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

The music might not have been to Mac's normal tastes, but it had
a good strong beat to dance to. He followed the girl who had
invited him to dance out onto the floor, already moving to that
beat. She turned around with a big smile and started to move her
hips, arms high above her head, knees bent. As she danced, she
flirted with not just her eyes but her whole body.

She was a cute kid, but Mac was a little shocked to find that he
thought of her as just that: A kid.

God, he was getting *old*! Glancing around as he danced, he
realized that he was probably the oldest person on the floor. The
few people older in the building *weren't* there to dance.

Of course, neither was he, but still...

He had griped at his last birthday about the fact that he'd moved
into an older age bracket -- a fact that Dobrinsky had delighted
in pointing out every chance that he got -- but this was the
first time that it had really been hammered home. He was so used
to working with and against people who were older than himself
that he didn't really notice that he was aging too. The next
thing you knew, he was going to start finding white strands in
his hair. Either that or losing it.

Then again, maybe not. After all, Vic wasn't going to age
anymore. From what she'd said, the Director intended the same for
him and LiAnn as well. Mac let his eyes drift over to his lover
briefly and considered that idea.

Vic had adjusted to being a vampire pretty well, and he'd had no
preparation for it. Mac had the feeling that the Director had no
intention of letting *his* Embrace be quite as abrupt, or random.

But did he really want to be a vampire? Assuming he was given a
choice, of course.

He knew what it was like to be on one side of the equation; human
blood source to a vampire. It was incredible, like nothing he'd
ever experienced before, and he couldn't help being curious about
what it was like on the other end.

Of course, there were the drawbacks. No sunlight, for one. Well,
at least not for a few decades. Mac paused and frowned. What
about Jackie? He'd seen *her* outside in daylight. Did that mean
she'd been Embraced *after* being drafted by the Agency? The
Director was a different matter, since she was... older. Just how
old, she refused to say, but old enough to have built some
immunity. Plus there was that protective makeup stuff she'd
mentioned to Cash.

The other potential drawback of what clan she picked to Embrace
him. Every clan had its idiosyncrasies and its rivalries, he'd
learned. What if he ended up in a clan that was instinctively
hostile to the Gangrel? Cash had lost a lover when she was
Embraced Brujah. He would hate to lose Vic the same way.

He shook his head. Surely she wouldn't do something like *that*
to them.

Well, whatever happened, now was not the time to be worrying
about it. He had a job to do and it was time he did it.

He drifted away from his dance partner -- something that was easy
to do in the crowded room. He could see the stairs heading up to
the offices, not far from the restrooms, so he headed that way.

The stairs had a watcher, though, and he frowned. Getting past
the man without attracting attention was going to be difficult,
if not impossible. The stairs were in plain view of everyone in
the room.

But would Ramirez have his underworld pals come in through the
club? Not bloody likely. Most of them were allergic to being
seen.

So, there had to be another way upstairs. A hidden way.

Mac headed into the restroom and went about his business while he
considered the puzzle. Maybe a hidden elevator? But surely that
would be guarded too.

Then he resisted the urge to smack himself. He was making things
far too difficult. A building like this one had fire escapes,
assuming that they wanted to stay open. The fire escape would be
the easiest way to the upper level. Mac grinned, washed his hands
and headed out into the crush again.

He finally found a side door with a fire alarm that wasn't active
and headed out into the back alleyway. A last glance over his
shoulder showed Vic still standing against the wall on the other
side of the dance floor looking incredibly uncomfortable. Despite
Mac's best efforts, Vic just wasn't the nightclub type.

Outside, a bucket next to the door filled with cigarette butts
told Mac why the fire alarm wasn't turned on for that door:
Obviously Ramirez's boys used the back for smoke breaks. Toronto
city ordinances meant that the club had to be smoke free and the
boys didn't look like the types to quit smoking because of that.

A quick glance around the dirty alley showed that Mac was alone.
A little further down, about halfway between the door and the
street the alley opened onto, Mac could see the dim outline of a
fire escape.

"Jackpot," he murmured to himself with a grin as he headed for
it.

The start of the ladder was too high off the ground for him to
reach, but a nearby dumpster was perfectly positioned. He climbed
on top of it, trying not to breathe in the fumes that managed to
escape from it even with the lid shut.

From there, after a quick double-check to make sure that he was
*really* alone, Mac bent his knees, took a deep -- albeit
distasteful -- breath and leapt.

He just barely caught the bottom of the railing that went around
the lowest platform of the fire escape and hung there, swinging,
for a moment. The metal creaked and he winced, feeling the rust
digging into his palm. When he was sure that no one was going to
come running to investigate, he carefully pulled himself upwards
until he was able to pass between the bars and onto the semi-
solid platform.

He glanced at his hands and cursed lightly when he saw the blood
seeping from the scrapes there. He pulled a pair of thin gloves
from his pocket and put them on. They were intended to keep him
from leaving fingerprints, but leaving blood splatters would be
even worse, especially if the Director was right about there
being Kindred involved.

"Mac."

Mac stiffened at the sound of his name, then remembered the tiny
earpiece he'd forgotten he was wearing. He tapped the equally
tiny microphone. "Here," he whispered.

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

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

"Got it." The earpiece went silent.

Ready to continue, he started up the fire escape to the second
floor windows, moving as quietly as he could on the aging metal
structure. Once there, he checked the window and found that it
had been wired.

Well, to a trained thief, the basic security system wasn't even
close to a challenge. It took him only a couple minutes to
disable the system and lift up the window. He winced a little as
the frame creaked -- the window obviously hadn't been opened in a
*long* time -- then climbed through.

The hallway was dimly lit, filled with the throb of the music
downstairs. Mac glanced around, but didn't see anyone. He closed
the window, then went hunting.

The third door he cracked open led to what was obviously
Ramirez's office. The lights were out and no one was inside, so
he opened the door and slipped in.

Shutting the door behind him, he started a search of the office.
He quickly came to the realization that Ramirez might be a slob -
- the place was a mess, with discarded plates and glasses hidden
under piles of paper -- but he wasn't stupid. Nothing that had
been left out contained incriminating information.

Mac eyed the computer for a moment, then bypassed it. He was good
with computers, but not that good. He did check quickly to make
sure that the machine had a phone line hooked up: If there was
time before he left, he would try dialing into the Agency so that
the computer geeks could download anything on the machine that
might be of use.

Instead, Mac glanced around, looking for where the safe would be
hidden. He checked behind the paintings on the wall -- after all,
it was a cliché for good reason. Amazingly, all he found behind
the brightly colored canvases was bare walls. Likewise, lifting
the rugs showed only battered wood flooring.

Obviously Ramirez wasn't quite as stupid as he looked. Mac
paused, and considered where else a safe could be hidden.

The sound of voices coming down the hallway interrupted his
thoughts, and he looked around. The window was shut and wired,
and he wouldn't have enough time to disarm the system and get out
if the people in the hallway were coming away.

The only other option was the door off to the side. It led to
Ramirez's private bathroom, he'd found during his initial search.
As the voices got closer, he gave a mental shrug and ducked into
the small room. There was a window above the toilet -- *not*
wired, he noticed -- but before he could try it, he heard a door
open and the voices suddenly became much louder. Deciding to take
a chance, he pressed himself against the door, straining to hear
what was going on.

It didn't take much effort, the walls were so thin.

"What's the word from the farm?" he heard a voice ask in Spanish.
It was loud and heavily accented; Ramirez, he assumed.

The reply was too low for him to make out more than just the
apologetic tone. Obviously Ramirez's people hadn't had any more
luck than the Agency investigators.

"Well, find out! I don't want *anything* to interfere with our
plans. Now, tell me about this jerk downstairs."

"Says his name is Mansfield," a new voice said, stronger than the
first lackey. Mac's eyes went wide, and he wondered what the hell
his partner was up to. "He wanted to talk to you. He didn't want
to leave a message. Said he didn't deal with 'underlings.'" The
man sounded insulted and Mac had to keep himself from snorting.
"He left a phone number."

There was a pause, then Ramirez spoke up again. "Find out who
this Mansfield person is. I don't like wildcards."

"Yessir."

The door opened, then shut again. There was silence for a few
minutes, and Mac was about to open the door again when he heard
the creaking of the chair behind the desk. Mac groaned silently
and considered trying for the window. He didn't know what was
outside it, or if he could get out without attracting attention,
but if he stayed where he was, he was going to be found, sooner
or later.

Before he could decide, he heard the door open again and he moved
back to the door.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ramirez said, in English, this
time. Irritation was clear in his voice.

"What's wrong, Jose, did you miss me?" was the sarcastic, lightly
accented reply.

Mac blinked at the new voice. It was deep and sultry and
definitely female. Mac closed his eyes and tried to imagine a
face to go with the sexy voice and the first thing that came to
mind was Lillie Langtry, the glamorous Toreador Primogen from San
Francisco.

"Where have you been?"

"None of your business. Why, don't you trust me?" The tone was
light, but it had an edge to it that also reminded Mac of the
Director.

There was the sound of snorted laugh. "Trust you? I don't trust
thieves, even if they *do* work for me." Mac's eyebrow went up at
the word 'thief.'

The woman's voice was suddenly arctic-cold. "I do not work for
you, Ramirez, and you would do well to remember that. I work for
Guylaine, and so do you, little man."

There was silence for a moment. When Ramirez spoke again, his
voice was tightly controlled. "What's the word on the Haitian?"

This time, the woman's voice was all business. "Unlike the last
three dealers, he turned down the offer to sell out. He said that
the other cowards might be willing to give up, but no one was
going to chase him off his turf."

"Fine. Have him killed. Make it messy."

"I'll see to it."

"Then help Esteban track down this Mansfield person who was
nosing around earlier."

"Oh, I already know who he is." Mac could almost here the smirk
in the woman's voice.

"Oh really? Do tell," was the sneering reply.

"Victor Mansfield. I saw him seven years ago when I was scouting
the territory. Cop."

Ramirez cursed in Spanish. "So he's undercover?"

"I don't think so. He's now an *ex* cop. He was sent to jail
about that time for stealing drugs from evidence and leaning on
local drug dealers, I think it was."

"He isn't in jail now."

"How bright of you to notice. Considering his sentence, he must
have some pretty powerful friends to be out so soon. The judge
was making an example of him."

"Well, find out who they are. No one is leaning on me. I want
them found, then dealt with. Our plans are too far along to allow
any interference now."

"Consider it done."

A moment later, Mac heard the office door open and shut again. He
waited, but there were no sounds of life from the outer room.
After a few minutes, he cracked the door open very cautiously.

He glanced around, but decided that he was pushing the deadline
he'd given himself. Given time, he could find the safe and crack
it, but nearly getting caught once told him that he was pressing
his luck. Besides, what he'd overheard gave them something to
work with.

He checked the hallway, and finding it empty, headed for the
window he'd come in through. He slipped back through it and
carefully restored the security system behind him. After all, it
wouldn't do to let them know they'd been burgled -- even if he
hadn't taken anything.

"Nice work," a familiar, sultry voice said from behind him.
"Efficient and skilled."

Mac twisted quickly to find a woman lounging on the fire escape
behind him.

She was nothing like he'd imagined, listening to her voice as she
sparred verbally with Ramirez. Her hair was as dark as his own
and tied back in a long braid that fell down her back, over the
battered leather jacket she was wearing. Her jeans were ripped in
all the right places, and where they weren't ripped, they were so
worn that they were almost white. With it, she wore a black
turtleneck shirt. The only really strange touch was the brightly
colored scarf that was tied around her neck.

She definitely didn't look like the type to be working with drug
dealers or killers.

"Umm..." he said, none too brightly, trying to come up with an
excuse for why he was climbing out this window. Of course, there
really wasn't any good excuse, other than the obvious: he was
breaking in.

"Find anything interesting?" she asked, honest curiosity in her
voice.

Mac shrugged. He was in deep already, so he might as well play
along. "Not really. He seems pretty stupid, but he's good at
hiding his safe, at least. I didn't have time to find it."

She grinned. "That's because he didn't pick the location. I did.
So..." She got to her feet suddenly, all casual grace gone,
leaving a cold warrior -- still graceful, but now deadly --
behind. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Mac caught his breath. She might be dangerous, but she was also
beautiful. If he weren't already taken, in more ways than one, he
might try making a play for her. Then again, he'd been burnt
once, getting involved with a suspect, a mistake he was *not*
eager to repeat.

"Well..." he drawled, trying to collect his thoughts. "Ramirez is
getting pretty well known on the streets. Anyone doing that much
business should have plenty of cash on hand, right? I thought I
might be able to... help myself to some."

Her smile was downright feral. "And why shouldn't I take you in
and hand you over to Ramirez? By morning, you'll be at the bottom
of Lake Ontario."

"Um... Because I'm cute?" Mac tried his most ingratiating grin,
one that had even got him out of trouble with the Director from
time to time. Sorta. Almost.

Her eyebrows went up and she started to laugh. "You've got moxie,
that's for sure. What's your name?"

"Mac. You?"

"Kata." She looked him up and down. "And you could almost be
family, from the look of you."

"Family?"

"Hmm," she hummed to herself in an affirmative note, but said
nothing more. Mac always found that infuriating, but found
himself strangely reluctant to press for something more
definitive.

"So," she finally said. "A thief, albeit a cute one. But one that
is empty handed, so not a very good one."

Mac straightened up, his professional pride pricked. "I am an
*excellent* thief. I was pressed for time, though. If I'd found
the safe, you can bet it would be empty right now." Then he
winced. What the hell was he saying?

Luckily, she seemed more amused than anything else. "Oh really?
Prove it."

"How?"

She considered for a moment, then smiled a slow and calculating
smile. "A test, then. There's an Egyptian exhibit at the ROM
right now. The centerpiece is a solid gold sarcophagus."

Mac stared at her in disbelief. "Are you joking? The security on
that thing is horrendous, it's impossible to fence. Not to
mention the fact that it's a little heavy to carry out."

"But I thought you were an *excellent* thief," she said,
mockingly. "But no, I'm not asking you to *steal* the
sarcophagus."

"Then what *are* you asking?" he asked suspiciously.

She lifted a wrist, showing a thin gold chain wrapped around it.
She undid the clasp and dropped it in his hand. "Tuck this under
golden-boy's chin. If you do it right, it will almost disappear
against all the other gold. I'll look for it."

Mac checked the bracelet. It was fine enough to do as she said.
It was also not cheap. "You'll trust me not to run with this?"

"Run, and I'll find you. And I won't be so nice. I'll give you
one week. If by next... Saturday, let's say, you haven't
succeeded, I'll expect you to come back and tell me. *And* return
the bracelet, of course. If you do, I'll still let you go. If you
don't..."

She didn't continue, but the expression on her face chilled him
to the bone.

"All right," he said, dropping the chain into his pocket. "It's a
deal. And I won't fail," he added. He wasn't sure what the
Director was going to say about this, but his pride as a thief --
albeit a retired one -- was on the line. He'd never backed down
from a challenge before, and no way was he going to back down
from *this* one.

"We'll see," she said, then jumped over the side of the fire
escape.

"Shit!" Mac said -- softly, of course -- and moved to look down.
He fully expected to see her lying on the ground with a broken
leg, if not worse.

Instead, he saw a shapely figure heading down the alley, hips
swaying in the age-old seductive dance. He blew out a gust of
air.

How the hell had she managed that? Hell, how'd she managed to
sneak up on him in the first place. *No* one had ever done that
before.

Then he heard voices, and he shook off all thoughts other than
getting out of there in one piece.

Below, he saw one of Ramirez's thugs light a cigarette, then
settle down for a smoke. Mac sighed, and resigned himself to
waiting the man out. He couldn't even safely contact Vic and let
him know what was happening.

To distract himself, he considered the enigma of the woman, Kata.
She didn't seem like the type to work for a man like Ramirez. On
the other hand, according to the conversation he'd overheard, she
didn't. Instead, someone else was pulling the strings. Someone
named Guylaine. Maybe Nathan would be able to find something on
this mysterious Guylaine.

In the meantime, it looked like Vic was going to work the angle
of a local trying to horn in on Ramirez's business. Heck, it
wasn't a bad idea, albeit a dangerous one. So while he did that,
Mac could work on Kata. Of course, first step would have to be
breaking into the Royal Ontario Museum to meet her challenge. He
grinned wolfishly at the idea. It had been a long time since he'd
really stretched his muscles, so to speak, and he found he was
looking forward to it. And it wasn't like anyone would get hurt,
so the Director couldn't *really* object. Besides, it would be
fun.

A door slamming got his attention. A voice called out in Spanish.

"Gregor, better get your ass inside. Ramirez is on a rampage. He
wants *everyone* inside. Now."

The man, Gregor, cursed softly, dropped his cigarette and ground
it out under the heel of his shoes. Then he headed for the
brightly lit doorway.

As soon as the door shut, Mac was heading down the fire escape,
as quietly as possible. Vic would be pissed if he had to wait
*too* much longer.

It looked like things were starting to get interesting.
 

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

"You have *got* to be joking! No way, it's *far* too dangerous."

Vic took a deep breath, but that didn't much help. The evening
had not exactly gone as planned.

First there was his run-in with Ramirez's goon, which had led to
his possibly ill-conceived improvisation. Actually, the Director
had actually seemed happy about that part, but what made her
happy was usually pretty scary.

Then Mac had arrived back at the truck, basically empty-handed
except for the bracelet that was currently in the Director's
hands. That and...

Vic took another deep breath and fought down a flash of rage. Mac
still reeked, to his nose. Reeked of the scent of their
mysterious watcher. Something about that bothered him on levels
he hadn't even expected existed. Mac was *his*. He shouldn't be
smelling of anyone else. And that scared him. He'd *never* been
this possessive of a lover in his life.

Vic closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. The last thing
he wanted was to scare the younger man off with a fit of
jealousy. Mac was coming around, but he was still a little
twitchy about their relationship. Vic could understand, but his
instincts were still to demand more than Mac was giving.
Patience, Vic, he told himself. They were moving in the right
direction.

"Actually, I think this is an excellent opportunity," the
Director said, letting the fine gold chain spill from one hand to
the other. "You work on Ramirez, while Mac works on the lady
flunky."

"Not a flunky," Mac broke in. "In that conversation I overheard,
she was quite clear on that. They both work for someone else
named Guylaine. Any ideas who that might be?"

"I stand corrected," the Director said with a look that said Mac
should have kept his mouth shut. "And we *will* be investigating
that link. I do have a few suspicions about who Guylaine is,
though," she added thoughtfully as she wrapped the chain around
her index finger before dropping into her palm again.

Vic glanced at Mac. If the Director knew who this person was, it
couldn't be good.

But the Director didn't seem inclined to elaborate on that
statement, so Vic went on with his objections.

"She's a killer, and probably Kindred! You want Mac hanging
around with her?"

"We don't know that she's the killer."

"You said that he told her to kill the Haitian." Mac was already
shaking his head.

"I said that Ramirez told her to *have* him killed. And she said
that she would *see* to it. That doesn't necessarily mean that
she's going to do it personally. She might simply be the person
that the killer reports to."

"And maybe the tooth fairy really does exist," Vic muttered to
himself. Then he said in a louder voice, "And I suppose you don't
think she could *possibly* be the killer?" That was fighting
dirty, he knew; bringing up Claire, the industrial thief Mac had
almost married, convinced that she had *nothing* to do with the
theft of the design for a nuclear hand grenade. A belief he'd
held to until the moment she'd pulled the damned thing on them at
the church when LiAnn had exposed her plan.

Mac bristled at the sarcasm. "Don't be an idiot," he said hotly.
"Of course she could be the killer. She probably *is* the killer.
She certainly strikes me as being capable."

Vic winced at the angry glance Mac shot his way. He felt a little
guilty for assuming that Mac wouldn't be able to... what? Think
straight in the face of a beautiful woman? Vic squashed the
momentary flash of insecurity. LiAnn had complained that Vic had
been too insecure about their relationship, as if he expected her
to leave him at any moment. She said it made him clingy. He was
*not* going to make the same mistakes over again.

Besides, Mac hadn't exactly *said* that she was beautiful. Maybe
she was old and ugly and overweight.

Yeah. Right.

"The *other* question," the Director broke in pointedly, "is
whether or not she is the person who blew up the farm with the
drug processing lab. Is she is, then why? Perhaps there is a
wedge that we can drive between them."

"Divide and conquer," Mac chimed in.

Vic was starting to feel outnumbered. Obviously, his partner and
his boss had made their decision and weren't willing to listen to
reason. "It's still too dangerous," he repeated, knowing that he
sounded petulant but unable to help it.

The Director waved off the comment, but the look in Mac's eyes
said that he was going to be hearing a long and heated 'I can
take care of myself' lecture from the younger man as soon as they
were alone.

"And setting yourself up as a potential target for Ramirez
isn't?" was all Mac said.

Vic winced. Point taken. Still, at the moment he was a little
more capable of protecting himself, although he was smart enough
*not* to say that out loud.

"Victor," the Director said, breaking in again. "You will wait
until Ramirez calls you. You will present yourself as someone who
has a pipeline of illegal drugs into the city that could either
be a rival or an ally, including a new drug, even more potent
than the one Ramirez has."

"What drug is that?" Vic asked suspiciously.

"Candy."

Mac stiffened, while Vic's eyes went wide, but her expression
told them not to protest. Candy was a drug developed by an Agency
scientist, Dr. Fry. He'd been looking for a way to turn ordinary
people into perfect tools, without morals or conscience or
inhibitions. It had succeeded, to a point, but the three test
subjects had become unstable and had escaped to go on a violent
spree. They'd barely stopped the three, but not before the so-
called Drogues had addicted Dr. Fry to Candy to force him to make
more for them. He'd later come up with a cure, while locked in an
Agency lab.

He just hoped that she didn't *really* intend to hand over even a
tiny sample of the drug to the man. The thought of Candy
available on the city streets scared the hell out of him.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to challenge her, the Director
turned to Mac. "You will work on this Kata. I'll arrange to have
this placed," she said, jingling the gold chain in her hand.

There was a wordless protest from Mac, and her eyebrow went up.
Then she sighed. "Let me guess, Mr. Ramsey. You want to take care
of it yourself."

Mac shrugged his shoulders. "Well, she might be watching," he
said weakly. Even Vic could tell that he was just making excuses.
Mac really wanted to do it because it was a challenge.

The Director smiled slightly. "Worried that the old skills might
be getting a little rusty?" she said, one elegant eyebrow lifted.
Mac flushed, his eyes downcast.

"Never mind," she said, then tossed him the chain. "Very well, I
will leave that to you. However, if you want to do it on your
own, it will be *completely* on your own. No use of Agency
resources. And we won't bail you out if you fail or get caught."

"Fine by me," Mac said, catching the bracelet out of the air.
Already, Vic could see the sparkle in the man's eyes. Mac rarely
got to use the skills he'd trained most of his life to use -- the
skills of a master thief -- and he relished every chance he got.
And after being dragged along on the 'caper' with the Rivers
family, Vic could kind of understand the appeal. The chance of
discovery, of capture, made you feel more alive. Instead of brute
force, your survival rested on fine skills.

And even though the Director kept a straight face, he could see
her amusement at the change. If she'd really wanted to, she could
have shot Mac down. Instead, she was giving him exactly what he
wanted; the chance to meet Kata's challenge and adding one of her
own. Mac would work even harder to prove to her that he *could*
do it on his own.

If he wasn't supposed to be tackling Ramirez, Vic would have been
tempted to tag along for the ride, just to recapture that special
adrenaline rush he could still remember from the diamond theft.

Finally, less than an hour before sunrise, the Director dismissed
them. If she'd delayed any longer, Vic would have ended up
sleeping at the Agency headquarters; something he hadn't done
since his Embrace, and which he wasn't eager to do anytime soon.
Mac was yawning widely as they headed for the parking lot.

"My place?" Vic suggested, even though he knew that there
wouldn't be time for anything more than a quick shower before the
sun rising sent him into coma-land.

Mac shook his head. "I need to drive past the ROM. It's going to
take me a day or two to set up the job."

"Will I see you tonight?"

"Maybe," Mac replied, his gaze distant and distracted. Vic could
see that most of his mind was on the upcoming job. He was more
than a little disappointed, but they both knew that work had
better come first if they didn't want the Director to split them
up permanently.

"Okay," he said reluctantly, one eye on the horizon. Even though
the sky hadn't started to lighten yet, he could still feel the
sun moving higher. He needed to get going immediately if he
wanted to get home in time to do anything more than just crash.

But if he couldn't have a warm Mac to cuddle against as he slept,
he would at least have the taste of him.

A grab at the back of the man's belt stopped him in his tracks,
then reeled him in. The distracted look was gone, replaced by
Mac's trademark smirk, as he turned to face Vic. "Forget
something?" he asked.

"Yeah. This."

With that, Vic grabbed Mac's face between his hands and pulled
him in for a long, heated kiss. His hands slipped lower, wrapping
around Mac's waist, pulling the younger man tight against
himself, and bent his head to nuzzle at Mac's neck. Then he
paused and waited for permission.

Mac's head fell back and he groaned. "Oh, yeah," he moaned.

They didn't have time for anything long or involved, so after a
few quick licks, Vic let his fangs drop down and plunged them
into the vein right below the surface. A few quick swallows that
burned through him like liquid fire, he withdrew and licked the
wound shut and invisible before moving back up for another deep
kiss. It wasn't really a feeding; he'd just taken a small taste.

"Ahem."

They practically flew apart at the amused cough. Turning, Vic
already knew that the figure standing behind was Kindred, but
thankfully it wasn't the Director.

"You need to be more careful, Ace," Dobrinsky said, a self-
satisfied smirk on his face. "There is such a thing as the
Masquerade, you know."

Vic brushed his mouth, self-consciously. "Who would see anything
more than two lovers necking?" he shot back at the Ventrue. The
large man was the Director's right-hand man, and he'd always been
more than a little intimidating, even *before* Vic had found out
about the man's true nature.

"True. Doesn't mean someone seeing you might not be a gay-basher,
though. Try to be a little more discreet, hmmm?"

With that, Dobrinsky brushed past them, heading for one of his
large collection of vintage cars. Vic had always wondered how the
guy could afford to maintain a fleet of more than fifty cars, let
alone buy them. Finding out that the man was more than a hundred
years old had helped to answer that question.

Mac kissed him again, quickly, then backed away. "You better get
going," he said. "I prefer the un-toasted version of Vic
Mansfield."

"Be careful, Mac."

The glare was back, but with less heat than before. "I'm a big
boy, Vic. I might not have fangs and super strength, but I can
take care of myself."

"I know," Vic said sheepishly. "I just... worry."

Mac snorted. "Worry? You? Vic, you raise worrying to a high art."
Then his expression softened. "I worry about you too. So I'll
make you a deal. I'll be super careful around Kata if you do the
same around Ramirez. Deal?"

"Deal. And watch your step with the lady. I *might* be the
jealous type." He snorted, mentally. Who was he kidding? He was
*already* jealous.

Mac stepped closer. "You're not the only one," he growled in
Vic's ear. "Remember that." He quickly kissed Vic, then headed
off at a near run.

Vic stood grinning as Mac climbed into his car and pulled away.

Then, remembering the toast comment, he climbed into his own
truck and headed for home.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic woke nearly two hours before sunset, already alert. It hadn't
taken him very long to adjust to waking before the sunset,
although he was still dead to the world almost as soon as the sun
came up.

He hadn't seen any firm statistics on how long fledglings
*usually* took to make that sort of adjustment, but based on what
he'd been told, he was adjusting faster than most. According to
both Moira and the Director, it had to do with how many
'generations' removed from Cain he was. Moira, at least, seemed
to think that was a drawback, but he disagreed. Although he'd
never dared to tell her, he felt that it made him a little
more... human than the older Kindred.

As for the Director, she just thought of it in terms of how it
would affect his usefulness.

Vic rolled over and found the other side of the bed mussed up and
the scent of Mac on the pillow next to his. Vic grinned. The
traces were a couple hours old, and he knew that there was no one
else in the apartment at the moment, but he found himself
absurdly pleased that Mac had come to *his* apartment for an
afternoon nap instead of just going back to his own place. Maybe
it wasn't too soon to start making subtle hints that Mac should
move in with him...

But being awake this long before sunset *did* have its drawbacks.
The living room had large windows, and his instincts were telling
him that it was a bright, sunny day outside and he had forgotten
to close the drapes before collapsing into bed. As a result, he
was basically trapped in his bedroom and its attached bathroom.

Luckily, he planned for these things. Tucked into a corner was a
small bar fridge with a couple packets of blood, just in case he
got really desperate for drink. He also kept a well-stocked
bookcase and a laptop computer in the bedroom. Despite people's
assumptions, he wasn't a dumb hick cop. He'd always read, and now
that he was looking at a *very* long life, he read even more.
Fiction, non-fiction; you name it, he inhaled it.

Currently, he was reading a novel built around cryptography --
not your standard fare. It was nearly a thousand pages and he was
only half-done. Fluffing up his pillows, he settled back to read.

An hour -- and nearly a hundred pages -- later, he was pulled
away by the ringing of his cell phone. He tucked his bookmark
into the spot he was at and set the book on the side table before
picking up the phone.

"Mansfield."

"I understand you wanted to talk to me, Mr. Mansfield. Or should
I say, *Officer* Mansfield?"

Vic sat up a little straighter at the accented voice. "Mr.
Ramirez, I presume."

"So what does a cop want with a simple nightclub owner?" The
man's voice almost oozed with oil. It didn't disguise the
underlying menace, however.

Vic snorted. "Let's not play games, Mr. Ramirez. We both know
that you are in the process of establishing yourself as *the*
drug lord for Toronto. Not exactly the actions of a 'simple
nightclub owner.'"

"Is this were you tell me I'm going down hard, cop?" the man
quipped, quoting too many bad movies.

"I'm not a cop," Vic said mildly.

"That's not what I hear."

"Then your information is more than seven years out of date, Mr.
Ramirez. Now, are we going to trade barbs all night or are we
going to talk business?"

"And what possible business could we have to discuss?"

Vic found himself smirking at the smug tone of the man. Taking
Ramirez down was going to feel so good. There was something about
the bastard's voice that really put him off. Not to mention the
fact that the man was importing poison into *his* city.

"I understand you've decided to branch out from the standard
street drugs. A little something called Dreamworks? Aren't you
afraid that Spielberg might sue for trademark infringement?"

"Very funny. Is there a point to all this?"

Deciding that Ramirez was starting to sound a little *too*
pissed, Vic got serious. "I represent a group that is in the
business of... product development; both improving the existing
and developing the new. However, they do not like to be bothered
with marketing and distribution. They are looking for an agent to
take care of that."

"I'm listening," was the non-committal reply.

"My employers have developed several methods for refining current
popular street drugs to make them more addictive and more
effective in smaller doses. That way, the drugs can be cut with
more fillers, allowing you to sell the same amount of drugs to
more people, bringing in higher profits."

"And how much profit is eaten up by this 'refining' process?"

Vic felt his lips draw back into a tight smile. He could hear the
interest and greed in the other man's voice.

"It adds about ten percent to the average producer's cost.
However, it also allows them to double the potency of the
product, so the same amount can be sold for twice as much." He
paused and waited for the man to do the math.

"Acceptable," Ramirez said. Vic resisted the urge to laugh; it
was a sight more than 'acceptable.' "And you mentioned new
product?"

Vic winced: He'd been hoping that the refining process would be
enough of a hook for the man. However, he was too good at his job
to let his distaste bleed through. To anyone listening, he was
cold as ice, all business.

"It's a little thing we call Candy."

"I've... heard of it. It sent users a rampage that caused a great
deal of expensive damage. Not exactly a good selling point."

"That was one of the initial field tests. It has been redesigned
since then to reduce that instability factor. It couldn't be
completely removed, since one of the side-effects is the
reduction of personal morals and inhibitions. It is also
addictive from the first dose, and stopping taking it means
death, so a customer is forced to *keep* coming back, especially
if you are the only source."

"On the other hand, police tend to get a lot more interested in a
designer drug that leaves more bodies than usual around," Ramirez
pointed out.

Vic silently cheered; you rarely found a drug dealer with that
much common sense. "Hey, it's up to you."

"All right. You've had your say. I will consider your information
and if I decide it's in my interests to deal with your bosses,
I'll get back to you.

"However, I recommend that they don't try anything stupid, like
going into business on their own, in the meantime. Competing with
me would be a *very* bad idea. Do you understand?"

Vic shivered. The menace in the other man's voice was no longer
hidden and it was chilling, despite his b-movie villain accent
and the unimpressive image from the pictures Vic had seen the
evening before. "Understood. But understand, we are not the same
sort of pushovers as the dealers you've been negotiating with up
until now."

"We'll see."

Ramirez hung up, and Vic put down the cellphone, staring at it
thoughtfully.

A moment later, it rang again, making him jump. Frowning, he
picked it up and flipped it open. "Mansfield."

"Very nicely done, Victor," a very familiar voice purred in his
ear. "I knew you did well in undercover work, but you were even
more convincing than I'd expected." The Director.

Vic glanced up at the light fixture over his bed. Obviously she
had his new place as bugged as the last one. He was going to have
to start scanning it too. Between his training and the new case,
he just hadn't had the time yet.

"Thanks," he said bitterly.

"Awww, what's wrong, Victor?"

Vic glanced at the clock. The sun would be going down in a few
more minutes. Then he could get out of here and *do* something.
He was already starting to feel a little claustrophobic. Maybe a
walk in the park before he headed over to the Agency to do some
research...

But the Director was still waiting for an answer. "Why are we
developing ways to make drugs more powerful?" he blurted out, not
entirely sure if it was a smart thing to be asking.

The Director sighed theatrically over the phone. "Victor, do you
really believe that we are capable of playing with improving
street drugs?"

Vic's lips twisted into an ironic smile. "Yes"

"True. However, in this case, wrong. We were actually trying to
improve the effectiveness of so-called truth serums. The process
just happened to translate to other forms of drugs as well."

Vic had to admit that even though he didn't believe her, the
explanation made sense. Too much sense for him to protest. "If
you say so," he said noncommittally.

"I do. So, what are your plans?"

Vic sighed. "Well, there isn't a hell of a lot I can do until
Ramirez decides to contact me again. I thought I'd talk to
Nathan, see if we can't backtrack Ramirez to this Guylaine
person."

There was a pause. "That might not be wise."

Vic was getting very suspicious now. His instincts were telling
him that the Director knew *exactly* who this mysterious person
was. Of course, she wasn't going to tell them anything that might
help their investigation. After all, they'd gone through the same
thing with Pucci, the rogue Agency assassin who'd tried to kill
her.

"It does need to be done," he pointed out. If she wasn't going to
tell them anything, they were just going to have to do it
themselves.

"Fine," she said tersely. "But be careful, little boy. Remember,
you're a fledgling in a very nasty world now. If you go poking in
dark corners, you might disturb something that you can't handle."

With that cryptic remark, she hung up.

Vic stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, then shrugged
and put it down. The sun was down and it was time for him to get
to work. He headed for the living room, stopped and smiled.

The drapes were pulled tightly shut and a large note was pinned
to where they joined.

"Remember, un-toasted tastes better."

Vic grinned and headed for the door.
 

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

Mac whistled cheerfully as he drove away from the entrance to the
Agency's underground headquarters. He wasn't worried about Vic
getting under cover before sunrise -- the man was too smart to
get himself flambéed by making a stupid mistake like that. Of
course, he had looked kissed stupid when Mac had left him in the
parking lot. Still, even if *he* forgot, one of the Director's
people would take care of him.

Of course, Vic would never live that down.

The image almost made up for the fact that he was still pissed
off at the man. The old Vic -- the pre-Embrace Vic -- had been
cautious, but not stupid. And stupid was the only way to describe
Vic's behavior that night. Mac wasn't thinking about the man's
improvisation at the club. No, he was pissed because after doing
that, Vic had the gall to suggest that *him* working the woman,
Kata, was too dangerous. Mac was a big boy; he could take care of
himself. Unfortunately, it looked like he was going to have to
convince Vic of that little fact.

Of course, the other explanation might be that Vic was simply
jealous. Mac hadn't missed the flare of the man's nostrils every
time he got close to Mac. Kindred had sharper noses than ordinary
mortals, he knew. After all, Vic had recognized the scent before
Mac could even start to explain what had happened while he was
trying to break out of Ramirez's office. Vic's eyes had glowed
that eerie silver while Mac had described his own little
adventure. The memory still made him shiver in a way that wasn't
*completely* unpleasant.

Mac turned his car towards his apartment building, making plans
in the back of his mind while he continued to consider the
problem of his lover.

And maybe that word, along with everything that went with it, was
the problem. Lover. Mac well understood the urge to protect one's
loved ones, even though he'd only gotten that close to a very few
people in his life.

LiAnn. He'd wanted to run from the Tang family partly because he
could see himself being forced into roles that he wanted nothing
to do with. Being ordered to head the gun-running operation had
been the last straw and he would have run, even if she'd decided
to stay. But a large part of his reason for leaving had been to
protect LiAnn. Even though she'd refused to see it, he'd been
able to see just how unstable Michael was becoming and what sort
of danger their foster brother's obsession with LiAnn was going
to cause them. Mac still went cold at the memory of the young and
definitely psychotic man he'd called brother.

Claire. He'd almost married her. He'd also tried to protect her
from the Agency. Hell, he'd even tried to protect her from
herself. And in return, she'd nearly blown them both up. The only
thing he could say for her was that in the end, she hadn't been
able to kill him. But the memory still burned in his mind with a
sense of shame. LiAnn had tried to warn him, as had the Director.
Even Vic had tried, although when he'd seen that Mac wasn't going
to change his mind, he'd done everything he could to support him,
even agreeing to be his best man. One of the many times that the
man had been there for him, even though he'd tried to pass it off
as eliminating him as a rival for LiAnn.

Angie. Mac smiled wistfully at the memory. Angie Rivers had been
the opposite of Claire in every way possible. Innocent instead of
worldly. Clingy instead of self-sufficient. Dark instead of
blonde. The only thing that the two women had in common was that
they were both thieves. And Mac.

But in Angie's case, he'd protected her by getting the hell out
of her life when she and her family had left to start over in BC.
She'd asked him to come with her, but all he would have been able
to do for her otherwise was to drag her down with him. Besides,
the Agency never would have let him go.

After that, he had learned his lesson. He hadn't dated any woman
more than once, and just for the purpose of sex. That didn't
bother him, since they were only looking for great sex with a
good-looking man and he had given it to them. A few of the men
had rated more than one date, but again, sex was the only reason
and they'd all known it. Men understood that a little better, not
expecting romance or engagement rings. Even Cash had only been
sex, albeit wrapped in a very fun package.

But Vic was different. Vic, he couldn't keep at arm's length. Vic
had already become part of him, through their work relationship.
Adding sex to the mix had been dangerous, not to mention very,
very thrilling.

And even though it wasn't the best sex he'd ever had in his life,
it was definitely the most satisfying, he realized. So much so
that he wasn't willing to lose it.

Maybe he was ready to try that commitment thing again.

>>>~~~<<<

A few hours later, Mac was on the road again. The first thing
he'd done on getting home was to take a short nap to recharge his
batteries. He had a lot to do and he'd already been up all night.
A little surprisingly, he found himself frequently reaching for a
cool body that wasn't there. After years of sleeping alone, he
found himself missing having his partner to cuddle. Instead, all
he'd found were slightly stale-smelling sheets.

On waking, he'd taken a long, hot shower, nearly scrubbing off
the outer layer of his skin. Vic had been complaining so much
about smelling Kata on him that *Mac* could almost smell it.

Smelling, he hoped, of only soap and antiperspirant, Mac changed
into fresh clothes, deliberately choosing for once to dress down
in blue jeans and a green sweater to give the image of a typical
college student. Then he headed out to his car an he was on the
road again. He stopped briefly at a favorite patisserie for a
quick breakfast -- his cupboards were definitely getting bare --
before heading downtown towards the ROM.

The original Royal Ontario Museum had been opened in 1914 as part
of the university of Toronto. Some forty years later, it was
separated from the university and the five departments were
merged into the single organization it now was. The focus was on
archaeology and anthropology, mostly, and the museum funded
expeditions all over the world, not just North America. It also
had displays of zoology and geology, not to mention the dinosaur
displays that were so popular with the kiddies. And always a
favorite of the visitors; the Egyptian display.

Of course, he hadn't known much of this before that morning.
Amazing what you could learn from the internet, he thought to
himself with a smile. The museum had a nicely informative
website. He was a little surprised, though, to realize that he'd
been in the city for nearly three years and hadn't yet gone to
visit its most famous museum.

He arrived just after the museum opened for the day. It was even
early enough that he was able to find a parking spot in the
closest lot, just down Bloor street from the museum. He paid his
admission and started wandering the museum.

Like any typical tourist, student or not, he bought the full
museum guide and picked up a collection of glossy brochures. He
drifted around, staring at a variety of exhibits, both permanent
and traveling. In fact, if he weren't working he would be
enjoying himself thoroughly.

Unfortunately, museum rules didn't allow him to bring a camera in
with him and thanks to the Director, he couldn't borrow one of
the Agency's tiny spy cams. Instead, he had brought a large
sketch pad and a variety of pencils, all tucked into a battered
leather art case, along with pencil sharpeners and erasers.

He hadn't even had to buy the art supplies. Growing up in Hong
Kong, he'd been trained in fine arts, since on occasion they --
he, Michael and LiAnn -- would be sent to steal artwork from
either private homes or museums and needed to be able to
recognize fakes from masterpieces, as well as which were worth
the most. As part of that training, he'd learned sketching, and
had discovered that not only did he have a talent for it, he also
enjoyed it. He'd stopped during his time in prison, not being
allowed any sort of personal items. Maybe they thought he would
stab himself to death with a sharp pencil. When the Agency had
decided to mandate hobbies -- a stupid rule, he still thought --
he'd taken up drawing again. He hadn't told anyone about it,
though, since he didn't want to be teased about either going
along with the directive or what his choice had been.

Picking a display that had nothing to do with Egypt -- namely one
of the totem or crest poles that soared above the main entrance -
- he sat down and flipped through the book, past sketches of
LiAnn and Vic, stopping briefly to admire one of his most recent
drawings, a nude of a sleeping Vic done from memory after their
return from San Francisco. He also had cityscapes done from his
balcony and a variety of other subjects. Finding a blank page, he
drew a deep breath of the sterile, and yet somehow ancient
feeling air of the museum and started to work.

He quickly lost himself in his work, ignoring a few positive
comments from people passing by that couldn't seem to help
looking over the shoulder of a complete stranger. Once he was
satisfied with the detailed drawing, he moved on, once again
picking a sketch subject that wasn't part of the Egyptian
exhibit. He didn't want to attract the wrong sort of attention,
so he was circling in on his target.

A few hours later, he broke for lunch. Normally, he would have
gone to the expensive restaurant at the museum, or one down the
street, preferring the finer things in life, but in keeping with
his student look, he headed for the deli near the main entrance
instead. He chose a roast beef on rye with mustard and a garden
salad on the side, along with a pop since the deli didn't serve
beer. Of course, even if they did, they wouldn't have his
favorite Chinese beer, he was sure. Worrying about the time, he
ate quickly, then went back to work.

This time, he headed straight for the Egyptian exhibit, deciding
that he'd established himself adequately as an art student,
either local or from out of town. No one was giving him a second
glance, and he'd even seen a couple other students doing the same
sort of sketching that he was.

Once again, he worked his way around to his goal, sketching first
a statue, then a set of jewelry, both in black and white, as well
as color pencil. He found himself a little regretful that they
wouldn't allow him to bring watercolors, though, before reminding
himself that he *wasn't* there for pleasure. Still, he made a
mental note to come back again sometime when he wasn't on a case.
He'd like to see a little more of the museum, now that it had
been brought to his attention.

Reaching the centerpiece of the display, the sarcophagus that was
his target, he settled down on a marble bench and started to
draw. The security guard watched him suspiciously for a moment,
then ignored him.

For the next hour, he sketched the display from several angles.
Anyone looking over his shoulder would just see detailed drawings
of the gold monstrosity surrounded by rough backgrounds. He
didn't draw anything of the security, which would give him away,
but he noted every obvious and not so obvious sign of the
security setup. He'd already noted the tiny signs telling him who
had set it up. He was still amazed that they were that stupid. On
the other hand, he'd learned through the years that seemingly
smart people really *were* that stupid.

By mid-afternoon, he was pleased with himself. He had come up
with the start of a plan of how to reach the room and get into
the display case to add the gold chain while apparently
concentrating only on his art. All he needed now was a better
idea of the museum's security system, its wiring and the guard
schedule, and thanks to the helpful advertising, he knew just
where to find that information.

But that would have to wait until night, when the security
company's offices would be shut down for the day. In the
meantime, he was starting to yawn again, thanks to the erratic
schedule of the last few days. He left the museum, collected his
car from the lot, paying the exorbitant parking fees, and pointed
his chariot towards home.

Sometime later, he came out of his haze to realize that he was
pulling into the parking lot at Vic's building, not his own. He
stared up at it, wondering what to do next. It was only a short
drive to his own place, but instead he found himself pulling into
a parking spot labeled visitors and heading for the elevator,
making excuses to himself as he went.

Finally, as he reached the apartment door, he gave up on even the
excuses. After all, he hadn't been able to spend any time with
Vic the night before. Well, no real *personal* time. And surely
Vic wouldn't mind him taking liberties, since he *had* given Mac
a key. The key that Mac was now using to let himself in.

The apartment was silent, as expected. Mac locked the door behind
himself, dropped his art case on the table next to the door,
along with his keys, and headed into the living room.

There, he stopped in his tracks and frowned at the wide open
drapes. The room was flooded with sunlight, giving everything a
bright glow. It had turned into a beautiful late spring
afternoon, and normally this would be a pleasant sight, but he
wasn't vulnerable to sunlight the way that Vic now was.

Grumbling to himself about vampires who didn't have the sense to
stay out of the sun, Mac pulled the drapes shut, checking to make
sure that not even the smallest sliver of sunlight was getting
through. Then, going with impulse yet again, he pulled a blank
page from his sketchbook, wrote a pointed note on it and pinned
it to the drapes where Vic wouldn't be able to miss it.
Hopefully, he wouldn't miss the point either.

The idiot definitely needed a keeper, Mac thought to himself, and
it looked like he'd been nominated.

Having prevented accidentally fried lover-kebob, Mac headed for
the bedroom, stripping off his fake-student clothes as he went.
He left the jeans and sweater draped over the back of the sofa
and stopped at the bedroom door, dressed in only his briefs.

He smiled fondly at the sight of Vic, curled up like a little
baby, one hand under his cheek. He stripped his briefs off and
slid under the covers. He spooned up behind Vic and wrapped his
arms around the sleeping man, sighing happily at how perfectly
they fit together.

Vic's body was cool to the touch and there was no breath to make
his chest rise and fall, but if Mac listened hard, he could hear
the unnaturally slow -- but still steady -- sound of the man's
heartbeat.

Counting the beats, he quickly drifted into slumber.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac woke well before sunset. He hadn't slept well, troubled by
disturbing dreams that he already couldn't remember. Reluctantly,
he slipped out of the bed with its still sleeping occupant and
headed for the living room. He pulled his clothes back on,
collected his stuff and headed out the door.

Now that he was a little more alert, he felt a little embarrassed
over having just walked in and crawling into bed with his
partner. He doubted that *Vic* would be bothered by it, but then
Vic would take it as a sign that he was weakening over the whole
'couple' thing.

And maybe he was.

Still, Mac wasn't about to let *him* know that yet. While he
might be weakening, he wasn't ready to give up his freedom.
Besides, it might be fun to let Vic convince him.

Mac paused and shook his head. The part that still seemed strange
to him, though, was that while he was worried about commitment
and sleeping with a partner, the one thing that *didn't* bother
him was the fact that his partner was now a vampire. You would
think that *that* would have had him running for the hills, but
he'd accepted it easily. He even enjoyed being literally a
'dinner' date.

Okay, sure he'd seen plenty of really weird stuff since being
drafted by the Agency, but vampires were definitely weirder than
the norm.

On the other hand, he'd always thought of the Director as a
blood-sucker -- although not quite so literally. And as for Vic,
maybe the fact that they'd worked together for so long made
accepting the change easier, just like he'd have no problem
accepting LiAnn, no matter what she became. And Jackie was so
flaky, he'd buy her as just about anything.

Of course, there were limits. He just hadn't figured out what
those limits *were* yet.

And that might be the most disturbing thing of all.
 

----------------------------------------
Chapter Seven
----------------------------------------

Vic headed for his apartment again, earlier than he had planned.
He was carrying a pile of folders and had a couple zip disks in
his jacket pocket that held everything that he and Nathan had
been able to find on Ramirez, as well as anyone associated with
him. Hopefully, going through the information would give them a
handle on the man and his mysterious boss, Guylaine.

Normally he wouldn't have been allowed to bring any of this stuff
home to review, especially the paper files, since the Agency
preferred to keep their records on-site. Unfortunately, doing the
review in the records department had proved to be completely
impossible.

The problem, amazingly enough, had been Nathan. For years, the
nervous little researcher had fallen all over himself trying to
please Vic, who he had decided was a prince of the Illuminati. It
had been useful, but annoying as hell. This time, though, he'd
taken one look at Vic and he'd almost fallen over himself running
in the opposite direction. Somehow, he had recognized the change
in Vic.

It had taken him nearly half an hour to coax the cowering man out
of the cubby-hole he'd hidden himself in and to convince him that
Vic *wasn't* a danger to him, although he wasn't sure that Nathan
had believed him. Even though Vic had long complained about the
man's fawning, he found himself perversely disappointed by the
change.

The other big surprise was the realization that Nathan was a
ghoul, which explained just *how* he had known that Vic was now
Kindred. And even *more* surprising was just whose ghoul.

He wouldn't have thought that Nathan was Dobrinsky's type.

The way it had been explained to him, a ghoul was a human who'd
been fed Kindred blood without being Embraced. It was done with
humans who were valuable, either as servants or daytime
representatives. The taste of blood fixated them on the Kindred
individual, making them almost painfully eager to please. Moira
had suggested that he make a few ghouls of his own, since they
were also a useful source of blood, but Vic still found the whole
concept more than a little disgusting. Still, he could understand
why the paranoid little researcher would be considered useful.

Anyway, he had finally decided to take pity on Nathan, who was
growing more and more agitated by the moment. Collecting together
what they'd found so far, he'd told the man to keep hunting while
he went home to read over what they already had. His last sight
of Nathan had been of the young man's back as he scurried down
the hall in the direction of Dobrinsky's office.

Vic shook his head, trying to clear the image of Dobrinsky and
Nathan from his mind. The Kindred-ghoul relationship didn't have
to be sexual, but the slavish devotion of a ghoul mean that it
was usually was, and the idea of Nathan having sex was...

To distract himself, Vic went back to the files.

Ramirez, Jonathon. No known birth date. No known family. All of
these things seemed to suggest Kindred. After all, as you got
older, you couldn't exactly admit to who you really were, since
it wouldn't match with your appearance. It also suggested that he
wasn't very highly placed, since a Prince could afford to set up
better fake identities for their favored subordinates.

Of course, if this was an attempt by a rival Prince to move in on
the Director's territory, that Prince *wasn't* going to send
anyone too valuable or easily traced back to them. There would be
no overt moves until they were sure of victory.

God, he hated politics. This was even worse than back on the
police force.

So, if it *was* a move on Toronto and its Prince, then Guylaine
could be the name of the rival Prince, which would explain the
Director's cryptic warnings. It didn't, however, explain her
refusal to provide information that they could use.

Vic searched his memories of the party at the end of their stay
in San Francisco, but came up blank. He couldn't remember meeting
anyone named Guylaine. He glanced at the computer screen where
the details of Ramirez's arrival in Toronto glowed in the dim
light. He'd flown to Toronto from New Orleans, and Vic couldn't
remember having met anyone from that city either.

Come to think of it, he'd commented on how several large,
important cities hadn't been represented at the party. The
Director had cut him off, promising to explain later.

Well, later had just arrived, it seemed. He had the feeling that
what ever it was she hadn't told him, it was about to be very
important.

The first traces of the man known as Ramirez had appeared in New
Orleans, nearly twenty years earlier when he was apparently in
his twenties. He had a string of arrests for petty crimes,
gradually working his way up to drug-related charges. He'd spent
a total of nearly six years in jail in the first decade.
Obviously, if he was Kindred, it had happened after that, since
he obviously wasn't in his twenties anymore, and a Kindred
certainly wouldn't have survived prison. He wouldn't have been
able to avoid sunlight. And yet, if he wasn't Kindred, there
should have been more of a paper trail for him.

It was the sort of puzzle that Vic didn't like.

He rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of a headache forming.
He was missing something, but he wasn't sure what.

Anyway, somewhere along the line, Ramirez had started showing up
with lawyers who managed to get him off on technicalities, and
when that didn't work, witnesses recanted, or evidence
disappeared from police lockups. All of this added up to new,
more powerful friends. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be
anything to identify those friends.

Except...

Vic flipped through pages of information, wondering just where
the hand-written surveillance reports had come from. Especially
the one splattered with brown specks that his nose told him was
old blood. He really needed to have a long talk with his boss.

Anyway, there was one note of interest in them. Soon after his
arrival in New Orleans, Ramirez had started to frequent a punk
club called -- rather unimaginatively -- The Rusty Nail. He'd
even spent five years as its manager more than a decade earlier,
after gaining those powerful friends. It wasn't much, but it was
a start. Ramirez certainly didn't look like the punk type. For
one thing, he was much too old. Vic snorted, thinking of the
middle-aged, heavy-set man whose picture the Director had shown
them. He didn't even look like an aging punk fan.

Vic sent a quick e-mail to Nathan, telling him to check his
archives for any reference to the club. Then he sent a second e-
mail to the Director, telling her what he'd found so far and
suggesting that they should talk. He didn't like being kept in
the dark.

And if she wasn't willing to answer his questions, he would make
a long distance call to San Francisco. If she wouldn't, then
maybe Cash would. At least *he* wouldn't jerk Vic around. He
hoped.

The sound of a key in the lock caught him off-guard. He
automatically reached for the gun sitting on the coffee table,
half-covered by the spread of papers, but he relaxed even before
Mac even stepped into view.

Mac was almost vibrating. His eyes sparkled with excitement and
his natural scent was tinged with sweat and something else that
made Vic's nose twitch. A grin quirked the corners of his mouth
up into an almost predatory expression. He was dressed all in
black and had a bag slung over his shoulder. Obviously, he had
been 'working' that night.

"Already?" Vic asked, almost in disbelief. He found it hard to
believe that Mac could have already made his move. Surely he
wasn't foolish enough to try without proper preparation if he
didn't have to.

On the other hand, he definitely was skilled enough to do it, Vic
knew.

"Nah," Mac said, dropping his bag on the armchair, then throwing
himself on the sofa next to Vic. Vic bounced a little as the
younger man landed, then shifted around so that he was lying on
his back with his head in Vic's lap, looking up at him. "That's
tomorrow. Tonight I broke into the security company the museum
uses to get the plans of their setup."

Vic was finding it hard to concentrate on what his partner was
saying. Mac's eyes were dilated until they were almost black and
he could smell the musk of the younger man's arousal easily. His
black cotton pants did nothing to disguise the bulge of a half-
erect cock. Adrenaline obviously had Mac worked up to a fever
pitch, and that, combined with the head pressing down against his

groin, was quickly driving Vic to a similar state.

"You broke into a security company's office?" he finally managed
to croak through a throat gone dry. "Are you nuts?"

Mac rolled over and pushed up onto all fours so that he was
almost nose to nose with Vic. "Nope," he said with a lazy smile,
eyelids dropping to half-mast. "You'd be surprised at just how
bad their own security is. On the other hand, they probably count
on their reputation to scare off crooks. After all, who would
break into the offices of a firm that specializes in security
systems? Kinda like those stupid little lights that are supposed
to make thieves think that you have an alarm system in your car."

"If you say so," Vic said, although he was no longer sure just
what he was agreeing with.

And his distraction hadn't escaped Mac's notice either. The world
tilted suddenly and Vic found himself hitting the floor next to
the sofa with Mac on top of him, fully stretched out. He ignored
the sound of his coffee table being pushed out of the way, all
his attention taken by the young man whose tongue was already
half-way down his throat.

Growling deep in his throat, Vic started pulling at Mac's
clothes. The turtleneck was yanked out from the waistband of
Mac's pants and Vic broke the kiss only long enough to pull the
fabric up over the other man's head. A voice in the back of his
head suggested that this really wasn't the best place to be doing
this, but he ignored it. He was too far gone to stop long enough
to shift to someplace more comfortable, like the bed.

Instead, he rolled over on top of Mac, not noticing as the coffee
table actually went flying this time. Instead, he sat back on his
heels and pulled his own shirt off, tearing at it hard enough
that buttons went flying, then undid his jeans. Getting rid of
them, as well as boxers and socks, took a little more doing, but
he managed to do it without giving Mac the chance to get away.

Not that Mac was trying. Instead, the younger man was disposing
of his own clothes just as quickly, which couldn't be easy with
someone sitting on your legs. Vic didn't really notice. His
attention was grabbed more by the fact that his partner wasn't
wearing any underwear.

Vic growled and leaned forward over Mac, grinding his groin
against the younger man's. He buried his nose in the crook of
Mac's neck, inhaling deeply. Mac smelled of sweat and soap, and
beneath all that he still smelled of the rival, even stronger
than before.

Not a rival, the voice tried to tell him, but he wasn't
listening.

But that problem was easily taken care of. By the time he was
done with Mac, the only thing the man would smell of was *him*.

Unfortunately, he didn't keep lube in the living room -- an error
he wouldn't make again -- but he wasn't going to let that stop
him. Dropping back down onto him full length, he started rubbing
himself all over Mac. Bit by bit, that annoying scent was
overwhelmed by the smell of their combined arousal.

"Vic..." Mac groaned.

With a little wiggling that inspired moans from both of them, Vic
managed to work a hand between them to grasp both their
erections. Enough pre-cum had flowed to lubricate everything,
letting him pump them both together easily.

Mac was panting heavily, thrusting upwards against Vic. His head
was tossed back, exposing his throat. The beast rose up in Vic,
growling with hunger, both physical and mental. His fangs were
already fully extended and the need was becoming too strong to
resist.

With a growl, he sank his fangs into Mac's neck, not even
thinking of using his saliva to anesthetize the area first. Mac's
first shout was one more of pain than anything else.

That pain brought Vic back to his senses. Doing his best to push
the Beast back into its cage, he pulled back and licked the
sluggishly bleeding area, stopping the flow. At the same time, he
slowed his movements, gentling them until Mac started moving in
concert with him again.

Then he dropped his face to the other side of Mac's neck. "Mac?"
he asked, feeling guilty for having just taken when he should
have asked first.

There was silence for a moment. Vic looked up to find Mac looking
at him with a serious expression. Vic pleaded with his eyes, but
stayed silent, not moving other than the gentle rocking that was
keeping them both on edge.

After a moment, Mac seemed to find what he was looking for and he
smiled slightly. Then he tilted his head to the side, giving Vic
full access.

This time, Vic took time and care in preparing the way. By the
time he felt his lover was ready, Mac was making pleading noises
in the back of his throat. When he bit down, the only thing in
Mac's cry was pleasure.

He'd already fed once that night, visiting the Agency infirmary
for a baggie of blood. But as he'd noticed before, chilled blood
didn't have anywhere near the life of blood taken straight from
the vein. Even more to the point, blood from *Mac's* vein. It
exploded across his tongue, burnt down his throat and spread
through his body like lightning.

He pulled back again, this time howling as his orgasm flashed
through him, following that lightning, pumping out all over Mac's
stomach and chest, while he continued to pull on Mac's erection.
He heard a matching howl from his lover as he collapsed on top of
him.

Then everything grayed out.

>>>~~~<<<
 

"Damnit, Vic, move! You aren't exactly a lightweight, you know."

Vic groaned, grasping for the dim comfort of the realm he'd been
floating in. Then he realized that Mac was pushing at him, trying
to roll him off so that he could breathe.

"Sorry," he said, shifting to the side. Mac took a deep breath
and let it out with a sigh of relief.

"About bloody time," he said.

Vic propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Mac. "I mean
it, I'm sorry." He reached out and brushed a gentle finger
against the side of Mac's throat where a large bruise was
starting to form, evidence of just how badly he'd lost it.

"Hmm? Oh, that. Want to explain it?"

At least Mac didn't *sound* overly upset. Taking that as a
promising sign, Vic relaxed a little, dabbling his fingers in the
mixture of fluids coating Mac's stomach, spreading it around,
rubbing it into his skin. On one level, he felt very satisfied
with himself. Mac smelt right.

"Hey, watch it," Mac said, batting Vic's hand away. "It's going
to be enough trouble washing that stuff out of my chest hair as
it is. Now talk."

Vic pulled back. "I'm not sure. It was a lot of things. That
woman's scent. Your arousal. My want. Hunger. A lot of things.
I'm sorry, Mac. I nearly lost control of the Beast."

Vic wasn't really sure that *he* accepted that as an excuse, but
Mac seemed to think it was adequate. "So this was..."

"You'd showered, but under it, you still smelt of her. Now you
don't."

Mac snorted. "With this all over me," he said, gesturing at the
sticky fluids, "I should think not. If I smell of anyone, it's
you."

That comment made Vic's cock twitch, but it was far too soon for
anything to happen.

Then Mac paused, then frowned at Vic. "That's it, isn't? Shit,
what's next, you start piddling on me like you're the biggest,
baddest dog on the block?"

Uh-oh, Vic thought to himself. This is not good. "No! Of course
not! At least, I don't think so..." Mac was still glaring.
"Listen, I can't explain it. I'm not trying to mark you."

Mac had sat up and now had his arms crossed over his chest. "You
sure about that?"

Vic dropped back down onto the carpet and covered his eyes. "No,"
he finally said. "I'm not. All I know is that there is something
about her scent that bothers me. I can't explain it, it just is.
Anyone else, I don't think it would be as bad."

"It's not that she's a woman is it?"

Vic considered that suggestion, then shook his head. "No. I
didn't react that way to the scent of the girl you were dancing
with, and if anything, her perfume was even stronger on you than
this Kata's scent last night."

"So there was something specific about her. I wonder what."

About this time, Vic was starting to feel like they were playing
a scene from a TV show he had watched a couple of times. "Who the
hell knows," he snapped. "Maybe I'm allergic to her. Does it
matter?"

"Well it does if you're going to react this way after every time
I meet up with her for this case," was the exasperated reply. Vic
opened his mouth, but Mac beat him to it. "And no, I am *not*
going to back out of that part of the plan, so forget it."

Vic sighed. "I know. I'm not sure *what* to do, then." He opened
his eyes and looked up at Mac, who looked about as frustrated as
he felt. At the moment, it seemed like the drawbacks to this
Kindred business were heavily outnumbering the advantages.

"Well, we could always ask the Director for advice. Or maybe
Jackie or Dobrinsky."

Their eyes met and they simultaneously said "Naaaaah."

"Okay, scratch that idea," Mac said. "Well then, I just make sure
I shower and scrub so that if there's any scent left, it's faint
enough so that you can control yourself." The look he shot at Vic
told him that he was on thin ice and that he damn well *better*
control himself. "And I promise not to tease you like I was
earlier." This time Mac looked a little sheepish.

"Right," Vic said. "Clean, then slow and easy."

"Hey, I'm not *that* easy," Mac said in mock outrage.

Vic snorted. That's not what Vivian Vixen says," he shot back.

"Oh really? And when have you been talking to her? Taken to
visiting the Booty Call?"

"Please," Vic shot back. "I don't go to those places."

"Right," Mac drawled. "This from the guy who took LiAnn to a peep
show."

"It was to talk to an informant."

"Uh-huh. According to her, you were so distracted that she had to
do the questioning before you bankrupted the Agency feeding bills
to the peep-booth controls."

"Oh, and you would do any better?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, right."

They glared at each other for a long minute. Vic clenched his
jaw, determined not to give anything away. Damnit, he wasn't
going to...

There was a small sound. Almost nothing, easily passed off as
someone clearing his throat. Then it happened again.

Exercising iron control, Vic watched as Mac's lips started to
quiver. The younger man was fighting it, but he finally broke.

When the first laugh passed Mac's lips, Vic let his own control
go, and they both rolled on the ground laughing. The laughter
came more from the recent adrenaline rush than the childish game
of verbal one-upmanship, but it felt wonderful to release the
tension.

Finally, they sat up, wiping the tears away. By that point, the
semen on Mac's chest hair had completely died, matting the hair
down in an unappealing way. The smell of sex was already starting
to turn unpleasantly stale.

"So, what have you come up with?" Mac asked, suddenly all
business despite the fact that he was sitting bare-assed on the
floor of Vic's living room with a hickey on his neck and looking
completely debauched. All in all, he was far too distracting for
serious conversation.

Besides, Vic could hear Mac's stomach growling.

"Why don't you go shower while I put something together for you
to eat," he suggested instead. "I'll shower while you eat, then
we can talk about plans. I'll even lend you some sweats."

Mac looked down, then grinned wryly at Vic. "Good idea," he said,
pushing to his feet. "Otherwise, I'm going to have to shave my
chest to get this stuff off. And maybe tomorrow I should bring
some clothes over to store here, just in case?"

Vic cheered inwardly at the slightly hesitant question, but
carefully gave no sign of it. "Good idea," he said mildly.

He watched silently Mac's ass flex as he headed for the bathroom,
reddened by rug burn. Then he got to his feet and headed over to
the large picture windows. The Toronto skyscape was a blaze of
light, even though all the clubs and bars would have closed by
now. At three, nearly four in the morning, Toronto was as quiet
as it ever got.

A shiver ran up and down his spine, shocking him out of his post-
coital haze. Vic stood up a little straighter, staring out into
the night. Then the feeling disappeared.

Vic shook his head and pulled the drapes carefully shut before
heading to the bedroom to pull on some clothes and to put out
some sweats for Mac. In the bathroom, he could hear the sound of
water running and Mac singing something unrecognizable, and he
had to resist the urge to join the younger man.

But while the feeling might be gone, but it had left unease in
its wake. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching
them. He just wasn't sure who. Kata, like at the farm? Someone
else working for Ramirez? Someone working for the Director? Then
again, did it matter? Whoever it was, he was going to find them
and teach them not to poke their noses where they weren't wanted.

Back in the living room, he put the furniture back in place and
collected the scattered papers from the floor and piled them
neatly so he and Mac could go through them. Then he headed for
his kitchen himself to see if the grocery fairies had come by
while he was asleep.
 

Go to Part Three