Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em and hand 'em back, none the worse for wear.

Author's Notes: FYI for Karin, who asked: Yes, sort of. I've been experimenting with several other stories with Fraser, Ray, Marina, Methos and Duncan, none of which are complete. I was posting this short novel, the most complete, as a test run. Would anyone like to see some of the other bits posted? No guarantees on how regularly I could post the others, though. I've been concentrating on finishing this one.

Story Notes: Highlander/due South crossover, with a cameo here and there from Hellboy, and a few other cameos the sharp-eyed might spot.

SequelTo: Geometry: Chapter 7, Coffee & Corpses

They had a minor disagreement when they reached the car. Marina wanted to sit in back with Dief and Fraser thought for some odd, obscure reason, that it was impolite for the lady to sit in the back. Only when Ray interceded by pointing out what was polite was acceding to the lady's wishes, did Fraser give in. Rebelliously.

To Ray's delight, when she wasn't drowning in grief, Marina was entranced by the GTO and insisted on a detailed description of how he and his father restored it.

"Is she a '67 or a '68, Ray?"

"A '67. But she's got the double barrel carbs. Dad and I put 'em on the car when he scored 'em at a local junkyard. Still in the box, do ya believe it?"

"Barely. Your Dad must be a heck of a scrounger. How does she handle?" Her voice was positively wistful.

"Like a dream. She'll turn onna dime and hand ya back nine cents change." Ray glanced back over his shoulder and took in her dreamy expression. "Ya wanna try her out?"

"Yes!" Marina grinned sheepishly. "I was trying to figure out a way to ask without looking desperate. Thanks for the save."

"No sweat. Nice to meet someone who appreciates vintage cars." Ray shot Fraser a sour look. "Some people think cars are just transportation."

"I'm sure neither of us know anyone so foolish," Marina said firmly, stroking Dief's ears. "I love the way the leather smells. What is it?"

"What's that stuff again, Frase?"

"Neat's foot oil, Ray. I use it on my Sam Browne."

Marina grinned. "I have to admit it's pretty anachronistic to see jodhpurs and a Sam Browne these days, but it's a nice smell."

"Works great, too," Ray agreed. "Makes the whole car smell like Fraser. Sometimes I think that's why Dief likes the Goat so much."

The wolf rumbled a lengthy answer; Marina smothered a grin and Fraser was wearing his Mountie stand-guard face, indicating he got zinged a good one.

Ray glanced back in the rearview mirror. "What'd he say?"

"Dief likes the car because it's one of your dens, and he feels safe in it," Marina explained. "He finds dens you can take with you a very practical idea. He's also quite fond of your predilection for drive-thru food and the fact that, unlike some Mounties he could mention, you always share your kills. The mark of a true pack-mate, so to speak."

"No kiddin'?" He shot the wolf a grin. "Thanks, Dief. Yer a pal."

Dief yipped once and licked Ray's ear enthusiastically.

"Yeaugh, not while I'm drivin', Dief, ya know that!"

Despite Dief's attentions, they reached the 27th in one piece. The wolf led the way into the precinct house, strutting by Marina's side into the bullpen. Frannie's glare could have melted plate steel, but Lieutenant Welsh came out of his office with a curious expression on his craggy face.

Fraser introduced Marina politely and Huey and Dewey crowded in on the intros; but when she spread out the autopsy photos and started explaining, flirtation got dumped instantly as they all realized the implications of what she was saying.

"So you think this wasn't an isolated incident?" Welsh pressed, his mouth set in a grim line.

"I can't say that for certain," Marina said, her fingers tapping a staccato on the photos. "But it looks like the way the body was left was... staged, almost. The corpse was purposely abandoned in a public place in grotesquely bizarre fashion with an unrelated secondary weapon."

"How come ol' Mort didn't catch this stuff?" Huey asked, peering over her shoulder.

Marina shrugged. "This is way outside his field. I'd hardly expect a medical examiner to be able to determine the individual characteristic variations of a sword slash, that's extremely esoteric knowledge."

"But you can?" Frannie said snidely, her expression frankly doubtful.

"I have done this kind of thing before," Marina pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Frannie's half-shirt and miniskirt. "Don't you get cold in that with AC on?"

"I'm Italian, we're hot blooded," Frannie snapped. "Whadya mean, you've done this before?"

"Archeologists who are weapons experts with a background in forensic pathology and criminology are a pretty rare mix," Marina explained. "I've done this for the feds a few times before on criminal investigations."

All the detectives swapped startled glances. But Ray noticed Fraser did not look particularly surprised.

"I never would have agreed to Dief's request for help if I hadn't had some experience in this, " Marina clarified, rather pointedly, Ray noticed. "It might have jeopardized your investigation otherwise."

Interesting. Doctor MacLeod didn't like having her professional credentials doubted. So there was a snarky side under there, too. Cool. Ray grinned, reached down and ruffled the wolf's ears.

"Ya really came through when we needed it, Dief," Ray whispered under his breath. "I still owe ya another box a' donuts, don't think I fergot."

"Can you confirm these suspicions?" Welsh demanded bluntly.

"Possibly. I'd need to examine the corpse up close. That's why we're here." She held up the saber, still wrapped in black velvet. "There are a few comparison tests that may narrow down the possibilities."

"All right." Welsh fired a glare around the group hovering over Ray's desk. "Ray, Fraser, take her down to see Mort and get her started. Huey, Dewey, you got the rest of Ray's caseload to take care of, get moving. Frannie..." he gave her half shirt a disgusted look and decided it wasn't worth the argument. "...get back to work."

"If I might have a word with Detective Vecchio first?"

Ray knew that voice instantly, even before he turned around. "Stella." He bit down on the rest of the words that wanted to tumble out of his mouth. He would not -would not- fawn over his ex in front of the girl he was interested in now. He refused to make a fool of himself that way. So he contented himself with a nod and watched Stella's brows draw together in confusion. To Ray's surprise, it felt good to see her at a loss for a change.

Welsh glared at the group and Huey and Dewey peeled off while Frannie shot a pointed glare after Marina as Fraser escorted her away, one hand under her elbow.

"What do ya want, Stel?" Ray said impatiently. "I got work to do."

"Is that your expert?" She nodded after Marina and Fraser.

"Yeah, why?" What was this about?

Stella folded her arms and shot him that look he hated. The one that said Ray was missing something she thought was painfully obvious; and furthermore he was three kinds of an idiot for missing it in the first place, because it was right in front of his face. "What do you know about her?"

Ray rubbed the back of his neck. "Whadda ya mean, what do I know about her? She's a visiting professor over at th' University, she's helpin' us with the case. About the only leads we got on the damn case so far are the ones she's given us."

"Did you run a background check on her? Does she have any experience in this kind of investigation?"

Ray's temper, never very stable, began to bubble at Stella's condescending tone. "Yeah, since you were eavesdropping, ya know she's done this for the feds a few times. And a' course we ran the standard check on her. No criminal record, three PhD's in archeology, ancient weapons and tactics and pre-Roman cultures, an' half a dozen masters in related fields. Hell, far as we kin tell she never cheated on her taxes. Not even a traffic ticket. Why?"

Stella ignored his question, pissing Ray off even further. "And you're sure she had nothing to do with the murder?"

"What?" Ray couldn't believe it. "Marina didn't have a damn thing to do with this until we dragged her into it!" When Stella's jaw set at his use of Mina's first name Ray caught on. "But this ain't about the case, is it?" The pieces clicked together in his head and he threw Frannie a furious glare. Her guilty start and the way she immediately looked away only confirmed it.

"This is about Marina! And me!" Ray's temper red-lined in an instant. "I can't fuckin' believe this!" He grabbed Stella's elbow and hustled her into the nearest interview room. "Francesca!" he bellowed.

Frannie bit her lip than stuck it out, determined to brazen her way through it. She sauntered to the door of the interrogation room to have Ray grab her hand and yank her the rest of the way in, slamming the door.

"What the flyin' fuck's up? Why you got it in for some chick you've never met?"

"We don't know anything about her!" Frannie burst out. "And the way you and Fraser hang all over her is disgusting!"

"If Fraser and I like her it's none of your goddamn business, Frannie! So stop being a jealous bitch if Fraser likes her better than you!"

Frannie's hand flew out in a stinging slap against his cheek. "He does not!" She looked horrified when she realized what she'd done, standing in front of Ray nearly in tears.

Ray took the slap without blinking. It cleared the red rage in his head. "If you gotta hit somebody for telling you the truth, better me than Fraser," he said coldly. "He doesn't like you that way, Francesca. He never will. Get that through your empty little head one of these days, will you?"

Unable to control her tears any longer Frannie rushed out of the room, slamming the door as she ran.

"Oh, nice, Ray," Stella sneered; then backed up a step in uneasy surprise as Ray turned toward her. Stella knew Ray better than anyone... or so she'd thought. But this icily angry person standing in front of her was a stranger. And he frightened her.

"When did we switch places, Stella? What do you want from me? Does your ego need to see me crawl that bad?"

Stella backed up another step. "Ray, I..."

"You threw me away, Stella." Ray's voice was thick with controlled fury and bitter self-contempt. "And every time I kept crawling back so you could kick me again. But I finally did what you wanted. I got on with my life, without you in it. And when I did, you accuse a genuinely nice person of being involved in a murder just 'cause I'm not your whipping boy anymore. A murder, Stel? Is this payback for Orsini? Your new boyfriend was a dirty politician so the girl I like's gotta be a murderer, 'cause there's no way you can fuck up worse than me? That goes way, way beyond outta line."

"No! I..."

Ray cut her off, for the first time in his life couldn't even bear to hear her voice. "Ya know what? You were right all along. You're not my Stella anymore. Because the girl I fell in love with would never do something so petty, spiteful and vicious."

Stella went white. "Ray..."

Ray didn't let her finish. "You made clear you don't want me in your life, Stel, so stay the hell outta mine." He turned on his heel and left, slamming the door viciously behind him.

* * *

Five minutes earlier...

Marina shot a puzzled glance over her shoulder as Fraser escorted her down the hallway, and dropped her voice so they could talk privately. "Ben, should I not be involved in this investigation? I mean, of course I want to help if I can, but... I don't want to cause you and Ray trouble by coming here."

Fraser's mouth tightened. "This unfortunate situation has nothing to do with you, Marina, so please don't try to accept blame for other's... less than exemplary actions."

"Who was that woman, Ben?" Her fingers tightened on the saber, itching to draw it in defense of her friend. "I could see it go through Ray like a knife the instant he heard her voice. It... hurt me, Ben. I felt his pain like it was my own."

"I know, Mina. It hurts me as well." Fraser sighed and held open the door to the fire stairs, allowing Marina and Diefenbaker to precede him through the doorway. She deserved more of an explanation than that, especially considering Ray's astonishing announcement last night. "Wait a moment."

Marina leaned back against the corner of the wall, automatically slouching so she could see both up and down the stairwell, ensuring they couldn't be overheard without spotting the eavesdropper.

"That woman is Assistant State's District Attorney Stella Kowalski, Ray's ex-wife."

Marina's eyebrows went up; to say she was shocked to the core was a severe understatement. "What kind of an idiot would divorce Ray?"

Fraser spread his hands, indicating his lack of an answer. "She did."

"So why am I getting the evil vibe off her? She wants him back?"

Fraser tugged at his collar and shifted into parade rest, feeling the disciplined stance settle his mind and expression. "If by your terminology you mean Ms. Kowalski apparently harbors some animosity for you, I confess I am at a loss. She had been very firm in her repeated refusals of Ray's... perhaps less than subtle attempts to reconcile their former relationship."

Marina's gaze was boring straight into Fraser's, as if she was reading the thoughts out of his head, and he would not be the least surprised if she was.

"What do you think about all of this, Ben? Your personal opinion, knowing all of the parties involved?"

Fraser reflected in distraction Marina did have an unnerving habit of pinning him down with frighteningly direct questions. "Perhaps I should point out that I have never seen her presence hurt him less than today, and I am convinced it is because of your presence. Is that sufficient answer?"

"It's a good start." She regarded Fraser searchingly. "You're Ray's best friend." It wasn't a question.

He smiled involuntarily. "I have that honor, yes."

"Does it bother you I feel protective about him? That I care about him? A lot?"

Fraser brightened. "You do?"

Marina's smile was one he'd never seen before, a scimitar slash reminiscent of bared fangs and a naked sword. "I wanted to step in front of Ray and growl like Dief. He is ours. Stay away, bitch."

Fraser's mouth watered. There was no denying it- he was all but quivering with hunger. Dear Lord, how embarrassing! But Marina was reacting like the alpha female of a wolf pack, of their pack... and it was unbelievably arousing.

"Language, Marina," Fraser said on automatic, cracking his neck nervously, taking refuge in the familiar ritual as he fought down an almost overwhelming urge to pin her against the wall and bite her throat lightly, welcoming this new member to their pack. His pack. Ray and Dief could and would challenge him for dominance, but he was the alpha male, the final choice to admit her would be his... she would be his as they were his... hardly civilized thoughts! Some semblance of rational control please, Constable!

"Bite me, Fraser," Marina grumbled.

It just got worse. Fraser cursed whatever whim had prompted her to use that particular slang. Pretending not to understand the colloquialism was too tempting even for Mountie self-control, so Fraser simply frowned. "Doctor MacLeod."

"Oh, hell, don't start that again. I don't want her near our Ray," she grumbled. "Not for a second. Diefenbaker thinks I'm right, don't you, love?"

Dief's agreement was so emphatic Fraser realized Marina was not the only one restraining the urge to growl a warning at Stella!

"Not you, too?" he sighed.

"Hey, what are you guys doin' in here? I thought ya were goin' down to the morgue."

Fraser, Marina and Dief all started, wearing identical guilty looks as Ray leaned in the door.

"Talking about you," Mina admitted, reaching out a hand and smiling at Ray.

Determined not to dump his anger at Stella on Fraser and Marina but still fuming inside; Ray wasn't quite sure how to take that, but Marina's warm smile was reassuring enough Ray closed the door behind him and took her outstretched hand.

"What were ya sayin'? Anythin' good?" he joked half-heartedly, expecting a denial.

"Diefenbaker and I were getting all pack-possessive and overprotective about you, and Fraser was scolding us," Mina confessed, squeezing his fingers.

"You were?" Ray brightened amazingly. Wow, that direct honesty of hers popped up at the strangest times, and he sure was diggin' it, too. After fifteen years of second-guessing Stella's motivations about everything, someone who told you flat-out what they were thinking and feeling was a helluva nice change.

"I was not scolding," Fraser protested; uneasily aware he was digging himself in deeper. He was stunned by Marina's candid admission she and Dief were thinking like pack-mates too. "I was merely..."

"Shut it, Fraser," Ray cut his partner off cheerfully.

"Understood." Fraser replied immediately and lapsed into silence; grateful to be let off the hook so easily when his mind was awhirl.

"You an' the wolf were gettin' all protective? About me?"

Whoa, Ray thought, amazing how fast all that animosity could be replaced by something better. Affection was much better. Knowing Mina and Dief wanted to protect him was way better.

Marina tugged Ray over beside her and he went willingly.

"You're ours," she muttered rebelliously, sliding her arms around his waist. "Not hers. Dief and I wanted to growl at her and warn her away."

Ray's jaw nearly dropped. "You did? Both of ya?" O-kay, that was one weird thought but a seriously great turn-on... He couldn't believe it, but Marina was growling under her breath as she kissed his cheek.

Dief rumbled an angry agreement and nudged Ray's leg, shoving him closer to Mina. Definitely identical opinions here.

"'Scuse me a minute, Fraser." Ray leaned down and kissed Marina thoroughly, remembering last night. She smelled different this morning; the faint musky lily, rose and violet fragrance replaced by a fresh apple scent clung to her skin and mixed with rosemary and sage wafting off her hair. Underneath it all faint traces of the almond, jasmine and orange massage oil he and Fraser rubbed into her skin lingered. Those lithe curves felt even better lined up against his torso than under his hands, and she smelled so damn good it was making him crazy.

"Ya smell good enough ta eat," Ray murmured, nuzzling under her ear and tasting the skin there, drawing in that maddening aroma. "Ya taste even better. Jeez, Frase, can you smell her?"

Fraser swallowed hard. How to answer that? That his heightened senses had been going crazy in the GTO's enclosed spaces from that alluring scent? Ray's hand snaked out and caught his wrist and Dief, the sneak, jammed a furry shoulder against his knee, making Fraser stumble right towards the wall. Fraser was forced to catch himself with one arm on either side of Marina and Ray, and even his iron control found its limits when they both reached out an arm and pulled him close.

As Ray nuzzled her jaw and murmured encouragement to his partner, Marina's smoky, half-lidded eyes raised to meet Fraser's. It was completely improper to kiss her here, in the precinct, but her mouth carried the imprint of Ray's kiss and that was irresistible. Fraser had to taste it. He had to. He leaned in and his tongue flicked over her lips without his conscious control. She tasted of Ray and spearmint, of coffee and chocolate intermingled with raspberry jelly and apple lip gloss; and that complex combination shattered whatever control he had. She tasted so edible...

Fraser's mouth claimed hers, devouring, feeding that alpha hunger, the urge to dominate and brand his pack so everyone would know they belonged to him, to each other, to no one else; and to attack any member meant the others would turn on the attacker as one. Dear Lord, he was thinking like an animal...

But when he might have pulled back, Marina's lips parted for him, drawing him in, pulling him deeper, warm sweet alluring mouth he could get lost in for hours, for days... was this what had driven Ray to admit he loved her? Feeling her body and mind open up and welcome him in without reservation?

Fraser understood now, because he loved and wanted her, loved and wanted Ray like he hadn't thought he was capable of wanting anyone. Her scent and Ray's were pheromone-rich and all around, and under his tunic Fraser was so hard he couldn't resist letting them rub up against him like great cats, instead of wolves. God, they were each straddling a thigh, and he didn't know what felt better, Ray's hard, lean muscles or Marina's lithe, supple ones.

The slam of the third floor door opening jerked them all apart and everyone slammed their backs up against the cinderblock wall, wild-eyed and panting. Footsteps rattled down to the second floor and another door clanked open and shut. Marina swallowed hard and tried to calm her breathing, and on either side of her through their joined hands she could feel Fraser and Ray doing the same.

"We probably should get back to work," Fraser choked out, releasing her fingers, still wrapped around the saber, with an effort and straightening his uniform tunic with unsteady hands.

"Yeah," Ray said, stealing one last quick, hungry kiss. He started down the stairs to the basement morgue holding Marina's hand.

"Right," Marina agreed, gave her head a quick shake to clear her thoughts and fell into step beside Ray, Dief at her heels. Fraser took a deep breath and followed.

Mort was singing Wagner arias in German when they came through the morgue doors, leaving Dief in the hallway, the formaldehyde stench made the wolf queasy.

"How come the wolf gets to stay outside?" Ray grumbled. "The smell makes me sick, too."

"Dief can hardly tell us anything new about the smell of the corpse, Ray, it's been in a freezer since it got here," Fraser pointed out.

"Right, right," Ray grumbled, staring resolutely at the walls. "This doesn't bother you, Mina?"

"Nah, I usually do this with mummies, but the principle's the same. Mummies do stink a lot less," she admitted. "I hear ya. I hate the smell down here worst."

Mort was wearing gloves, mask and occasionally dictating English sentences into the microphone hanging over the corpse as he checked the fingernails for residue. He looked up and smiled under the mask at Fraser and Ray. "Welcome, gentlemen!"

"Heya, Mort," Ray said.

"Good morning, Mort." Fraser replied politely.

"Who is your lovely lady friend, detective?" Mort inquired, his old eyes resting speculatively on Marina's hand clasped tight in Ray's.

"Ah, Mort, this is Doctor Marina MacLeod, she's helping us on that chop-'em-up murder. Mina, this here is Mort, he's the 27th's medical examiner, our resident chop-'em-up mortician."

"Nice to meet you, Mort," Marina replied. Mort stripped off his gloves and shook hands. Ray shuddered as their hands met.

"It's very nice to meet you, Doctor MacLeod. You are the expert in ancient weapons?"

"That's me," she confirmed cheerfully. "Do you have time to show me the corpse and maybe answer a few questions?"

"Of course, of course, right this way. This case has top priority, the Lieutenant says." Mort reached out and tucked Marina's hand in the crook of his old arm, strolling over to the freezers. "And it is delightful to have such a charming lady for a visit. So tell me, how do you...?"

Marina and Mort were hip-deep in medical terms before Ray could blink, and he leaned back and whispered to Fraser, "She an' Mort are really hittin' it off. Go figure."

"They do seem to have developed an immediate rapport," Fraser observed in an undertone. "Perhaps our best course of action would be to let them, as you're so fond of saying, 'do their own thing'?"

"Yeah, can you keep up with the medical jargon?"

"Certainly I can follow the discussion," Fraser assured his partner.

"Good, ya can give me the cliff notes version later, keep listening."

"Understood."

Mort pulled one of the waist-high freezer doors open and slid the long tray out, then opened the next one too.

"Two?" Ray gagged. "You needed two freezers to store this guy?"

Marina glanced up and frowned, then pulled the silk scarf out of her hair and held it out. "Ray."

"Yeah?" Grateful to have something other than the...parts to look at, Ray smiled a trifle wanly.

"Fold the damp end in half, put it over your nose and mouth and breathe through it. It'll help."

"I'll try anything!" Ray grabbed the silk length, fumbled with it until Fraser plucked it out of his hands, folded it in two complex snaps, and clapped it over the lower half of Ray's face.

"Thanks, Frase," Ray mumbled through the cloth, replacing Fraser's hand with his. As he took his first deep breath, the greenish tinge receded from his face. His eyes widened. Damn, it did work, his mouth and nose filled with the fresh clean scent of Mina's shampoo and it steadied his stomach amazingly. "Jeez, Frase, I could almost look at..." He stole a peek over his shoulder and paled. "OK, maybe not..."

"Smell is one of the strongest and most evocative of senses, Ray," Fraser offered helpfully. "I should have realized and offered such an expedient myself. I do apologize."

"Don't worry about it, Fraser," Ray mumbled, back to staring at the morgue file laying open on the counter. "New ideas are cool, routine is..."

"...the silent killer. Yes, Ray, I know."

"So were there any distinguishing marks on the body?" Marina inquired; snapping on the gloves and mask Mort provided her, studying the torso with definite interest, Fraser noted.

"An appendicitis scar, polio vaccine scar, fragments of a tattoo on either side of the cut that severed the right wrist from the right forearm," Mort poked illustratively at a severed hand.

"He's late thirties, at least. Polio inoculations stopped right about '69 or '70."

"The polio scar? Yah, I thought of that too, ze post-mortem confirms the age range."

"Did you notice any variations in the incision marks in the body, Mort?"

Mort blinked. "Yes, indeed. They fall into two distinct types, long and narrow, and short and blunt."

"Best guess why?" Marina picked a steel probe up off the examination table and used it to part the central incision on the chest, peering into the cavity.

"I had several thoughts on that subject when I was doing the close-up work," Mort said thoughtfully. "First I thought the murder had been done by more than one person, but I dismissed that theory fairly quickly."

"Does seem unlikely. Murder's usually a solitary thing. Not saying this couldn't be one of the rare few that throws off the curve, though."

Mort nodded. "Ya, it was possible but as you say, unlikely. Then I considered that the murder might have been done with more than one weapon, over a period of time."

"Torture, you mean?" Marina flinched. "Gah, I hate the sickos who get off on pain. But that would mean you were back to a single killer with multiple tools."

"Precisely." Mort readjusted a spotlight over the chest portion.

"How long do you figure it took the poor guy to die?"

Here Mort was on firmer ground. "Several hours, at least. The initial cuts were shallow and placed to minimize blood loss, but as the murder progressed, he got more... involved. By the time the body was dismembered..."

"He was already dead?"

Mort's gaze sharpened. "Zat was my conclusion, he had died prior to the corpse being dismembered. I am pleased to see you share my opinion."

"Died from blood loss or something else?"

"Not poison, there was no trace of anything untoward in the toxicology report. There was no single lethal wound inflicted before death, he died from shock and related trauma from the blood loss and multiple wounds."

Marina shuddered. "That's what I thought, too. It was harder to tell with the photos, but there's no question of it up close."

"Question of what?" Ray pressed.

Marina met his gaze grimly. "In laymen's terms, this poor bastard was tortured to death until his heart gave out. Keeping someone alive through systemic torture is a lot tougher than most people think, Ray. The shock and horror tend to cause sudden, catastrophic heart failure. This murderer knew what he was doing. A real pro. Resquiat in pace."

Mort nodded somberly and muttered something in German Ray didn't catch. Both Marina and Fraser nodded, however, and Ray's detective brain filed away the fact Marina spoke German and Latin in addition to English.

"Weird," Marina muttered, the multiple incongruities nagging at her. "Why take the time to dismember the body? What was the point? He was already dead. And why abandon the body in a public place? Why not just wrap it in plastic bags and toss it in some random dumpster? And where the hell's the head? And why leave the saber in the body? That's what really bugs me. I can almost see taking the head to delay identification, but why leave a priceless antique behind?"

Mort nodded. "Yah, and see how deep the saber was inserted into the chest cavity and breastbone? I had to cut around it with a bone saw to remove the blade."

"You did an excellent job, by the way," Marina commented, inserting the probe into the jagged hole in the breastbone to check the angle of penetration. "There wasn't a nick on the blade from the removal."

Mort waved a dismissing hand but his expression was pleased. "Ach, I may not be an expert but I know a piece of art when I stumble across it in a corpse, dear lady!"

Marina pulled the probe to check the depth of the incision and her brows went up. "Man, you weren't kidding. How come it didn't split the breastbone in half? The saber would do it easily."

Mort nodded and motioned her to look closer. "It was driven in upside down, so ze the blunter edge lodged in a crack in the breastbone. At his age, the bone is still fairly flexible, so the blade caught."

Marina chewed her lip in bafflement as she unwrapped the saber, reversed the blade as she grasped the hilt in both hands and held it up illustratively over the torso. "It would have to have been held like... this to drive it into the corpse at that angle. Upside down and backwards. Why? The murderer would have to put all his weight behind it and be damn strong to drive the blade in so deep. What for? The victim was already dead and the saber's worth a fortune, why use it to dismember the corpse and then abandon it in the body?"

More used to thinking in terms of method and motive, Fraser and Ray got it a fraction of a second before Mort and Marina.

"If it's not the murder weapon," Ray said aloud, "it's a frame," they all finished together. Four appalled stares met over the body.

"Aw, shit," Ray groaned, "like this case wasn't complicated enough already!"

Marina's eyebrows drew together. "Guys, somebody went to a lot of time and trouble to plant this saber on this corpse, and I'm betting when we find who owns it, he or she is not the murderer."

"No bet," Ray snapped. "Look, Fraser and I gotta go talk to Welsh, you gonna be all right fer a few minutes, Mina?"

She nodded. "Sure, go ahead, Ray. I'd like to examine a few of the individual slashes more closely, I may be able to narrow down what type of murder weapon was used."

"Gotcha. Be right back." Ray hesitated, then leaned over hurriedly and kissed her cheek above the surgical mask before hauling Fraser out the morgue doors. Marina blushed but the corners of her eyes crinkled, indicating she was smiling under the mask.

"Those two, they like you very much," Mort observed, once they were alone.

"Yeah," she said, blushing harder. "I like them a lot too."

"Zey are good men, better friends," Mort commented, his tone purposely casual as they shifted their attention to the severed limbs lying on the second morgue slab.

Not fooled for a second, Marina decided she trusted the old gent; who, unlike the rest of the precinct staff, was apparently on their side. "Just between you, me and the dead, I'm hoping they make better boyfriends."

Mort cackled appreciatively. "Ah, you are ze brave and cunning one, liebchen! Rather than choose between zhem and drive zhem apart, you choose to make what zhey have together stronger!"

Mina winked back- enormously glad to have someone to talk to who knew Ben and Ray much better than she. "I don't know how consciously they realize it, but they didn't bond like a human family, they bonded like a wolf pack... and that means there just might be room for me. If they want me, anyway."

"Zey are not stupid," Mort said firmly. "Zey care for you, but zey both carry old scars that make this... hard." He glanced at the door to make sure Fraser was out of earshot and lowered his voice. "I am glad we have a moment alone, my dear. I wanted to tell you how glad I was to zee you again."

Marina's brows knitted as she studied Mort more closely. "Have we met before?"

"Yah," Mort said softly, reaching out and patting her hand reassuringly. "We met on April 29th, 1945, in Germany." He slid his sleeve up and exposed the inside of his right forearm to her view, revealing an old, blurred tattoo, a string of numbers that had dreadful significance to Mina.

"Oh my God, the liberation of Dachau," Marina murmured, stunned beyond belief as for an instant she fell over sixty years back in time. "I was the local Resistance contact. I was leading the Thunderbirds, the 45th Infantry Division, through enemy territory as the Nazi troops retreated in panic..."

Marina swayed where she stood, the memory of that horrible but triumphant day would never fade if she lived to be as old as Methos. "The whole day was insane. I can still remember that awful smell... see the prisoners' faces as we reached the camp... they were crying as they cheered... I'll never, never forget it..."

Mort took her hand gently to steady her. "I was one of those prisoners ze Nazis moved from Auschwitz to Dachau when ze Soviet troops entered Poland. I thought I had escaped one hell to be sentenced to another. I will never forget the first time I saw you, the beautiful Resistance fighter who led the American troops to ze camp to set us free. Your face is engraved in my heart, Captain MacLeod, for all time."

Marina studied the old face next to hers closely, struggling to see the face of the child he would have been then. A memory suddenly blazed bright in her mind's eye.

"The boy," she murmured as her eyes filled with tears. "The boy on the guard tower. Waving an American flag sewed together out of rags. Oh God, I remember you..." She trembled and Mort eased her back onto the stool beside his desk.

"Sixty years and you have not aged a day, my beautiful savior," Mort said kindly, touching her cheek. "How glad I am to zee you once more."

"I'm glad to see you too," Mina said, squeezing the hand in hers as her tears spilled over. It did not occur to her to deny she was there on that long-ago day. It would have been a travesty akin to the slaughter there to deny it. It was the duty of those who survived that unbelievable day to bear witness to what happened. She'd never thought to encounter another Holocaust survivor able to recognize her ever again. Even the children who lived through the horror were so old now...

She sniffled as she smiled wanly, overwhelmed by memories long buried. "I'm so, so glad to see you again too, Mort..."

But panic shot through her and she clutched Mort's hands. "Please, don't tell Fraser and Ray. They don't know about me, I haven't told them yet..."

"This is between you and I, my darling rescuer," Mort reassured her. "I never thought to zee you again this side of heaven. But when I did, I needed to thank you. To tell you... I still remember what you did."

"Hey, Mort!" The coroner wagon's driver leaned his head in the swinging doors. "I got a fresh one for ya, where ya want him?" "Yah, yah, half a moment!" Mort patted Marina's hand. "You will excuse me, liebchen? You will be all right by yourself?"

She nodded and tried to gather up the scraps of her composure. "Of course."

"Rest a moment, my dear." Mort smiled, pressed a tissue into her hands and kissed her forehead softly before leaving. Marina smiled shakily, blew her nose and wiped away her tears.

Once she was alone in the morgue, Marina forced herself to turn her attention to the severed right hand lying on the morgue. Her nerves were shot to hell after Mort's revelation and the vivid memories of Liberation Day had utterly destroyed her professional detachment, the sight of the mutilated corpse was far too similar to the hundreds of pitiful corpses and other atrocities she'd seen that long-ago day. She'd have flashbacks and nightmares for weeks to come now.

But the mention of a wrist tattoo sent warnings shrilling along those same nerves earlier and even with only half the ink mark to go by, she recognized it immediately. A Watcher's tattoo, just as she feared.

Well, fuck. A mutilated corpse with a Watcher's tattoo and a planted Immortal weapon pointed in only one direction. A rogue Watcher cell was operating here, and that meant there was at least one other Immortal in the city, perhaps more. The Watcher War had come to Chicago.

"Shit," Marina muttered under her breath. "Not again..." God, what a day this was turning out to be. Living ghosts from a war long over and the return of a war still being fought...

* * *

Hours later Marina was pacing nervously in her bedroom, willing her phone to ring. She'd paged Joe with a 9-1-1 code earlier and she, Ray and Ben were headed out for dinner in another twenty minutes... and she desperately wanted to talk to Joe before she left.

To her surprise when they left the 27th, Ben and Ray had taken her on an extended tour of the half-dozen fences scattered over the city that would carry such high-end merchandise, in an attempt to see if the saber passed through a fence before it ended up in the corpse. It hadn't; but they'd gleaned some useful information in spite of their failure in that respect.

Useful to her, anyway, Ben and Ray were considerably puzzled as to what to make of the news there was a positive run on ancient swords suitable for combat use in the last week. Mina was pretty sure there was an Immortal in Chicago sans blade, and that would make any Immortal very, very nervous. Pot-metal replicas and show blades were pitifully inadequate for an Immortal duel; they'd either shatter under the stress of the blows or snap clean at the worst possible moment. A poor sword could cost you your head...

She'd even picked up an exceptional sixteenth century Moorish dagger from the third fence, amusing Ray and scandalizing Ben until she admitted she knew the real owner and fancied returning it. It had been stolen from Duncan during the ransacking of his and Tessa's gallery nearly ten years ago now. How it had gotten to Chicago over the intervening decade she hadn't a clue, but she'd keep it for a funny story to tell at their reunion. Eight years, nine months and counting...

That fence, a chubby Cockney woman with pretensions of nobility in her accent and wardrobe, was so enamored of Fraser in his red serge uniform they'd gotten an invitation to tea and a complete rundown on every customer she'd had in the last six months over Earl Gray and scones with clotted cream and marmalade.

But one description shocked Marina to the point she was barely able to hide her reaction. Fortunately, Ben and Ray were engrossed in observing the fence and missed her stunned response. But the description was uncannily accurate... Methos had been here, she was positive! Thank whatever gods there might be in heaven above or hell below they couldn't have possibly recognized her Immortal lover from that description!

For security reasons she, Duncan, Connor and Methos hadn't revealed their locations to each other any more specifically than by continent, and honestly, as much as she loathed the cold, it would have been inconceivable for her men to expect to find her here. It was her foolish desire to be closer to Methos that led her to Chicago, a ridiculous whimsy, even she was willing to admit that. But effective as hell for hiding out...

But what was Methos doing searching for a sword? He was a pack rat as much as she, Connor and Duncan were; in addition to the treasured individual blades they each carried, they all habitually kept no less than half a dozen close by for emergencies. She and Connor had collections that numbered half a hundred and more. Was he searching for a stolen one? Or like her, had Methos stumbled across a rogue Watcher cell accidentally? And taken it upon himself to go bad-guy hunting? Not really Methos' standard M.O., but hanging around Duncan had a bad tendency to make one take up a lance and go tilting at windmills even when you bloody well knew better.

It made her blood run cold to think of Methos doing this crap alone. He just wasn't trained for it.

Her? For crying out loud, she'd been a Resistance fighter through two World Wars and a merc in between and a goddamn spy when they still called them spies and an agent when the Cold War collapsed and 'spy' got to be declasse, and even ran with the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense off and on since she helped Bruttenholm found the damn thing back in the 40's.

She knew this bullshit, ate and slept and breathed it for three-quarters of a century before she walked away; and even now, if things really went south she had friends just a phone call away capable of taking down anything from nukes to real-live demons. Hellboy and Abe would come at her call, Angel and her eternally beloved Spike would do the same, when String and Sinjin retired they gave her Airwolf, for gods' sake, and Hannibal and the team would lock and load for one last mission if she asked. Even now she wasn't really in this alone, she had Ben, Ray and Dief, and the Chicago P.D. doing a lot of her legwork even if they didn't know it.

But Methos? He'd spent the last century hidden away under the sheltering wings of the Watchers' Guild, what did he know of modern terrorist warfare? And he was utterly isolated right now. The legendary Methos, the oldest living Immortal, so ancient even he himself didn't know how old he was... he would be the prize of all prizes for the filthy bastards who cut down Darius on holy ground. Gods, she still wanted to slaughter someone for that.

The phone shrilling was a welcome relief from the little hamster wheels spinning at warp nine in her head, and the sick roiling of her stomach.

"Joe?"

"What is it, Mina?" The tone of her voice told Joe the 911 call had been dead serious.

"Listen to me, Joe, I don't have a lot of time right now. Have any Watchers gone missing in the last two weeks? Caucasian male, late thirties, five-ten, one-eighty-five, appendicitis scar?"

Joe's sad weariness over the phone line hit her like a blow. "Mitchell Dalton. He's failed to make his last four straight check-ins. When we ran a search for swords matching your description we got three matches, and he's the Watcher assigned to the only one of the three we can't find right now. Mina, I've got every Watcher on the planet looking."

"Who is it?"

"Brace yourself. You were right about it being an Old One. It's Saladin, Mina."

"Saladin?" she repeated blankly. "You mean like, Saladin Saladin? Saracen general? The Crusades, Richard the Lion-Heart and all that? He's one of us?"

"Yes, that's him, and yes, he's an Immortal."

"Well, fuck. How tough is he, Joe? Can I take him down if I have to?"

"I'd say your chances are fifty-fifty. But he's not evil, Mina. Dangerous, yes, but not evil."

"That's something, at least. Last known sighting?"

"Dalton reported sighting him in Buenos Aries, thirteen days ago. Nothing since then."

"Damn, damn, damn! Joe, I'm positive the saber was planted on the body. I think there's a rogue Watcher cell operating in Chicago and it sounds like they've targeted Saladin for takedown."

"What?" Joe bellowed.

Marina winced and held the phone away from her ear. "Can you come ID the body?"

"I'm in Sydney, Marina, and the airport's shut down for a typhoon. I can't get out of here in less than forty-eight hours. This can't wait. I'll send someone you can trust."

"Got it. Email me everything you've got on Saladin, Joe, every last damn thing and I mean it, no holdouts. It sounds like I'm going to have to do this alone, and I need to know what I'm going into."

"You'll have it tomorrow."

Dief's double-bark opening her front door alerted Marina she was out of time. "I can't talk any more, Joe."

"Mina!" Joe's voice cracked like a whip.

"Yeah?"

"You be careful."

"Damn right I will. Love you, Joe."

"Love you too." The call disconnected and she jammed the phone in the charger and shut the wall safe quickly.

"I'll be right out, guys!" she called, checked her reflection in the mirror, took a deep breath to steady her utterly shot nerves and strolled out into the living room smiling cheerfully at Ben and Ray. "So, where do you guys want to go for dinner?"

* * *