San Francisco Meetings by Lianne Burwell Carpe Noctem Book One Chapter One nce upon a time, nearly a lifetime ago, Mac Ramsey had had a normal life. He had a mother and a father and lived in a small house in a small town, he wasn't sure where. It didn't really matter. As far as he was concerned, that town was the whole world. His father did some sort of work that took him away from home frequently, but that was all right. He always came back, usually with exotic presents that were the envy of his friends, and kisses for his wife, who just shook her head in exasperation and welcomed him home. Then one day, when he was six, his mother collapsed in the middle of gardening, and an ambulance came and took her away to the hospital. It never brought her back. At the time, Mac didn't understand what had happened. All he knew was that his mother was gone, and he had no one. It had taken nearly two months for the authorities to find his father, and he'd only come back long enough to collect Mac and leave again. It was the last time Mac saw the house he'd lived in all his life. It was the last time his life was normal. After that, it could be described in many ways, but never normal. Instead, for the next five years he'd traveled the world with his father, discovering that his father was a con artist and learning the art of the con. With his big eyes and adorable looks, Mac had made the perfect cover for his father. But when he was eleven his father had left him with a friend in Hong Kong, then disappeared. Mac was too old to be a decoy in his father's cons and too young to be of any other use. Despite the occasional letter from his father, Mac had felt like he'd been abandoned for a second time, the first time being by his mother. Two years later, Mac had run away. He'd survived alone on the streets of Hong Kong before being found and taken in by Tang, head of the most powerful crime family on the island. Finally he'd had a family again, a home. Even a brother and sister, which he'd never had before. For nearly ten years he'd basked in the warmth of that family's love. And then he'd thrown it all away, for a love that didn't last. And now he had a new family, assuming that you could call the Agency a family. Victor Mansfield, LiAnn Tsei—his sister from the Tang family—and even the Director. If he were in a generous mood, he might even include Jackie and Dobrinsky in that family. Maybe. But after losing two families, he couldn't bring himself to count on this third one. No matter how much he yearned to believe that the third time was the charm, he couldn't bring himself to trust them. If he'd learned anything in his twenty-five years it was that nothing stayed the same. Sooner or later he would lose everything. Again. He was sure of it. And that scared the hell out of him. Whistling the tune from a new song making the rounds of the dance clubs, Mac Ramsey headed down the empty hallways of the Agency's underground base. He was a little late, but didn't care. It was a beautiful spring morning, and he'd been out dancing the night before. He'd even found himself a little female company, though he'd hadn't stayed at her place for the night, making his excuses as he left. Going to her place gave him a reason not to let her stay the night since he was the one who would have to leave. Besides, he wasn't fool enough to bring someone home. He knew that the Director had cameras in every Agency-owned apartment, and he wasn't into performing for an audience. His date for the night had given him her phone-number, but he didn't think he'd call her. A second date led to an assumption of a relationship, and that led to questions about what he actually did for a living; questions that he couldn't answer. That was the biggest drawback to his job. Maybe someday he'd meet someone who he could tell everything without them running away scared. He wasn't holding his breath. In the meantime, he contented himself as best he could with a series of one-night stands. The one time he'd tried for more, the woman had turned out to be an arms dealer who'd threatened to blow them all up with a nuclear hand-grenade at what was supposed to be their wedding. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out. He'd learned his lesson. No more dating the suspects. He reached the conference room and was a little surprised that Vic and LiAnn were the only ones there. He'd expected the Director to be waiting with a biting comment about tardiness for which he'd come up with a quick excuse that would make the others smile if he were lucky. Almost disappointed, he slipped into the empty seat. As usual, LiAnn had taken the middle seat, firmly planting herself between the two men who were her partners and were also both her ex-fiancÈes. It was almost like she still expected them to come to blows over her, even more than two years working together. She didn't seem to have noticed that they'd become friends over that time, especially since they'd nearly been killed by Michael Tang. She hadn't been badly injured, but they'd both spent time in physical therapy, rebuilding their strength, and their friendship had strengthened from the shared experience. Besides, the only thing they'd ever really fought over was her, and they'd both gotten over her long ago, but Mac wasn't sure she'd noticed. Maybe she thought that they were both still hovering around her, waiting for her to make a choice. LiAnn could be very self-absorbed. "Good morning boys and girls," the Director said coming down the mysterious set of stairs at the back of the conference room. Mac still didn't know where they led, and he'd been wondering since almost day one. He wasn't foolish enough to try sneaking up them to find out, though. "I must say, you did good work on the Lemmerling case. Don't let it go to your head," she quickly added, and Mac had to hide a smile. The woman was hard as nails and not afraid to get her hands dirty, but despite her attempts to hide it, she obviously had a soft spot for their team. She gracefully settled into her chair opposite them and propped her feet up on the desk surface. Considering the brevity of her skirt, only the fact that her legs were crossed at the ankles kept them from seeing what color underwear she was wearing. Assuming she was wearing any, Mac thought with a small shudder. At times the Director's behavior around Vic and him—especially him—seemed to swing between maternal and predatory. It was a scary combination. "However," she continued, "you did well enough that I've decided to give you all a small reward." The three of them exchanged glances, wondering what was going on. The Director never rewarded them for doing their job. She ignored the non-verbal exchange. "I'm leaving tomorrow for a week of meetings in San Francisco. Since I'm allowed to bring an entourage, I've decided that the three of you will accompany me. I will need you for a few hours a day, but the rest of the time will be yours to do as you like." "Great!" Mac said, delighted. "I've never been to San Francisco. I think," he added softly. During the five years he'd traveled with his father he'd seen a lot of the world, and he wasn't sure of all the cities he'd seen. After a while they'd sort of blended together. The Director favored him with a small, amused smile. "Our flight leaves at seven tomorrow evening. Don't be late." They sat staring at her, all of them wondering if that was a dismissal or not. The Director was heading for the stairs again when she paused and turned around. "Well? Shouldn't you be packing or something? Shoo!" They shooed. A free day was almost as rare as praise or other rewards, and Mac didn't want to risk losing it. "I wonder what sort of meetings she's going to?" LiAnn asked as they headed for the exit. It seemed natural that they would stay together. "Who cares?" Mac said with a wide grin. "We're going to San Francisco for a vacation." Vic didn't look quite as happy about it. "Yeah, but if the Director has to go, it's probably Agency business, which means we're diving blind into a shark tank. Doesn't that bother you?" Mac's grin dissolved into a pout. "Do you have to be such a pessimist?" he asked, his good mood already starting to fade slightly. It didn't help that Vic was right; the trip probably was a cover for something that they weren't being told about. That was more like the Director. "Well," he finally said. "If it is, then there isn't much we can do about it. I still plan on packing to party, and I suggest that you do to. No, wait, I forgot. You don't party, do you Vic?" His grin started to grow again as he teased the older man. "Well, we'll just have to do something about that." Vic was eyeing him suspiciously, but Mac was already starting to make plans. He was going to take his two partners clubbing, whether they liked it or no. LiAnn hadn't been much fun since the whole thing with Michael, and Vic would drag his feet. But Mac had made it his mission to make his uptight partners loosen up, and this was the perfect chance. People always acted differently when they traveled. They separated at the door, each heading for their own car—or pickup truck in Vic's case. Mac shook his head in disgust over the vehicle. Vic was a gorgeous man, and in a sports car—green or black, Mac thought with a smile—he would be a sight to be seen. Or he would if he would just dress better. Mac added a shopping trip to his mental plans. If they were going clubbing, he would have to get Vic some decent clothes. Mac climbed into his Agency-owned Testarosa and headed back to his apartment. Unlike Vic, he wasn't afraid to drive an ostentatious car. The Agency had offered them each their choice of any car, and he'd picked the one he wanted, in the color he wanted. Black, of course. Was there any other color better suited to a Ferrari? Well, maybe fire-engine red. During the drive back to the Agency-owned apartment he lived in, filled with Agency-owned furniture, he wondered how he'd ended up in this life. The Agency owned everything he had, right down to his underwear. True, they didn't stint, letting him accumulate an expensive wardrobe and a large collection of CDs and movies, but they still owned it all. All he got was a stipend that paid for his food and his entertainment, and even that had to be accounted for, right down to the penny. If he tried to walk away from the Agency, it would be as a pauper. Yet another way that the Agency kept them on short leashes. Of course, if it weren't for the Agency, he'd still be in a Hong Kong jail, assuming that the Tangs hadn't already arranged to have him killed as punishment for trying to leave. Well, that and trying to steal the proceeds from the gun-running operation to finance a new life for him and LiAnn. Old man Tang had claimed to love them like they were his own blood, but it didn't stop him from agreeing to force LiAnn to marry his real son, Michael, or from trying to force Mac to take over that gun-running operation, even though Mac had made it clear how much he hated the idea. He never would have let them just leave. He called them his children, but in truth they were his property. And now they were property of the Agency, so not a lot had changed. Inside his apartment, he pushed away those depressing thoughts. What was, was, and there was nothing he could do to change it right now. Instead of dwelling on his life, or lack thereof, he started packing for the trip. No matter what the Director was up to now, he intended to enjoy the week in San Francisco. Like he'd said, as far as he knew, he'd never been to the 'City by the Bay', but he'd heard a lot about it. There were nightclubs he wanted to hit, restaurants he wanted to try. There was no telling when he'd get another chance to visit the city, so he planned to make the most of it. His favorite party clothes went into a garment bag and his suitcase, and by the time he was half-packed, his good mood had returned. A CD filled the air with music that made him want to dance. He was singing along with the lyrics—such as they were—and moving to the beat when he heard the sound of applause. Pulling the gun that had become the most essential part of his wardrobe, he turned to find the Director standing in the doorway. He holstered the gun with a sigh, and moved past her to turn off the stereo. "What do you want?" he asked, not really trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He knew she had the keys to his apartment, but he wished she didn't use them quite so often. She was still wearing the same clothes: a sheer white blouse with a black camisole underneath, a very short black velvet skirt and black silk stockings, with four inch spike heels to finish the outfit off. A woman who looked to be in her mid-forties shouldn't be able to pull off an outfit like that, but she did, and very well. "Now, is that any way to talk to your boss?" she said, pulling off the mirrored sunglasses that she was wearing. "Really, Mac." Mac sighed. It looked like she was in the mood to play, which rarely boded well for him. "Sorry," he said, hoping to mollify her. "No, that's all right. After all, I should have knocked." Then she paused and tapped one long fingernail against her lower lip. "Then again, we own this apartment, so why bother?" Mac sighed, his good mood disappearing again. He was starting to feel like he was on an emotional roller coaster. Of course, that was nothing new. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked, barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. He hoped. "I just wanted to make sure that you were going to be ready for the trip." She walked over to the bed and peaked in the garment bag, then checked the closet. "Pack the blue silk shirt," she said with a sultry smile, turning back to him. He backed up as she advanced on him looking positively predatory. Unfortunately, a wall behind him halted his retreat. The Director leaned against him, getting in a little grope. "It looks good on you." Mac gulped. The Director had never hidden the fact that she found him attractive. Either that or she just liked teasing him. He'd never even considered reciprocating, though. The woman was just too darned scary, no matter how attractive she was. Besides, she was his boss and almost old enough to be his mother. There was something vaguely incestuous about even thinking about her being naked. And having her show up in his apartment on a regular basis wearing next to nothing didn't help. "Whatever you say," he finally said. "Good answer," she said, toying with the buttons of his shirt, slipping the top few out of their buttonholes. Finally, she stepped back, and Mac breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like he was going to escape unmolested. Again. As she headed for the bedroom door, he hastily buttoned his shirt back up to his neck. Even worse was the mild hardon she'd left him with. Despite his lack of interest, his body wasn't shy about responding to her. "Oh, and Mac," she said, pausing in the doorway. "There's a new outfit on the back of your sofa. Pack it as well." Then she was gone. Mac held still for a couple minutes, half expecting her to come back and torment him some more. When she didn't, he started to relax. The CD had ended, and the apartment almost echoed with the silence. Mac leaned back against the wall, lightly tapping the back of his head against the hard surface a couple times. "If the job doesn't kill me, she will," he announced to the empty air. Then he grabbed the indicated shirt and stuffed it into his garment bag, resisting the urge to rip it to shreds. It was one of his favorites, but now he didn't think he'd be able to wear it without remembering having the Director grope him. He lost more clothes that way... Then he headed for the living room. As promised, there was clothing draped over the back of the sofa. Mac picked up the top item and groaned. It was a pair of black leather pants that looked to be so tight that he would need a crowbar to get in or out of them. Beneath it was a white silk shirt that shimmered like it was wet. Picking it up, he somehow wasn't surprised to find that it was designed to be open almost to the waist. It had full sleeves, ending in tight cuffs with lace ruffles as trim. He picked up the last item, a leather vest in the same glowing black as the pants, and jumped when several objects dropped to the floor with a jingle. He crouched down and fished them out from under the sofa, standing up again before he took a look at what was in his hand. The first item made him cringe. It was a gold chain attached to nipple clamps. He'd had a casual bed partner who liked to play with those sorts of thing, but he wasn't crazy about them. At least these weren't the type with alligator teeth. These were adjustable, and looked pretty comfortable. Obviously they were intended for display, not play. Next was an earring with a gold charm. The charm was of a stylized 'T' with the upright made from a scepter. It was small and delicate and definitely not his style in jewelry. The final item was a heavy gold chain choker that looked very expensive. He held it up to his neck, then shivered. Wearing it would be just too much like wearing a collar, he thought to himself. His phone ringing brought him out of his reverie. He dropped the jewelry on a side table, then picked up the phone. "Ramsey." "Oh yes, I forgot to mention," said that oh-so-familiar voice. "Be wearing the earring tomorrow when you get to the airport. You will be expected to be wearing it during the entire trip." "Why?" Mac started to ask, but the only answer he got was a dial- tone. He stared at the receiver for a minute, but there were no answers to be found there. He hung up the phone and shrugged. If she wanted him to wear an earring, he would wear it. The clamps were a different matter. But he couldn't help wondering why it was so important that he wear a piece of jewelry. Mac was running late, as usual, and he got to the airport just in time to check his bags and get to the gate before boarding was called. He'd ended up packing enough clothes for a stay of several weeks, but that was okay. Better to have too many clothes than not enough was his motto. LiAnn had probably packed just as much. Vic, on the other hand, would probably fit everything into a duffel bag that would do as a carryon. When he got to the gate, the Director was off in the corner talking with Dobrinsky, probably giving him last instructions. He was going to be running things while they were gone, with Jackie helping. That had surprised Mac, but it made sense. Even if the blonde was a total nutcase, she'd been trained to run a mob family. That wasn't too different from running the Agency, Mac figured. Mac headed over to join his partners standing next to the windows. The world outside was black, except for the airport lights, since it was still early in the spring. The interior lights reflected off the insides of the windows, turning them almost into mirrors, reflecting their images back at them. As he got closer, he noticed that something was off with Vic's appearance. Same clothes, same posture, same expression... Different earring, though. Vic normally wore a simple small gold hoop. This earring had a charm hanging from it, and Mac could bet that he knew what the charm was. When he was close enough, he confirmed that the charm was identical to the one dangling from his own ear. "Let me guess," he said, reaching over to flick the earring hanging from Vic's ear. "Black leather and white silk." "You too, huh?" Vic said. Mac turned his head so that Vic could see his earring. They turned to LiAnn, who held up a matching charm hanging from a delicate gold chain around her neck. Mac wondered idly what sort of outfit the Director had supplied her with, and felt a reflexive tightening in his groin. They might not be together any more, and he was no longer unhappy about that, but he still found her attractive. "And the... other jewelry?" Vic flinched, and Mac knew that in the man's luggage would be a set of nipple clamps connected by a chain and a choker, or something similar. Surprisingly, LiAnn just looked confused. "So I wonder what they mean," he said speculatively, indicating the charms. Vic grimaced. "Ownership." Mac blinked, then frowned. "T for Toronto?" he speculated. "Just what are we going to that she would need to mark us as hers?" "Don't you two think you're getting just a little paranoid?" LiAnn said in an irritated tone. Mac just snorted. "LiAnn, I wouldn't be surprised if she had us branded." "What an interesting idea," a voice purred from behind him, making him jump. When he turned, the Director was right behind him. "I'm glad you all know how to follow orders," she said, checking them all out. "And I am quite serious. Don't remove those for any reason until we return home." "Why?" Vic demanded. She stared at him until he backed down. "Because I say so." Then she softened, just slightly. "The people I'm meeting with aren't necessarily friends, but we do have a truce. Those mark you as under my protection. Take them off, and you'll be fair game. I suggest that you don't take them off." The words sent a cold shiver down Mac's back, and he decided that whatever was going on, he wasn't going to test that statement. That earring was going to stay permanently attached to his ear, come hell or high water, until he was safe and sound, back in his own apartment. At that moment, they called the boarding for first class. "That's my call. I'll see you when we land. Ta-ta." She turned and headed for the tunnel to the plane. Mac glanced at the ticket that LiAnn had handed him and sighed. "Coach? She flies first class and we go coach?" Vic shrugged. "What else would you expect from her?" he said. LiAnn just shook her head. Finally, their boarding was called, and they headed for the plane. It was going to be a long flight, Mac thought. He needed a lot of leg room, and there was no way he was going to get that in coach. Mac took the window seat and was a little surprised when LiAnn didn't take the center seat, like she usually did. Then again, LiAnn had never much liked flying, so it wasn't surprising that she wanted to be as far from the window as possible. So, instead Vic was next to him, and Mac was a little relieved. A tense LiAnn was not a good travelling companion. As they took off, Mac watched the bright lights of Toronto fade away beneath them, and shivered. For a moment, he was convinced that he wasn't going to see those lights again. Then he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was tired and once they got to San Francisco, who knew how much rest they'd get. Chapter Two The plane landed in San Francisco not much before eleven o'clock and Vic was exhausted. His body was telling him that it was two in the morning, and he was not a night person. He would have preferred to go on an earlier flight, but he knew better than to suggest it to the Director. While the woman seemed perfectly reasonable most of the time, you never knew what would set her off. And setting her off was not a smart move. He'd learned that quickly when he'd been recruited by the Agency, more than half a decade before. San Francisco wasn't impressive so far. Black and wet. It was raining when they landed, raining when they got off the plane, raining when they finally got their bags from the luggage claim and raining when the Director herded them into a waiting limousine. Rain, rain and more rain. God, he hated rain. LiAnn was still doing the silent act. She'd read a book in Chinese —or at least he assumed it was Chinese—the entire flight, ignoring them both. It was something she did on a regular basis. Vic was finding it harder and harder to remember the woman who'd been his lover for nearly a year before she'd broken off their relationship. Ever since the incident with her former foster brother, Michael Tang—when she'd had to kill him and the three of them had been nearly killed in an explosion—she'd withdrawn from them and the rest of the world. She still did her job, and did it well, but she rarely went out any more. She put on a good act, but a lot of the light had gone out of her. Maybe this trip would bring out the old LiAnn, the one he'd fallen in love with. Mac, on the other hand, hadn't shut up the entire trip. He'd somehow found the time to buy a handful of tourists guides to San Francisco and read aloud from them descriptions of the various nightspots he intended to hit, making it clear that he was not going to go alone. Vic had growled at him to keep quiet, and growled at him again that he had no intention of going clubbing, but secretly he was grinning. In their months of recovery from the explosion, he and Mac had grown closer. They'd already been friends, almost against their wills, but now he would be happy to call Mac his brother. It was the first time he'd considered applying that title to someone since he'd been betrayed by the fellow cops who were supposed to be his brothers. So if Mac wanted to go exploring the San Francisco nightlife, Vic would go with him. He'd grumble and complain, but he would go. And knowing Mac, he would probably enjoy it too. Not that he'd ever admit it to the younger man, of course. The limousine dropped them off in front of what looked like an old- style manor. The small, discreet sign hanging over the front door quietly announced that they'd arrived at 'The Garden House.' Their bags were unloaded and since he had the fewest Vic ended up carrying the Director's luggage, as well his own. Normally he would have just had a single duffel bag, not needing a lot of clothing, but the Director had shown up at his apartment in the middle of the night with a suitcase full of fancy clothes and orders to bring it with him. All she would say was that she didn't want to be embarrassed by her people. Most of the clothing, he actually liked. Some of it, though, was stuff he wouldn't be caught dead in. Unfortunately he didn't think that the Director was going to give him a choice. As he hefted one of the bags, the swinging of the earring hanging from his left ear distracted him. Yet another mark of ownership, like the collar that was tucked inside the suitcase he'd been ordered to bring with him. Part of him had wanted to refuse to wear it, but he knew better. Even after more than six years he had no illusions. If he crossed the Director, he would end up back in prison so fast that his head would spin. It wasn't a place he wanted to see again, so he wore the earring and he brought the collar. God help him. The manager of the hotel obviously knew the Director already. He nearly fell over himself, personally escorting them to their rooms. There was a suite for the Director, with bedroom, bathroom, sitting room and meeting room. LiAnn was installed in the room next to it, and a room with two double beds was assigned to Mac and Vic. The Director stared at them, obviously expecting some sort of protest, but Vic just shrugged. It wasn't worth arguing about. They'd shared before. At least Mac didn't snore. Besides, it wouldn't make a difference and she'd enjoy forcing them too much. "Well," she finally said. "I suggest you all get some rest. I won't need you until tomorrow evening, so enjoy your day. Don't get in trouble and whatever you do, don't remove my insignia. You might not like the consequences," she added darkly. Vic had to suppress a shiver, even though he was sure she was trying to fake them out; like kids telling ghost stories around the campfire. The door shut behind them, and he was alone in the room with Mac. At least the green and brown dÈcor was restful, and not overly feminine like most hotel rooms. "So, which bed do you want?" Vic asked, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to be magnanimous. Mac stared at them, considering his options, then shrugged. "Both of them are shorter than I like, but I'll take the one closer to the window," he said. "Okay," Vic said, then tossed his bags onto the other bed. It was just as well. Given a preference, he preferred to be closer to the door. Also, thanks to the short corridor past their bathroom, that bed was also completely out of the view of the door. Another bonus. Mac was already unpacking his bags, hanging his clothes in the closet. Vic decided to follow his example. If the Director wanted him in one of her outfits tomorrow night, it had better not be wrinkled. He watched Mac finish, noting that the only thing that didn't look to be his own was the one outfit. Black leather and white silk, just like he'd said at the airport in Toronto. Vic's bags were a different matter. He had his own blue jeans and cotton shirts, as well as his favorite brown leather jacket. The Director, however, obviously didn't approve of his choice of clothing, so he now had two pairs of dress pants in charcoal gray and navy blue, several new dress shirts in jewel-tone colors and two pairs of dress shoes that he had been unsurprised to find a perfect fit. And then there was the... other outfit. Tight black leather pants to match the ones Mac had unpacked, a smooth, tight shirt of white silk with a high collar and a black leather jacket that wasn't too bad. Newer and shinier than the one he already owned. Mac was watching him now, his eyebrows going up at the new clothing. "Nice," he said to the dark green silk shirt. "Very nice," to the black and white outfit. "And did you get the same accessories as I did?" "Accessories?" Vic asked, trying to playing dumb. "Come on, Vic. She wants a matching set, so you got accessories too. I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he added suggestively, a grin plastered all over his face. Vic gritted his teeth and pulled the velvet bag from his suitcase. He tossed it over to Mac and turned his back. He already knew what was in it. A collar. A damned collar. Black leather with a gold design inlaid on it. And hanging from the front of the collar was a gold chain leash. The other end of the leash clipped to the matching leather belt. He refused to turn to see the inevitable smirk on Mac's face. "Well," Mac finally said. "It's about as bad as mine." "Oh?" Vic asked as he turned, curious in spite of himself. Mac's only answer was to toss him a similar velvet bag from his own luggage. Inside, Vic found a set of nipple-clamps that made him wince, joined by a gold chain, and a heavy gold necklace that looked an awful lot like the sort of choke collar you'd buy for a dog. For a moment, he flashed on an image of Mac in his Director-provided outfit wearing them, and felt arousal coil in his gut, then forced it away guiltily. He wasn't going to go there. The last time he'd gone there, he'd ended up burnt. That wasn't going to happen again. Or so he'd been telling himself for more than a year now. "I'd say she plans to put us on display," Mac said, sliding Vic's 'accessories' back into their bag and tossing them onto his bed. "What kind, I'm not sure I want to know." "I can guess," Vic said darkly, remembering some of the things he'd seen in his days in Vice. Mac looked at him sharply, but didn't press for anything more... descriptive. Good thing, since Vic had no intention of going there either. Vic decided that bed was a good idea, so he grabbed his toiletries bag and cotton pajamas and headed for the bathroom. He decided to leave the shower until morning, settling for brushing, flossing, then washing his face and changing into the pajamas. When he came back out, Mac brushed past him, presumably to do the same. Vic pulled out the jeans and shirt he intended to wear the next day, turned off all the lights except the bedside lamps, then pulled back the covers and slipped into bed. The mattress was a little softer than he liked, but at least there were enough pillows. So many hotels had those teeny, flat pillows that left him with a sore neck. These were thick and fluffy, stuffed with down feathers from the feel. After a few minutes the toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened again. Vic opened his eyes as Mac came across the room and started to strip. Vic's eyes went wide as clothes were draped over the back of a handy chair. "Couldn't you have changed in the bathroom?" he asked, his voice sounding almost strangled to even him. Mac grinned. "I told you before, Vic. I don't wear anything to bed," he said teasingly, referring to the time he'd waited in Vic's bed to ask for help with the Rivers case. With that, he dropped his briefs on top of the pile of clothing with a flourish and pulled back the covers of the other bed. As he did so, he managed to turn enough that Vic got an eyeful of his package. Mac definitely had nothing to be ashamed of there and wasn't shy of showing it off. Vic turned quickly to face the wall next to his bed, trying to ignore Mac's chuckle at the move. The light clicked off. Vic pretended that he didn't hear the sound of flesh sliding against cool linen. Mac was obviously making a production of stretching out and moaning softly at the comfort of the bed. Mac was a tease. Vic knew that. The younger man had been teasing him since the day they'd met. However, in the last few months that teasing had been taking on an increasingly sexual tone. It was frustrating and infuriating, but the kicker was that most of the time Mac didn't even seem to be aware of it. Either that or Mac was a much better actor than Vic was giving him credit for. Still, even if he was aware, Vic had no intention of taking him up on the implied offer. He'd never seen Mac date anyone not female and he had no intention of being an experiment in walking the other side of the street for him. Besides, Mac had never dated the same woman more than twice. While the other man might be willing to dabble in one-night stands, other than the brief attempt at marriage to Claire, which hadn't even made it through the ceremony, Vic wanted something more. He wanted permanence. He wanted stability Unfortunately, the Agency made that pretty much impossible so his usual date these days was his trusty right hand. His best bet for a long-term relationship was someone inside the Agency, but that wasn't too appealing. LiAnn had dumped him once and he wasn't enough of a masochist to give her the chance to do it again, both Nathan and Jackie were too crazy for his tastes, Dobrinsky was too straight and the Director... he was definitely not going there. He wasn't that desperate. At least, not yet. And Mac? It would be fun, fast and probably end by destroying their friendship, and Vic had few enough friends that he wasn't willing to risk that. Soft snores were coming from the other bed, and Vic finally started to relax. In a way, the sound was soothing, and it was the last thing he was aware of before drifting off to sleep. The morning dawned bright and sunny and Vic wasn't very pleased to see it. Unfortunately, despite how late he'd gotten to sleep, he was awake to see the sun rise. He usually got up early, and six in the morning in San Francisco was nine in Toronto, which was late for him. Mac, on the other hand, didn't seem to have much trouble sleeping. He didn't stir when Vic showered and shaved, and didn't move when Vic got dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a comfortable flannel shirt. For the time being, he left the Director's clothes in the closet. Then he grabbed one of the room keys and went in search of breakfast. What he found was pleasantly surprising. The Garden House had a dining room that served a hearty breakfast instead of the teeny little gourmet fare he was expecting. They even had Canadian back bacon. He ordered a meat-heavy omelet with a huge side of hash browns, coffee and orange juice and settled down to fuel himself for whatever was going to happen that day. LiAnn wandered down about an hour later and ordered a plate of fresh fruit and cottage cheese—a food item that personally made Vic shudder, both in look and taste—and a cup of tea. They exchanged greetings, then Vic went back to the mystery novel he'd brought down with him. Mac appeared an hour after that. By that point, LiAnn had headed out the door to do who-knew-what without even bothering to ask Vic if he wanted to come along. "So, what shall we do today?" Mac asked cheerfully as he inhaled a plate of something that Vic wasn't so sure that he wanted to examine too closely. The kitchen staff seemed to be able to produce anything you wanted, no matter how weird. "Well," Vic said, considering the pile of brochures he'd collected from the front desk. "I'd like to see the botanical gardens." Mac sighed and shook his head. "Boring, Vic." Vic glared at him. "You asked," he said defensively. Mac expression softened. Finally he grinned. "All right, the botanical gardens it is. And tomorrow I get to chose, okay?" Vic shrugged. "Sounds fair to me. Of course, if it's too weird, you'll be doing it alone." "C'mon, Vic. Learn to live a little. It'll be fun." Vic wasn't so sure of that, but he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it would probably be something like a trip to Chinatown or something like that. Mac would probably delight in trying to get him to eat squid or something equally disgusting. The botanical gardens had been as spectacular as the guidebooks and brochures had promised. While Toronto was still brown and dingy as the last of the winter snow melted, San Francisco was full of the color of growing plants. Vic had ignored Mac's comments and had pulled out his trusty old camera and had snapped two entire rolls of film at the gardens. He knew that he looked like a tourist, but he didn't care. He was enjoying himself. Besides, he was a tourist. They found a sidewalk cafÈ for lunch, and while the prices made Vic wince, the pastrami on rye was fantastic. For some strange reason, Mac insisted on ordering the veggie special. Sourdough bread piled high with a dozen types of vegetables and guacamole instead of mayo or butter. "So what did you think?" Vic asked, taking a deep gulp of his beer. Okay, it wasn't as good as Canadian beer, but it went down nicely with the sandwich and fries. Mac shrugged. "Very... pretty," he said, but Vic could see the twinkle in his eyes. "And you don't do pretty, right?" "Oh, I do pretty very well. Blonde and blue eyed, or raven haired and green eyed. I like pretty a lot." He was distracted briefly, and Vic turned his head slightly to see why. Naturally, it was a couple of leggy California girls walking down the sidewalk. He snorted. "What? Don't you do pretty any more?" Mac asked teasingly. "I don't do just pretty," Vic shot back. "Personality and brains are kind of important too." "You mean like Ivy?" Mac asked, referring to a stripper who'd pursued Vic. "She was an informant, that's all." "Oh, really? LiAnn said Ivy was so distracting that it took you twice as long and twice as much money as it should have to get the info on the Janczyk family." "And what were you up to at the time? Playing kissy-face with Jackie Janczyk?" "Hey," Mac said defensively. "I was trying to keep myself in one piece." "Ever consider trying again?" Vic asked, only slightly teasing. He grinned as Mac shuddered theatrically. "Not if you paid me," he said. "Seriously, Jackie scares me. Hell, sometimes she scares me even more than the Director does." Vic lifted a quick hand to his left ear, checking the earring there, then blushed at the reflexive motion. The only thing that saved him from complete embarrassment was the fact that Mac had done the same thing. They looked at each other and snickered. "What about you?" Mac asked. "Ever consider Jackie as a partner partner?" "For maybe two seconds. I prefer someone a little more... stable." "So Nathan, the Victor-worshiper, is out too," Mac said with a grin. "I have this little rule," Vic shot back. "No dating anyone who thinks I'm a prince of the Illuminati." "Is that all?" "Well, it's rule twenty-seven of a hundred and sixteen." "Wow," Mac said, his eyes gone comically large. "No wonder you never have a date." Vic tossed a french fry at him, but Mac just managed to snap it out of the air with his teeth and munched it nonchalantly. "Pardon me," a soft voice said from beside their table and both men jumped. It was just their waiter. "Mister Mansfield?" "Yes?" Vic asked suspiciously. "Telephone," the waiter said and handed over a cordless telephone over before heading back to his rounds of the tables. Vic raised an eyebrow, but Mac just shrugged. He lifted the phone to his ear. "Mansfield." "You know," a very familiar voice said, "if you had waited just a little longer, I could have given you both cell phones. That way, I wouldn't have had to track you down." Mac was trying to get his attention, and Vic mouthed "The Director" at him. Mac's eyes went wide. "Sorry, we didn't know that you had planned that." "Victor, I plan for everything. You should know that by now." "Sorry," Vic said again, feeling like a complete dweeb. The Director was very good at making him feel that way. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that we'll be heading for my meeting at six thirty. Make sure that you give yourself plenty of time to get back here and clean up." "Do we have to wear the... umm..." "No, you don't have to wear the 'um.' Those are for the party at the end of the week. But dress do nicely. One of the other items I supplied you with will do fine. Now, have a fun afternoon boys. And don't do anything I wouldn't do." There was a click, then the hum of the dial-tone. Vic snorted as he handed the phone back to the waiter. "Is there anything you wouldn't do?" he muttered to himself. "First meeting tonight. We have to be back and ready for six-thirty." "And the accessories?" Mac asked, all joking gone. Mac may be a bit of an exhibitionist, but he obviously didn't like the Director's toys any better than Vic did. "No. Those, apparently, are for the big party at the end of the week." "Oh, joy," Mac drawled, putting down his sandwich. Vic looked at his own lunch and decided that he wasn't hungry anymore either. "So," he said, forcing good cheer. "What do you suggest for the afternoon?" Unfortunately, the interruption had spoiled the mood. They had wandered around for a while, just taking in some of the sights before heading back to the hotel well before the six-thirty deadline. LiAnn had returned sometime before them and was parked in the sun-room with her book. She'd asked if they'd enjoyed themselves, but didn't seem too interested in the answer. Vic had just shrugged and gone back to his mystery novel. He finished it just before it was time to shower and change, having already figured out whodunit several chapters before the end. He dropped it on his bed, making a mental note to get to a bookstore the next day to pick up a couple more books. For the evening, he pulled out the gray pants and a russet-colored shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he had to admit that the Director did have good taste. The color of the shirt brought out a hint of red in his hair and with the gold earring it complimented his skin tones. The pants hugged his hips without being confining and when he turned he noted that his ass was definitely being displayed to full advantage. They were clothes better suited to someone on the prowl for company, not him. "Very nice," Mac almost purred coming out of the bathroom where he'd been doing something with his hair. It looked the same as always, but it had taken him ten minutes to get it that way according to Vic's watch. Mac's clothing was equally flattering: Black slacks and a matching jacket with wide lapels over a dark blue turtleneck of some material that looked incredibly soft. The man looked good and he knew it. His back was straight, his shoulders back and a small smile curving his full lips. Once again, Vic forced himself to remember all the reasons why he shouldn't make a pass at the young man. "I don't think either of us will embarrass the Director tonight," he said instead, covering his instinctive reaction to Mac's very definite beauty. He and LiAnn must have made a gorgeous couple, back when they lived in Hong Kong. "I certainly hope not," Mac said, double checking his appearance in the mirror. Then they headed down to the lobby where the two women were waiting for them. LiAnn was wearing a Chinese-style dress, red with golden dragons embroidered on it, that came down to just above her knees. Matching ballet slipper shoes made her look like she was ready to go dancing. Vic was pleased to see a genuine smile curve her lips and light her eyes when she saw the two of them coming down the stairs. It was more like the old LiAnn than he'd seen in a while. The only discordant note was the fact that the red of her dress clashed horribly with the russet of his shirt. The Director, on the other hand, was power dressing. She wore a black pantsuit with an equally inky silk blouse that glistened wetly in the lamp light. Her hair was pulled up in a complicated twist and her only jewelry was a gold necklace with a charm that Vic was willing to bet matched the ones the three operative were wearing, although it sparked with the distinctive flare of diamonds. The Director looked them both up and down, and Vic resisted the urge to turn in place so that she could see him from all angles. Finally she smiled and said, "Very nice, boys. This way." It was starting to rain again, and the same limousine was waiting for them. They climbed in and the Director tapped on the glass partition separating the passenger seats from the driver. No instructions were needed obviously. He just nodded and started the car. "So, where are we headed?" LiAnn asked curiously. "My meetings are being held at a local club. I'm sure that you'll find plenty to amuse yourselves while I'm busy." Mac perked up at that. "Really? Which club?" "The Haven." Chapter Three The Haven was not exactly what Mac had expected. In his mind he had pictured a claustrophobic, smoke-filled room with a chanteuse crooning softly in a corner while men in black suits with a more than passing resemblance to de Niro clustered around round tables talking in whispers. In other words, something out of a bad mobster movie. The only thing this place had in common with that image was the round tables. However, it was large and well lit, with high ceilings and a stage at one end of the room next to a spacious dance floor. There was a singer belting out the blues on the stage, backed up by a substantial band, and Mac could see Vic's expression brightening up. Vic, he knew, was a big blues fan. It wasn't really his cup of tea, but if it made his partner smile, Mac was willing to put up with it. Outside the club, signs had proclaimed that the club was closed for private meetings for a week and Mac saw disappointed patrons of a variety of ages being turned away. Mac glanced curiously at the coming-attraction posters and was impressed by the eclectic mix of ultra-modern and more traditional music. If the meetings weren't being held at the Haven, he would have liked to have come for a night out anyway. They were met at the door by a dour-faced man who pointed the Director towards a private room, then led the three agents to one of the smaller tables along the edge of the room. "A waitress will come for your order shortly," he said, then vanished into the crowd. Obviously, being part of the Director's entourage meant they were going to be sitting around doing nothing while the Director did whatever it was she was here for. It was definitely crowded, private meetings or not. Nearly every table was filled to capacity with people who looked edgy and dangerous. A lot of them were the type that Mac wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. An attractive few looked like the type he'd want to meet in a dark alley or a car seat or a hotel room or anyplace else that they might like to name. Like the red-haired beauty behind the bar talking to the bartender. She was older than he usually went for, but she had a classical beauty, like the screen sirens of the forties and fifties. "Would you like to order a drink?" The strange voice pulled Mac out of his drool-fest, and he looked up to find a harried-looking waitress standing next to him. "Draft beer, whatever's best around here," Vic said, predictably. The waitress gave him the once over. "Canadian." Either it was a comment on Vic's obvious nationality or the type of beer she was recommending, Mac wasn't sure which. He would guess the first, though. They didn't usually serve Canadian beer to California. "Club soda with a lime twist," LiAnn said. She'd been ordering that since they were both teenager, sent out on their first job for the Tangs. She never drank alcohol when she was 'on duty.' "Sex on the beach," Mac said with a grin. It didn't get a reaction from the young woman. She just scribbled down the order and left. Several tables were waving for her attention and she called out that she would be there in a moment. Mac watched her go, then turned back to find his partners watching him with identical frowns. "What?" Vic shook his head. "That was such a clichÈ," he said. Mac grinned. "So? I happen to like sex on the beach. Haven't you ever tried it?" he added with a mock-leer. The uptight ex-cop was so much fun to tease. "Yes. And trust me, the sand gets into places you don't want it to get into." Mac's eyes went wide, then he laughed. "A hit, a palpable hit! Keep it up and you might even convince us that you aren't a conservative tight-ass." The older man just flashed him a small grin. Mac was delighted. Vic rarely descended to sexual innuendo. The man could be so much fun when he loosened up. LiAnn just shook her head, then ignored them. A few minutes later, the waitress was back with their drinks. Mac just sipped his. He didn't have any intention of getting drunk, or even slightly tipsy. He'd ordered the drink simply as a way of yanking his partners' chains. It was his best form of amusement these days. He did like the tang of the cranberry juice, though. The chanteuse finished her set and the band swung into a old- fashioned, big band piece. Mac found his feet tapping the tune, and when he saw several people heading for the dance floor, he got to his feet. "Milady?" he said with a flourish and bow, holding his hand out to LiAnn. Immediately, the oriental beauty's face went blank, and she shook her head. Mac sighed, not really surprised. For a moment, the imp of the perverse suggested that he invite Vic to dance, but he decided that that might be pushing the man a little too far. It might be fun, just to see the reaction, though. Glancing around, he noticed the red-head standing next to the bar still. Grinning, he weaved his way through the press of bodies until he arrived in front of her. "Hi," he said with his best ingratiating smile. "Care to dance?" She stared up at him, a shocked expression on her face. After a moment of silence, he started to feel edgy. His shifted his weight from foot to foot, then tried again. "Um, you don't dance? Or do I have something on my face?" She shook her head, like someone coming out of a trance. "I'm sorry. I'd love to dance. I'm Lillie, by the way." He grinned. "Mac Ramsey," he told her, then held out a hand to guide her towards the dance floor. It was incredible. She stepped into his arms and they moved together like they'd been dancing together all their lives. The only dance partner he'd ever had who came even close to this almost telepathic union was LiAnn, and they'd grown up together. The one dance turned into two, then three. Finally, Mac had to call a stop, already sweating from the exercise. Lillie, on the other hand, still looked as fresh as when they started. Not even a faint sheen of sweat marred her perfection. Mac invited her to join their table for a drink. As they headed for the table, though, Mac noted that they were being watched by more than a few people in the room and many of them did not look happy. He could understand that. As far as he was concerned, Lillie was the best looking woman in the room, even better looking than LiAnn, and she was on his arm, at least for the time being. "Lillie, meet Vic Mansfield and LiAnn Tsei," he said as he held a chair for her. She sank into it gracefully and he dropped into his own seat. A moment later, the waitress was placing a fresh drink in front of him, and setting another in front of Lillie. LiAnn raised an eyebrow, looking at the drink. The expression on her face was one that he might have once called 'jealousy.' Now he just called it possessiveness. It hadn't escaped his notice that while LiAnn might have decided that she didn't want him or Vic, she also didn't want anyone else to have them either. Lillie lifted her drink to her lips with a small, secretive smile. The smile grew as LiAnn's expression froze. Mac was starting to feel like he was in the middle of a potential war-zone. Vic caught his eye and gave a small, theatrical shiver, making Mac grin. Finally, Lillie took pity on them. "Lillie Langtry," she said, putting her glass down. "I own the Haven. Built it from the ground up." Mac's eyebrows went up at that. "Really? I wouldn't have thought you old enough for that." Lillie smiled. "Flatterer," she said in a fond tone. "Just like..." Mac tilted his head quizzically, but she didn't finish the thought and he wasn't about to push. "Well then, I really should thank you for taking the time to dance with me. After all, this place must take a lot of attention." She nodded. "Indeed. But I love to dance, and you are an excellent partner. Tell me, Mac, do you do anything else as well as you dance?" Mac leaned forward, grinning. "I do a great many things very well. Did you have anything particular in mind?" he asked, enjoying the chance to flirt with a beautiful woman. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vic rolling his eyes and LiAnn frowning as she looked anywhere except at Mac or Lillie. "Oh, I'm sure that you could think of a few things," Lillie purred. Then she sighed. Turning in his seat, Mac saw a man at the bar gesturing to her. "Unfortunately, business seems to interfere. Thank you for the dance, Mac. I hope I'll see you later." Then she was heading away. Mac sighed, watching the swing of her hips as she moved gracefully, ignoring a few rude suggestions aimed her way. The lady had class. She arrived at the bar and started talking intently to the man waiting for her there. He wasn't bad either. The short, spiky hair combined with the goatee was very hot, Mac thought. Mac rested his chin on one hand and sighed theatrically. "I think I'm in love." Vic snorted. "Not exactly your type, is she?" Mac straightened up. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in mock indignation. "Well, she's classy for one thing," Vic said with a grin, echoing Mac's own thoughts about Lillie. "This from the guy who runs around with hookers, crooks and bimbos," Mac shot back. "Would you two stop bickering, just for once?" LiAnn snapped. Both men turned to stare at her in disbelief. Mac shook his head. Sometimes LiAnn seemed deliberately blind. "Bickering? Are we bickering, Vic?" "Us? Never," Vic said, playing along. LiAnn glared at them, then turned back to her club soda. "LiAnn," Mac said, sighing. "We aren't bickering. We haven't bickered in a long time." "Then what do you call it?" Vic was the one to answer her. "Two friends teasing each other." "Yeah, right. Since when have you two been friends?" Mac and Vic exchanged identical expressions of disbelief. "Since even before physiotherapy forced us to spend long periods of time together," Mac said. "And if you'd paid any attention to us, you would have known that." For a moment, LiAnn's face crumpled. Then it was back to the blank, unemotional mask she'd been wearing since Michael's death. Mac's heart went out to her. He wanted to reach out, to bring her out of her self-imposed emotional prison, but he knew he wouldn't succeed. LiAnn didn't want to be helped. She never let anyone in anymore. And Mac had a sneaking suspicion that if anyone would be able to draw her out, it wouldn't be him or Vic. They were too close, too sympathetic. Too tied into the problem. Mac turned to watch the dance floor, his thoughts turned melancholy. The old LiAnn would have been teasing them both now. Mac missed the old LiAnn. Sometimes he wondered if losing LiAnn was the price for his closer relationship to Vic. And if it was, he found that he couldn't really regret it. The evening was long and only slightly dull. Mac would have preferred to hit some of the other San Fran night-spots, but he didn't exactly have any choice in the matter. Until the Director told them they could leave, here they stayed. Still, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. Here, at least, the music was good, the drinks were free and he had as many dance partners as he liked. His turn around the floor with Lillie had caught the attention of others and he had no shortage of dance or flirting partners. A couple even managed to drag Vic out onto the dance floor where the older man turned out to be a competent—but not inspired—dancer. LiAnn had turned down all invitations to dance. Mac sighed at that. LiAnn was an excellent dancer and she used to love to dance. Now, it was another thing she'd left behind. Finally, the exercise and drinks caught up with Mac, and a discreet question to a waitress directed him to a small corridor with two doors decorated with the ubiquitous silhouettes. Mac opened the door to the little boy agents room. Like the rest of the club, the room was classy. The floor was tile, easy to clean, but examining it with a carefully trained eye said that the materials were not cheap. The dark blue color almost glowed under the elegant light fixtures—real bulbs, not those fluorescent crap bulbs that made you look dead. The mirrors hung on the walls with gilt frames, and the walls of the stalls at the back of the room were paneled with real wood. Solid, not laminated. Mac gave a low whistle at the sight, then headed for the nearest urinal. Even they were in fanciful shapes, dark blue to match the floors instead of the usual institutional white. The door opened behind him, and he turned to see the man Lillie had been talking with earlier. He headed for another urinal, and Mac watched him from the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious about it. The man looked to be a couple years older than him, but younger than Vic. He was dressed casually in denim and leather, and Mac could smell a slight scent of musk, very pleasant to his nose. The equipment he pulled out of his pants was nicely proportioned too. Mac tucked himself into his pants and headed over to the sinks. He washed his hands while watching the man doing his business. Close up, he was even hotter than he'd been from across the main room. Mac dried his hands and headed for the door. For a moment he was tempted to wait for the mystery hunk, maybe strike up a conversation, but he decided against it. Maybe he was being a coward. Then again, maybe he was just cautious. Mac didn't make a habit of hitting on strange men—it was a good way to end up in a hospital if they took it bad. In fact, there'd only been two in the years since Michael dumped him to go chasing after LiAnn. Not that it had done his foster brother much good. Mac got there first, partly out of love for LiAnn, partly in revenge for being dumped. No. Maybe if they were back here tomorrow and hot stuff was too. Or maybe he'd see if Lillie was interested in following through on her suggestions. The bathroom door was still swinging shut behind Mac when he was hit with what felt like the proverbial two-by-four. He hit the floor hard, stars dancing in front of his eyes. "What the..." he started to say, but the rest was choked off by a hand around his throat. He looked up to find that the hand belonged to a very attractive, dark-haired woman with a very unattractive snarl on her face. "You've got a hell of a lot of nerve coming around here," she hissed, hauling him to his feet as if he were made of tissue paper. Then she slammed him into the wall, knocking the breath from him. Her eyes were almost glowing with anger. "I don't know who kept you alive last time, but they aren't going to be able to do that now, you son of a bitch." "Rhiannon!" Hot stuff was coming out of the bathroom. He grabbed the psycho chick and pulled her off of Mac. Mac slumped against the wall, rubbing his throat and trying to remember how to breathe. "Stay out of this," the girl growled at Mac's rescuer. "Zane's dead! This isn't him. He's from out of town." "Right. Pull the other one," she said with a derisive snort. "Look at him! Really look." The man twisted her to face Mac, forcing her to look at him. The disdain on her face would have been a real ego-killer if she hadn't already been trying to kill him. Mac stared back, wondering what the hell was going on. The rage stayed there for long moments. Then, suddenly, her eyes went wide, then narrowed. "You're not Zane," she said, almost accusingly. "No," Mac rasped. "Who are you?" "Mac Ramsey. My boss is in town for meetings, and she brought me her." The girl twisted to look at the man restraining her. They stared at each other for a moment, then he released her. "Sorry," she muttered, then took off. "You okay?" Mac's rescuer asked, reaching out to help him stand steady. "Yeah," Mac said, accepting the aid. At the moment, he needed it. He was going to have one hell of a set of bruises tomorrow. "Thanks of the rescue. What the hell was that all about?" The man sighed. "That was your face getting you into trouble." "Huh?" Mac's face had gotten him into trouble in the past, but it had never got him attacked. "Zane. He was a singer here, several years ago. He wasn't exactly... stable. Anyway, he was being investigated for several rapes, her included," he said, pointing in the direction psycho chick had gone. "He committed suicide. You... You look like you could be his twin brother." Mac had the feeling that there was more to the story than just that, but it made a certain amount of sense, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to press. "That why Lillie was looking at me like she'd seen a ghost?" he asked. "Yeah. Lillie was the one who 'discovered' Zane, you could say. He was also her lover, off and on. She... she was the one who found him." "Shit," Mac said with feeling. "And you?" "Zane was a... friend. A very good friend. Before." "Before he went off the deep end," Mac finished for him. "Um... What's your name?" he asked, kicking himself for the hesitant tone. Real smooth, Ramsey. The man grinned, making a good looking face gorgeous. "Cash. And you are from Toronto." "Huh? How?" While Mac spluttered in surprise, Cash reached over and flicked his earring. A scepter turned into a 'T'. 'T' for Toronto, it seemed. "Any way, I'd be careful around here. Zane had more than a few enemies, and like I said, your face will get you into trouble." "Great, just great," Mac muttered to himself. "So much for seeing some of the nightlife, I guess." Cash cocked his head to the side, then smiled. "Not necessarily. You just need to have someone to run interference, just in case someone else makes the same mistake." "Oh?" Mac asked, perking up. He plastered on his most ingratiating smile. "Got anyone in mind?" Cash leaned forward, his hand coming up to rest on the wall next to Mac's head. His smile turned feral, and Mac shivered. He was being flirted with and it was good. "I can think of several. Me, for example." "Know any good dance clubs?" "The best in town." "Tomorrow?" "If I can convince my boss." Mac bit off a curse. Of course. The Director. He sighed, disappointed. "Ditto. Damn. I'll have to check." Cash grinned. "Well, assuming they both say okay, we'll make a night of it, then. The meeting will be here all week, so I'll meet you here tomorrow night. With any luck we can head off to someplace a little more... interesting." Mac grinned. "Sounds good to me. This place is great, but I like a little more action." "Oh, when there aren't private meetings going on, this place is the place to be. Hell, it isn't bad tonight, if a little old- fashioned. Saw you out on the dance floor. You dance as well to something a little more modern?" "Just try me," Mac purred. "Oh, I think I will," Cash growled softly, leaning forward. Unfortunately, right at that moment someone came down the hall looking for the bathroom, and the mood was broken. Mac sighed and pushed away from the wall. "Tomorrow, then," he said. "Tomorrow," Cash said. It sounded like a promise. Then he turned and head for the employees-only door at the end of the corridor. "Tomorrow," Mac whispered to himself, then grinned. Tomorrow was going to be great. Mac was so distracted by the thoughts of going clubbing with Cash that he forgot what he must look like until he got back to the table. The Director had reappeared from wherever it was she'd been hiding and she frowned when she saw him. Vic and LiAnn were a little more vocal in their reactions. "What the hell happened to you?" LiAnn said, getting to her feet. "Are you all right?" Vic asked at almost the same moment. "Huh?" Mac said, staring at them. Then he remembered. "Oh, sorry. I ran into someone in the back." "You mean you ran into somebody's fist," Vic said, his expression going dark. "Who?" For a moment, Mac had the image of Vic running off to avenge his honor or something equally ridiculous. Well, maybe not so ridiculous. If anyone went after Vic, he'd be the first in line to take him down. It was written into the Code of Partners: An attack on one is an attack on all. The Director was standing right in front of him now. She lifted a surprisingly gentle hand to turn his chin this way and that so that she could examine the damage. "Who did this?" she asked softly. While Vic looked angry enough to thrash someone, the Director looked more inclined to kill. Slowly, painfully, perhaps ripping a still- beating heart from the chest of the person who dared to damage her property. The woman was damned scary at times. "Really, I'm fine. Apparently, though, I am a dead-ringer for a guy who pissed off a lot of people before he killed himself. I just ran into someone with an axe to grind with this Zane person." "Damn," the woman muttered to herself. Then she straightened up. "I'll arrange a flight back to Toronto for you tomorrow." "Hey!" Mac said indignantly. "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. Besides, I've got an invite for tomorrow night to go clubbing. Assuming you're willing to let me have the night off, that is," he added with his best pleading face on. The Director raised one elegant eyebrow. "A date, Mac? My, you move fast. Who with?" Mac nodded towards the bar. When he noticed that he was the focus of their attention, Cash grinned and raised his glass in salute. Mac snickered as Vic's eyes almost bugged out. Obviously he hadn't expected the 'date' to be male. The Director tapped a long fingernail against her lip thoughtfully. "All right," she finally said. "I won't send you back yet, and yes, you can have tomorrow night off. Don't frown, Victor. It's unattractive. You can have the next night off. But if there are anymore problems due to your unfortunate appearance, you will be on the next flight out. Is that understood?" Mac nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a sigh. "Good. Now, if you are ready to go?" Obediently, they all followed her as she headed for the door. As they passed the bar, Cash called out, "Mac!" Mac paused, aware that the others had to. "Yes?" he said with a grin. "Thought you might like to see this," the man said, tossing over a framed photograph. A photograph of Zane, he assumed. Mac could understand why people would think he was the same person. The face in the photograph was his. The only differences were the other details. For one thing, he'd never had his hair that long. The man in the photograph had curls long enough to brush his shoulders. He was wearing a white, poet's shirt, open to the navel, and tight black pants. The photographer had caught him on stage, singing, just as he looked right at the camera—or whoever was behind it—with a soft, sultry grin. The man looked like sex personified. Behind him, Vic let loose with a soft whistle. "Shit, Mac. He does look like you. Any relation?" Mac shook his head. "Haven't a clue. Dad's lifestyle didn't exactly let me get to know any of my relatives. He could be, though. I mean, I have never met anyone that looked that much like me. Hell, he looks more like me than Dad does." "Very interesting," the Director said, plucking the photo out of his hands. LiAnn looked over her shoulder, obviously curious. "I'll do some checking, if you like." Mac shrugged. "Does it really matter? He's dead, I'm not. I've gotten this far in life without relatives. Besides, they probably wouldn't want anything to do with me anyway," he added softly. Vic squeezed his shoulder, and Mac reached up to pat the comforting hand. When he looked at Cash, the man was watching them with a smile. "Well," he said. "Looks like I get the night off, so I'll see you tomorrow." The smile broadened into a grin. "I'm looking forward to it." "Cash! Boss wants you." Cash twisted and shouted over his shoulder, "On my way!" He turned back to Mac. "See you tomorrow, then. Have your dancing shoes on. We're going to paint the town red." 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. Chapter Seven By the time Mac woke up, it was after one and the previous night felt like some sort of weird dream. He was alone in the room, so Vic had obviously gone to find food, and the growling in Mac's stomach suggested that it thought that was an excellent idea. A glance in the bathroom mirror told Mac that at least part of last night hadn't been a dream. The side of his face where the goon —Brujah, Cash had called them—had landed a punch was black and blue from the cheekbone all the way down to the curve of his jaw. He prodded it gently with a fingertip and winced. It was a miracle that nothing was broken and that he hadn't lost any teeth, although one or two felt a little loose. It hadn't felt this bad the night before, but he'd probably been riding a wave of adrenaline. He showered and shaved, taking extra care around the bruised side of his face, then dressed to head downstairs. Periodically his stomach would growl to remind him that it had been almost a full day since he'd last eaten and that in the meantime he'd been in a fight as well as—he glanced at his wrist and caught his breath at the faint marks of two puncture wounds, almost completely gone now—as well as... donating blood. For a moment, all the blood he still had rushed to his groin at the memory of that bite and how it had felt. His eyes glazed over and he moaned faintly before he pushed back the slow burn of arousal using sheer willpower. At last as fit to be seen by human eyes as he could make himself, Mac went to collect his room key and finally noticed the piece of paper next to it. He picked it up and scanned over Vic's untidy scrawl. "Shopping?" Mac pouted. Vic had gone shopping without him? He felt a little disappointed that his partner hadn't woken him to go too. Then he shrugged. It wasn't like they had to spend all their time together. After all, he'd had an evening out to himself. But still, he liked spending time with Vic, now that the older man had loosened up a little. Not that he'd ever say so, Mac thought to himself with a grin. Mac locked the door and headed for the stairs. Even though it was late for lunch, delicious smells wafted up from the kitchen and dining room, making his stomach growl even louder than it had before. Then he paused and turned his head to look at the door to the Director's suite, memories of what Cash had told him flashing through his mind. The door stared back mutely. No answers there. But there were answers behind it, assuming that the Director was up or willing to tell him anything. But a thin thread of fear held him back from knocking on that door. He was comfortable with the Director he knew; the flirtatious woman who was both fond of and firm with her agents, alternating between controlling them with an iron fist and being a teasing friend. She only ever told them as much as she thought they needed to know. He wasn't sure how she'd react to the fact that he now knew more about her and what she was than she'd ever told them. On the other hand, he wouldn't know unless he asked. Steeling himself to confront both the familiar—the Director— and the unfamiliar—the Prince of Toronto—Mac walked up to the suite door and knocked. He regretted the impulse almost immediately, and he started praying that either she wasn't there or that she hadn't heard the knock. Of course, he prayed in vain. Within seconds, the door opened and the Director stared up at him. For a moment she looked pissed at the interruption, but only for a moment. Then she got a good look at his face and the door swung wide open. "Inside, Mr. Ramsey," she ordered. "I want details, and fast." Mac moved past her into the suite's sitting room. It was a strong and powerful room, decorated in jewel tones and with rich materials. A laptop sat open humming on the antique wood desk in the corner, which was also covered with papers, telling him that she'd been working when he'd knocked. A small dining table sat opposite it, and two sofas flanked a large fireplace with a marble mantle. A small blaze crackled merrily in it. The overall effect was warm and friendly. He hoped that it was a good omen. "Sit down," she told him, waving him towards the sofas. "Have you eaten yet?" Mac's stomach growled before he could answer her and she smiled. "I'll take that as a no." She picked up the phone and spoke softly into it before moving to join him. "Lunch will be here shortly. Now, what happened? And don't leave out any details." Her expression went completely hard on the question and Mac swallowed, wondering how he was going to explain it all. Finally, he decided to include everything and hope for the best. "Cash and I were jumped by four Brujah looking for a fight with a Gangrel," he said, deliberately using the Kindred terms that Cash had used. "Then they got a look at me and decided that the Prince of San Francisco had lied about witnessing the execution of Zane, who it seems was an out-of-control Toreador. So, they decided instead just to kill us both. Some of Cash's friends came to our rescue and the four took off. I went back to Cash's place with him where I got a somewhat complete explanation about the Kindred, although he said I should really get be getting that lecture from the Prince of Toronto, that being you, it seems. Then, later on, he brought me back to the hotel, well before my dawn curfew," Mac added with a grin. "I figured it was too late to talk to you, so I went to bed." Finished, Mac took a deep breath and sat back to wait for the reaction. "Were you wearing the earring?" Mac stared at her blankly for a moment, then remembered her marker and lifted a hand to touch it. "Yes. Cash pointed it out to them, but they said they didn't care." Her eyes narrowed. "Names?" He shrugged. "Cash called the leader of the bunch Marcus. I didn't get any other names, though. I was a little busy for introductions." "I... see. I'll talk to Luna tonight, although I'm sure that Cash has already reported the breach of Truce to him. Your four Brujah will probably find themselves staked out for the sun, knowing him." The pleasure in her voice at the thought made him shiver. Usually she was easy to deal with, to trust, and then she would say something like that and he'd end up terrified of her, however briefly. Mac was really confused now, though. The Director was taking it all in stride. She was upset about the attack, but not the rest. He opened his mouth, then closed it again several time before he could force out anything coherent. "You don't seem upset about me finding out about the... Kindred, Cash called your kind?" he finally asked. There was a knock at the door before she could answer him. She opened the door, and a hotel employee came in, pushing a serving tray. A plate with a club sandwich and fries, as well as a Tsingtao beer, was placed in front of Mac, then the server left after receiving a generous tip from the Director. She turned back to find him staring at her, waiting. "Well?" she said impatiently in an almost maternal tone. "Eat your lunch before it gets cold." Mac wasn't sure he could eat, he was so nervous, but he obediently picked up a fry and stuck it in his mouth. The moment it hit his tongue, his body promptly reminded him just how hungry he was, and he started eating, barely pausing long enough to chew the food before swallowing. When the plate was bare, he sat back again, sipping the last of his beer. Now that his stomach was full, he found he wasn't as anxious about her reaction as he had been before. She was watching him with a fond smile on her face. "Better?" He nodded. "Good. And now, I'm not upset. In fact, I'm quite pleased." That surprised Mac. "Pleased?" He thought about it for a moment. Understanding wasn't long in coming. "You wanted us to find out about the Kindred. That's why you brought us with you. You figured that after a few nights sitting in a club full of... vampires, we'd twig, sooner or later." The smile was full of pride now. "Very good, Mr. Ramsey. In fact, I rather expected that you would be the first to 'twig,' as you put it. I'm glad to see that my faith in you is not misplaced." Then her expression turned cold again. "But the method was not what I had planned. As soon as we arrive at the Haven tonight, you and I will go to lodge a formal complaint with Luna." "Do we have to?" Mac asked nervously. "I mean if Cash has already told him about what happened..." His voice trailed off. He really didn't want to meet a man who could order the deaths of his own people so casually. Of course, the Director had done it in the past too, but he knew the Director. Luna was an unknown as far as he was concerned. The Director shook her head. "If I let this slide, then I'm saying that I'm weak. I do not want to have challengers trying to take my city away from me." Then her voice softened a little. "But we'll do it privately, out of consideration for our host. You won't have to face any of the others." She paused, then grinned. "At least not yet." Mac nodded reluctantly. He still didn't like the idea, but he did understand the reasoning. In a way, it was a lot like the Hong Kong crime families he'd been around growing up. You never showed weakness, or you opened yourself up to attack, but if someone could be a useful ally in the future, you gave him the chance to save face. It was a little strange thinking of his new "Family" in the terms as his old one, but the parallels were obvious. Then a thought occurred to him. "What about Vic and LiAnn?" he asked. "What do I tell them?" The Director leaned back in her seat, tapping a thoughtful finger against her lips for a moment before answering. "About the attack, anything you like. About the Kindred, nothing for the time being. I still want to see if they figure it out on their own." Mac nodded. His plate was empty and the conversation seemed to have reached a logical conclusion, so he got to his feet to leave. Just before he opened the door, the Director called out. "Mac?" He stopped and turned around. She nodded to him. "You did well. I'm glad to see you didn't disappoint me." Mac couldn't help grinning at the praise. Then he headed off to kill time until they had to leave for the Haven. Mac spent the rest of the afternoon out on the back patio, overlooking the hotel's gardens, enjoying the somewhat weak sunshine. While the clouds kept it from being sunbathing weather, it was still a hell of a lot warmer than back in Toronto. Back there, there was snow on the ground—well, at least slush. Here, he could sit out in short sleeves without getting a chill. An hour before sunset, he finally went in to change for the evening. When he got to the room, he found the shower in use. Vic was obviously back from his little shopping trip. Mac stopped in his tracks, looking at his bed. Sitting on his pillow was a small white box, tied with a ribbon and decorated with a bow. A slow grin spread over his face. Vic had bought him a present. He sat down on the bed and picked up the box. He held it to his ear and shook it, playing the old "try to figure out what it is before opening the box" game. It rattled slightly, but that was the only clue. Mac finally gave in to his curiosity and undid the ribbon. The lid lifted away to reveal a pendant strung on a leather thong, sitting on a bed of cotton. Mac snagged the thong and lifted it up, fascinated by the way the light played across the intricate twists and turns of the metal. He'd never seen anything like it before, and yet it was strangely familiar. He reached up with his other hand and lowered the pendant slowly into the palm. Mac gasped. It felt like every hair on his body—and he had a lot of hair—was suddenly standing on end. He blinked, and the world tilted on its axis. He was home, in Toronto. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He was in bed, and it was his bed, made with his sheets and covers, but the room itself was completely unfamiliar. For one thing, there were no windows in the room. He was naked, which made sense since he was in bed. He'd never liked sleep tied up in pajamas. However, he was also very, very aroused, despite being completely alone in the bed. Then there was a coughing noise, and he looked towards the bedroom door. He caught his breath. Standing there was a very large mountain lion with brilliant green eyes. Very familiar green eyes. Mac sat very still as it stalked across the room towards him. Part of him was screaming at him to move, and yet he was strangely unconcerned. The oversized cat leapt up onto the bed and came closer, finally stopping when it was straddling his body. Then, making a rumbling noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, it settled its weight down on him and damn it was heavy. Just when he thought he was going to be crushed, the cat's shape did a melty twist and was suddenly gone. Left in its place was a very naked, very aroused Vic Mansfield, his eyes the exact same shade of brilliant green as the cat's, with a slight silver shimmer. He smiled a lazy smile at Mac and drew closer and closer, until their lips... "Well?" Mac jumped and opened his eyes. Vic was standing leaning against the wall, damp and with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Mac's body reacted predictably to the sight of all that lean, beautiful, naked male flesh. "Well, what?" he asked stupidly, not able to figure out the question, all of his blood having deserted his brain. Vic shifted nervously. "Do you like it?" "Huh? Oh!" He looked down at the pendant in his hand. Strange. For a moment, it had felt like something had happened, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what. "I think it's great," he said honestly and Vic relaxed. And it was great, although he wasn't sure why. It wasn't his usual sort of jewelry, but there was something about it that drew him. He picked it up again and carefully draped it around his neck. It fell into place like it was meant to be there. "Perfect," he whispered to himself. Then he shook his head, forcing his thoughts back to more practical matters. "The Director wants to head over early, right after sunset," he told Vic, who was busily pulling clothes from the closet. Vic frowned. "Why?" he asked. After all, it was a good hour earlier than they'd gone over the last few nights. Mac shrugged. "She wants to talk to the host of these meetings about the attack last night. After all, Cash is one of his people, and we're supposed to be protected by the Truce." Vic nodded slowly. "Okay, that makes sense. Well, you better get moving then. Sunset is less than a half-hour away." Mac blinked in confusion. It had been nearly an hour away when he'd come in. A glance at the clock confirmed that he had somehow managed to lose a half-hour somewhere. Weird, he thought, heading for the bathroom. A quick shave and change of clothing later, Mac made it downstairs just as the limo pulled up in front of the hotel. He'd moved fast, but had still taken care with his appearance. After all, it wouldn't do to make a bad impression on the Prince of the city, since keeping with the Hong Kong model in his mind, it would reflect badly on the Director. He'd gone with his favorite look, though; a black linen suit and a smooth-front white shirt, high-necked and collarless. Against it, the silver pendant and black leather thong looked classy. He hadn't even considered not wearing it. The Director looked him up and down, straightened his lapels and tweaked the pendant before stepping back and nodding in satisfaction. "Mac, are you all right?" LiAnn gasped. Mac touched his jaw, still feeling the low-level ache from the bruising. He'd forgotten that he hadn't seen LiAnn since leaving the Haven with Cash the night before, so she didn't know about the attack. "It looks worse than it feels," he assured her, secretly pleased at the unexpected show of concern. "It is also why we are heading over early, so let's go, children," the Director added, gesturing towards the waiting limo. The drive seemed endless, but was over faster than Mac would have liked. Before he was really ready for the upcoming confrontation, they were pulling to a stop in front of the club. "Come with me, Mac," the Director said, heading towards the stairs that led up to the club's offices, Mac assumed. He could see the large windows of a room overlooking the dance floor. He looked back longingly as Vic and LiAnn headed through the mostly empty room to claim their usual table. In the corner, the band was tuning up. Then he sighed and obediently followed his employer up the stairs. There was a small crowd waiting for them. Cash and Lillie, he already knew, and he threw a relieved smile Cash's way. He was glad to see the man there to back him up. The rest of the group was unfamiliar, though. The handsome man sitting behind the modern desk was presumably Luna. He wore an aura of power like a cloak. The stylish suit he was wearing spoke of a lot of money. Lillie was elegantly draped over the back of his chair, and she smiled brightly at him, although her eyes flashed when they flickered to the bruised side of his face. The second man was just as handsome as Luna, but less appealing. They looked about the same age, but this man felt younger. His clothes were more trendy, and he felt... slimy to Mac. He was pacing in front of the windows, pausing only long enough to glare at Mac, who resisted the urge to take a step back. Then he got a good look at the last person in the room and did take a step back. The man was completely hairless and pale like a corpse. His ears rose to sharp points, nearly higher than the top of his head. Mac flinched from meeting his eyes, not sure that he wanted to know what he might find there. Dressed all in black, he resembled the vampires of the old silent films, back before they were glamorized by Hollywood. The Director moved forward to stand in front of the desk, drawing up to her full height. Despite the fact that she was probably the shortest person in the room, she had a presence that made her seem at least a foot taller. "I have come to file a grievance," she said quietly, although her voice filled the room. "There has been a breach of Truce and an attempt on the life of one of my retainers." Reacting to a cue he hadn't even noticed, Mac moved to stand one step behind and to the side of her. Luna glanced at him, pinning him in place with his intense expression. "Cash has made his statement," he said seriously. "I would like you to tell us what happened now." Mac took a deep breath before beginning. Deciding that they didn't need too much personal detail, he started with their decision to leave the club and continued until the moment they left the parking lot after the attack. Luna broke in from time to time to ask questions, drawing out details Mac hadn't even realized he'd noticed. Finally he finished and there was silence for a minute. "Thank you, Mr. Ramsey," Luna said, then turned to the pacing man. "Cameron, I want Marcus and his friends brought to me before morning." Cameron stopped pacing and turned around. "You can't be taking this... this slander seriously!" That bought him glares from almost everyone in the room. "You've heard the statements from both Cash and Mr. Ramsey and they agree in every detail," Luna pointed out. "Of course they do," the man said with a sneer. "They came up with this fairytale together." Cash growled, low in his throat, and moved towards Cameron. Luna restrained him with a simple gesture. "And why would they do that?" he asked mildly. "Cash wants to undermine my position," Cameron said. "And you're buying it just because he's a good fuck." Lillie grimaced at the crudity, but Luna remained expressionless, other than a narrowing of his eyes. "And Ramsey's reason for going along with this?" he asked in a dangerous tone. "He's never met you before tonight." Seeming to not notice the warning in his boss's voice, Cameron waved dismissively in Mac's direction. "For the same reason: Cash is a good fuck." This time it was Mac who growled angrily, while Cash muttered "Like you'll ever find out first-hand," under his breath. But it was the Director who responded directly. She moved to stand toe to toe with the man and glared up at him. "Be very careful about accusing my people of lying," she hissed at him. "Push me and you won't like the response." At least the man had the sense to back down. The Director in a cold rage was enough to make the bravest—or most foolish—of men want to wet his pants. Instead of responding, he looked to Luna. "Bring them in," The Prince said firmly. "They will have the chance to make their case before the council." Cameron's jaw clenched, but he finally nodded and headed for the exit. Luna turned his attention back to the Director. "This will be dealt with," he assured her. "I swear." She nodded regally. "Then I will leave it in your hands," she told him. "But if the Brujah had succeeded in killing Mac, I would not be so... polite." "If they had succeeded, they would be yours to do with as you liked and the Brujah of this city would be looking for a new Primogen." With that finished, the atmosphere in the room lightened quite a bit. Luna emerged from behind the desk, suddenly becoming less intimidating, although no less charismatic. He brushed a hand down Cash's arm possessively, then moved over to where Mac was standing. "Amazing," he said, reaching up to brush fingers over his jaw. Mac shivered lightly at the touch. "They told me, but I didn't really believe it." Mac swallowed, his mouth gone desert-dry. Was this intense sexuality something all Princes had in common? His body was responding as helplessly to Luna as it did to the Director's teasing. "I'm not Zane," he said in a remarkably steady voice considering the circumstances. Luna grinned. "Obviously not," he said, then thankfully stepped back. "But the resemblance is startling." He looked Mac up and down speculatively. A discrete cough brought the appraisal to an abrupt end. "Back off, Julian," the Director said, amusement plain in her voice. "He's mine." While Mac bristled at the possessive tone, he was still relieved when Luna moved away. Once there was some distance between them, he was able to collect his thoughts "However," Luna said, leaning back against the desk, his expression serious again. "There is still the matter of the breaking of Masquerade." Mac glanced at Cash who had gone tense at the words. He remembered what he'd been told the night before about the secrecy that was paramount to the Kindred for protection from a fearful human population and gulped. He hadn't meant to get Cash in trouble. "If anyone broke it, it was Marcus's goon," he broke in. "I pushed Cash to answer my questions, but that wouldn't have been necessary if it weren't for the goon sprouting fangs and glowing silver eyes. Cash tried to put me off, but I wouldn't leave without an explanation. He did try." Luna glanced at the Director who smiled. "I brought him with me to see if he would figure it out. While this was not exactly what I planned, I have no complaint." Luna nodded, and both Mac and Cash relaxed. "Accepted. I will let you know when Marcus and his cohorts have been delivered. In the meantime, I need to prepare for the meetings. I will see you later." He headed through a door at the back of the room and disappeared from sight. Mac breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank into a nearby chair. He tensed slightly when the hairless man moved towards him, accompanied by a faint stench that made him think of sewers, but he just patted Mac on the shoulder and said, "You did well," before following Luna. Mac stared after him and Cash laughed. "High praise indeed from a Nosferatu," he said, then left as well. Lillie moved to take the seat behind the desk. The Director headed for the door they'd come in through and Mac got to his feet to follow her. "Mac," Lillie said, then waited until he turned to face her. "I'll see you later," she promised with a seductive smile. Mac grinned. "I'll look forward to it." Book I: San Francisco Meetings continued lburwell@adan.kingston.net

I don't own the characters or the world. They are owned respectively by Alliance, Aaron Spelling and White Wolf Games. However, the story is my own invention. My other fanfic, including Always a Thief stories, can be found at: https://www.squidge.org/~lianne All Around You, a Kindred: The Embraced slash list information and archive can be found at: http://internetdump.com/users/ravens_lament The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. back to top

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