----------------------------------------
Chapter One
----------------------------------------

Once 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-fiancées. 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 décor 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 café 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 cliché," 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."

Go to Part Two