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  Comments, questions, and feedback on this story can be sent
  to webmistress@fkfanfic.com, where they will be forwarded on
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"Mortal, guilty"
A Forever Knight/Highlander crossover, sequel to "Mortals"
by Cagey
August 1996

Legalese:  None of the FK or HL characters belong to me, but no
copyright infringement is intended.  Lisa McKenzie, Dave, Mark,
and sundry others are figments of my imagination.  Auden 
belonged to Auden, last time I checked.  "Evil" is written by 
Howlin' Wolf.  "Got My Mojo Workin" is written by Muddy
Waters.  Has any fan of the Jim Byrnes Band resisted the urge
to put "That River" in a song?  "That River" is written by Eric 
Johnson.  This story is mine, so please do not repost or reprint 
without permission.

Other fanfiction by Cagey may be found at
http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/1263/

This story is a sequel to "Mortals".  It will make little sense
without having read the first one.  WARNING:     
some strong language, violence, or adult situations.  

 
"Mortal, guilty"  
   
Lay your sleeping head, my love,   
Human on my faithless arm;   
...the grave   
Proves the child ephemeral;   
But in my arms till break of day   
Let the living creature lie,   

Mortal, guilty, but to me   
The entirely beautiful.   
   
--W. H. Auden   
   

Chapter 1
   
"Good night, Nat," Joe Dawson said, then hung up the phone.     
He smiled, thinking of the beautiful coroner in Toronto with    
whom he had just finished another late-night conversation.  Her    
voice still rang in his ears; he had come to know it intimately in    
those dark, desperate hours when they had been held captive by    
Lisa McKenzie.     
   
At that his thoughts darkened.  Lisa McKenzie had her sights set  
on revenge.  And all Joe could do was wait to see where she  
might exact it.     
   
He paused in the doorway of his inner office, scanning the still-   
crowded bar.  Business had been doing well, and he had hired    
some extra help--there were always Watchers who did not mind    
having a boss who understood the need to take sudden leaves of    
absence--which left him more time to perform.  As a result of    
the live music, the crowds had increased.   
   
And the trouble.  He frowned as he saw a trio which looked    
decidedly restless.  He recognized the guy--he'd been in a few    
times over the past couple of weeks, each time with a different    
woman, including tonight's flavor.  It looked as if his S.O. had    
finally caught up with him, Joe realized, as a determined-   
looking woman talked to him in low, heated tones.  She seemed    
to have his number, all right.   
   
Joe chuckled at the scene and headed to the stage.  There was a    
smattering of applause from the audience, but he waved them    
down.  He picked up his guitar, and launched quietly into a    
song.   
   
"If you're a long way from home,   
can't sleep at night,   
grab your telephone   
and start the day right."   
   
He saw Dave, one of the bartenders--who had heard this    
particular blues piece before--shake his head at Joe, laughing    
silently.   
   
"Evil,   
Evil is in your home.   
I'm just warning you brother,   
You got to watch your happy home."   
   
Joe winced as the scorned woman slapped the guy soundly    
across the face and stormed off.  The chastised man started to    
follow, but after a warning glare from Dave, sank back down    
into his chair, rubbing his jaw glumly.   
   
Another night at Joe's slid by.   
   
******   
   
"Evil," she crooned.  "Evil is in your home...."   
   
She waited in the darkness for her prey.  Darkness had provided    
her with security and opportunity.  It allowed her to watch Joe,    
to see if the Watchers were making any move against her.  More    
importantly, it allowed her to stalk her victims easily.  She was    
still testing her strength, but she doubted that this particular    
target would give her much trouble.  Not if she did it right.   
   
A car rolled to a stop outside the house, and the driver--a    
youthful-looking blonde woman, carrying a briefcase and a    
laptop--approached the darkened porch, juggling her    
belongings in one hand while trying to find her house keys with    
the other.  As her hand touched the doorknob, the waiting    
attacker launched herself at her target.   
   
"What in the hell?" the Immortal shrieked, fumbling for her    
sword.  She had felt no warning buzz, indicating the presence of    
another of her kind.  "What do you want?"   
   
"Revenge," Lisa McKenzie hissed, and attacked the woman's    
throat savagely.  She drained the struggling Immortal, though    
nearly exhausted by the effort.  The woman fell paralyzed, her    
eyes wide with shock, but still with a glimmer of hope.  The    
hope died, however, as her last conscious memory showed the    
vampire drawing out a sword, its blade glinting in the    
moonlight.   
   
Darkness.   
      
********

Chapter 2
     
"I didn't expect you to be here."     
     
The voice made Natalie Lambert jump, though she was not      
entirely sure whether it was the sheer unexpectedness of it or    
the bitter undertone which had surprised her.  She looked up      
from her desk--catching up on paperwork, for once, rather than      
dealing with a long, if patient, line of customers--and smiled.       
"I've told you not to sneak up on me like that, Nick."     
     
It was a familiar complaint, and Nicholas Knight took it as the      
peace offering--or at least, a reference to more peaceful times--it    
was intended.  The blonde vampire waved a hand, taking in the      
empty morgue.  "No business tonight?"     
     
"Not yet," Natalie nodded, suppressing a yawn.  The switch back      
to a night shift after a string of days was throwing her internal      
clock out of whack.  "All is well in Toronto tonight."  She pushed      
the paperwork aside, leaving space for Nick to perch on the      
desk.  "What are you doing here?"     
     
As he leaned on the desk, a peculiar look crossed his face.       
Natalie studied him, trying to identify the emotion.  Was      
it...embarrassment?     
     
"I was looking for you, actually," Nick admitted finally.     
     
"What?  Is something wrong?" She started up from the desk,      
trying to diagnose the problem, but he indicated for her to sit     
back down.     
     
"No, nothing like that."  He looked distinctly uncomfortable.       
Finally, he blurted out, "Nat, have you been avoiding me?  I've      
barely seen you since the McKenzie thing."     
     
She sank back into her chair, and sighed.  "No, Nick, I haven't      
been avoiding you."  Natalie closed her eyes, trying to gather  
her thoughts, to put into words for him the tangled thoughts  
which had been plaguing her in the three weeks since Lisa  
McKenzie's disappearance.  "Since our...since my kidnapping,  
and being trapped in the dark, thinking about death--" she  
shivered at the memory, and Nick put a cold hand on top of  
hers comfortingly.     
     
"I understand," he said, but she shook her head at him.     
     
"Let me finish, please Nick."  She squeezed his hand for a      
second, then released it.  "That experience made me realize that      
I've been falling into..." she stopped again, trying to grasp at a     
word.     
     
"A rut?" Nick supplied.  There was no mistaking the bitterness    
in his voice that time, and it both pained and angered her.     
     
"No," she said firmly.  "Darkness.  I realized that I can't go on      
the way I have been."  She grimaced.  "Lisa McKenzie was a      
wake-up call, I guess.  I realized that I need to think about the      
direction which my life is taking."  She said it almost defiantly,    
daring Nick to protest.       
     
His eyes were hooded.  "So you switched to the day shift," he      
said.     
     
"Not permanently," she reassured him.  "I'll still be around to      
harass you, when you need it."  It elicited the hoped-for smile,      
and she continued.  "Just for a while.  Until I get some things      
straightened out."     
     
He smiled hesitantly, knowing that he had to accept the      
explanation for now.  "So what are you doing here tonight,      
then?"     
     
Nat stretched her hands above her head, trying to work the      
kinks out of her neck.  She almost jumped again when he was      
suddenly behind her, massaging the tense muscles, but she did      
not protest.  "I'm filling in for one of the other coroners.  He's  
going to return the favor when I'm on vacation."     
     
His hands at her neck froze, and he dropped them to his side.       
"You're going away?"     
     
She nodded.  "Uh-huh.  Richie and Joe invited me up to see      
them.  I've got a lot of leave built up, so I thought I'd take some      
of it."     
     
"I see."  He digested this information, then asked, "Are you      
worried that Lisa McKenzie might be there?  After all, that's      
where this whole mess started."     
     
Nat turned around to look at him.  "I won't let her, or anybody      
else, run my life."     
     
Nick backed down.  "Hey, I was just worried about you, that's      
all."     
     
She smiled, relenting.  "I know.  Worry-wart."     
     
He smiled too, but it was a troubled smile.  "Well, I guess that I  
better get going.  Tracy says that it's my turn to do paperwork."     

Natalie gestured to her own pile of forms, and grinned.  "I'll be      
thinking about you."     
     
Nick, already at the door, paused.  "Same here," he said quietly,      
then was gone.     
     
******************
Chapter 3
          
Richie Ryan strode into the cool interior of the club, but slowed      
at the sight of Joe Dawson sitting alone at the bar, his head      
cradled in his hands.     
     
"Hey, Joe," he called, putting his motorcycle helmet on the      
counter top and sliding onto the stool next to his friend.  "What's      
up?"     
     
Joe looked at the young Immortal grimly, and slapped a pile of      
photographs in front of him.  Richie looked at them briefly, then      
did a double-take and pulled them closer to examine them     
carefully.  "What is this?"     
     
"A better question would be 'who'," Joe growled.  "That was      
Emma Scanlon.  A professor of archaeology at the university.       
Coach to the fencing team.  Murdered mysteriously at her home      
last night after teaching an evening class."     
     
Richie ran a finger along the line of the severed neck shown in      
the pictures.  "One of us, right?"     
     
Joe nodded.  "One of you."     
     
Richie shrugged.  "I don't mean to sound callous, but this sort of      
thing does happen, right?"     
     
Joe rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the pounding      
there.  "Scanlon was Mike McKenzie's last assignment."     
     
"And you don't think this is a coincidence," Richie stated,      
putting the pictures back in front of Joe.     
     
"No, I don't."  He smoothed the edge of one of the pictures.       
"And I don't know what I'm going to do about it."     
     
*****     
          
Nick hesitated on the threshold of the church.  There was      
something rather perverse about a vampire headquartering      
himself in an abandoned sanctuary.  But then, most things that  
Vachon did seemed to be accompanied by an air of amused  
indifference. 
  
Nick moved forward, stretching his senses to pierce the      
darkness of the crumbling building.  The many candles which      
littered the room were unlit.  "Vachon?" he called.     
     
And blinked.  Vachon was standing in front of him.  For a      
moment he sympathized with Natalie's complaints when he      
himself pulled that trick on her.       
     
"I was just going out," Vachon said.  The Spaniard looked at him    
quizzically.  "What are you doing here?"     
     
"I need to know where Carmen is," Nick answered, referring to    
Vachon's friend, the vampire who had drained Lisa McKenzie's    
husband.     
     
Vachon sank down onto a weathered pew, stretching his arms      
across the top of the bench.  "I haven't seen her."     
     
"I know that you haven't seen her.  Nobody's seen her.  I need to      
know where she is."     
     
Vachon shrugged, watching Nick.  "How should I know?"     
     
Abruptly, Nick was in front of him, gripping his shirt tightly at     
the collar.  "I need an answer, Vachon."     
     
Vachon snarled slightly, then pulled back as Nick released his  
grasp.  "I'm not one of your perps," he said.  "I haven't been      
arrested in at least eighty years."     
     
Nick sank down on the bench next to Vachon.  "Sorry.  I've been      
a little on edge."  He steepled his fingers together, trying to      
formulate a way to get the answers which he needed from the      
younger vampire.  "Carmen disappeared soon after Lisa      
McKenzie did.  Somebody brought McKenzie across.  I think      
that Carmen may have done it.  I haven't been able to find      
McKenzie, so Carmen should be able to help."     
     
Vachon considered this for a moment.  "Leave Carmen alone,      
Knight.  She may seem sort of flighty, but she's lived a hard life."     
     
"Are you her keeper?"     
     
"I'm nobody's keeper," Vachon said simply, as if Knight should    
know better.    
     
"No," Nick agreed, "But you do try to help.  I'm trying to help.       
McKenzie could cause a lot of problems for everybody      
concerned."     
     
Vachon was silent for another moment, then said reluctantly,    
"Try Seacouver.  She's got friends there."  He grinned at Knight    
for an instant.  "Now I've got to go.  I'm meeting Tracy."     

     
Nick grimaced at the comment, but Vachon was already gone.     
    
************

Chapter 4
      
      
Joe Dawson glanced at the slip of paper in his hand again.    

Although he had the right address, he was not getting any   
answer to his knocks at the door.      
      
"Can I help you?" a voice asked from behind him.  He turned,       
awkwardly, trapped in the door frame.  The man who stood  
before him was tall and burly, with a heavy brown beard and a  
curious smile on his lips.      
      
"You're Patrick Day, right?" Joe asked.      
      
The man's gaze darkened slightly, but he nodded.  "And you  
are?"      
      
"Joe Dawson," he offered.  "We need to talk."      
            
****      
      
Nick drove his Cadillac through the Toronto evening traffic       
easily, not really sure where he intended to go.  Reluctantly he       
switched on the radio--LaCroix would be skulking the airwaves       
as the Nightcrawler, and he often seemed to gauge Nick's frame  
of mind better than Nick himself.      
      
He was not disappointed.  LaCroix was already onto one of his       
favorite on-air topics.      
      
"Guilt is a trial, gentle listeners.  Did not good Lady Macbeth       
have the right idea, after all?  'Give me the daggers!' she cried.        
'If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it       
must seem their guilt.'      
      
"But I forget...so few of our audience remembers Mrs. Macbeth's       
plots; they only recall her end, as she wandered about,    
hopelessly trying to cleanse the bloody guilt from her hands.     
And what did it achieve?  Nothing but the grave, friends.     
Nothing but darkness.  Should we let guilt drag us into that    
darkness of despair?  Or rather, should we put it aside, let other    
poor fools tangle themselves up in it, tie themselves in knots?      
      
Let your conscience be free, my friends.  By whatever means are       
necessary, free it."      
      
*****      
      
"First you expect me to believe that you belong to a group that       
has been watching me for centuries, and now you want to warn       
me that a vampire may try to kill me?  Are you nuts?" Patrick       
Day's incredulous shout rang through the apartment.      
      
Joe clenched his hand into a fist, and tried again.  "Look, you've       
got to believe me.  I can prove it.  I know things about you that       
an ordinary person wouldn't know.  I know when you took your       
first head.  I know the places you've lived, the people you've       
seen."      
      
Day rose from his chair and said firmly, "I think that you ought       
to go.  Now."      
      
"But--"      
      
"Now, Mr. Dawson," Day insisted, and Joe, sighing, acquiesced.        
He stopped at the door and turned to face the man.  "Please, just       
be careful."      
      
"I'm always careful, Mr. Dawson."  Patrick Day watched the man       
disappear after pulling the front door shut behind him, and Day       
sat down heavily in his chair.  He ran a hand through his hair       
and tried to piece the man's story together.      
      
Watchers.  It did not really surprise him that such a group       
existed, but he certainly would not confirm his identity to this       
stranger so easily.  What if he were just some crackpot who       
suspected the existence of Immortals, and was fishing for       
answers?        
      
And vampires.  Day had lived a long time, and he had never run       
across any vampires.  At least, he did not think so--      
      
His thoughts were cut off by the ring of the doorbell.  He       
marched to the door and pulled it open, "Look, I said..." he       
began, then stopped sheepishly.  "Hey Theresa," he greeted the     
woman at the door.  "Sorry.  I thought you were someone else."      
      
"Were you expecting another date?" she laughed.        
      
He grinned.  "No, nothing like that.  Let me get my coat, and I'll       
be ready."      
      
He disappeared, and Lisa McKenzie smiled menacingly to     
an absent foe.  Joe Dawson was just too late, she thought with       
satisfaction.      
      
******************
Chapter 5      
      
"Nick did what?"  Tracy Vetter stared at her supervisor       
incredulously.  Joe Reese, standing at the water cooler,        
simply shook his head.      
      
"He took a vacation," Reese repeated, raising a paper cup to his       
lips.  It was empty.  He frowned at it a moment, then put the       
cup back underneath the water cooler spout before he       
continued, "Can't say I blame him, really.  That guy's got more       
sick leave and vacation time built up than anyone else in the       
department."      
      
Tracy Vetter pressed her lips together tightly.  "I knew he'd find       
some way to get out of doing that paperwork."      
      
****      
      
Natalie felt the train slow as they approached the Seacouver       
station, and she smiled in anticipation.  It really had been too       
long since she took a vacation, she mused.  She was looking       
forward to spending a little time playing tourist.      
      
And maybe visiting a certain blues bar that she'd heard about.        
      
She grinned foolishly, then grabbed her bag from the seat next       
to her and headed for the door.  The train inched to a stop, and       
she swung out the door onto the platform, scanning the area for       
familiar faces.  There were not that many people in the station     
at this time of night.      
      
"Doc!" a voice called, and Nat turned towards the voice to greet       
Richie Ryan.  The Immortal enveloped her in an exuberant hug,       
and she laughed.      
      
"I can see that you're doing fine," she finally managed.  She       
glanced around somewhat apprehensively.  "Where's Joe?  I       
thought that he was coming too?"      
      
Richie grabbed her bag in one hand and led her towards the exit       
from the train station.  "He got tied up in some job--he was       
supposed to be back in time to meet you, but I guess it didn't go       
well.  He should be back at the club by now, though."      
      
"Is he okay?" Natalie asked as they threaded their way through  
the parking lot.      
      
"Yeah, he's fine."  Richie looked uncomfortable for a moment,       
then continued, "He thinks that he might have a lead on Lisa       
McKenzie."      
      
She frowned.  "I hope he's careful."  Her thoughts were       
sidetracked, however, as Richie stopped at his motorcycle.  "You     
want me to ride that thing?"      
      
Richie handed her a helmet with a grin.  "Come on, Doc.  Live it       
up!"  He strapped her bag to the bike and climbed onto the seat,       
looking at her expectantly.  "First class shuttle service," he said,       
"straight to your hotel door.  Unless you'll reconsider and stay at       
the loft.  Duncan's still gone."      
      
Nat shook her head, both as a decline to the offer and in tolerant       
amusement.  She pulled on the helmet and mounted the bike       
behind him.  "Lead on, chauffeur!"      
      
**********************
Chapter 6
     
     
Nick was hunting.  He eased through the crowd in the Den, a      
nightclub in Seacouver which he knew was frequented by      
vampires, much as the Raven was in Toronto.  He scanned the   
faces, trying to catch a glimpse of Carmen.       
     
The music pulsed around him, the bass a little too heavy for his      
vampire hearing, and he sighed.  If he did not get a lead on      
Carmen soon, he would need to buy ear plugs the next time he      
came in.     
     
"Hi, Tiger," a voice purred in his ear.  The woman, a tall dark-     
haired beauty who reminded him unsettlingly of Janette,     
pressed herself against him tantalizingly.  "I'm Laura.  I haven't     
seen you around before."     
     
Nick smiled, but took a step backwards out of her embrace.      
"That's because I'm new in town."  He continued scanning the     
crowd on the dance floor.  "Actually, I'm looking for a friend of     
mine, but I can't seem to find her.  Her name's Carmen."     
     
Laura took a sip of "wine" and pouted.  "Don't know her," she      
said sulkily.  She brightened, then.  "Since she's not here, maybe      
you'd like to have a little fun with me instead?"  She twined her      
fingers through his hair.  "We could have a good time."     
     
But Nick was no longer listening.  As he had glanced across the      
dance floor looking for Carmen, he had glimpsed a figure which      
looked familiar...long dark hair, shadowed eyes...an angry      
woman in a parking lot, screaming at Joe Dawson....     
     
"Lisa," he hissed.     
     
"First Carmen, then Lisa," Laura complained, pulling Nick      
closer.  "Can't you concentrate on the problem at hand?"     
     
Nick tried to untangle himself from the girl's grasp--not an easy      
task when pitting vampire strength against vampire strength--     
and edged towards the dance floor.  The woman that he      
thought was Lisa McKenzie had a tall, bearded man in tow, and      
they were making their way quickly towards the exit.  With a      
final shove, Nick released himself from Laura's grip, and she      
snarled at him.     
     
"Sorry, maybe another time," he tossed the words back, and      
rushed for the door.     
     
Outside the club, Nick quickly scanned the shadowed streets.       
There was no sign of her.     
          
*****     
          
"Natalie!" Joe greeted her warmly as she entered the bar.  She   
hugged him gently, then pulled back to study him.     
     
"Are you okay?" she asked.       
     
Richie, who had followed on her heels, sat down at the bar.    
"Yeah, how did it go?"     
     
Joe shot a look at Richie and pulled Nat's hand to lead her to his      
office behind the bar.  "Come on, let's talk about it back here."     
     
Richie paced behind them and flopped down into a chair.  Joe   
and Natalie settled themselves on the couch, Joe's arm laying on   
the back, his fingers lightly touching her shoulder.     
     
"An Immortal was killed last night, and I think it's a good      
chance that Lisa McKenzie had a hand in it.  The woman that      
she killed was Mike McKenzie's last assignment before he died,"      
Joe explained, bringing Natalie up to speed on the recent events      
before he continued.  "I thought that she might following her   
husband's list of assignments backwards, so I tracked down the      
next Immortal on the list, a guy named Patrick Day.  I saw him      
earlier this evening, but he refused to listen to me."     
     
Natalie squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.  "I'm sure that you      
did all you could, Joe.  Is there anything else that we can do      
right now?"     
     
Joe shook his head.  "Nothing but wait, I think."  His grim      
expression cleared, however, as he looked into her face.  "And     
have some fun while you're here.  Let me show you the place."     
     
***     
     
"What was that all about?" Patrick Day asked, lounging on the      
couch with the woman that he knew as Theresa leaning against      
his chest.     
     
"An old boyfriend," Lisa McKenzie laughed softly.  "He doesn't   
take rejection easily."     
     
Day ran his fingers through her long hair gently.  "We shouldn't      
have run away, then.  You should have let me talk to him.  Some      
guys need to learn how to take 'no' for an answer."     
     
She propped herself against his chest on her elbows, and      
grinned at him mischievously.  "Oh, really?  What about you?       
Do you know how to take 'no' for an answer?"     
     
He put his lips near hers.  "Why?  Are you saying 'no'?"     
     
She ran her tongue against his bottom lip.  "No."     
     
He smiled and pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss.  She      
sighed contentedly, then moved to place a line of kisses down      
his cheek towards his neck.     
     
"Patrick?" she asked lazily between kisses.     
     
"Hmmm?" he murmured.     
     
"It's been nice knowing you."     
     
"What?"  He opened his eyes.     
     
Lisa McKenzie leered maniacally at him, her gold-green eyes     
shining in the darkness.     
        
******************* 
Chapter 7
        
Nick threw himself down on the hotel bed, sighing in disgust.      
He had not been able to find any trace of Lisa McKenzie outside     
the club.  He pondered his next move with some apprehension.      
He could keep looking for Carmen, but he was not even sure     
that she was in town, and Vachon was not able to give him any     
more information as to her whereabouts.      
    
More importantly, the longer he stayed in Seacouver, the more     
likely the chance that he would run into Nat.  And that would     
cause even more complications.  She would think that he was     
checking up on her, or following her.  Or jealous.  All he wanted     
to do was to find Lisa McKenzie, to put an end to this threat to     
all of them.  He needed to find Lisa McKenzie.    
    
LaCroix's voice, whispering to him about guilt, echoed in his     
mind.    
    
What did he have to feel guilty about?  He had not brought Lisa    
McKenzie across, he thought savagely.  He remembered seeing    
Nat in the hospital right after McKenzie had released Nat and    
Dawson.  She had looked frail and weak, and instinctively, he  
had wanted to move towards her.  But something in her stance    
had held him back.  He had apologized, not quite able to pin    
down the reason why.  For not finding her and saving her?  For    
helping to put her in the situation in the first place?  For    
everything?    
    
'Sorry for what?' her voice echoed in his head, her weariness--    
from the situation, or with him?--evident. 'That you brought her     
across, or that you didn't?'    
    
A figure was standing in the doorway of the bathroom.    
    
Nick sat up abruptly, all other thoughts pushed aside.  The     
silhouette was familiar.  "Laura?" he asked hesitantly.    
    
It was foolish.  The singing in his veins told him exactly who it     
was.    
    
"Did you have a date, Nichola?" Janette asked as she stepped     
forward.  "If you prefer, I shall leave you to her."    
    
He rose from the bed and took a step towards her, grabbing her     
hand in his.  "No, please.  Don't go."    
    
She pulled her hand from his, but did not otherwise move.    
    
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.    
    
That sent her into action.  She circled the room lazily and settled     
onto the bed so that he had to turn to watch her.  "I     
am...recuperating," she said finally, her eyes flashing with a dark     
emotion which he did not dare to identify.  "You must have     
forgotten what it was like to be a fledgling."  She closed her     
eyes, as if in pain.  "It is disturbing, particularly after my own     
previous experience."    
    
Her tone was even, but he felt as if he had been struck.  He sank     
down onto the bed next to her, and took her hand in his once     
again.  "Janette...I'm sorry.  I could not let you die."    
    
"No," she said simply.  "I realize that."  Janette regarded him  
calmly, and seemed about to continue, but she hesitated.   
Finally she said, "And what brings you to this fair city, Nichola?   
Are you sightseeing?  Following your doctor around?"    
    
Nick was surprised.  "You seem to know a lot about what is     
happening."    
    
She smiled thinly.  "Yes, I was in Toronto a short time ago.  Still,  
I must admit that I was surprised to see you outside the club  
tonight.  And you disappeared so quickly.  Had you lost  
something...or someone?"    
    
"You were in Toronto?  And at the club?"    
    
Her voice was laced with edginess.  "Being away from your beat     
seems to have addled your brains, detective.  That is what I     
said."    
    
"I'm sorry, Janette."  Nick shrugged.  "I've got a lot on my mind."    
    
"Yes," she responded, rising from the bed.  "Perhaps I should     
leave you to your thoughts."    
    
"Wait," he exclaimed.  "We have a lot that we need to talk     
about."    
    
"Not now, Nichola.  Not now."  Before she disappeared, Janette  
said quietly, "We shall discuss it another time, I assure you."    
    
Nicholas sat in the darkness, troubled, for a long while after she     
had gone.    
    
*****    
    
"It's a great place, Joe," Natalie assured him, amused and     
touched by his obvious interest in her opinion.  The patrons     
were gone and the bar closed; the two of them sat at a table in     
the deserted club enjoying the solitude.    
    
"Well, it gives me a chance to play," Joe continued.    
    
"To play in general, or to play music?" she teased.    
    
"Both," he nodded.      
    
Natalie reached a hand out and squeezed his gently.  "And are  
you going to play something for me?" she asked.  "I've been  
waiting."    
    
"Now?" he asked, surprised.  At her emphatic nod, Joe smiled.      
"Okay, but without my backup, you'll hear my scratchy voice in     
its full glory."    
    
"Perfect," she grinned.    
    
Joe settled his guitar in his lap, caressing it gently.  He fingered    
a few chords, thought a moment, then said, "This one's by a    
friend of mine."    
    
It was a quiet song, enveloping Nat in its gentleness.    
    
"No one ever loved that river,    
rain from the highlands    
a mirror for the Cajun moon,    
a road without a memory    
of anything that started out as blue.    
    
Well you can pour me like a jug of wine    
into the Gulf of Mexico, honey    
until the end of time.    
But no one ever loved that river    
the way I love you.    
    
You move with your own rhythm    
like tide on the river    
lightning on the Ponchatrain.    
The way you come to me at midnight    
warm and naked as the rain.    
What were you whispering down at Natchez    
Is that what muddied up my mind?    
About some great ocean    
gonna make you leave it all behind.    
Well, no one ever loved that river    
The way I love you."    
    
The music, just building to a crescendo, was abruptly     
interrupted by a pounding on the door.  Natalie jumped,     
startled, and Joe gave a muffled curse.    
    
"Who could that be?" she asked, but Joe just shook his head.    
    
"Don't know," he answered as he moved to unlock the door.  He     
pulled it open, calling, "Hey, we're closed--"    
    
"Hello, Joe," the intruder said, stepping forward as Joe moved     
back a little to let him pass.  "We need to talk."    
    
Natalie studied the man--he was about medium height, well-    
dressed in a finely tailored suit.  Though his expression seemed     
apprehensive, he also appeared genuinely pleased to see Joe.    
    
Joe pulled the door shut and turned towards Natalie.  "Nat, this     
is Mark Roberts, an old friend of mine.  We're in the same     
business," he said pointedly.    
    
"Oh, does Mr. Roberts own a bar too?" she said glibly, but rose     
and offered her hand to the man.  "How do you do.  I'm     
Natalie."  She pointedly did not check for the tattoo on his     
wrist.    
    
"It's nice to meet you," Roberts said distractedly.  He had     
obviously thought to catch Joe alone.  Roberts turned back to  
Joe.  "We do need to talk, Joe."    
    
Joe gestured towards the office behind the bar.  "We can talk     
back there, if you want."    
    
But Roberts shook his head.  "No.  It needs to be on a     
more...official level."    
    
Joe slumped a little.  "Ah," he said, understanding.    
    
"Joe?" Nat asked, moving to stand beside him, putting her hand     
on his arm.  "Is everything okay?"    
    
He gripped her hand for a moment, thanking her, but nodded.      
"Yeah, everything's okay.  It looks as if I need to go take care of     
some business, though."  He smiled, but it was pained.  "You can     
take my car back to the hotel."  He pressed the keys into her     
hand.    
    
She was worried.  "I'd rather go with you," she insisted.    
    
"That wouldn't be a good idea," Roberts interjected, but Nat     
ignored him, still watching Joe to see if he needed her help.    
    
Joe shook his head.  "No, Nat.  I'll be okay.  I'll give you a call in     
the morning."    
    
She frowned, but nodded.  She leaned forward to kiss his cheek,     
and said lightly, "You'd better come back.  You owe me the rest  
of a song."    
    
"It's a promise," he agreed.  Nat gave him an encouraging smile,     
and headed to the exit.    
    
Joe watched her leave, then looked at Roberts and sighed.      
"Okay, let's get this over with."    
    
**********
Chapter 8
     
     
"I'm sorry about this, Joe," Mark Roberts said apologetically as      
he indicated for his friend to precede him through the doorway.       
Joe nodded in curt acceptance, but then softened.     
     
"It's not your problem, Mark," he said.  "So what have you been      
up to?" he asked as they made their way down a dark corridor.     
     
"I've been traveling, organizing some new Watcher stations.  I      
just got back into town yesterday." Roberts eyed him      
questioningly.  "I'm worried about you, Joe.  You can't keep--"     
He stopped as they came to a closed door, however.  He sent Joe  
a mute apology with his eyes, tapped on the door, then pushed  
it open.     
     
Joe walked in, surprised to find a table surrounded by four      
Watchers.  Mark Roberts took his seat at the round table, and      
gestured for Joe to sit at the front.     
     
The apparent head of the gathering, a regional supervisor      
named Joan Roland, tapped her pen gently on the table to      
gather their attention.  "I'm glad that you could make it, Joe."     
     
Dawson rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, "I didn't have      
much choice, Joan."     
     
She smiled in her eyes, an old friend's familiar look, but her      
expression was stern.  "No, you didn't, I suppose.  It's time to      
talk about your behaviour, Joe."     
     
"My behaviour?"     
     
"Your flagrant disregard for the rules," another Watcher      
shouted, slapping his palm on the table with a crack.  "It's time      
to stop, Dawson."     
     
Joan shushed the vocal member, but she nodded her head      
understandingly.  "Though I regret my colleague's exuberance,      
that is why we brought you here.  It's time for you to answer a      
few questions."     
     
Joe sighed and leaned back in his chair.  "What do you want to      
know?"     
     
Mark Roberts leaned forward slightly.  "Number one, why did      
you go see Patrick Day earlier today?  You aren't going to tell us      
that was a social call, are you?"     
     
Joe shook his head.  "No," he admitted.  "It wasn't.  I went there      
to warn him that his life might be in danger."     
     
The Watcher who had burst out before drew in his breath in a      
sharp hiss, and even Joan looked a little surprised by his bald      
admission.     
     
"Joe," she said quietly.  "We have rules.  And we can't allow you      
to keep breaking them.  It 's bad enough that you've got      
MacLeod and Ryan around your place all the time.  We've      
turned a blind eye for long enough.  But now this?"     
     
Joe put his hand, clenched into a fist, on the table, but refrained      
from any other outward display of anger.  "This is our mess, and      
we need to clean it up.  Day, and all of Mike McKenzie's former      
assignments, are in danger from Lisa McKenzie."     
     
"Is she with the Hunters?" Roberts asked, referring to the group      
of renegade Watchers once led by Dawson's brother-in-law.     
     
Joe shook his head.  He had debated whether to reveal      
McKenzie's new "existence", but decided that he would just be      
doubted.  "No," he said.  "She's working by herself.  And she's      
already killed Emma Scanlon."     
     
"You don't know that," the devil's advocate snapped.     
     
"If I'm right, then Day is probably next on her list.  I had to warn      
him."  Suddenly, he noticed the uncomfortable expression on      
Joan's face.  "What?" he demanded.     
     
"Patrick Day is dead.  The report came in a couple hours ago--     
that was why we called you in."     
     
This time Joe was the one banging his fist on the table.    
"Dammit," he exclaimed.  "We've got to stop her."     
     
"It's none of our business," another Watcher insisted.  "We're just      
supposed to watch and record, not go around *warning* them      
that someone's after their head."     
     
"She's one of ours," Joe insisted.  "We've got to do something      
about her."     
     
Joan shook her head regretfully.  "I'm sorry, Joe.  You've been      
breaking too many rules already.  I can't support you on this      
one."  She sighed.  "Stay out of it, Joe.  Stay out of it, or we'll      
have to take action."     
     
"Is that a threat?" he demanded.     
     
Mark Roberts interjected softly, "No, Joe.  It's a promise."     
     
     
*****     
     
Duncan MacLeod, an Immortal more years old than he cared to    
count, gratefully eased his convertible down the road leading to   
the garage.  He had been on the road for nearly four weeks,  
helping Amanda track down some obscure piece of art work,  
and getting into a few scrapes along the way.  Being with  
Amanda, while always exhilarating, was also dangerous.  If he      
had been a cat, he'd undoubtedly have lost most of his lives in      
her company.     
     
He smiled at the thought, but his amusement turned to horror      
as a figure--a woman who had been walking somewhat      
unsteadily down the street--stumbled forward in front of his      
moving car.  He slammed his foot on the brakes, and almost      
before the car came to a stop, he was out in the street.     
     
"Are you okay?" Duncan asked, helping the shaking woman up  
from the ground, much too close to his front wheels.  He  
noticed that her hands felt ice cold, and he checked her face  
worriedly--she might be in shock.     
     
"Y-y-yes, I think so," she said, brushing away what he thought      
must have been a tear from her cheek.  "I'm so sorry," she      
wailed.     
     
"Hey, it's okay," he said soothingly.  "No harm done.  Are you      
sure you're not hurt?  Do you need to go to a hospital?"     
     
"No, I'm fine," she insisted.  "I was upset--I just broke up with      
my boyfriend, and I was afraid that he might be following me,      
and I just wasn't looking where I was going."  She stood      
unsteadily, and he put his arm around her for support.  "I      
should get out of here," she continued shakily.     
     
"At least let me take you to my place," Duncan suggested.  "It's  
just a little further down the street.  We'll get you something  
warm to drink, and make sure that you're okay."     
     
She looked at him uncertainly.  "I...I don't know," she said      
reluctantly.     
     
"Hey," he smiled.  "You can trust me.  My name's Duncan.       
What's yours?"     
     
She put her hand in his, and let him lead her to the car door.       
"Theresa," Lisa McKenzie lied easily.     
     
     
******** 

Chapter 9
     
     
"Theresa" sat on Duncan's couch wrapped in a blanket, a cup of      
steaming coffee in her hands.  If she did not drink from it,      
Duncan didn't seem to notice.     
     
"Feeling better?" he asked, taking a seat in a chair opposite the      
couch.       
     
She nodded gratefully, then set the cup on the side table next to      
the couch.  "I guess I was more shook up than I thought," she      
said reluctantly.  "I just didn't expect him to get so violent."     
     
"Your boyfriend?  The one you said you just broke up with?"     
     
She nodded.  "He really scared me," she whispered.     
     
"Hey," Duncan said soothingly, moving to sit by her on the      
couch.  "You're going to be okay."  He patted her hand      
reassuringly.  "You don't have to be frightened of him.  If you're      
scared, you could go to the police and--"     
     
She cut him off with a violent shake of the head.  "No, I couldn't      
do that.  He...he was just surprised, I think.  That's why he got so      
upset," she said uncertainly.     
     
He frowned, but did not push her.     
     
She cocked her head to the side for a moment, as if she heard      
something.  Suddenly she stood up, pushing the blanket from      
her shoulders.  "I really ought to get going," she exclaimed.       
Then she looked at him, her expression still apprehensive.  "You      
don't have a back way out, do you?  I'm afraid that he might      
have followed me."     
     
Duncan got up from the couch and indicated to a door at the      
other end of the room.  "You can go that way.  But let me go      
with you.  I'll take you home."     
     
She grasped her hand in his, stopping him.  "You're sweet,      
Duncan.  But I'll be okay.  I just don't want to take any      
unnecessary risks either."     
     
He looked at her doubtfully, but she seemed to be certain.       
"Okay.  But listen...if you need anything, give me a call."  He      
handed her a business card.  "Here's my number.  I mean it--if      
you have any problems...."     
     
She smiled sweetly.  "Thanks, Duncan."  She gave him a quick      
peck on the cheek.  "You're a knight in shining armor."     
     
He smiled, but she was already gone.  His thoughts were      
interrupted by the sound of the elevator rising towards the loft.     
     
"Hey, Mac!" Richie called as he rose into view.  "So you're finally      
back!  Did you have a good trip?"     
     
Duncan turned from his thoughts of Theresa and greeted his      
young friend.  "It's good to be back, Richie.  And what a trip it      
was...."     
     
***     
     
Nat was tossing in her hotel bed, too many thoughts running      
through her head to allow sleep to come peacefully, when she      
heard a light tap at the door.     
     
For a moment she thought that she imagined it, but she got out      
of bed and pulled her robe around her.  The tap was not      
repeated, but when looked through the spyhole she saw a      
weary-looking figure on the other side of the door, apparently      
ready to turn around and leave.     
     
"I'm here," she called, fumbling for the lock.  "Joe?"     
     
He stood in the doorway, looking a bit forlorn, and asked, "I      
didn't wake you, did I?"     
     
She shook her head and smiled welcomingly.  "Come on in," she    
said, moving aside to let him through.  "Are you okay?"     
     
He took a chair on one side of the table at the end of the hotel      
room, and for a moment looked out the window at the dark     
night, the sky just beginning to lighten.  "I don't know," he said      
finally.     
     
She sat in the chair opposite silently, waiting for him to      
unburden his thoughts.     
     
"I've spent half of my life as a Watcher," he murmured, almost to    
himself.  "I've followed Immortals around, recorded bits of    
information about their lives.  I've been a peeping tom."     
     
"Oh, Joe," she said softly.  She knew well from their many     
conversations over the past weeks, and when they had been    
held by McKenzie, how deeply his feelings for his job ran.     
     
"In the last few years, though," he continued, "I've made friends      
with Immortals.  And I've still followed them around and      
written down little bits of data about them.  I wrote a little entry      
about Tessa's death, when MacLeod was still hollow-eyed with      
grief.  I recorded the date of Richie's first real battle with      
another Immortal, his rite of passage."  He shook his head.  "I've      
been trying to live two lives, Nat."     
     
She took his hand in hers and caressed it.  "I know what you      
mean, Joe.  We've both had to balance opposite worlds."     
     
He smiled, a bit regretfully, and grasped her fingers tightly.  "I      
know that you, more than anybody else, understand."  He      
leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.  "But Nat, I may be      
about to face the consequences of my choices.  If I keep after      
Lisa McKenzie, I may be kicked out of the Watchers altogether."     
     
Angry and hurt on his behalf, she moved to kneel beside his  
chair.  Her expression dark, she asked softly, "What are you  
going to do?     
     
"I'm not sure," he admitted, tracing the curl of her long hair with      
his hand absently.     
     
"You made choices," she said, thinking back to a conversation      
which seemed a million years in the past.     
     
"But I do have to live with them," he said, recalling her response      
to his similar statement with another tinge of regret.     
     
"Joe, you also have to be true to yourself."  She leaned against      
him, her head against his shoulder.     
     
He smiled, comforted by the gesture, but also abruptly recalled      
by it to the time and the place.  "I ought to get out of here," he      
said slowly.  "You need to get some sleep."     
     
"Joe?" she said, her face muffled in his shoulder.     
     
"What?" he asked softly.     
     
"Stay."     
     
********

Chapter 10
     
     
"Got my mojo working..."    
    
Jaunty music greeted Duncan's entrance to Joe's.   The Immortal     
waited in the doorway, blinking to adjust his eyes to the change     
in light.     
     
"But it just don't work on you..."     
     
Duncan paused as he saw an unfamiliar face behind the bar.     
     
"I want to love you so bad..."     
     
The woman's attention was centered on the stage, where Joe      
performed playfully for his one-person audience.     
     
"that I don't know what to do..."     
     
She laughed and shook her head at him, her eyes shining with      
delight.     
     
"I got my mojo working--"  Joe finally noticed Duncan's      
presence, and broke off his song.  "Hey, MacLeod.  Where ya      
been?"     
     
"Well, Joe," Duncan quipped as he slid onto a bar stool, "You      
should know better than I."     
     
Joe smiled tolerantly as he cleared the distance between the      
stage and the bar.  "Nat, this is the infamous Duncan MacLeod.       
MacLeod, this is Natalie Lambert."     
     
"A-ha, and I thought that Dave had just changed his hairstyle,"      
Duncan replied, taking the woman's proffered hand and giving      
it a chivalrous kiss.  "So this is Doc.  Richie's been telling me all      
about you."     
     
Natalie smiled as Joe took her hand away from Duncan's grasp      
and nudged the man good-naturedly.  "I've heard a lot about      
you too, Mr. MacLeod."     
     
"Call me Duncan," he smiled back, obviously affected by their      
respective good moods.  He took in the liquor bottles in her      
hands which Natalie had apparently carried in from the  
storeroom, and said, "You come here on vacation, and Joe puts  
you to work?"     
     
Nat smiled.  "Just lending a hand.  It beats cutting up dead      
bodies.  Or live ones," she said, an evil glint in her eyes.  "I      
haven't had the chance to practice on any Immortals yet."     

He laughed nervously.  "Let's keep it that way, okay?"     
Duncan looked at Joe, not wanting to break the good mood, but      
feeling the need to ask.  "So, how's the McKenzie situation?"     
     
Joe's mood dampened, and he said "It's out of my hands,      
MacLeod."     
     
Duncan looked at him uncertainly.  "What do you mean it's out      
of your hands?"     
     
Nat put a hand on Joe's arm, as the Watcher relented slightly.       
"If she's tracking down her husband's assignments, she'll have to      
go to Moscow next.  That's where the next on the list is now."       
He sighed.  "I'd rather not talk about it."     
     
Puzzled, Duncan nodded.  "Okay," he agreed.  He turned back to      
Natalie and changed tacks.  "So, has Joe showed you all the      
sights of Seacouver?"     
     
*****     
     
Nick sat at a table in the Den and dearly wished that he *had*      
bought some ear plugs.  The racket was wearing thin on his      
nerves.  And to make matters worse...     
     
Laura, the vampire who had reminded him so much of Janette,      
sidled up to him seductively.  "Ah, it's my fickle friend.  And      
who are you looking for tonight, love?"  She dipped a finger in      
her glass and sucked the liquid off between ruby lips.     
     
"Actually, I'm looking for a woman called Janette," he admitted.       
At her glare, he knew that he had made the wrong reply.  "I      
don't suppose you know her?" he asked hopefully.     
     
"Hmph," she snorted and wandered off.  Another woman      
quickly took her place, though.  He started to get up and leave,      
but her words stopped him.     
     
"You're looking for Janette?" the girl asked.       
     
"Yes, do you know where I can find her?"      
     
She pointed to a door leading to the back rooms.  "She's back     
there."     
     
Nick shot the girl a grateful glance and made his way in the      
direction which she had indicated.     
     
******** 

Chapter 11
     
     
Nick felt her through their bond before he saw her.  Janette was      
lounging in a large leather chair in an inner office.     
     
"Hello, Nick," she said, putting emphasis on the hard last      
syllable, her voice sounding eerily like Natalie's for a moment.     
     
"Janette," he greeted her, then took in the office.  "I didn't realize      
that you had this much clout."     
     
She smiled thinly.  "The owner is an old friend of mine."     
     
"Really?  Do I know her?"     
     
"Him," Janette said pointedly.  "And no, you don't."     
    
Nick could not stand the verbal sparring for long.  He was  
beside her in an instant, grasping her shoulders.  "Janette, I need  
to find Lisa McKenzie."     
     
She smiled nonchalantly.  "And what makes you think that I      
would know where she is?"     
     
He almost shook her.  "Because I think that you brought her      
across.  You admitted that you were in Toronto then.  And now      
you're here--"     
     
She laughed.  It was a cold, shrill laugh that echoed off the walls      
uncomfortably before it turned into a near-sob.  "Oh, Nichola.  Is      
that what you think of me?  That I would bring the poor fool      
across so that she might have her revenge?  I take more care in      
my decisions to create children."     
     
Nick winced, as if struck, and released her.  "I'm sorry.  I  
deserved that."     
     
"Yes," she agreed.  "You did."  But her tone was that of the old      
Janette, albeit a weary one.  "Oh, Nichola.  What have we come      

to?"  She touched his cheek softly before her expression cleared.     
"If it means that much to you, I can take you to Carmen.  She      
should be able to give you some of the answers which you seek."     
          
*****     
     
Duncan propped his feet up on the coffee table and steepled his      
fingers behind his head.  It had been too long since he'd had a      
quiet night at home.     
     
The sound of the elevator interrupted that thought.  "Hey, Mac,"      
Richie greeted him.  "I'm heading over to Joe's.  Do you want to      
come?"     
     
MacLeod shook his head and waved the younger Immortal      
away.  "I was over there earlier getting to know your friend.  I'm      
just going to spend some time here tonight."     
     
Richie shrugged.  "Okay--I'll see you later," he called as the      
elevator began its backwards descent.     
     
Duncan grinned to himself, and put his hands back behind his      
head.  He was just going to sit here and relax, and--     
     
The phone rang.  With a sigh he picked up the receiver.       
"Hello?"     
     
"Duncan?" the voice was shaken and filled with panic.     
     
He hesitated, trying to place the frantic voice.  "Theresa?"     
     
"Duncan--you've got to help me.  He's been following me      
everywhere.  I'm really scared."     
     
"Theresa, just calm down," he said.  "Tell me where you are, and      
I'll come get you."     
     
"I'm out by the old warehouse, at the end of 5th street.  Duncan,      
you've got to help me.  I'm going to hide from him.  I think he's    
--"     
     
The connection was abruptly cut off.  "Theresa!" he exclaimed,      
but as he feared, got no reply.  He grabbed his coat and rushed      
for the door.     
     
******* 

Chapter 12
  
   
Janette led Nick to a still, dark two-story house not far from the   
club.  She hesitated on the doorstep, but finally pushed open the   
door and called tentatively, "Carmen?"  
  
They both smelled the scent.  Blood.  
  
"Carmen?" Nick shouted, rushing up the stairs.  Automatically   
he had drawn his gun, but he knew that it would be of little use   
against a vampire assailant.  
  
He pushed open a bedroom door and stopped as he spotted   
Carmen lying propped up on the floor next to the bed.  A stake   
protruded from her chest, lurching at a drunken angle.  She   
managed to raise her head at their entrance, and the red-haired   
vampire smiled weakly at them.  
  
"Ah, it's the vampire cop.  Have you come to arrest me?" she   
managed through clenched teeth.  
  
Janette moved to the woman's side and brushed back a bloody   
strand of hair from Carmen's face.  They could see scratches   
from a fight on her hands and face which her body had not yet   
managed to heal.  "Carmen, cheri.  What happened?"  
  
"My sins came back to haunt me, Janette dear.  This one had a   
rather violent temper."  Carmen looked at Nick pleadingly.    
"Take it out.  Please."  
  
He grimaced,. but nodded.  "It's going to hurt," he said   
helplessly.  
  
"You have a talent for stating the obvious, detective," Carmen   
wheezed.  "Do it."  
  
Janette grasped Carmen's hand tightly as Nick wrapped his   
hands around the stake.  He gave her a nod to confirm that she   
was okay, then with a violent motion pulled the shaft out.  
  
"Bitch!" Carmen shrieked, her back arching in agony as the   
wood left her body.  She put a hand over the wound and   
panted, "She'll pay for that.  I know something about revenge as   
well."  
  
Janette offered Carmen her wrist, and the other woman took it   
gratefully.  After she had taken enough blood to speed the   
healing process, she leaned back against the bed with a sigh.  "I   
guess that it is time to confess all, eh?"  
  
"Please," Nick said simply.  
  
"There's not really time now, not if you want to stop her.  Suffice   
it to say that I tried to rectify my action in killing her husband   
by giving her what she desired."  Carmen shook her head   
regretfully.  "It was a mistake.  I let myself be blinded by my   
own memories.  My own anger when my husband was killed."    
Her voice trailed off, and Janette's grip on her tightened.  After   
a moment she smiled weakly, gave Janette a comforting pat,   
and said to Nick, "She really is quite mad, you see.  I didn't   
realize it until it was too late; I tasted it in her blood, but the   
grief masked it.  I should have known...."  
  
"Where has she gone?" Nick persisted.  
  
Carmen blinked, pulled back to the present.  "She decided that   
this Dawson character was getting too involved in her plans.    
She went after an Immortal friend of his.  MacLeod.  She's at the   
old warehouse on fifth street."  She shook her head, a glimmer   
of her normal flippancy returning.  "One would think that a   
man as old as this MacLeod is supposed to be would know   
better than to run off to abandoned warehouses."  
  
But Nick was already moving out the door.  
  
Janette shook her head.  "Nichola, always running off to play   
hero.  It is not your affair."  
  
Carmen began to push herself up from the floor with Janette's   
help.  "Put me on the bed, Janette.  I was trying to get to a   
phone, to warn this Dawson man.  Do it for me, please.  It *is*   
his affair, I think.'  
  
Janette said softly, "I know where he is.  I'll go there.  Will you   
be all right?"    
  
Carmen nodded and closed her eyes.  "Help them put an end to   
it, Janette.  For my sake."  
    
***  
  
Nat, laughing at a joke which Dave had just made, turned her   
head to take in the crowded bar.  This place was really packed--  
she was impressed with the amount of business that they   
seemed to do.  
  
Suddenly her face drained of color.  Joe gripped her arm.  "Are   
you okay, Nat?"  
  
"It's Janette," she muttered.  "I can't believe it."  
  
Joe looked towards the figure standing in the doorway and   
asked, "Nick's Janette?"  
  
Nat nodded mutely and went forward to meet the woman.    
"Janette...what a surprise."  
  
Janette inclined her head in acknowledgement.  "I did not   
expect to be here either, Natalie, I assure you."  She looked to   
Joe, who had accompanied Nat for the confrontation.  "I   
presume that you are Mr. Dawson.  Your friend MacLeod is in   
danger from Lisa McKenzie."  
  
"What?" Nat and Joe both exclaimed.  
  
"How did you know where to find us?" Natalie continued.    
"Have you been following me?" she asked incredulously.  
  
Janette looked as uncomfortable as Natalie had ever seen her.  "I   
admit that I did a little checking.  I needed to know where   
things stood with you and Nicholas."  
  
"Where's MacLeod?" Joe demanded, interrupting the tense   
moment.  
  
"At a warehouse at the end of Fifth Street.  He does not know   
what he is dealing with, I'm sure."  She looked at Nat almost   
apologetically.  "Now, I must go.  A friend needs me."  She put   
her hand lightly on Nat's arm.  "Be well, Natalie."  
  
She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, and Nat and   
Joe looked at one another.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Nat asked him, concerned.  
  
"You know there's nothing else that I *can* do."  
  
  
********* 

Chapter 13
   
   
"Theresa?" Duncan called as he approached the deserted    
warehouse.  The whole situation struck him as rather odd for a    
moment, but he felt no warning buzz about the presence of    
another Immortal so there did not seem to be any immediate    
danger to himself.  He pushed open the door and stepped    
inside.  "Theresa?"   
   
She was crouched in the middle of the open floor, the   
moonlight bathing her in an unearthly spotlight.  She had her    
hands wrapped around her legs, her head buried in her knees.     
"Theresa, are you hurt?"  He stepped forward slowly, then knelt    
beside her.  "Hey, are you okay?"   
   
"Duncan," she said, her voice muffled.  "I'm glad you're here."   
   
He should have been warned by the tone of her voice--it did not    
sound shaky or frightened.  In fact, she sounded very pleased    
with herself.   
   
She looked up, her eyes a savage gold before she attacked.   
      
****   
   
Natalie barely had time to stop the car before Joe was out the    
door and heading towards the warehouse.  His path was cut off,    
however, by a figure which stepped from the shadows.   
   
"Mark," she heard Joe say.  "Let me go.  I've got to help him."   
   
Mark Roberts shook his head sadly but firmly.  "Joe, I can't let    
you do it.  You'll be ending your career as a Watcher if you do."   
   
"You've got to let him go," Natalie insisted as she joined them.     
"You don't understand what's happening."   
   
"I understand perfectly well what's happening," Roberts    
snapped in reply.  "We've placed extra Watchers on subjects that    
Joe should be taking care of, because we can't trust him.  We    
gave him the rope, and he's hanging himself with it."  He looked    
at Joe regretfully.  "I'm sorry, friend, but that's the way it is.     
You're throwing it all away.   
   
Joe shook off his restraining hand.  "Dammit, Mark.  There's    
more to it than that.  McKenzie's not human anymore.  She's a    
vampire!"   
   
"What?  Have you gone insane?"   
   
"You don't believe in vampires?" a voice asked from behind    
them.     
   
"Nick!" Natalie exclaimed, surprised and relieved to see him.  
She waved towards the warehouse.  "She's in there."  
   
Nick gave her a short nod and flew away, with Roberts--and    
even Joe, who had never seen a vampire in flight before--staring  
agape.     
   
"Come on," Natalie said, pulling Joe towards the warehouse.     
Roberts did nothing to stop them this time.   
   
****   
   
Duncan jumped back as Lisa McKenzie--for he had no doubt    
now of her identity--lunged for him, and she stumbled,    
unprepared for his reaction.   
   
"You can't escape me that easily, MacLeod," she hissed, crouched    
on the floor like a wild animal.     
   
By that time he had drawn his sword, its blade glinting    
dangerously in the moonlight.  "I don't know if a sword can kill    
a vampire, Lisa," he said calmly, "but I'm willing to find out."   
   
She snarled and attacked in a blur of speed, and he tangled with    
her desperately as she aimed for his throat in order to drain    
him.  They grappled violently, thrashing and almost hovering in    
the air as McKenzie pulled him from the ground.   
   
Suddenly her weight was pulled off of him.     
   
"You're not playing fair, Lisa," Nick warned her through    
clenched teeth as she struggled against him.   
   
"Knight," she spat.  "I can kill you too."   
   
Duncan watched helplessly as they tangled mid-air, Lisa's angry    
shouts echoing grotesquely through the warehouse.   
   
Suddenly Lisa broke free from Knight's grasp and disappeared    
with a howl.  Nick fell to the ground heavily, nursing heavy cuts    
across his face and neck.  Duncan offered him a hand and pulled    
the vampire up, who was shaking his head ruefully.     
   
"You must be Knight," he said, and Nick simply nodded, still    
unable to speak.     
   
"She can fight," he finally managed, and MacLeod chuckled.   
   
"Maybe she's had enough for one night," he said to the vampire    
as they limped towards the door, casting wary glances about the   
warehouse.  "I don't--"   
   
They never saw her coming.  She barreled through Nick as if he    
were a puppet, tossing him aside with a ferocity which left him    
stunned.   
   
But Duncan's sword was already moving through the air in a    
fatal arc.  She stared at him in wonderment as the blade cut    
through her neck, her lips shaped into a surprised and bitter "o".   
   
Her body fell beside Nick's, who lay on the ground panting.   
   
"That should keep her," Duncan said, but Nick just shook his    
head.   
   
"No, but this will," Joe's voice came softly through the darkness    
as he stepped forward carrying a heavy stick chosen for the    
purpose.  He sent an apologetic look to Nick before plunging  
the stake directly through McKenzie's heart.   
   
Nick nodded gratefully, as Nat, circling around Joe and the   
body, helped him up once again.  The four of them formed a    
peculiar circle around the body as Mark Roberts, wide-eyed in    
astonishment, made his way forward.   
   
"We ought to burn the body," Nick said, as Roberts shuddered.   
   
"Joe," Roberts said shakily, "I think we need to talk."   
   
   
***   
   
Chapter 14
   
   
A gentle shaft of sunlight which crept past the closed blinds    
warmed her cheek and nudged Natalie into wakefulness.  She    
kept her eyes closed, savoring the caress of the light, the warm    
pressure of another next to her, the gentle rise and fall of his    
chest beneath her own.   
   
Her thoughts were still scattered, but at the center stood a calm    
focus which she had not enjoyed in a desperately long time.     
   
With a start she realized just how apt that adjective was.     
Desperate.  She had been drifting in a malaise which seemed    
to have no end, leaving her as a lifeline only the remnants of a    
desire which seemed alien to her now.   
   
She did open her eyes this time, and turned her head a little to    
look at Joe.  One arm lay over her bare shoulders, the other    
crossed above his head, the fingers of the his hand splayed    
slightly.     
   
They had not gotten to bed until very late.  Nick had not    
lingered, muttering something about seeing to a friend.  Natalie    
had little doubt that Janette was involved somehow.  More    
importantly, however, she realized that the knowledge did not    
send that familiar shooting pain of disappointment through her    
insides.  She had almost sent a quiet wish to Janette that she    
could find the resolution with Nick that she sought.   
   
While Natalie said her goodbyes to Nick and Duncan, Mark    
Roberts had held an intense, whispered conference with Joe.     
His expression when Roberts had gone was no longer quite as    
troubled, but still pensive.  She'd threaded her fingers through    
his and studied his face.   
   
"Are you okay?"   
   
Those dark eyes, layered with currents so different from Nick's    
troubled blue ones, had gazed back at her thoughtfully.  "For    
now," he said finally.  Then he slipped his arm around her    
shoulders and with a lazy smile, said.  "I'm glad you're here."   
   
His eyes were closed now.  As she looked at his sleeping face,  
she thought back to a question in the dark, his voice like silk,  
though muffled in her hair.  "When will you be leaving?"   
   
She'd run a finger down his bare side idly, wondering at his    
intent.  "I'm scheduled to be back at work on Monday," she    
reminded him.   
   
"Hmmm," a soft reply.   
   
"Joe?"   
   
"Hmm?" sleepier this time.   
   
"Are you still a Watcher?"  Not 'will they let you be one.'   
   
He'd rolled closer to her, and she could see his eyes shining in    
the dark in a way that they never had during their hours    
together as captives to McKenzie.  He brushed her lips softly    
and murmured, "It's a question of finding balance."   
   
Balance.  A calm center in the storm of desires and wishes and    
needs and good intentions.  Dark eyes saying unequivocally "I    
will be there for you."   
   
No one ever loved that river   
the way I love you...
   
She reached up and traced the pattern of his Watcher tattoo    
lightly.  With his eyes still closed he grasped her hand gently    
and moved it to his lips.   
   
"Good morning, Dr. Lambert."   
   
She smiled.   
   
He released her hand with a kiss and leaned forward to peer at    
her.  "And what are you thinking about so intently this early in    
the morning?" he continued.   
   
"Oh," she said lightly.  "The things I've got to do, the places to    
go."   
   
"The people to see?"   
   
She punched him playfully.  "You're fishing for a compliment,    
Joe Dawson.  You know the only person I'm interested in seeing    
is currently tickling me with his beard."   
   
He chucked and leaned back a little into the pillow.  "And just    
what sort of things do you need to do today?" he inquired.   
   
She waved a hand extravagantly.  "Oh, shopping.  Sightseeing.     
A few chores."  She watched him.  "I need to go to the train    
station and see about changing my train to a later one so I can    
stick around a bit longer."   
   
He cupped her chin.  "You're going to stay for a while?"   
   
She nodded into his palm.  "Well, this guy I know still owes me    
the rest of a song, and he's hasn't paid up yet.  I need to have a    
long talk with him about it."   
   
"Hmmm," he said, his expression blank.  "Sounds serious."  He    
swallowed, and Natalie could feel his muscles tense a little    
beneath her.  "But then, why go at all?  I'm sure that guy needs    
lots of long talks."   
   
She held her breath, without realizing it.  "Is that an invitation?"   
   
Dark eyes, drawing her in with a promise.   
   
"Your favorite color is green," he said quietly, running a calloused,
human finger softly against her cheek. 

Her own eyes felt tight, as if some pent-up emotion was trying    
to batter its way out beyond her defenses.  She could not speak.   
   
"Nat?" he whispered.   
   
"What?"   
   
"Stay."   
   
  
  
*end*