seem like the type for a one-night stand."

"I'm not. I just..." Vic stopped. He wasn't going to admit anything
more. He'd just end up regretting it.

"Still fighting the adrenaline rush from nearly getting blown up?"
Mac suggested. "What about your neck? We were both in neck braces."

Vic grinned at the memory. "There are ways to get around that," was
all he said.

"I'll bet. Listen, it's late. Let's get some sleep. If you *really*
want to continue this discussion, it can wait until tomorrow. Later
today. Whatever. Just remember, it's my turn to pick the sightseeing
activities."

Vic blinked. "You still want to do that?" he asked, a little
surprised. He would have thought that Mac would want to sleep until
noon, then laze around until his... date.

"Of course!" Mac said indignantly. "You're my partner. And while you
sometimes have to be dragged out of your shell, you can be a lot of
fun to hang around with. So unless *you've* changed your mind, I
suggest you get some sleep. You're going to need it. Now, if you'll
excuse me, I want a hot shower to wash the smell of cigarette smoke
off of me."

Vic watched as Mac unselfconsciously stripped and headed for the
bathroom. Sometimes he envied how comfortable the younger man was
with his body. Vic knew he was attractive, but he didn't like
showing off his own body. It made him nervous. It made him feel like
everyone was staring at him.

He started undressing for bed, deciding again to put the shower off
until morning. As soon as Mac freed the bathroom, he'd brush his
teeth and leave it at that.

Blinking, Vic found that he'd been staring at the shoe he held in
his hands for a couple minutes now. He could hear the sound of the
shower, and Mac crooning something off-key to himself. He was still
trying to wrap his mind around this new facet of his partner. Now
that he thought about it, he shouldn't have been surprised that Mac
was bi. His tastes were pretty eclectic, so why not the occasional
man?

Vic sighed. No, that wasn't what was bothering him. What *was*
bothering him was this Cash person. He was worried that Mac was
going to get himself into trouble when *he* wasn't around to get him
out.

And, truth be told, he was jealous. Mac was young and attractive and
everything a person could want. Just as long as that person wasn't
looking for commitment, since that obviously was not in Mac's plans
for the time being. It was a pity. If Mac were a little more serious
about these things, Vic might be willing to try... well, something.

On the other hand, if Mac were more serious about *anything*, he
wouldn't be Mac.

Vic groaned, and flopped back onto the bed, his eyes already
shutting. A few minutes later, he was asleep. He didn't notice when
the shower turned off and Mac came out of the bathroom. He didn't
notice his partner's snort of amusement. And he didn't notice when
surprisingly gentle hands carefully tugged off the last of his
clothes and tucked him under the covers like a child.

>>>~~~<<<

Sunlight was streaming through the windows when Vic opened his eyes
again. He whimpered a little at the brightness and rolled away from
the windows.

"C'mon, Vic. Up and at 'em!"

This time Mac was up before him it seemed, and far too cheerful for
the early hour. Vic snarled and tossed a pillow in the man's
direction. He didn't bother to check, but it probably fell well
short of its intended target.

"Now, now. Is that any way to treat the man who has brought you
coffee?"

That got Vic's attention. His nostrils twitched as he confirmed the
aroma of that life-giving fluid, as well as other enticing scents.
He pushed up into a seated position and slowly opened his eyes.

This time, it was a little easier. His eyes adjust to the light and
he found himself staring blearily at his partner, who was holding a
tray.

"*Very* good," Mac said encouragingly. "Now, scoot over. I brought
breakfast too."

Vic scooted and Mac sat next to him on the bed. For the first time,
Vic noticed that while the other man was fully dressed -- a good
thing if he'd gone downstairs to collect breakfast -- he was himself
completely nude. Frowning, he realized that he couldn't remember
getting undressed the night before. Besides, unless it was *really*
hot, he didn't sleep in the nude either.

"You were dead to the world when I came out of the bathroom, so I
got you a little more comfortable," Mac said, picking up on the
question in Vic's gaze. He folded out the tray's legs and put it
down, straddling his left leg and Vic's right leg.

"I don't sleep naked," Vic pointed out.

"You should try it once in a while. Besides, it's easy to get an
unconscious man out of his clothes. *Into* clothes is a different
matter."

Vic groaned and picked up his fork. Pancakes and sausage links with
maple syrup: The Breakfast of Champions. Sometimes it amazed him how
well Mac knew him. He didn't try to identify Mac's breakfast.

"You could have at least left my shorts on," he said around a
delicious mouthful. The pancakes were buttermilk, and they almost
melted in his mouth. And they were blueberry too!

Mac shrugged. "I didn't think of that," he said. Somehow, Vic didn't
believe him, but he let the subject drop.

"So you get to choose the itinerary today," Vic said, mopping up the
last of the syrup with his last bit of pancake. "What's your
pleasure?"

Mac grinned at him for a long moment, and Vic waited. Finally, Mac
took pity on him. "Well, I want to hit a couple museums. Then lunch
and an afternoon of *shopping*!" He sounded as pleased at the idea
as a woman.

Vic sighed. Well, Mac had done what he wanted the day before. He
could survive a day of looking at paintings and clothes.

He hoped.

>>>~~~<<<

He should have known better. He'd been expecting some hoity-toity
art museum like the ones LiAnn had dragged him to back when they'd
first got together. Instead, their first stop was to the Blackhawk
Automotive Museum. Classic cars and paintings that included classic
cars. Vic could have spent the entire day admiring the historic cars
that covered a hundred years of automotive history.

Finally, though, Mac dragged him away and into a cab. Vic could tell
from the smirk on the other man's face that he was pleased with the
Vic's reactions so far.

The cab dropped them off at the Fisherman's Warf, an inevitable
destination for all visitors to San Francisco. They wandered around,
checking out all the little souvenir shops until rumbling stomachs
forced a stop for lunch.

Being on the Warf meant that there was only one real choice:
Seafood! Remembering the recent problems over salmon fishing in BC,
Vic passed that over. However, the Alaskan King Crab looked too good
to pass up, and he happily tore shells apart and dipped the
delicious meat in melted butter before savoring every bite. After
licking his fingers clean, he decided to really treat himself and go
for the cheesecake. Normally, he ate healthier, but since this trip
to San Francisco was supposed to the a treat, he didn't restrain
himself. However, once they got home, he would have to hit the gym
to trim off some of the extra pounds he was putting on with all the
rich food.

Mac, on the other hand, went for an appetizer of raw oysters (the
sight of which almost destroyed Vic's appetite), followed by
mahi-mahi in a creamy sauce with a mixture of vegetables on the
side. For desert he had a fruit and ice cream concoction that almost
made Vic regret his own choice.

But only almost. The cheesecake was fantastic.

They lingered over coffee, chatting about everything and nothing.
Vic wasn't going to bring up their conversation from the night
before, and thankfully, Mac didn't seem inclined to press either.

Finally, they paid the bill and headed out again. Vic was expecting
the shopping to start immediately, probably involving fancy clothes
shops downtown. Instead, Mac dragged him to...

"The Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum?" Vic asked in disbelief,
looking up at the building.

"Of course! C'mon, I want to see as much as possible. I still want
to do some shopping before we have to go back to the hotel."

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Vic followed Mac in. It
was times like this that he remembered just how young his partner
was. And right now, he was acting even ten years younger than *that*.

Hell, *he* was feeling young again. They wandered through the museum
looking at the strange, the odd and the downright *bizarre*. Things
that made them say 'neat!' Things that made them say 'what?' And
things that made them go 'ewwwww!' Time flew, 'cause they were
definitely having fun.

When they left the museum, carrying bags of souvenirs, Vic decided
that maybe he should forget about trying to anticipate his partner,
and the shopping confirmed that. Sure, they ended up buying clothes,
but not the kind he had expected.

"Vic, this is so *you*!" Mac told him, holding up the most garish
Hawaiian shirt that Vic had ever seen. It was an eye-shattering mix
of purple and orange and blue, and Vic shook his head.

"Not a hope in hell," he said. Mac pouted, but put it back on the
rack. He went rummaging through the selection while Vic looked at
objects claiming to be genuine South Seas native carvings but had
probably been mass-produced in Poughkeepsie. He was snickering at
one improbably-proportioned fertility figure that had both breasts
and an over-sized erection when Mac whistled softly.

"Vic, try this one on," he said, holding up a shirt.

Vic looked at it. It wasn't his usual style, but it was definitely
the only shirt in the shop that he would be willing to be seen in.
It was all in soft shades of blue, swirling together like water in
motion. The colors blended well together and it looked like it was
made from silk.

Vic let Mac hustle him into one of the curtained change rooms, and
he obediently pulled off his Henley and put on the short-sleeved
shit. Then he stepped out of the booth and turned in a circle. When
he had made a complete three-sixty, he waited for Mac's verdict.

"Perfect," the younger man said with a bright smile. "Absolutely
perfect."

Vic looked at himself in the mirror and had to agree. He didn't
usually wear blue, but this shirt went nicely with his coloring, and
it made his eyes looking even greener than they usually did. Vic
fingered the soft fabric and decided to buy the shirt.

Mac had other ideas, though. As soon as Vic had changed back to his
own clothes, he snatched the shirt out of Vic's hands. "My treat,"
he said, refusing to let Vic pull out his wallet.

He marched over to the counter and put down the shirt, then pointed
to the jewelry case. The woman smiled, and pulled out an earring
without having to ask first. The earring was fine silver with a
small blue stone dangling from it. Vic blinked.

"Hey, it goes great with the shirt," Mac said defensively.

Vic opened his mouth, then shut it again. Arguing was obviously
*not* going to work. Mac was already handing over the money, and
despite the quality of the items, they weren't outrageously priced.

Still, he resolved to make sure he bought something equally nice for
Mac. Maybe he could get up before Mac the next morning to do some
quick shopping alone. He brightened up at the thought of surprising
the younger man with a present.

They made a few more stops before heading back to The Garden House.
A jewelry store where Mac picked up a gold necklace for LiAnn, an
antique shop where he found an ornate dagger that he said was for
the Cleaners. He even stopped at a leather shop to find something
for the Director, although the shops wares made them both squirm and
blush. The appraising looks they got from the other patrons
especially made Vic uncomfortable.

By that point Vic had figured out that his partner loved to buy
gifts for other people and he resolved again to find the perfect
present for Mac before they headed back to Toronto.

In the end they barely made it back to the hotel in time to shower,
shave and change for the evening. Vic dressed basically the same as
the night before, since he wasn't going to be doing much except sit
around and wait for the Director. This time, he wisely decided to
stuff one of the books he'd picked up the day before in his jacket
pocket to hold off the mind-numbing boredom, since he wouldn't have
Mac to talk to.

Mac, on the other hand, took twice as long as he normally did. He
was wearing a pair of brown leather pants -- his own, not from the
Director -- and a cream-colored turtleneck, with a matching jacket.
He stopped in front of Vic and did a slow turn.

"So," he said when he was done. "How do I look?"

Vic made a show of considering the question and the outfit. "Okay,"
he finally said. Truth was, Mac looked good enough to eat. Cash
wasn't going to be able to keep his hands off of Mac, and that still
worried Vic. While he did know that Mac could take care of himself
-- as the younger man kept reminding him -- he still wasn't sure
that he trusted this Cash character. There was something about the
man that seemed... dangerous. Vic wasn't sure what it was, but it
bothered him.

"Okay? Okay!?" Mac said indignantly. "I think I look pretty damn
hot! Watch out San Francisco, Mac is on his way!"

Vic snorted. "Just watch your back for the Zane fan club," he said,
reaching out to press a finger against the vivid bruise on Mac's jaw.

Mac winced and nodded. "Point taken. Don't worry, Daddy. I'll be
careful."

"Don't call me that," Vic said, shuddering. Except for genuine
fathers, the only people that term applied to, as far as he was
concerned, were middle-aged men looking for a young lover to
convince the world that they still had it: a description that
*didn't* match him. He hoped.

"Well then, let's get this show on the road."

At that moment, the cell-phone in Vic's pocket rang. He fished it
out and brought it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Are you boys planning on joining us anytime soon?" the Director
drawled. Vic jumped.

"We're on our way down," he promised her, then closed the phone and
dropped the tiny tech toy back in his pocket with the book. "We
better get going," he told his partner.

"Great! 'Cause I am ready to *party*."

Vic shook his head in exasperation and followed Mac out the door.

>>>~~~<<<

The same limo and same driver were waiting for them downstairs, and
they were quickly delivered to the Haven. Cash was waiting out
front, next to an illegally parked motorcycle. Vic had to bite his
tongue to keep from saying anything.

Once a cop, always a cop, he told himself, only slightly bitter
after all these years.

"Got your cell-phone?" he asked Mac quietly as they got out of the
car.

"Yes," Mac said with a sigh.

"If you run into any trouble..."

Mac waved him off. "If I run into any trouble that I can't handle on
my own, I will call you. I promise." He waved them off, then headed
to where Cash was waiting. The Director called out.

"Home by dawn, Mac."

"Aren't I a little old for a curfew?" he asked.

"No."

The blunt answer threw Mac off, but he rolled his eyes and nodded.
Then he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle -- taking the helmet
Cash offered him, Vic was pleased to note -- and they roared off
into the night.

"Relax, Victor," the Director said, tugging at his arm. "He'll be
perfectly fine with Cash."

"You know him?"

"Not personally," she said. "But his boss and I go... way back. And
I know *of* Cash. Trust me, he won't hurt Mac, and if anyone else
tries, Mac will be well protected."

"If you say so," Vic said reluctantly, letting himself be led into
the waiting club.

"I do."

Vic sighed again. Fine. If she trusted Cash, then he would try.
While his boss still made him nervous, he couldn't deny that she was
very protective of her people.

Still, it was going to be a long night.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Five
----------------------------------------

Mac whooped and hugged Cash a little tighter. It had been a while
since he'd been on a motorcycle and he'd forgotten how much fun it
could be. It would have been better without the helmet, with the
wind whipping through his hair, but he knew better than to try it.
Back at the Haven, safety-conscious Vic would have pulled him off
the bike in a second if he thought Mac was heading off without a
helmet. He knew the man.

And more importantly, riding through San Francisco without a helmet
would risk getting them pulled over by the police. That would *not*
make the Director happy. She'd told him to keep out of trouble and
he planned to try. Not just because he was nervous about what she
might do if he managed to get himself arrested. Truthfully, she
probably wouldn't do much to him. She might talk the talk, but when
it came down to it, she went pretty easy on them, even on those rare
occasions where they managed to royally fuck up.

No, he was more interested on staying on her *good* side. You get
perks that way. And right now he was thinking of a perk labeled
'motorcycle.' Mac was sure that with a little thought he could come
up with an excuse that would fly -- or that she might simply accept
because she was in a good mood.

Cash glanced back over his shoulder at Mac, flashing a crooked grin
at him. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, no sarcasm in his voice, just
honest amusement.

"Damn right I am," Mac replied, angling his head so that he could
rest his chin of Cash's shoulder and slipped one of his hands lower
until it brushed against the man's belt. Taking a deep breath, he
took in the scent of the car exhaust around them, the rain
sprinkling down on them and the leather of the jacket Cash was
wearing. The combination was acting on him like a powerful
aphrodisiac.

Mac had barely been able to keep from drooling when he'd seen Cash
at the Haven. The shorter man would be gorgeous in sackcloth, but
wrapped in tight black denim pants, a dark green turtleneck and a
black leather jacket he looked positively edible. Mac had been
tempted to just wrap himself around the man and go for some tonsils,
but had managed to restrain himself. Anticipation would make it all
the sweeter when the time came.

But it might have been worth it just to see Vic and LiAnn's
expressions, Mac thought with a grin.

And Vic! Mister Straight-and-Narrow was turning out to have some
unexpected depths. It was one of the things that Mac liked about the
man. LiAnn, he knew everything worth knowing about. The fact that
they'd spent half their lives together meant that there was little
that they *didn't* know about each other. Vic, on the other hand,
was still something of a mystery, even after two years working
together. He liked the blues, he was an ex-cop and he had a younger
sister. However Mac still hadn't found out the reason what his
partner's beef was with his parents, other than it had been bad
enough that Vic had left home before he'd even finished high school,
preferring to make a go of it on his own. There was still so much to
learn about the man.

Certainly Mac *never* would have guessed that the man swung both
ways. He'd covered it well, he thought, but the revelation had
floored him. And the idea of Vic and *Moorcock* had been even more
shocking. And the most shocking of all had been his own reaction to
the news. For one brief moment, his vision had gone white with
anger. The idea of Moorcock touching Vic made him... jealous?

Mac gave himself a mental shake. He was *not* jealous. There was
nothing to be jealous of. Sure, he'd been teasing Vic off and on
over the last year -- although he'd never guessed that Vic might
clue in on it -- but it didn't mean he had any claim on the man, and
Vic certainly had no claim on him. They were just partners and
hopefully friends. That was all. He'd learned his lesson: Sleeping
with your partner was a bad thing. He'd been burnt once by Michael
and once by LiAnn. He wasn't going to risk it a third time. No
matter how fun a tumble Vic might be, they were safer not finding
out.

After nearly a half-hour of weaving through the streets of San
Francisco, Cash pulled into the parking lot outside what looked like
a warehouse in an industrial area. There was no sign on the outside
of the building, but Mac could hear the pulsing beat of some sort of
techno music that didn't sound familiar and the lot was filled,
mostly with motorcycles like the one they'd arrived on. A few knots
of people smoking, drinking or just talking were scattered here and
there, all ignoring the light rain that seemed so much a part of San
Francisco.

Mac pulled off his helmet and hesitated, not sure what to do with
it. "Just leave it here," Cash said, hanging his own helmet off one
of the handlebars. "No one is going to mess with it."

Mac shrugged. "Your gear," he said and sat the helmet on the bike's
seat, checking to make sure it wasn't going to slide off.

One of the loitering groups had broken up, and several men and women
were headed their way. Mac eyed them just a little warily, but they
didn't look like they were more members of the Zane fan club, as Vic
had put it. Cash grinned broadly and stepped forward to greet them.

He hugged and kissed each of them on the lips, male and female. It
didn't look overly sexual to Mac. Actually it made him think of
Italian families running around kissing each other. In fact, that
looked like just that: Family, Mac thought wistfully.

Finally, Cash finished greeting them, making sure that he didn't
miss anybody, and turned around. "Folks," he announced to the group
in general. "This is Mac. He's here as part of the Toronto group."

Mac blinked. He wondered what the group was going to make of the
comment. *He* still wasn't sure what to make of the comment.

One of the men stepped forward. He was black, with long dreadlocks
woven with brightly colored ribbons that matched the ribbons tied to
his vest and pants. He wasn't wearing a shirt and as he moved the
vest fell open, letting Mac catch a glimpse of silver rings through
his nipples with more ribbons attached to them. It didn't look very
safe in a fight, but since the man was more than half a foot taller
than him and at least fifty pounds heavier -- all solid muscle --
Mac wasn't about to comment on his fashion sense.

The man stopped right in front of Mac and stared at him for a
moment. Mac stood his ground, refusing to back up or flinch. He
stared into the big man's eyes, looking for some indication of where
the attack was going to come from. Mac was starting to feel like the
mouse being eyed by a hungry cat when the man's broad face split
into a blinding white grin. "Not bad," he said in a deep, rich voice
that held the trace of an island accent and swept Mac up into a hug
that threatened to break ribs. Mac wasn't sure if that was approval
of his appearance or his grace under pressure. He didn't much care.
He was too busy remembering how to breathe.

That broke the ice. Each member of the group came forward to hug
him. Cash introduced them all by names, some of them so improbable
that they had to be handles. Mac wondered briefly if Cash was his
date's real name or just one he'd picked for use. Then he gave a
mental shrug. Did it really matter?

The last person stepped in to hug him, then stopped and stepped back
with a gasp. Mac eyed the pretty blonde curiously. She was gorgeous
-- just the type he normally went for -- but her face was a picture
of shock. Mac sighed. Another Zane 'fan' he would guess.

"I warned you, Grace," Cash said softly, hugging the girl from
behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "But he isn't Zane. I
promise you."

Grace straightened up and stepped forward. She didn't hug Mac, but
she did hold her hand out for him to shake. He held it gently,
letting go as soon as she started to withdraw it. Cash had mentioned
that Zane had raped several girls and it didn't take a genius to
figure out that this was one of them. And while Rhiannon's reaction
had been anger, this one was fearful, although brave.

Grace headed for the doors to the club, followed by the big black
man, Jean-Paul. He was talking softly to her and she was slowly
relaxing. Mac watched them go, then turned back to Cash. "I take it
that you warned people about my face," he said in a deliberately
light tone. Cash grinned back at him.

"I told you that you needed someone to run interference. All part of
the service." Cash tucked an arm around Mac's waist -- being a
little too short to put it around his shoulders without stretching
-- and steered him towards the entrance.

The inside of the building matched the outside: a rough warehouse
space converted to a dance club. A glance at the bar and the stage
showed that they were temporary structures, obviously designed to be
dismantled and removed easily and quickly. Mac laughed. "I haven't
been to a rave in ages!" he shouted to Cash over the din of the
music. The band on stage wasn't playing anything he recognized, but
he didn't care. It wasn't designed to be listened to. It was for
dancing. Mac's feet were already moving to the beat.

Obviously recognizing the need, Cash pushed him out onto the dance
floor, following closely behind. That was all the encouragement Mac
needed and he let the music move him into a world of his own.

>>>~~~<<<

When Mac came up for air, several hours had passed and he was
plastered with sweat. He vaguely remembered dancing with a stream of
people, Cash showing up every few numbers. He'd danced with everyone
he'd met in the parking lot at least once, including the now more
relaxed Grace. He'd also received several offers for a different
sort of dancing, including a proposition during an almost
pornographic dance with Jean-Paul that had been accompanied by
several very obvious gropes that had left Mac hard and panting. Cash
had broken in with a snarl that was more amusement than anger and
Jean-Paul had given way with a grin. Mac had promptly draped himself
all over Cash, shouting in his ear, "Got any place a little more...
private?" He punctuated the suggestion with a slow grind against
Cash that told him the other man was as worked up as he was. Dancing
was one of the best aphrodisiacs as far as he was concerned.

Somewhere along the line, Cash had maneuvered them over to the side
of the gyrating mass of humanity. A hard shove had Mac plastered
against the wall, not too far from the stage. Mac could see the bass
player watching them with a leer on her face. Then Cash kissed him
and Mac stopped paying attention to anything except the man who
seemed determined to get him to make a mess of his nice leather
pants.

Finally, Cash pulled away, although his hips were doing a slow
undulation against Mac. "You sure you wouldn't like to stay and
dance a little more?" he asked with a laugh.

"Cock-tease," Mac replied with a grin. "The only kind of dancing I
want to do now is the horizontal kind."

He was a little surprised at how forward he was being. Mac wasn't
shy about sex, but he didn't usually jump into bed *this* fast. The
second date, sure, but not the first. But there was an edge to Cash
that got his pulse racing and all he wanted to do was fuck the
gorgeous man. Or have Cash fuck him. Right now he was easy. Damn, he
was easy.

Cash pressed another bruising kiss on him, then started pulling him
towards the exit. Cash's friends waved and shouted lewd suggestions
that left Mac torn between embarrassed blushes and laughter. Several
of the suggestions were improbable, if not downright impossible, but
others he filed away for future reference.

Just outside the door, Cash pressed him against a wall for another
kiss, this one as gentle as the last had been hard. Mac was about to
decide to just come in his pants and put up with the discomfort when
a sneering voice interrupted them.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Luna's lap-dog."

The change in Cash from playful soon-to-be-lover to snarling fighter
left Mac almost dizzy. Cash stepped away from him and dropped into a
fighter's stance so fast that Mac nearly lost his balance. Then he
got a good look at the four men standing there and smoothly moved
into a ready stance himself.

The men facing them all looked like they stepped off the pages of
GQ. Either that or out of a Mafia movie. Suspicious bulges under
jackets told Mac that the second was a little more likely. These
goons were packing and they looked like they were spoiling for a
fight. A fight that Cash was more than ready to give them, it seemed.

"What do you want, Marcus?" Cash snarled. No lap-dog, this man. He
was more like the junkyard dog that Leroy Brown was compared to in
the song. Marcus just laughed.

"Just looking for a night out, puppy. After all, Luna said truce for
the week. Good thing for you, otherwise we'd teach you a lesson."
The man in the lead was extremely good-looking with carefully styled
brown hair. His pants had pleats sharp enough to cut and his sports
jacket was over a collarless silk shirt that was perfectly white. He
didn't look like the type that belonged at this club. The Haven,
maybe, but not here. Mac hated him on sight and not just because
he'd interrupted at the wrong moment.

Cash snorted. "You and what army? That pitiful lot behind you?"

"Cash," Mac hissed softly. "What the hell is going on?"

A moment later he was regretting having said anything. The sound of
his voice drew Marcus's attention to him. "Stay out of this, little
boy," he said with a sneer. Then he frowned and stepped closer. He
stared hard at Mac, then laughed.

"So Luna's lap-dog is harboring a fugitive!" he said, his voice full
of a vicious delight. Then he frowned. "Or is he? Luna said he was
dead," he said, turning to Cash. His three friends were spreading
out in a way that did *not* bode well for Mac and Cash. "Luna said
he witnessed the execution. Does the Prince consider himself so
above us that he can *lie*?"

Mac was really confused now. Prince? Execution??

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, glancing over at Mac. "He
isn't Zane!"

"No, I'm no fool. Do you expect me to buy that?"

"He's here with Toronto. He's wearing her mark." Cash gestured to
Mac. It took him a moment to figure out what the other man was
asking for, then he turned his head so that the earring he was
wearing was easy to see. The Director was obviously Toronto,
whatever that was supposed to mean. The man reached out to touch the
charm, then flicked it hard with his fingernail. Mac winced.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Marcus, he isn't Kindred," Cash hissed, almost too low for Mac to
hear. Kindred? What the hell was that?

Marcus stared at him for a moment. All the hair on the back of Mac's
neck was standing on end. His eyes flickered to the others and he
set himself into his stance a little more solidly. "Well, then,"
Marcus said finally. "I guess there's not much point in keeping him
around, is there?"

"Except the fact that he belongs to Toronto and you'll be breaking
truce if you touch him."

Marcus smiled slowly. It wasn't a pleasant look. "Oh, I plan to do
more than touch him."

"You know what Julian will do to you if you do."

"He won't find out," Marcus said in a very reasonably tone.

"And just how d you figure that?" Cash said with a snort.

"Because there won't be anyone around to tell him."

That was the moment when the three silent goons made their move. Two
went for Cash while the third threw a punch at Mac. He almost
laughed as he ducked. It was a hard punch, but the man's aim was
pitiful. Mac didn't feel like laughing after blocking the second
blow, though. While the man wasn't much to look at, he had a punch
like a freight train. Mac made a mental note not to let any punches
land.

He caught a brief glance of Cash and Marcus between ducking blows
and landing his own. His didn't seem to have much affect, but he
kept looking for an opening that would let him go for the other
man's eyes or solar plexus. Even an ox would go down if you hit him
there. Cash was holding his own against attackers, showing a street-
fighting skill that let Mac stop worrying about him.

Marcus just stood to the side, watching.

Mac turned his attention back to his opponent, thanking his lucky
stars that none of the thugs seemed inclined to pull their guns.
They probably didn't want to attract the attention that gunfire
would bring, even out here. However, that didn't mean that one of
them might not have a knife handy. Mac was regretting that he hadn't
been able to bring any weapons with him. He was an excellent martial
artist, if he did say so himself, but this guy was like hitting a
brick wall. Then a glancing blow to the side of his head left him
seeing stars, but he managed to dodge the next few swings while he
cleared his head.

He finally got the break he'd been waiting for. The thug swung low,
leaving his head unprotected. Mac hardened his hand into a flat
blade shape and jabbed at the man's eye. He fell back, screaming in
pain. Then he straightened up with an almost animalistic snarl.

That's when things got really strange.

The face that lifted up was not the one he'd seen before. Blood
streamed from the one eye, which might be permanently damaged. But
now the other one was glowing with anger. Literally. Where it had
been dark before -- brown, maybe -- it now... silver? And while the
face was twisted with anger, there were now subtle differences to it.

And when his lips pulled back in an angry grimace, it was to reveal
teeth that came to points. Very *sharp* looking points. Very inhuman
points.

"Ack!" Mac shouted, backing up. The back of his foot hit something
and he landed on his rear-end in a puddle. His attacker was
advancing on him with a triumphant expression on his face. In the
distance he could hear Cash calling his name, but all he could see
was the impossible face of the man about to kill him.
"Cash!"

Mac's head turned towards the club's entrance, where a half-dozen of
Cash's friends were heading their way at a run and more were coming
out of the club. Mac felt all the breath woosh out of him. Four on
two was one thing. Four on a dozen was *definitely* something else.

"Later, lap-dog," Marcus said, heading for a car waiting with the
engine running and a driver behind the wheel. Mac hadn't noticed it
before, but he noticed it now as the four men climbed in and the car
pulled away quickly, wheels squealing on the wet pavement.

Their rescuers crowded around them, asking if they were all right,
asking why they'd been attacked, offering to go after their
attackers. Mac opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Besides, he
didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Mac, you okay?"

Mac looked up into the face of his date. For a moment, he thought he
saw a faint sheen of silver over the other man's expressive eyes.
Then it was gone. He gulped.

"What the hell is going on?" he finally asked. "Who -- and *what* --
were those guys?"

"What? I don't have a clue what you're talking about. Marcus is just
a lieutenant to a guy my boss doesn't get along with. He thought he
could jerk my chain."

"Bullshit!" Mac said as Cash pulled him to his feet. "Common thugs
don't have silver eyes and pointy teeth. I want to know what is
going on!"

"A trick of the light?" Cash suggested. Mac snorted.

"I'm not an idiot and I do have eyes. Very well-trained eyes, I
might add. I can look at a diamond and tell you it's market value
within a few percentage points in a minute. And I am a damned good
observer. Now stop jerking me around!"

By the end of that, Mac was almost shouting. His adrenaline was
still pumping from the fight and he was seriously pissed off.

"Not here," Cash said, shushing him. He stopped, and sighed.
"Listen, come back to my place and I'll explain everything. I
promise."

Mac glanced at their audience, most of which were doing a pretty
good impression of being deaf and blind. "Fine," he said. "But it
better be a damned good explanation."

>>>~~~<<<

Cash's apartment was in an older section of town, right above a
store. Looking out the front window, the bay was just barely visible
in the distance. It was simply furnished, but comfortable. Mac liked
it. He also thought it was also surprisingly clean for a bachelor
apartment, and said so.

"That's because I don't live here full-time. I'm bodyguard for a man
named Julian Luna, so I have rooms at his place. This is where I go
when I have free time and just want to get away from work and
everything to do with it. For one thing, it's a little awkward
taking a date to your boss's mansion," he added with the lopsided
grin that Mac was learning to love. He couldn't help grinning back.
It sounded like his reasons for not taking a date back to *his*
apartment where there were hidden surveillance cameras all over the
place.

Then his expression sobered up. "And is this Luna person the
'Prince' that Slick was referring to?"

"Slick? I like that. I'll have to use it on him the next time I see
him."

"You're dodging the question," Mac said sternly.

Cash sighed and dropped into an armchair near the window. "You're
right. I am.

"Normally, I wouldn't consider saying anything. I'd come up with
*something* to deflect you. But you're here for the meetings with
Toronto. That means sooner or later, you'd be finding out these
things. Actually, *she's* the one who should be having this
conversation with you." Cash looked up, a hopeful expression on his
face.

Mac shook his head. "But she's not here and you are. Talk." Mac
shoved one hand in his packet to grab the tiny cell-phone there. If
it came down to it, he could always call Vic for backup. But he
didn't think he would need to.

Cash stared at him for a moment. "All right. Let's start with the
'show,' then move on to the 'tell.'"

A moment later, he'd... changed. Cash's eyes were glowing silver,
his teeth were definitely fangs and when he held up one hand, the
fingers ended in what looked more like claws than fingernails. Mac
caught his breath, then forced himself to relax.

"Ooooookay," he said once he was in control of himself again.
"You're a vampire, I take it." Mac shook his head, wondering when
he'd fallen into the twilight zone.

Cash winced. "Please. Don't use that word. Vampires are a fictional
creature invented to deflect attention from the truth."

"Which is?"

Cash's face reverted to the one Mac was more familiar with. "We are
Kindred. Yes, we drink blood, though we usually avoid killing. It
would break the Masquerade."

"Masquerade?"

"The image we project to hide the truth. The illusion of being
normal humans. In the past it was essential. After all, it wasn't
too long ago that there were lynch squads and witch burnings. Today,
there are scientists who would love to dissect us to see what makes
us tick. The Masquerade is survival." Mac nodded. He'd seen a lot in
his short life that told him that humanity was not as far removed
from their savage past as they might like to pretend. They also tend
to react violently to things they didn't understand.

Still, this was sounding pretty crazy. Mac frowned, thinking about
it. "And that stuff about a Prince?"

Cash opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally he said, "The
Kindred work on a feudal-like basis. We are divided into clans, by
our Embrace. Different clans have different... talents, I guess you
could say, passed through the clan's blood. The Prince is the one
who holds us all together, keeps us from war."

"War?" Mac squeaked.

"War. My clan is Gangrel. We are often bodyguards to Princes. Our
loyalty is never in doubt. Marcus and his batch are Brujah. They are
the thugs, the mobsters of the Kindred. It's in our... nature to be
enemies. The Princes are usually Ventrue, the power-brokers. I am
Julian's main bodyguard, as well as clan leader for the Gangrel in
San Francisco." There was a softening to his expression as he spoke
than told Mac that the relationship was probably more than just
professional.

His head was spinning with all the information. "Any other clans?"
he asked.

"Lots. But only two others are present in San Francisco enough to
represented in the Prince's counsel: The Nosferatu and the Toreador.
Want a drink?"

Mac blinked at the non-sequitur. "Uh, sure. Coffee?" He needed a
clear head.

"Sure."

Mac watched while Cash puttered around in the apartment's tiny
kitchen. The apartment was mostly one big room with the kitchen
separated by a low counter. The bedroom was at the back of the room,
partially shielded by a folding screen. The only doors he saw
probably led to the bathroom and closets.

A thought occurred to him. "You eat!"

Cash snorted. "Of course. Cream? Sugar?"

"Black is fine."

Cash came back to the living room area and handed a mug to Mac, who
was now sitting on the sofa, and sat back down in the armchair.

Mac sipped the steaming hot liquid for a minute before asking his
next question.

"What about Zane? Marcus said he was executed."

A bleak expression passed over Cash's face. "Zane was Toreador.
They're the artists and musicians of the Kindred. And they tend to
be a little... unstable. I told you he'd been involved in a series
of rapes. That wasn't quite accurate. What he was doing was
Embracing girls who hadn't agreed to it. That means turning them
into Kindred," he added at Mac's questioning look. "And one of the
rules we live by is that the Prince must give permission for someone
to be Embraced. It's to help keep people from finding out about us.
According to the laws, he could have ordered the deaths of the girls
Zane had embraced as well, but Julian isn't that ruthless though."

"But he ordered Zane killed?" I thought you said he'd committed
suicide, Mac didn't say.

Cash shrugged. "He didn't have any choice. Zane had been warned.
He'd been told to leave town if he didn't want to follow the laws.
He stayed and kept doing what he'd been doing. There was no choice.
Hell, a human cop who knows about the Kindred handed Zane over to
us. He said that his world had no laws for what Zane had done, but
ours did. Zane broke the law and paid the price."

"And the Director? How does she fit in? And why are we *here*?"

Cash sighed. "I can't believe she brought the three of you into this
blind. Your boss is the Prince of Toronto. She's Kindred."

Somehow Mac wasn't surprised. In a way, Cash's advances on him had
reminded him of the Director's teasing, just less scary. "And these
meetings?"

"Well, I don't know much. They're pretty exclusive. But basically,
the Princes of all major Kindred-inhabited cities are discussing
future plans. It's the end of the millennium, after all. We can die,
but we don't really age. But we can't simply move to keep people
from noticing anymore. Identities have to be built. They're
discussing more cooperation in the future, so that Kindred can move
from city to city and have new identities waiting for them."

Mac looked down and realized that his mug was empty and he was now
coldly sober. His boss was a Vampire. He worked for a blood-sucking
fiend, to use the title of a book he'd once read. Somehow, he wasn't
surprised. "This is crazy," he said, putting down the mug.

Cash just looked resigned. "Maybe, but it's true. Listen, how about
I take you back to your hotel. You probably need to think about
this." He got to his feet.

"No," Mac said, surprising Cash. Hell, he surprised himself. "No."

Mac got to his feet and moved over to stand in front of Cash. "You
wouldn't hurt me?" he asked.

Cash reached up and cupped his cheek. "Of course not," he said
softly.

"Then I don't want to go back yet." This probably wasn't the
smartest thing that Mac had ever done. There was a sharp edge of
fear to the desire Mac was still feeling, mixed with the left-over
adrenaline from the fight earlier. Whatever the reason, he was about
ready to explode. If Cash took him back to the hotel he would
probably do something stupid, like jump Vic's bones. And while that
was a tempting idea, he'd already decided that it wasn't a smart
one. No sleeping with the partners, he reminded himself

When Cash didn't make any further move, Mac tilted his head and went
for a kiss. It was tentative at first, far more tentative than any
other kiss they'd shared in the twenty-four hours they'd known each
other. God, had it only been a day?

Then it ignited, setting both of them on fire. In a moment, they
were tightly wrapped around each other, each trying to devour the
other's mouth. Mac's erection was doing its best to stretch his
leather pants and he could feel an answering hardness in Cash's
jeans, rubbing against his hip. Mac groaned and deepened the kiss.

They'd already discarded their jackets, so Mac's hand scrabbled at
Cash's back, finally getting a grip on the tight turtleneck so that
he could pull it out from the waist of the man's pants and up. His
hands slipped underneath to caress flesh that felt a little cool to
his touch, but not alarmingly so. In fact, if it weren't for their
earlier conversation, he might not even have noticed.

Finally he broke away, pulling at the shirt, wanting more bare skin.
Cash was doing the same and they ended up in a tug-of-war as each
tried to strip the other without letting go. Laughing, they finally
had to so that they could drop the tangled fabric on the floor. Then
they were moving together again, this time bare chest against bare
chest.

Finally, need for air pulled them apart and Mac stood panting in
front of Cash, who didn't even have the common decency to look out
of breath. "Do you have to look so damned smug?" Mac asked between
gasps.

Cash laughed. "How 'bout we take this party someplace a little more
comfortable," he suggested, nodding towards the bed.

Mac grinned back at him. "Good idea. That way, if I faint from
oxygen deprivation, at least I'll already be lying down."

Cash laughed again and headed for the bed, fumbling with the fly of
his jeans. Mac followed, watching the dance of a man trying to strip
and walk at the same time. It would have been funny if he weren't
about ready to come in his pants.

Cash finally managed to kick his jeans off, revealing that he seemed
to have some sort of aversion to underwear, and reached for Mac's
belt. Mac growled and rubbed against him, making the man's attempts
to strip him more difficult than they needed to be. But Cash was
determined and he finally managed to push down the leather pants and
the briefs Mac was wearing underneath. Then, with Mac hobbled by the
material around his knees, he gave a hard shove.

Mac went down hard, bouncing on the bed's firm mattress. Before he
had his bearings back, he was completely naked and Cash was all over
him. Mac hooked one leg around Cash's waist, pulling the man down
hard against him, thrusting up at the same moment. The resulting
friction made him moan and thrust harder.

"Ma-c!" Cash groaned, then pressed down harder. He leaned down and
started nipping at Mac's lower lip. Mac returned the favor by
grabbing on to Cash's upper lip with his own teeth.

Then one slow undulation against him made him gasp and he released
the tasty bit of flesh. He tried to control himself -- he still
wanted to fuck Cash, or have Cash fuck him -- but it was useless.
With a load wail, he arched upwards and came. Above him he heard a
matching cry, and suddenly there was even more fluid squelching
between them. Then Cash collapsed down onto him, finally breathing a
little heavier than usual, and rolled to the side.

Cuddled up against Cash, enjoying the afterglow, Mac returned to the
earlier topic of conversation. "So Vampire legends are wrong."

"Right." Cash stretched, practically purring. Mac rubbed his hand in
lazy circles on the other man's stomach, smearing the semen there.
It was strangely pink-tinged, he noticed.

"Garlic?"

"Love it," Cash assured him with a grin. "I know this great Italian
restaurant near here, if there's time before you head home."

"Crosses?"

"Get real."

"Running water?"

"Nope."

"Wooden stakes?"

"Hey, we heal fast, but we *do* get injured. A stake through the
heart will hurt *anyone*." Mac winced.

"Point taken," he said, ignoring Cash's wince at the pun. "Sunlight."

"Sort of. We can take small doses if we've fed recently. If we're
hungry or injured, death come pretty fast. Cloudy days aren't really
a problem, though."

"Sex?"

Cash grinned. "You can ask that after what we just did? And believe
me, the Kiss is even better."

"The Kiss?" Mac asked. He could almost hear the capital letters.

"The Kiss is when a Kindred tastes your blood. Some say it's even
*better* than an orgasm."

"For the Kindred?" Mac asked curiously.

"For both. I think it's a defense mechanism. If they enjoy it, they
won't turn on you."

"I still find that hard to believe."

Cash grinned at him. "I could prove it to you, if you like."

Mac froze. Did Cash mean...? Was he going to agree? Then his
curiosity got the better of him. "How much would you take?"

Cash blinked in surprise. He obviously hadn't expected Mac to take
him up on the suggestion. "One mouthful, maybe two. Less than would
be taken for a blood test."

"And that wouldn't... change me?"

That made the man laugh. "No, it wouldn't. To change you would
require a lot more."

"How much more?" Mac asked, distracted from the original topic of
conversation.

"Basically," Cash said thoughtfully, "I would have to drain you dry,
to the point of death, then feed you my blood."

"Oh." Mac paused. "Do you want to... Kiss me?"

Cash nuzzled his neck, sending shivers through him. "Oh, yeah..."
the man sighed, blowing warm air across the skin, raising goosebumps
all over Mac. Amazingly, he felt his cock start to harden again.

Mac chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then relaxed. "Do it," he
whispered.

"Mac?"

"Please? I really want to know."

"Your boss..."

"Isn't here. Please?"

Cash rolled on top of him and pushed up onto his elbows. His eyes
had gone silver again and Mac shivered, partly from renewed arousal,
partly from nervousness. "Be very sure," Cash said earnestly.

Mac smiled. All his doubts were quickly fading. "Do it, Cash," he
said.

The other man nodded. Mac arched, exposing his neck as much as
possible. As a result, he was surprised when Cash rolled off him and
took a hold of his arm. He turned his head to frown at the man.

Cash grinned. "There's a lot of ways of feeding, Mac. In a way, it's
easier to control with the wrist." He lifted the wrist in question
to his mouth and delicately licked at the big vein there. Mac moaned
slightly at the sensual touch.

He almost missed the delicate prick of fangs breaking the skin. What
he didn't miss was the rush as his blood started racing. Suddenly,
he was even more aroused than he'd been earlier. His cock was hard
and leaking against his stomach.

For a long moment they held there, frozen, with just the sound of
Mac's panting to break the silence. Then Cash gave one long suck,
then a second.

Without even a touch, Mac climaxed, shooting harder and longer than
he could ever remember having done so before in his life. His eyes
rolled back in his head and he screamed at the waves of pleasure ran
through him before the world went black.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Six
----------------------------------------

The night was still young, but as expected, Vic was bored out of his
skull. LiAnn had never been much of one for idle chitchat back when
they'd been engaged and she was even less so now. As a result, their
corner table was probably the only silent one in the club. Around
them, everyone was alternating between chatting with their
companions and glaring at the other tables suspiciously. There was
very little cross-table conversation.

LiAnn spent most of her time watching the band while Vic read his
book. In a way it was nice. He was doing more reading that week than
he normally had time for in any three months put together. He didn't
feel ridiculous for reading in a nightclub. After all, it was better
than going numb with boredom. He'd offered one to LiAnn, but she'd
turned up her nose at the mystery novel. She only liked literary
classics and non-fiction, he remembered. Well, those and the stash
of romance novels she thought was safely hidden under her bed.

So no, that didn't bother him. What did were the glances LiAnn kept
sending his way: Like she was watching some strange beast in the zoo
and wasn't sure how it was going to react. Like she was trying to
solve some intricate puzzle.

Finally, he'd had enough. He shut his book with a snap and set it
down next to his still mostly-untouched drink. "What is it, LiAnn?"
he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, blinking in obviously fake confusion.

"Don't give me that," he said. "I know you too well. You've been
watching me all night. Something's bugging you, so give."

She opened her mouth, probably to protest, then shut it. "Just

paying attention," she said with a shrug.

"Huh?" Real swift, Vic, he thought to himself.

LiAnn glanced around the room, then turned back to him. "Last night
you and Mac said I didn't pay any attention to you. So, now I'm
paying attention. Do you have a problem with that?" She sounded very
defensive about it.

Vic stared back at her for a moment. This was the first crack in her
armor that he'd seen in nearly a year. "No," he said quietly.
"Paying attention is good. Learn anything interesting yet?"

She took a sip of her club soda before answering. "You never used to
read so much," she said. Vic shrugged.

"I never had time."

"No, that's not it. You always seem to have a book handy these days,
whether you read it or not. When we were engaged, your first choice
was to find a TV and see if a hockey game was on."

Vic thought about it and was a little surprised to find that she was
right. Now that he thought about it, he used to feel uncomfortable
reading when LiAnn was around. He could still remember the
occasional comment about his education, which was admittedly lacking
compared to hers. As a result, he'd felt like she was looking down
her nose if he read something as lowbrow as a detective novel. He
still felt that way, truth be told. The difference was, it didn't
bother him anymore. "Anything else?" he asked.

"You're worried about Mac."

"Of course I am. He's my partner -- *our* partner. Aren't you?"

She shrugged. "He's a big boy. He *does* know how to take care of
himself, you know."

"Yeah, but sometimes he acts like he's five years old," Vic muttered
to himself.

LiAnn laughed. It was short and strained, but it *was* a laugh.
"Sounds to me like you're feeling your age," she said.

"I am not," Vic protested.

"Really? I mean you are ten years older than him."

"Nine," Vic said defensively. "And a bit. And that has nothing to do
with anything."

LiAnn shook her head. "If you say so," she said. "But you seem a
little over-protective of him. Big brother instincts coming out?
Don't like to see little brother going out with new friends?" She
eyed him for a moment. "Or maybe you're just jealous."

"I am not jealous," Vic said, already regretting having started the
conversation. "I just think that he should have more sense than to
go running off with a complete stranger when he *knows* there are
people who are going to be after him because he looks like this Zane
person. Not to mention that this Cash obviously..."

"Obviously what? Wants in his pants? A lot of people do, Vic. Why,
do you? Is that what the problem is?" LiAnn's expression turned into
a small sneer.

"Of course not," Vic said with a snort, reminding himself of all the
reasons that he shouldn't. The list was well-rehearsed by now.

"Why not? He's good at it. Believe me, I know."

Vic eyed LiAnn, worried at the change in tone. At first, it had
sounded like she was coming out of her shell. Now she just sounded
bitter. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," was the automatic response.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before LiAnn pushed to her
feet. Vic started to get up too, but she shook her head and headed
for the back corridor where the washrooms were. Vic watched her go,
a sad expression on his face. She was still fighting a lot of pain.
He just wished he could help her. It hurt to see her in pain, like
this. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but he had been, and he
still had a place for her in his heart.

He sighed, and took a long sip of his beer before picking up his
book again. But this time he couldn't seem to lose himself in the
investigations of two British inspectors the way he had before.
Instead, he ran the conversation over in his mind.

She was right. He *was* jealous. Whether it was because Mac was with
someone else or because Mac could *go* with someone else without a
second thought, he wasn't sure. Vic had never been able to go for
casual sex the way that the younger man did.

And much as he hated to admit it, there was a grain of truth to her
comment on ages. He usually avoided thinking about it, but he *was*
significantly older than any of his partners. Mac was barely twenty-
six, while LiAnn and Jackie were both twenty-seven, although the
blonde seemed much younger in her mania.

And Vic? He closed his eyes and groaned silently. He was turning
thirty-six in a few months. He was getting old. All right, some
people might laugh at calling thirty-six 'old,' but they weren't
field operatives. In his line of work he was almost ancient. His
endurance wasn't what it had once been and it was only a matter of
time before his reflexes started to go. If he had to guess, Vic
would say that he only had two years, maybe three if he were lucky,
before he had to retire from field work.

And then what did he do? He had trouble seeing himself behind a desk
doing research or planning for the Agency. Would they cut him loose?
If so, he would have trouble finding work, since for the last seven
years he'd been doing work that couldn't go on a resume. Plus, there
was that pesky little detail of the drug conviction, frame-up or not.

Then again, maybe the Agency just shot over-the-hill agents, the way
that race-horses that lose too many races were put down. Vic
snorted. He had trouble seeing the Director doing *that*. She'd
probably find some way of getting more use out of him until he died.

And if he wasn't pulled from the field soon enough, that could
happen sooner rather than later.

"All by yourself tonight?"

Vic's eyes flew open at the unexpected voice emerging from the
background noise. Standing across the table from him was the Haven's
owner, Lillie Langtry. "No," he said, suddenly feeling a clumsy
country bumpkin. He had the feeling that Lillie had that affect on a
lot of people. "LiAnn just stepped out for a moment."

"And the delightful young man with the excellent dancing skills?"
she asked, raising one eyebrow delicately.

"Gone dancing. Cash took him clubbing tonight."

She sighed slightly. "Pity. I was hoping to... dance with him some
more."

Vic frowned at the obvious innuendo dripping from her voice. Looked
like Cash wasn't the only native who wanted into Mac's pants, as
LiAnn had so crudely put it. "Sorry to disappoint you," he told her,
his face as expressionless as he could make. He was pretty sure that
she saw right through him, though.

She waved off the comment. "Quite all right. It's just that he's a
very attractive man." She smiled seductively.

"Who happens to look a lot like Zane?"

That finally got an honest reaction from her. "You knew Zane?" she
asked in surprise.

"Nope. Just heard about him last night after someone who *really*
didn't like him took a swing at Mac."

"I hope he wasn't hurt," she said, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Nah, just bruised. Cash stepped in. Um... Were Cash and Zane..."
His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out a delicate way to
ask his question.

"Lovers?" Lillie finally sat down and a waitress promptly appeared
with a drink for her. She ignored the service, taking it for
granted. "No. Just close friends since childhood. Besides, Zane's
tastes didn't lean that way."

"Let me guess. They leaned more your way."

A bright smile brought out dimples in her cheeks. "Oh, yes. We were
lovers for nearly a year before he died."

"Mac isn't Zane," Vic pointed out. There was something about the
woman that made him nervous. In a way she reminded him of the
Director, which made him want to protect his partner.

Her laugh chimed like bells. "Of course he isn't," she said. "For
one thing, while he was a wonderful singer, Zane couldn't dance at
all. But the resemblance is certainly intriguing, don't you think?"

"Maybe," Vic said, noncommittally. "Uh, oh," he said, noticing LiAnn
heading across the room towards them. A man sitting at one of the
other tables had reached out and grabbed her arm as she went by.
"Looks like trouble."

Lillie looked over and the smile faded from her face. Now, more than
ever, she reminded him of the Director. Her look was cold enough to
freeze and hot enough to fry. "I'll take care of this," she said,
holding out a hand to restrain Vic from going to his partner's aid.

Vic slowly settled back into his seat. His instinct was still to go
over and deck the man who obviously wasn't willing to take no as an
answer from LiAnn, but he found himself almost glued to his seat.
Well, he told himself, justifying his inaction. It *is* her club,
after all.

Her walk had none of the seductiveness that seemed so much a part of
her as she headed over to where the disturbance was spreading.
Others were speaking up now, both for the man and for LiAnn. But
they all fell quiet as Lillie came close.

She stopped right next to the two and reached over to touch the
man's wrist. Her fingers curved around it as far as they would go
and she squeezed. She didn't *look* that strong to Vic, but the
man's face went white with pain and his hand opened automatically.
LiAnn immediately stepped back out of his reach. Lillie turned
towards her and said something softly. LiAnn nodded, then headed for
Vic again.

"Are you all right?" he hissed as she sat down in her seat again. In
the background Lillie was speaking, low and intent, to the man who
now looked both cowed and terrified. Vic was curious, but dismissed
it since there didn't seem to be any further trouble coming from
that quarter.

"Of course," she replied. "He just didn't like it when I told him
that I was *not* interested in a party with him and his friends."
She snorted, then took a sip of her club soda. "Vic." She hesitated,
then reached over and laid a hand on his. "What I said before, I was
out of line. I'm sorry." And she did sound genuinely sorry, he was a
little surprised to note

"Hey, that's okay," he told her. "Things haven't been easy for the
last while." Since Michael, he thought to himself, although he
wasn't about to say that out loud. "Consider it forgotten."

She shook her head. "No, really. I mean, if you and Mac *were* to...
get together, I'd be happy for you."

Vic snorted. "That's not going to happen. He's even more commitment-
shy that *you* are."

"Maybe," was all she said before Lillie rejoined them.

"I am sorry about that," she said, not sitting down. "It won't
happen again," she added, looking over to where the man was sitting,
cradling his wrist to his chest. He caught the glance and paled even
further. Lillie turned back to them. "I do hope you won't hold it
against us."

"Of course not," LiAnn said with a frown of confusion. "Why would I
hold anything against anyone but him?"

"No reason at all," Lillie said smoothly. Then she turned to Vic and
her expression was one of frank appraisal. Her smile returned and
this time it was pure heat where before it had just been friendly
warmth. "Well, since your Mac isn't here, perhaps *you* would dance
with me."

Vic was on his feet before he realized that he'd moved. "He's not my
Mac," he said.

"Of course not," she replied, sending a conspiratorial glance
LiAnn's way. It wasn't returned, but that didn't deter her.

She led Vic out to the dance floor where several other pairs were
dancing. "I'm not as good a dancer," he warned her as he put his
arms around her delicately. It wasn't that he was afraid of hurting
her, after that demonstration of her strength. He was just being...
cautious.

"I think you underestimate yourself," she replied before she
smoothly maneuvered him into the pattern of a tango.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic stood under the spray of hot water, soothing muscles that were
aching. He'd surprised himself on the dance floor. He knew the
basics of all the dance styles Lillie had insisted he partner her
in, but he hadn't realized that he knew some of the moves he'd been
performing. His muscles hadn't realized it either, and they ached as
though he'd been tense all evening.

Still, it had been interesting. He'd also been delighted at the
signs of cracks in LiAnn's rock-hard facade. It looked like she was
finally starting to recover from her emotional pains. He just hoped
that she wouldn't revert once they got back to Toronto and their
normal lives.

The Director had looked tired but satisfied when she'd collected
them early in the morning. Whatever these meetings she was attending
were about, she was pleased with the way they were going. He just
wished he knew what they were about. All attempts to pry were
fondly, but firmly, rebuffed. Nothing he need worry about was all
she'd said.

Vic dried off and pulled on his pajamas before climbing into bed. It
was nearly four in the morning and there was no sign of Mac yet.
He'd promised to be 'home' before dawn, and while he still had a few
hours left before then, Vic couldn't help but be a little worried.
He closed his eyes and resigned himself to not getting any sleep
until his partner came through the door, safe and sound. It wasn't
that he didn't *trust* Mac. The younger man just seemed to attract
trouble as easily as he attracted admirers. And he still wasn't sure
he trusted Cash, even if the Director and Lillie both seemed to.
Ever since his betrayal at the hands of his fellow cops nearly a
decade earlier, he'd had a problem with trust. LiAnn had been the
first to overcome that, Mac the second. No one else had yet.

Less that half an hour after he'd turned out the lights, he heard a
soft "scrape, scrape" of someone working the door lock. He reached
for his gun on the bedside table, then cursed softly when he
realized that it wasn't there. It was back in Toronto.

He rolled towards the edge of the bed where he'd be out of sight of
the door and sat up. He knew that it was probably Mac, but he wasn't
about to take chances.

The door opened and he held his breath, waiting. Then a thump and a
muffled curse told him all he needed to know. "Just turn the light
on, Mac," he said, exasperated.

There was a moment of silence, then the lights came on. "Sorry," Mac
said sheepishly. "I didn't want to wake you up."

Vic was already climbing back into bed. "I wasn't asleep yet," he
said. "Enjoy your evening out... Shit!" Vic sat up straight again as
Mac came around the corner. "What the *hell* happened to you?"

Mac looked both tired and relaxed at the same time, but what had
caught Vic's attention was his face. When Mac had left the Haven
with Cash he'd had a bruise on the left side of his jaw, already
starting to fade. Now he had a large, purpling bruise on his right
cheek, not much below his eye.

"Hmm?" Mac said, then lifted a hand to his cheek. "Oh, that. Just a
run-in with some unfriendlies. Cash and I handled it with no trouble
at all." Mac's eyes flicked to the side, and Vic wondered just how
much trouble "no trouble at all" was. Mac was a lousy liar. "I'd
already forgotten about it. And the night was great, thank you very
much."

"Damnit, Mac, can't you do anything without getting into trouble?"
Vic snapped as Mac started to undress. He knew the words were a
mistake before they left his mouth, but was powerless to stop them.

Mac's eyes snapped angrily. "Back off, Vic. You're not my father."

Vic winced. The comment hit a little too close to home after his
earlier worries about getting old. "Sorry," he said softly. "I was
just... worried."

The anger faded as quickly as it had flared. "That's all right.
Really, I can take care of myself. And it was an... informative
night." There was a strange note to Mac's voice, one that Vic wasn't
sure how to interpret. Then it was gone and the serious expression
was replaced with a typical Mac leer. "But how was *your* evening?
Meet any lovely ladies?"

Vic snorted. "It was... interesting. LiAnn nearly got into a fight
with a guy who tried to hit on her and I danced with Lillie. Turned
down an invitation to stay the day, though."

"What? Are you nuts?" Mac said, looking up in surprise. "She's
gorgeous!"

Vic just shrugged, not replying. He wasn't about to tell his partner
that the lovely Lillie Langtry had scared the bejeezus out of him
with the invitation. Her expression had been... predatory, like she
wanted to eat him whole, and not in a good way.

Instead, he yawned. The late nights combined with waking up before
mid-morning was catching up with him. Mac echoed the yawn before
climbing into bed, naked as usual.

"Hey, Vic," Mac said, out of the blue.

"Hmm?" Vic was already starting to sink into the sleep that had been
so elusive earlier.

"It's been a really long night. Any objections to just taking it
easy tomorrow? Sleep in and hang around here for the day?"

Vic's head felt like it was floating a foot above the pillow and he
moaned faintly. He was so tired. Then he realized Mac was waiting
for an answer. "Fine, whatever," he mumbled.

And then was gone.

>>>~~~<<<

When Vic woke, the sun was doing its best to find a way around the
heavy drapes that he had remembered to close the night before. No
bright flood *this* morning. Its only success was a thin line on the
wall where it had worked its way around the edge of the dark fabric.
Vic glanced at the clock and found that it was almost lunch-time. He
sat up and stretched, then glanced over at the other bed.

Mac was just a vague lump under the covers, dead to the world. He
didn't move at all as Vic got up, washed his face, shaved and
brushed his teeth. He didn't even stir when Vic turned on the lights
long enough to get dressed. Vic snorted in amusement as he headed
for the door.

His grumbling stomach led him to the small dining room where he
found that the hotel's kitchen provided as wide a variety of lunch
options as it did breakfast. He indulged himself in the best
pastrami sandwich he could ever remember having, along with homemade
potato chips and coleslaw with a pickle on the side and a beer from
a local micro-brewery. Simple, basic and mouth-watering good.

When he was done, Mac still was asleep and there was no sign of
LiAnn. He was going to go for a walk when a thought occurred to him:
This was the perfect time to go looking for that present he wanted
to find for Mac. Smiling at the thought, he slipped back into the
room long enough to leave a note for Mac, just in case the man woke
before he got back, and to grab his wallet and cell-phone. He asked
at the front desk for suggestions of where to go and ended off with
several suggestions.

They directed him to an area of town crowded with antique stores,
curio shops and other stores with not a tourist trap to be seen. Vic
walked along, peering in through front windows, wondering just what
would appeal to his sometimes frivolous, sometimes serious partner.
He found a flowing silk scarf that was perfect for LiAnn, but
nothing that said "Mac" to him.

After almost an hour of looking, Vic wandered into yet another
antique store. As well as finding something for Mac, he was also
looking for a gift to take home for his sister. She'd finally
returned from her volunteer work in India -- a job arranged for her
by the Director, much to his chagrin -- and had surprised him by
promptly heading off to university, something she'd sworn she'd
never do. It was 'caving in to the status quo,' she'd always said.

The Alice who'd come back from India was different from the self-
named Allegra who'd left a year earlier. Calmer, steadier, although
no less an idealist. But now she had more realistic goals, which was
why she was now planning on studying law. She was going to take on
the status quo and change it from within, she said. They'd had to
twist his arm to get him to agree with letting her go to Asia, and
now he was glad he'd given in.

He found a small wooden box, ornately decorated with carved
elephants and Indian figures and lined with sandalwood, at the back
of one shelf and decided that it would be perfect for his sister. He
was headed for the cash when a display case of jewelry caught his
eye as he walked past. He stopped and glanced over the contents,
just out of curiosity.

It was the usual mix of the nice and the tacky: Glass beads mixed
with cameos and gold, even an attractive amber pendant with a price
tag that made him wince. Just as well that neither LiAnn nor his
sister liked amber.

He was about to keep going when a flash of light drew his eye to a
cluster of pendants at the back of the case. He leaned in for a
closer look, but couldn't tell which one had made the flash.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Vic looked up to find the cashier watching him expectantly. "Could I
take a look at those?" he said, pointing to the chaotic jumble.

The woman pulled out a key attached to her belt by a chain and
unlocked the cabinet. She lifted out the tray of pendants, closed
the case and placed it on top. "Any one in particular?" she asked.

"Um..." Vic ran a finger over the pieces, trying to figure out just
why he was bothering. Then he jumped. For a moment it had felt like
he had touched a live wire. He reached down cautiously and drew out
a simple pendant hanging from a black leather thong.

It was like nothing he could remember having seen before. It was
bright silver in color, except for the crevices that were black
with... something. Tarnish or enamel, he wasn't quite sure which. It
looked more deliberate than not. He tried to follow the dips and
curves of the design, but quickly got lost in the complexity and
blinked, trying to clear his head. For a moment he was almost dizzy
from the effort.

His first instinct was to drop it back on the tray, buy the box and
keep going, but something stopped him. He cupped his hand around the
pendant as it swung in mid-air, staring at it. Then it brushed
against his palm and another shock went through him. He blinked, and
suddenly he was somewhere else.

He was deep in a forest, silent except for the rustle of leaves
above his head. The ground beneath his feet was covered in a thick
layer of dead leaves, slowly dissolving back into the ground. It was
quiet. It was eerie. It was beautiful.

"It is, isn't it?"

Vic turned, and was somehow unsurprised to find Mac there. The
younger man was leaning against an oak tree that had to be centuries
old, it was so large. He looked surprisingly at ease, city-boy that
he was, and his clothes reflected that. Jeans so old that they were
almost white hugged his legs and a faded red shirt hung open almost
to the waist, not tucked in.

And hanging around his neck, nestled into his dark chest hair, was
the pendant.

"What's going on, Mac?" Vic asked, looking around. He was confused,
but strangely unworried.

"You'll understand when the time comes," was the enigmatic reply.

Vic turned back to Mac, but the man was gone. In his place was a
black panther with glowing silver eyes. Vic stumbled backwards, his
heart suddenly pounding, but with... anticipation, not fear? The
oversized feline just watched him, somehow managing to convey
amusement without moving or making a sound.

There was a low cough, and a second feline stepped out from between
two trees and moved over to rub against the panther. But this one
was a mountain lion with bright green eyes, as out of place in this
ancient wood as the panther. They both stared him for a moment, then
turned and left, moving silently as they disappeared from sight.

"Sir, are you all right?"

Vic blinked and shook his head to clear it before turning to face
the concerned saleswoman. "I'm fine," he said, somehow managing to
keep his voice steady. Something had just happened, but he wasn't
sure what. All that was left was a confused jumble of images. The
only one that remained clear was the one of Mac wearing the pendant
and a feeling of rightness that went with it.

"How much for this one?" he asked, not really caring about the
answer. As far as he was concerned, the pendant was already sold.

Go to Part Three