Street Dance, #14 in the Dance series. Original FK fanfiction.





 
#14 Street Dance 

By Lorelei Sieja 
  Chapter One: 
  "You're going too fast." 
  "I am not. Just shut up and let me drive." Tracy glared at her blind partner, 
  wondering how he could tell what speed she was doing. His hands were clenched 
  tight and he didn't appear to be breathing. Not that he had to breathe... but 
  he actually looked like he might pass out. She felt her irritation leave at 
  once. She spoke more gently then. "Nick, it's going to be okay." 
  "You're doing 62 kph in a 50 zone. It won't be "okay" at all. Now slow down; 
  you're a respected officer, not some ditzy teen out to provoke her daddy." 
  Tracy hit the breaks, squealing rubber. Perry whined from the back seat. 
  Nick's arms flailed out, stopping his forward momentum as he banged into the 
  dash. Tracy released the brake then and continued, doing a steady 49 kph in 
  total silence. 
  Nick tried to settle back and relax. One hand gripped the door handle leaving 
  dents in the steel. This was not a good idea, he thought. For eight months now 
  he'd been off work, not including that short stint substitute teaching at the 
  Academy. Maybe he should just make it permanent. "Turn around. I'm going 
  home." 
  Tracy pulled to the curb and turned off the motor. She heaved a sigh, brushing 
  her short blonde hair off her face. "Nick. We're going to be late," she said. 
  "Tell Reese I wasn't feeling well. Now take me home, or I'll call a cab." 
  "Fine. I'll take you home," she said. "But you're coming in to the precinct to 
  tell Reese yourself. I'm not going to lie for you." 
  "No one's asking you to lie," Nick shouted. "I'm really not feeling up to 
  this!" 
  Tracy slid closer to him on the seat. She touched his cheek affectionately. 
  "Maybe you need a little something to soothe the savage beast?" she asked 
  playfully. 
  Nick stiffened at her touch, withdrawing from her. Tracy ignored his 
  reluctance. Taking a fingernail, she scratched her neck, drawing blood. She 
  smiled as the yellow glow sprang to his eyes and felt a warmth stirring within 
  at the sight of his fangs. She craned her neck in offering. 
  Nick growled angrily, pulling her on to his lap and sinking his fangs into her 
  throat. Tracy sighed contentedly. After a few moments, she returned the bite 
  and completed the blood circle. In the blood she tasted Nick's turmoil. She 
  simply held him. Nick had been through so much this year. She'd take him home 
  in a minute if she thought it was the right thing for him, but she knew how 
  important his job was to him. He needed this. He needed to be needed again. 
  Nick pulled out of her throat and let his fangs retract. He held her tightly, 
  almost desperately. His hands were trembling. 
  "I'll be there with you, bro," she said. "Let's just give it a couple of 
  hours. We'll knock off early, as soon as you give the word. Okay?" 
  He shrugged, trying for indifference. Tracy pecked him on the cheek. "That's 
  the spirit. Now, we've got to get moving. This isn't exactly a parking zone." 
  She grinned, flipping on the radio to drown out any retort he might make. Nick 
  didn't say another word as she drove the remainder of the journey. 
  He tensed as she turned off the ignition. It was time. Mechanically, he 
  climbed out of the car, then tilted his seat forward to let Perry out of the 
  back. 
  Tracy turned away when he doubled over the rosebushes and puked. No one really 
  believed he would get well any more, not even LaCroix. She missed the "old" 
  Nick, with the confidant, arrogant, princely bearing. 
  "So do I," Nick said quietly. "Let's go." 
  "You have to quit that, you know." 
  "Hm?" 
  She slugged him playfully. "I want you out of my mind. Do I have to put up "no 
  trespassing signs"?" 
  "It would help." 
  "I warned them not to throw you a party or anything," Tracy said softly. "I 
  figured you wouldn't want that." 
  He nodded silently, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. 
  A chorus of "welcome backs" greeted Nick as he and Perry crossed the crowded 
  bullpen. He forced a smile, nodding and thanking them quietly. The walk to the 
  captain's office had seldom seemed as long. 
  Reese heard the commotion and opened his door. Nick looked better, he thought, 
  although he was still too pale. But then, Nick didn't run the risks of skin 
  cancer thanks to that damn allergy. Reese was both elated and nervous. He was 
  glad to have his star detective back, and terrified that some harm would come 
  to Nick in his line of work because of his disability. This was a dangerous 
  job. Nick had been shot at many times, once a bullet had even wiped out his 
  memories. A blind man did not belong here. 
  "Welcome back," Reese said. "Nick, you don't have any open cases right now, as 
  I had to reassign them in your absence. So, until something comes up, I have a 
  stack of unsolveds from past years that I'd like you to look into. I placed 
  them on your desk." Nick stiffened as if he'd been slapped. Paperwork had 
  never been his forte. "I am not here to be a desk clerk," he said curtly. 
  "I know, Nick. But these cases were never officially closed. We owe it to the 
  victims to be thorough." 
  "Come on, partner," Tracy said with a sigh. She tugged Nick's sleeve before he 
  got rude or reckless. "Let's take a look. Maybe something new will open up yet 
  tonight." 
  Tracy took half the files and flipped through them without much interest. Nick 
  scanned the top file into his Braillexel computer. He groaned inwardly when he 
  recognized the case. It was the two crooks he'd drained last year when they 
  had tried to kill Janette. This one could not be "solved". The next case was a 
  vampire's kill, and the next, and the next. Nick shook his head at the 
  uselessness of this exercise. He was here to serve and to protect, but at the 
  moment he was beginning to see how Nat must feel as she was forced to falsify 
  reports to cover for the community. As the night wore on, his generally 
  pleasant disposition grew more and more annoyed. 
  Several hours later Reese finally approached him with a new case. "The call 
  just came in," he said. "The coroner is already on her way. A son came home 
  from work and found his mother's body. He called 911, and they called us. 
  Here's the address." He handed the file over to Tracy. 
  "Let's go, partner," she said eagerly. 
  Nick swallowed. This was it. His big chance to show he could still do the job, 
  or make the biggest fool out of himself trying. He reached for Perry's 
  harness. "Come, boy. It's time." 
  ***** 
  The night was warm for this time of year. Tracy wished they were driving in 
  Nick's Caddy with the top down, but instead they used her little black sports 
  car. She wasn't particularly excited about Perry riding on the back seat, 
  leaving red-tinged doggy drool and golden hairs all over the place, but Nick 
  hadn't let her spread a sheet over the cushions to protect them. He said it 
  would "hurt Perry's feelings". 
  Nick ran his fingers over the file, the information kept from him because it 
  was in flat type. He couldn't drive, and he couldn't read this. He growled in 
  frustration. 
  Tracy flipped open the cover and scanned the file while she waited at a red 
  light. "Not much there, partner," she said. "Richard Hunter, 28 year old white 
  male, called 911 when he found his mother on the living room floor. He started 
  CPR, but was unable to revive her. The EMTs called us." 
  Tracy pulled up in front of a small home in a quiet neighborhood. Two squad 
  cars, an ambulance, the coroner's van, and Nat's SUV were already there. The 
  flashing police lights were strangely out of place, casting macabre shadows on 
  well-kept lawns and houses. She waited for Nick, and then together they 
  entered the house. 
  Nick caught the smell of blood immediately. His fangs itched some, and he 
  sensed Perry's interest as well. He hadn't thought how his job might affect 
  his carouche! He hunched down and patted the canine behind the ears. "Are you 
  okay, boy? You can't feed here, you know." 
  The dog woofed once, almost indignantly. Human blood would never be his first 
  choice anyway. 
  "Just checking," he said. 
  "This way," Tracy said, tugging on his sleeve. "The body's over here. Head 
  wound, some blood, but it doesn't look like enough to be the cause of death." 
  "Very good," Nat said. "Hello, Nick. Tracy's right. She hit her head when she 
  fell. Small laceration above the eye, probably hit it on the sharp corner of 
  this end table. By the color of her fingertips, though, she didn't bleed to 
  death. I think she suffocated." 
  Nick nodded. So it was murder, then. "We should question the son," he began. 
  "Nick, I don't think that's going to be necessary. I mean, you guys probably 
  didn't need to show up at all. She's wearing a medical alert bracelet, 
  identifying her severe asthma. The pollens and molds are really bad this time 
  of year until we get a killing frost. It looks like the asthma killed her." 
  "I should still talk to the son," Nick said stubbornly. "It never hurts to be 
  thorough." The son was easily hypnotized though, and everything he said seemed 
  to corroborate Nat's preliminary evaluation. The woman had no known enemies or 
  lovers and there was no motive. 
  "I think Reese knew this was going to be a wild goose chase when he sent us 
  here," Nick snapped later, when they were in the privacy of Tracy's car. 
  "Nick, how could he?" Tracy asked. "And why?" 
  "Because he has no intention of putting me back to work." 
  "I hope you're wrong, partner. I'm kind of used to your face. And now that 
  I've finally got you trained, I'm not looking forward to breaking in someone 
  new." 
  Nick chuckled. "Yeah, right," he said. He let the matter drop, until they 
  returned to the precinct. 
  The officers stared, awed at the familiar sight, as Nick stormed through the 
  bullpen and threw open Reese's door with a bang. "I'm a detective, Captain, 
  not an errand boy!" he roared. 
  "Nick, if you don't get a hold of yourself, you'll be behind that desk 
  permanently," Reese warned, his voice low with clear warning. 
  Flashes of insight overtook him. Pictures of himself, laying in the street in 
  a pool of blood. Nick trembled. He found a chair and slumped into it. Where 
  had that come from? Was it a premonition? Then, just as fast, a picture of 
  Reese and Denise involved in an activity Nick had no business witnessing, 
  appeared in his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear the images. They must 
  be Reese's thoughts. 
  "I am not a rookie," he said, more calmly than he felt. "I will not put myself 
  or my partner in danger." 
  "Look, Nick, if it were me, I'd put you out on the streets immediately. But 
  some things just take time." 
  "I'll go back to my desk, Captain, like a good boy. But the next case that 
  comes in, a REAL case, I expect to be on it." He heard Reese's whispered 
  words, too soft for mortal ears. "I hope we have a quiet week." 
  Chapter two: 
  She angled her car so the headlights would shine on the small grave. Once it 
  would have unnerved her to visit a cemetery in the dark, but now the shadows 
  comforted her. Her tears could fall unheeded, she could mourn undisturbed. She 
  tucked her purse under the front seat. Then, with a deep breath, she climbed 
  from her car. 
  The grass was damp. Fall was settling in again. He had died in the fall seven 
  years ago. She walked the short distance, stepping around the plots 
  considerately, until she stood over the small brass marker. A cherub, a sprig 
  of morning glories, and a Bible verse were all the adornments. Then, the name. 
  She fingered it, as fresh tears spilled forth. "Jeremy Ethan Howard", Infant 
  son of Victoria and Ethan Howard." Then, there were two dates. His birth and 
  his death. So close together. 
  She glared at the name next to hers. "You bastard," she cursed, again and 
  again. If she could afford a new marker, she'd have his name permanently 
  removed. It was so wrong - evil and sacrilegious - to have that man's name in 
  this quiet place. 
  "School started two weeks ago," she said then. "You'd be starting second 
  grade. I went inside one day and walked through the hallway, imagining that I 
  was going to see your teacher, just like any other mother. There were three 
  second grade teachers and all of them looked really nice. But I picked out the 
  one that would be yours. She was young, but not too green. She had her class 
  under control. The children were busy working on an art project. They were 
  quietly talking, as they cut and pasted and made such glorious pictures for 
  their mommies' refrigerators." 
  She had to stop then, as the sobbing made it hard to speak. Her shoulders 
  trembled. The cemetery was empty, so she gave in to her grief and cried out in 
  a loud voice. "Oh, God! I miss him! How can I go on like this!" 
  Eventually, the aching lessened enough that she could breathe again. She blew 
  her nose and remained quiet until her voice was controlled. 
  "I know I have to get over this. I will, somehow. But, if only I could see 
  your killer rot in jail, then maybe I could move on. I haven't been able to 
  get anyone to reopen the case. All they see is an unstable, grieving mother. 
  They're probably right about that, but I know, deep in my heart, that he 
  killed you. I promise, I swear, that I will see him pay." 
  She stood then. Her slacks were damp from the dew and she shivered. "I'll keep 
  trying, baby. Good night." 
  Leaving was always the hardest. It was so final. Her baby lay beneath the cold 
  dark earth and he would never come home again. She longed to hold him just one 
  more time, to kiss his forehead, to breathe in his scent of baby shampoo and 
  diaper cream, to kiss away his tears. "I love you, Jeremy!" Then she ran 
  towards her car to muffle her sobs behind closed doors. 
  The lights were on when she pulled into the garage. "Damn," Vicky muttered 
  under her breath. Alex wasn't supposed to come home until tomorrow! Quickly 
  she adjusted the rearview mirror to check the mess her tears had made on her 
  makeup. A hanky and a splash of lipstick were not going to be much help. Alex 
  was going to be so angry with her... Her pulse raced. A delicious shiver ran 
  down her spine. Drawing in a breath of courage, she climbed out of the car. 
  Alex was her hero. He had rescued her from the dark depression that had 
  crippled her when her marriage with Ethan dissolved immediately following 
  Jeremy's death. She had been in and out of hospitals, contemplating suicide 
  when he had come to her. He was strong and caring, nurturing her when she 
  needed it and giving her the will to go on, but he demanded obedience and 
  respect in return. 
  The kitchen was empty. She set her purse down on the counter and hurried into 
  the living room. 
  Alex sat in his favorite chair reading the evening paper. He didn't even 
  glance up when she entered. Vicky hurried to kneel at his feet. Now it was 
  time to wait. She listened as he turned the page, heard the crackle of paper 
  as he read first the top half and then a story at the bottom. Her legs were 
  beginning to cramp and her skin felt irritated from her damp clothing. She 
  felt chilled to the bone. Her mind wandered briefly. 
  Alex was so different from Ethan. He was tall and dark, while Ethan was 
  heavy-set with thinning red-brown hair. Alex was strict with her, but he 
  demanded even more from himself, observing a rigorous program of exercise and 
  a healthfood diet, followed by hours of meditation. She wondered now what she 
  had ever seen in Ethan. 
  The paper was folded and placed on the end table. "Fix me an Old-Fashioned," 
  Alex snapped. 
  "Yes, Master," Vicky quickly replied. She straightened her legs and went to 
  the wet bar. Ice, brandy, sugar, and bitters, then enough club soda to fill 
  the glass. She dropped a cherry into it, then returned to kneel before him. 
  She held the glass until he took it from her. 
  She heard him take a sip. He didn't praise her, but the lack of any criticism 
  told her that she had made it right. Wordlessly, he lifted one foot. Vicky 
  rested it on her thigh as she removed his shoe and sock. Then she removed the 
  other one as well and began to massage his feet. Another half-hour passed in 
  silence. 
  "You went there again, didn't you," Alex said accusingly. 
  Vicky hesitated only a moment. He could always tell when she was lying. She 
  might as well be truthful. "Yes, Master." 
  "Even though I forbid you to go. Why?" 
  "I am sorry, Master," Vicky whispered. Tears came to her eyes again and 
  slipped silently down her face. "I don't intend to disobey. I know you want 
  only what is best for me, but I just can't leave him alone. I've tried, 
  Master. I want to! I want my life back, but until his killer is brought to 
  justice, I just can't!" 
  Alex sighed. "Your disobedience cannot go unpunished." 
  Vicky bowed her head. "Yes, Master." 
  "But I have changed my mind. Perhaps it is time to take this to the police. I 
  want your solemn promise, though. If they decide again that it is not 
  homicide, then you will not speak of this again. You will not go there again, 
  except once a year on the child's birthday. Seven years is too long to still 
  be grieving." 
  Vicky smiled through her tears. "I love you, Master! Oh, thank you!" 
  ******* 
  "Nick? Maybe you should stay home tonight," Tracy suggested quietly. 
  "No." 
  "But you been having such headaches. You really shouldn't shout at the boss 
  like that, you know? What's he supposed to do? Either ignore your lack of 
  respect or fire you?" 
  "I told him I was sorry," Nick said, striving to keep the irritation from his 
  voice. "It's time to go. Are you going to drive, or shall I call a cab?" 
  Tracy shrugged. "Whatever. Let's go." 
  LaCroix met them at the door. Nick stiffened, preparing to wage the same 
  battle on a grander scale, but LaCroix simply laid a comforting hand on his 
  shoulder. "Take care, my children." Then he opened the door for them. 
  "That was weird," Tracy muttered. "Old man's going soft." 
  "Don't even think that, Trace. You never know when he's going to lurk in your 
  mind." 
  "Does he really do that? Get inside our heads, without us knowing?" 
  Nick nodded. He wasn't sure himself of the extent of LaCroix's ability. But he 
  had learned, often painfully, to be cautious even with his thoughts, 
  especially when he was in close proximity. 
  If only the others would stay out of his mind, though! Now Tracy's fears and 
  worries were overpowering him, confused images, short thoughts, lightning 
  quick, stabbing his consciousness, pain and then nothing, only to be stabbed 
  again. He couldn't stop the groan that escaped, as he buried his head in his 
  arms. 
  "Nick! What?" Tracy tapped the brakes as she looked over at him. 
  "Nothing! Just drive! Shut up. Don't think. Don't worry, just drive the damn 
  car!" 
  "Yeah. Sure. Why don't you suck a nail," she snapped. She flipped on the 
  radio. It was too early yet for the "Nightcrawler", but even awful music would 
  be more interesting than her brother/partner/sometime lover. The music was 
  soft and soothing, different from the usual dark stuff LaCroix played. It 
  seemed to have a positive effect on Nick, for he leaned back and his features 
  relaxed. 
  They entered the precinct in silence and went straight to their desks. Tracy 
  was getting as tired of desk-duty as Nick was, but there was little she could 
  do about it. She figured she had pushed Reese just as far as she could this 
  past year. She'd used up all her sick days, vacation days, personal days, and 
  then some. Now saddled with a blind partner, she felt very insecure in her 
  position. 
  Nick had been back for three days now. After that first day, when he'd had to 
  knock off a few hours early, he'd managed to put in a full shift, but it had 
  been hard for him. His pale coloring looked a little gray, and there were 
  times when she saw blood tears in his eyes. He was rubbing at his forehead 
  again. These headaches were something new. He didn't need this, she fretted. 
  "Come on," Nick said suddenly. 
  "Where are we going?" 
  "Out. Let's just drive around. That'd be as productive as sitting here another 
  minute." 
  Tracy grabbed the light jacket she'd brought in. The autumn temperatures had 
  taken a sudden drop yesterday, and even though she was no longer really 
  affected by temperature, the wind had a cold and lonely sound. It wouldn't 
  even be officially "fall" for two more days, at the autumnal equinox. 
  Perry woofed quietly in agreement. He wasn't sure of the origins of Nick's 
  discomfort, but he sensed it through their faint bond and sitting at Nick's 
  feet beside his desk for hours on end was beyond just plain boring. 
  "Your car fumes smell off," Nick commented, as she started the engine. 
  "Really? They just smell the same to me." 
  "You must have some moisture in your gas tank. You should get an additive the 
  next time you fill." 
  Tracy grinned. Giving a woman car advice was such a "normal" guy thing to do. 
  "Sure, bro. I'll take care of it," she promised. "Where to?" 
  "Just around. Skip the freeways and stick to dark streets. The higher crime 
  areas. You never know what you'll find." Nothing, she hoped. Running in to an 
  armed robbery right now was not high on her list. 
  Nick leaned back and closed his eyes. The lines of tension seemed to lift. As 
  she drove, she reminisced about so many nights like this. Like the time, about 
  a year ago, when he didn't know yet that she knew he was a vampire. She'd had 
  such fun playing pranks on him, from eating garlic bread and pizza in his 
  Caddy, to suggesting he get Urs a Rosary for a gift. LaCroix hadn't liked the 
  pranks though. She shivered at that memory. 
  Suddenly Nick sat up and clutched at his head. "Turn around!" he barked. 
  Tracy took a quick look, then hit the brakes and cranked on the wheel, doing a 
  U-turn. "Do I need to turn on the light?" she asked, indicating the police 
  light that sat unused on the seat between them. 
  "No. Hurry! Turn left. Stop!" 
  Tracy followed his cryptic directions. Nick threw open his door before the car 
  had come to a complete halt. Perry didn't wait for Nick to tilt up the seat, 
  but leaped over it, snarling a clear warning to the mortal threat outside. 
  Tracy looked in the dark, trying to see what Nick had somehow felt. She heard 
  a woman crying pitifully, weak and terrified. 
  "No! Please, no! Oh God, No!" 
  "Get away from her," Nick commanded. 
  Then Tracy saw them. Partially concealed behind bushes and trash cans, a man 
  straddled a naked woman, his pants unzipped and pushed down around his knees. 
  The woman's clothing lay in shreds. Her face was bruised, as were her arms, 
  but Tracy suspected that the assault was not yet full-blown rape. 
  The man whipped out a long, lethal-looking knife. "Get away," he shouted 
  frantically, his eyes almost inhuman-looking in his uncontrolled rage. Then he 
  pressed the knife to the woman's throat. "Get in the car and drive away!" 
  "Nick, he's got a knife," Tracy said, her voice not quite steady. 
  Nick tried to reach the man to command him to stop with his newly strengthened 
  ability to hypnotize in spite of his blindness, but the woman's thoughts - her 
  terror - was pelting him, distracting him. She was shivering and in pain. Nick 
  took a step closer. 
  The woman screamed and Nick caught the scent of blood. Perry leaped then, 
  landing full on the man's chest. He knocked the man down, his fangs on his 
  throat. The man brought the knife up to stab him, but Perry bit down harder. 
  The man screamed, dropping the knife. 
  Nick fell to his knees. "Perry!" he called out fearfully. He smelled the blood 
  of mortals and carouche; he panicked, feeling lost and vulnerable. 
  Perry gave a low growl, reassuring Nick he was fine, but he did not loosen his 
  hold on the man's throat. 
  Tracy took Nick's sleeve then and approached, reading the man his rights as 
  she pulled handcuffs from her pocket. Nick reached for the woman. 
  She screamed again, drawing away from him. 
  "It's okay, ma'am," Nick said, pulling off his coat. "I'm blind. Here, put 
  this on, you sound cold." 
  His soft voice and gentle words had a calming effect, added with the hypnotic 
  suggestion that slowed her erratically beating heart. 
  "He - he - was going to rape me," she stuttered, shivering uncontrollably. 
  Nick held out his arms and she didn't even hesitate. She clung to him and 
  burst into tears. The crime might be over, but the nightmares were just 
  beginning. 
  The man was complaining about police brutality and demanded that he be allowed 
  to pull up his trousers. Nick shrugged. "I never touched you, and Perry isn't 
  a cop." 
  Tracy placed a call in to the precinct, calling for backup. A female officer 
  would be given charge of the victim, according to standard procedure, and a 
  squad car could bring in the perp. But, with her eyewitness account, this perp 
  would go to jail if the victim pressed charges. 
  "An ambulance will be here shortly," she told the woman. "We'll have some one 
  look at those cuts and bruises." 
  She nodded, continuing to sob. Tracy didn't even try to get her name or 
  statement yet. The smell of blood was not strong, and the nick to her throat 
  was already scabbing over. 
  "How's Perry," Nick asked, his voice uneven with his concern. 
  Tracy examined the carouche. He was licking at a shallow cut to his side. 
  Already the blood had stopped flowing. "He's fine, Nick. You did good work." 
  "I did nothing," he said. "Perry's the hero." 
  "You brought us here. How did you know where to go?" 
  Nick shrugged. He couldn't tell Tracy in front of the mortals that he'd heard 
  the woman's scream, or that he'd caught the image of evil power the man had 
  wielded as he tried to beat her into submission. Nick knew that his vampiric 
  senses were getting stronger as a result of his blindness... but where did all 
  these images come from? They were so powerful, whipping out of nowhere, 
  painful in their intensity. Maybe he should talk to LaCroix about it. Perhaps 
  the ancient could help him learn to block them. 
  The sirens approached. Shortly the victim and perp were taken off their hands. 
  They returned to the precinct then as well. 
  Reese's door was closed, but someone was inside. Tracy tried not to listen in 
  to the private conversation. She only wanted to tell Reese what a great job 
  Nick had done, but it could wait. 
  Nick filled in his report on the incident. His mind was only half there. More 
  thoughts that were not his own pierced him. Painful memories, debilitating 
  grief. Nick shook his head, trying to drive away the images but to no avail. 
  "Nick?" Tracy asked quietly. "What's wrong?" 
  He put both his hands to his temples and leaned back in the chair. The images 
  would not leave. They had never been this strong before. Perhaps it would help 
  if he just faced them. 
  A small apartment, a young couple... the images meant nothing to him. They 
  were nobody he had ever met. Pain. The woman was screaming. The man sneered at 
  her in contemptible silence. A dead baby. 
  "No!" Nick growled, unaware that he had spoken aloud. Several others stopped 
  their work to glance at him. They turned to Tracy for an explanation, but she 
  gave them a shrug. 
  "Nick? What is it?" she coaxed. 
  The images suddenly stopped. He held his breath, waiting expectantly, but 
  there was nothing. What did it mean? 
  "No one here's pregnant right now, are they?" he whispered. "No recent 
  newborns?" 
  Tracy gave a nervous laugh. "Sure, Nick. Did you want in on the pool? "Who?" 
  His voice took on an insistent edge. 
  "Um, there's Mulroy's baby - the announced due date is November first, with 
  bets covering two weeks in either direction, including weight, time, sex, the 
  usual." 
  "Tracy, I don't want in on the pool. And the Mulroys are black, it can't be 
  them. Who else?" 
  Tracy listed several others, mostly day shifters, and one EMT. "That's all I 
  know about, Nick. Why?" 
  He leaned closer, although with her fine hearing, no mortal should have been 
  able to hear their conversation. "I don't know what it means, Tracy. But I had 
  a vision of a dead baby. Caucasian, about six months old. I don't know where 
  it came from." 
  She shivered. "That's so creepy..." 
  "It's gone now. Why don't you go and check with domestics and see how the 
  woman is doing." 
  She smiled. "Sure thing, Nick. You think she'll press charges?" "Hope so." 
  Not long after Tracy left, Reese called Nick into his office. Nick sensed the 
  presence of two mortals, but dismissed them. He waited by the door, expecting 
  to be given directions to the latest crime scene. 
  "Nick, this is Vicky Howard and Alex Reid. They're asking that we reopen an 
  old case, Jeremy Ethan Howard, 1993." 
  "Captain, that was seven years ago! I work homicide. Or have you forgotten?" 
  "Sit down, Nick," Reese said. 
  There was an awkward silence that filled the small office. Nick groped for a 
  chair and sat in it, glaring in Reese's general direction. 
  "Ms. Howard believes she has sufficient cause to reopen this case. Her infant 
  son's death was ruled SIDS, but no autopsy was done. Current procedure 
  mandates that an infant death can only be ruled SIDS after a thorough 
  death-scene investigation. Mrs. Howard, I've decided to grant your request. 
  I'm placing Nick in charge of the investigation." 
  "Thanks," she snapped disgustedly. "I've been knocking myself out for years to 
  get someone to take this case and this is the best you can do? A blind cop? 
  Get real!" 
  "Vicky, that's enough," Alex said quietly. An ominous thread in the few words 
  seemed to vibrate. The woman was instantly contrite. 
  "Nick is my best detective," Reese said. "He's been on leave for some time and 
  so his case load isn't as bogged down as my other detectives." 
  Nick wasn't any happier than the woman. He wanted to be really back at work, 
  not slogging through files so old that the perpetrators were collecting social 
  security. 
  "I'll have Schultz pull the file and place it on your desk immediately, Nick," 
  Reese said. "Dismissed." 
  Nick stood. "Yes, sir," he muttered. 
  He opened the door and held it for the woman. She smelled different, he 
  thought, as she walked past. Her heart was pounding, and she was covered in a 
  fine sweat. The woman was definitely worked up about something. The man seemed 
  to exude an air of control that reminded him of LaCroix. Nick stared in his 
  direction a moment, trying to sense him. He was thoroughly mortal, but... 
  there was definitely something odd about him. Nick felt around for the 
  doorknob to the nearest interrogation room. "After you," he said. 
  Alex took a seat first, then Ms. Howard sat next to him and waited for Nick. 
  He could feel her eyes on him, staring, as he awkwardly found the other chair 
  across the table. "Okay, Ms. Howard, why don't you start at the beginning?" 
  She sniffed. "Aren't you going to take notes or record this or something? I've 
  given this story so many times, and damn, but it gets harder every time." "I 
  have an excellent memory. Notes are not necessary," he said. 
  "But I'll take them, if it will make you feel better," Tracy called, as she 
  joined them. "Hi, I'm Nick's partner, Tracy Vetter." 
  Ms. Howard seemed somewhat comforted when Tracy joined them. She drew in a 
  deep breath and began to recite her story. 
  "We'd been married just a few months when I got pregnant," she said. "I hadn't 
  known Ethan long, and I wasn't sure how he'd feel about a baby. I almost had 
  it aborted, I was so nervous. But, I told him." 
  "And how did he react?" Tracy asked. 
  "Not happy, but not angry, either. He just got real quiet. I asked him if he 
  wanted me to keep it, and he said yes, but that was the end of it. He didn't 
  accompany me to doctor visits, or do natural childbirth classes with me. He 
  wouldn't even go shopping with me, although he did give me a rather large 
  budget. I bought a lovely crib, and the cutest little mobile." She stopped 
  then, sniffing back tears. 
  Alex put a hand on her shoulder and patted gently. "Take your time, Vicky," he 
  said. "I know you can do this." 
  Tracy pulled a tissue from the box and passed it to her. "I know this must be 
  hard for you, Ms. Howard." 
  "You might as well call me "vicky"," she said. "If you're going to take my 
  case. I'm sorry, but I still miss my baby. It's like he died yesterday. Some 
  days, I just don't think I can go on. If it weren't for Mr. Reid, I don't know 
  what I'd do!" 
  "What makes you think your husband killed your baby, Vicky," Nick interrupted. 

  "He would never hold him," she said. "He wasn't there when Jeremy was born. He 
  never talked about his son with his friends. I've heard of guys who are not in 
  touch with their emotions, but Ethan wasn't just cold. It was like Jeremy 
  didn't even exist. 
  "Our relationship started to fall apart. I was depressed after Jeremy was born 
  and I nagged Ethan to help out with the baby. Finally, Ethan told me that he'd 
  had a little girl once and she had died at three months, of SIDS. He said he 
  didn't want to get attached to Jeremy until he know he was going to be 
  around." 
  Tracy made a disgusted sound. Nick felt the same, but he knew it wasn't his 
  place to judge people. Being cold and indifferent did not make a man a killer. 

  "Please, continue," he said quietly. 
  Vicky started to cry harder. "I keep going over the events in my mind, 
  wondering, if only I'd done something different! If only I had got up that 
  night to feed him! If only I had left Ethan earlier! My little boy would be 
  starting second grade this year!" 
  Alex comforted her again. Nick wondered what exactly their relationship was. 
  And there was that aura of power that radiated from Alex. What did it mean? 
  "Vicky," Nick said. "You haven't given me a reason to suspect that this was 
  anything other than a tragic accident. What was Ethan's motive?" 
  "Money," she spat. She opened her purse and pulled out an envelope. "I just 
  discovered that he took out a life insurance policy on Jeremy one month before 
  he died! Fifty thousand dollars! That sonofabitch! He killed his own son for 
  blood money!" 
  She waved the paper in Nick's face. Tracy took the sheet and skimmed it. "This 
  is a check stub from Lloyd's of London for the sum of fifty thousand dollars 
  to Ethan Howard." 
  Nick rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was a sick crime, but then, weren't they 
  all? "So when was his opportunity? Can you recount for us your son's final 
  moments?" 
  Vicky described then how tired she'd been. She was seeing a counselor and 
  taking medication to deal with her depression. She and Ethan had just had 
  another argument when Jeremy woke up. Vicky had burst into tears. Ethan told 
  her to go lie down and he'd take care of it. She slept soundly. She'd been 
  sure that she'd only taken her usual dosage, but she slept for ten hours and 
  when she awoke, she still felt drugged. She ran into Jeremy's room and he was 
  dead. 
  "I screamed," she said. "I couldn't do anything. Ethan was the one to call 
  911. The ambulance took Jeremy to Toronto General, where he was pronounced 
  dead on arrival. The doctors ruled it sudden infant death syndrome. I passed 
  out and spent a week in the hospital. When I was discharged, Ethan was gone." 
  "Bastard," Tracy muttered. 
  "Tracy," Nick warned. She knew better than to let her personal feelings get 
  involved in the case. 
  "Whether he's a murderer or not, to walk out on his wife like that when she 
  was vulnerable and hurting was a rotten thing to do," she said. 
  "He killed him!" Vicky shouted. "What's more, I think he probably killed his 
  daughter, too! Recently I saw his photo in the Engagements section of the 
  newspaper. That asshole is getting married! He's going to do it again!" 
  "Control yourself," Alex ordered. 
  "Yes, Master," she whispered, contrite once more. She wiped at her tears. 
  Nick winced at the archaic term. He knew that neither of them were vampires. 
  He sensed nothing metaphysical about either of them, except the power 
  radiating from Alex, and he wasn't even part of the investigation. It was all 
  very familiar, though. He'd dealt with the Dominance/submission subculture 
  before. 
  "We'll look into it," Nick said. He started to rub his forehead and grimaced. 
  Tracy looked at him with concern. "Tracy, make sure we have her phone number 
  and address. I don't suppose you know the names of Ethan's first wife or his 
  daughter?" 
  "Once he called me "Shelley". I assumed it was her name. Michelle. He never 
  talked about his daughter, except what I already told you." 
  Nick stood then. "We'll be in touch." 
  Vicky grabbed another tissue. "Yeah. Right. Where have I heard that before?" 
  "Nick's the best," Tracy said defensively. "If anyone can help you, he can." 
  Vicky shrugged and left quickly, keeping her head lowered in an effort to 
  conceal her tear-stained face. Alex draped an arm protectively around her 
  shoulders. 
  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tracy," Nick said. "Now I guess I'd better 
  go and prove you right." 
  Chapter three: 
  Nick scanned the files of Vicky Howard's case into his computer. He drummed 
  his fingers impatiently as he waited for the Braillexel to refresh the screen. 
  At first recognizing the little bumps of his new alphabet had seemed an 
  impossible challenge, but now he could read faster than before. He could 
  certainly read faster than his computer could do the translations, which was 
  damned annoying. His headache was getting worse. Nick rubbed at his forehead. 
  More crazed images flooded over him. Pictures of the mundane, picking up 
  shirts at the cleaners, and of violence - someone hitting an old man over and 
  over. Nick blinked, trying to stop the images, trying to learn where they were 
  coming from. These thoughts and feelings that were not his own, just flashes 
  of insight, brought intense pain. 
  "Nick? Are you all right?" 
  Now Tracy's concern bowled over him. Nick felt dizzy and a little nauseated. 
  Perry whined, laying his head in Nick's lap. "I'm fine," Nick stated. "I just 
  need a break." He stood uneasily, and with Perry's help, rushed into the men's 
  room. 
  He found the urinal by its smell and heaved. Old cold blood hurled into the 
  porcelain fixture, assaulting his senses as it slowly washed away. Wave after 
  wave shook through him. His stomach was burning. 
  Perry licked his hand. * Time to go home, Nicholas. * 
  "I know," he whispered, gagging again, but this time nothing came up. "Just 
  give me a minute." 
  Perry waited patiently. He didn't understand what was upsetting Nick these 
  days, but he would be his companion. Shortly, there was a sharp rap at the 
  door. Perry tensed, but Tracy quickly poked her head inside. 
  "Nick? You okay?" she asked nervously. 
  "Baby, you can't come in here," Nick said. 
  "I won't. Here, I sensed you needed this." Perry went to take the small flask 
  she offered. Nick grinned sheepishly. 
  "Thanks, sis. It's nice to have another vampire around." 
  "Yeah, yeah. Now hurry up and get out here. I am not dealing with all those 
  reports alone." 
  She let the door close. Perry watched as Nick sipped at the flask, grimacing 
  and rubbing at his forehead. "Too many people here, Perry," he said. "Let me 
  call a cab and we'll go." 
  Nick went first to his desk and gathered up a few files. He'd mixed them up, 
  and wasn't sure which one was the Howard baby's now. Not wanting to take the 
  time to scan them each individually, he tucked them all under his arm. He'd 
  have to find a better way to keep track. 
  "Going somewhere, Nick?" Reese asked. His voice sounded more concerned than 
  irritated. 
  Nick looked up at his captain's approach. "Yes, I thought I'd head home a 
  little early. I'll take these with me, and read them over later." 
  "You did good work tonight, Detective. Stopping a rape. You may have saved 
  that woman's life. I've written a positive report to show the higher ups. 
  Maybe they'll feel better about having you back on the street." 
  Nick shrugged off the praise. "Just doing my job, Captain." 
  Reese bent down and smiled at the guide dog. "And you did great, too. Guess 
  we'll make a police dog out of you yet." 
  Perry woofed once in agreement. 
  Nick forced a smile. "Good night, Captain," he said. "I'll be back tomorrow." 
  The cab was waiting for him when he stepped outside. He settled on the back 
  seat and gave the address to the driver. Then he stroked Perry's soft fur 
  thoughtfully. 
  "What about it, Perry?" he asked quietly. "If I didn't need you anymore, if I 
  weren't blind, would you leave?" 
  Perry barked, startling the driver. He nipped at Nick's hand. 
  "It is a fair question," Nick insisted. "You had a life before me. Do you miss 
  it?" 
  * Never. * 
  ***** 
  Nick loaded another file into his home computer, but was less than 
  enthusiastic about working on it. He felt so tired. Not sleepy, not weak, just 
  sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. Damn, but he couldn't go on like 
  this: a dependent, a liability. He blinked, rubbing at his face with his 
  hands. 
  "Nick? Are you ill?" Urs asked solicitously. 
  "No. I'm fine. I just have some work to do," he snapped. 
  She came up behind him and tentatively touched his shoulders. When he didn't 
  immediately flinch and pull away, she began to massage at the tenseness she 
  felt. Nick closed his eyes and relaxed, momentarily enjoying the soothing 
  comfort. But then the flashes stabbed his consciousness. Urs's worried face, 
  her fear for him, overpowered him. 
  "Stop it!" Nick shouted. 
  Urs pulled away, confused and hurt. "I'm sorry, Nick," she whispered. 
  Nick got to his feet. "I am too," he said gruffly. He didn't sound 
  particularly sorry, though. Urs left abruptly. Nick sensed her leaving and 
  suspected she went to drown her sorrows in the crowded nightclub below. She 
  deserved better. 
  "Perry, let's go to the loft. I really need to be alone." 
  It was near enough to walk and he knew the way. The short distance was 
  relaxing. He felt the moon's faint touch on his face, the gentle breeze 
  lifting his hair. 
  Perry went with him, concerned for his favorite vampire. Something was 
  happening and he didn't know how to help. He couldn't taste the trouble in the 
  blood. Perhaps only time would tell. 
  ***** 
  LaCroix watched Urs dance. Her body was so expressive. He could see the 
  sadness in every way she moved, and knew she and his son must have argued 
  again. He smiled wryly. It was comforting to know that everyone found Nick 
  hard to deal with, and it wasn't just him. 
  Nick had been depressed ever since returning from Chicago. LaCroix had asked 
  again and again for details of their trip, but he didn't feel that it had any 
  bearing on Nick's current mood. The mortal that had tried to kill his son 
  upset LaCroix greatly. He had contacted the Chicago community to look into it. 
  So far he'd had no word, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the 
  world had one less mortal terrorizing it. 
  Nick had learned of the death of his mortal friend, Lucius Snow. LaCroix 
  should have anticipated that possibility. Snow had been an old man years ago. 
  Still, to die of old age after a long, active life was considered a good thing 
  among mortals. Although LaCroix could not see anything good in dying, surely 
  his son, who clung yet to such mortal fantasies, would not suffer for the old 
  man. So what else had happened there? 
  The destruction of his first boat might have brought on some negative 
  thoughts, although LaCroix was much happier with the new boat. This one was 
  sturdier, offering more protection against the light of day. It was 
  pretentious enough to warn away most curiosity seekers and not enough to 
  encourage thieves. Nick and Vachon had named this boat "Liberty". LaCroix 
  smiled. Perhaps, this new hobby of his son's was a good one, offering him in a 
  small measure the freedom that had been robbed with his eyesight. 
  LaCroix reached out to sense his son. He felt the power of the moon through 
  their bond. Nicholas must be out enjoying the night. He smiled. He could let 
  him be for a while. 
  Only, as dawn approached, Nick still had not returned. LaCroix waited 
  irritably, as the other children all settled down to sleep. Only Natalie 
  waited up with him. "Do you know where he is?" she asked quietly. 
  "I believe he is at the loft." 
  "Hm. Well then, he's fine. Can't you come to bed?" 
  "He belongs HERE!" LaCroix said vehemently. 
  Nat wrapped her arms around his waste and snuggled closer. "Yes, he does. But 
  he isn't moving out. Perhaps he just needs some time to be alone." 
  "He isn't safe alone. I want him where I can keep an eye on him." 
  Nat sighed. She pressed her cheek against his rock hard chest. "I know you do. 
  But the Nick I knew was always a very private person. In the past eight months 
  he's lost more than just his eyesight. He's lost his independence. Can't you 
  let him spend one day by himself?" 
  LaCroix was silent and he considered her words. She was but a mortal, less 
  than an infant in the spectrum of time... yet her words rang true in this 
  instance. "We shall sleep," he stated, ending the conversation. 
  Natalie concealed a grin. "As you wish," she demurred. 
  ***** 
  Janette felt his loneliness cry out through the new intimate bond as his 
  child. It was stronger now, this link she shared with Nicholas, than anything 
  she had ever experienced before. Not that LaCroix wasn't just as capable of 
  the bond, only that he concealed so much of himself. Nicholas was open and 
  passionate, and perhaps not even aware that he was broadcasting his needs to 
  her so clearly. 
  "I must go to him," she said, turning to her Indian lover. 
  Amaru lifted his chin in a gesture of assent. "I shall escort you." 
  "That isn't necessary," she quickly replied. 
  He merely smiled. He took her hand and placed a kiss upon it. "Shall we go? 
  Dawn approaches." 
  "Oui." She took her traveling cloak and drew the hood up around her. It wasn't 
  necessary for its warmth, but more for protecting her from the wind-blown 
  look. Then together they lifted from the balcony and flew low over the city. 
  At Nick's loft Amaru waited only until she was inside. Then he departed. She 
  did not know what his plans were, although she hoped that he would spend the 
  time with his twin. 
  "Janette?" Nick asked, curiously. A flutter came to his heart when he first 
  sensed her, then the sensation turned to pain. Their relationship had changed 
  and some things could never be the same. 
  Janette smiled. Nick's feelings were clearly etched on his boyish face, even 
  if she hadn't been linked to him through the bond. He was happy to see her, 
  and yet afraid. At one time she would have toyed with him, prolonged his 
  agony, as she made him beg for forgiveness and perform a thousand acts of 
  servitude... but those days were over. Now she felt his pain and loneliness as 
  though they were her own, many times magnified. It was why she had had to 
  leave Toronto. Before her reconversion, Nicholas had nearly suffocated her 
  with the depth of his feelings. Then, after bringing her back across, those 
  feelings only became more intimate. 
  "Oui, milord. It is I," she said. She swept across the floor to kneel by his 
  feet. "I am here." 
  Nick reached out tentatively to cup the side of her face. His thumb brushed at 
  her cheek, finding the tear that strayed there. "Why?" he asked. 
  Janette gave a little shrug. "You called. I answered." 
  "I didn't call you," Nick said. 
  "Hm," was all she replied. "I am here now and it is too close to dawn for me 
  to leave." 
  She lifted up on her knees to move between his legs and tentatively put her 
  arms around him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were tense. As her 
  hands moved slowly over his back, she brought her lips closer to his. "May I 
  stay with you?" she whispered. 
  Nick's fangs erupted at her proximity. Her blood still had the power to ignite 
  his desire with no more than a whiff. Centuries of passion, as clear as 
  yesterday, filled him. With a growl, he claimed her lips. His kiss was brutal. 
  His need was terrible. Janette melted into his arms and gave herself to him. 
  Much later Nick carried her to the bedroom, where they united again, this time 
  more slowly, remembering each detail of the one they loved. As Nick drifted 
  off to sleep, he realized that the terrible headache was gone. And he smiled. 
  Chapter four: 
  "So, partner," Tracy said as Nick sat at his desk. He was only a little late. 
  Twin wounds below the ear were still open, staining his shirt collar. "Must 
  have cut yourself shaving, huh?" she said. Then softly she added, "Take a 
  tissue, you're still bleeding." 
  She felt his embarrassment clearly. 
  Nick dabbed at his throat with the tissue. "Better?" 
  "That's open for debate," she said. "Wish I'd been invited." 
  Nick grinned. "The Howard case, baby. Have you looked at it?" 
  Tracy sighed as she flipped open to her notes. "Not much. Where do you want to 
  start?" 
  "The husband is a good place." 
  "Oh yeah, just walk right up and ask him, "Did you kill your own baby for the 
  insurance money, you sick bastard?" 
  "Get a hold of yourself," Nick chided. "No. I found out where he lives and 
  where he hangs out. I think we should go and meet him." 
  "Fine." She grabbed her keys and went to inform dispatch. Nick met her by her 
  car. He seemed more relaxed tonight. She wondered who had had such an effect 
  on him... it hadn't been Urs. 
  The address they had for Ethan Howard wasn't current. Some of the neighbors 
  remembered him, though, and gave intriguing, if rather conflicting reports. 
  Some women obviously desired him. Their pulses raced when they talked about 
  him, and their descriptions portrayed him in almost godlike proportions. Some 
  of the men seemed indifferent towards him, although one man definitely 
  disliked him. 
  "Never could stand the way he treated his wife," the man spat. "Like she was 
  dirt, worthy only to lick his boots. She was pretty, and smart. I tried to get 
  her to leave him. Guess she finally wised up there." 
  "Do you know where he might be now," Tracy asked. 
  The man shrugged. "He had a place built. Don't have the address, but he was 
  using a big name contractor. Anderson's, I think." 
  Nick thanked him and handed him his card. "If you think of anything else, be 
  sure to give us a call," he said. 
  "Yeah, sure." 
  Back in the car, Tracy pulled out a phone book from under the seat and looked 
  up a listing for the contractor, then she dialed. 
  "What are you up to, Tracy," Nick asked, but she shushed him with a gesture. 
  "Hello? Anderson Construction? This is Loverlane Florists, we have a welcome 
  bouquet to deliver to a - Mr. Ethan Howard, on a - a - I can't quite make out 
  the address, but it's a new construction. I see your sign on several buildings 
  in the area, and I was wondering if you could help me out." 
  Nick chuckled at the flimsy lie, but Tracy just grinned at him as she repeated 
  the address. "Thank you, very much," she said, "and if you ever need to send 
  flowers, just give us a call!" Then she hung up without giving them the phone 
  number of her phony business. 
  Nick was still chuckling and shaking his head as she drove the short distance 
  to the new neighborhood. It was an upscale area, with large, almost palatial 
  private residences. Home security systems and yard lights were as prevalent as 
  the fancy cars, three-car garages, and pleasure boats. Noticeably missing were 
  swing sets and sandboxes. 
  "Bunch of DINKs," Tracy snorted. 
  Nick gave her a questioning look. 
  "Double-income, No kids. You know? Young, upwardly mobile consumerists of 
  generation x?" Then she remembered to give Nick a description of the area. He 
  nodded in understanding. 
  A fortyish-looking man answered the knock and looked at them condescendingly. 
  "Yes?" 
  Tracy stared at him, wishing there were a way to communicate to her partner 
  the bizarre sight before her. Mr. Ethan Howard was impeccably dressed in black 
  formal attire, but he held a short riding crop in one hand. Behind him, 
  reflected in a large mirror, Tracy saw what could only have been the future 
  Mrs. Howard the third. A young woman with a huge belly knelt on the carpet 
  completely naked. Thick ropes circled her neck, forearms, wrists and waist, 
  criss-crossing her breasts, and then ran between her legs to fasten around her 
  ankles. Her body bore numerous red welts, but her face shone in something very 
  close to ecstasy. 
  Nick introduced himself and his partner. He noted that Ethan's pulse remained 
  even. The man wasn't obviously hiding something. 
  "So, what do you want," he snapped. 
  "I'd like to speak with you regarding your ex-wife," Nick said. 
  "I've had nothing to do with her in years," Ethan said. "Not since the divorce 
  went through. She went off the deep end, Detective. Spent weeks in a hospital, 
  then months in therapy. Anything she's trying to tell you is just fantasy 
  conjured up in her delusional mind. Now, I'm getting married in a week, and 
  I'd rather not have you upsetting my fiancée." 
  "I understand," Nick said smoothly. "But I really do need to understand your 
  ex-wife's emotional health for our investigation-" 
  The door closed firmly. Through the steel they heard the man's caustic reply. 
  "I've got nothing to say to you, detectives. If you want to know about Vicky, 
  then ask her shrinks." 
  Tracy winced when she heard the sharp crack of the whip. 
  "Let's go," Nick said. 
  "But Nick! He's hurting her!" 
  Nick shook his head. "Do you hear her calling for help?" 
  "He's whipping her! How can you just walk away from that!" 
  Nick took her arm and tugged her towards the car parked at the curb. "It's a 
  different lifestyle, Baby. Some mortals are into bondage and submission. 
  Didn't you pick up on that between Vicky and Alex?" 
  "Pick up what?" 
  "That she's sold herself to him. She's his slave." 
  Tracy shuddered. "That is so weird." 
  "Well, looks like you're going to need your horizons expanded before we go 
  anywhere on this case, Baby." 
  They returned to their desks, where Nick began a computer search for Ethan's 
  first wife. He'd pulled up a FAQ page for a major Dominance/submission website 
  and instructed Tracy to read it. "Call it research," he told her. 
  "This is so sick," she objected. 
  Nick chuckled. There was no record of any Michelle Howard, either with IRS or 
  social security or even the Bureau of Transportation. Either she hadn't taken 
  Howard's last name, or else they had never been officially married. Then he 
  expanded his search, going through assorted bondage websites, FAQ's, 
  chatrooms, and other fetish links. He whistled softly. 
  "What, Nick?" Tracy asked distractedly. 
  "Look at this! What do you think?" 
  Tracy looked at his computer screen. A message board with a black background 
  and blood-red type was displayed, the contents transcribed into Braille on 
  Nick's special adapter. Tracy scanned over the messages, looking for what had 
  caught Nick's attention. 
  A third of the way down she saw a posting signed by "michelle", using all 
  lower case letters. The author described her pain over the loss of an infant. 
  The reply suggested that she seek counseling to deal with her grief. It was 
  signed "David", correctly punctuated with a capital letter. Tracy asked about 
  it. 
  "Submissives often refer to themselves in lower case type," Nick said. "It is 
  symbolic of their submission, subjecting themselves as lesser beings to the 
  masters." 
  "That is so weird." 
  Nick shrugged. "Different strokes," he said. 
  "So, is this our Michelle? What chances are there that there are two grieving 
  mothers named Michelle both into this bondage thing? And how do we find her?" 
  "We'll have to enter into this subculture ourselves," Nick said. "Feel like 
  going under-cover?" 
  Tracy shuddered. "Do I have to?" 
  Nick grinned. "Let's do a little switch. You go as the Domme, I'll be your 
  sub." 
  "No! Nick, I'm not going to hurt you!" 
  "You won't have to. Not much, anyway. Here, I found a diary published by a sub 
  and her master. Read it over to get aquatinted with your role, then we'll see 
  Urs about getting you properly outfitted." 
  An hour later Tracy emerged from Vachon's church dressed in black leather from 
  her chin to the tips of her thigh-high boots. Her short hair was slicked back 
  with styling moose and wide, silver hoop earrings adorned her ears. She'd 
  complained loudly about them, as the pierced holes would heal again overnight, 
  but Urs had insisted. 
  Nick, in contrast, wore only soft fabrics. He had changed from the formal, 
  buttoned-up look that he wore for work, into softer trousers and a blousey 
  shirt, the top four buttons undone to reveal a deep vee of his chest. Vachon 
  gave him a pair of black leather wristbands, the only outward sign of his 
  submission. The rest of his look was one of total sensuality. 
  "Hm, you look good enough to eat," Urs murmured into his ear. 
  "I know!" Tracy agreed readily. 
  "That's the idea," Nick said flatly. 
  "Here, Tracy," Vachon said. "You'll need this." He handed her a coiled leather 
  whip. She stared at it, then looked at him in shocked surprise. Vachon grinned 
  sheepishly. 
  "I am not going to use this," she stated. 
  "You shouldn't have to. But, you may need to pull it out and crack it a few 
  times. Besides, there's nothing like a leather whip to give you a feeling of 
  power. And it's all in creating image." 
  Tracy stuffed the whip into her purse quickly. She had serious doubts about 
  the whole idea. She considered running to LaCroix, but somehow suspected that 
  he wouldn't object at all and might even join them. 
  "Perry, I need you to stay behind," Nick said. "I'll be fine with Tracy, but 
  it will be hard enough to convince them I'm a true sub. If I depend on you 
  over her, no one will believe me." 
  Perry growled. This was not a good idea! 
  "Why doesn't he just wait in the car, then?" Tracy asked. "We won't be inside 
  too long, will we?" 
  "Couple of hours." 
  Perry barked. The car was tolerable. There was no way he was going to leave 
  his charge unprotected in the hands of an infant. 
  "Have fun," Vachon and Urs called as they waved good-bye. 
  Tracy stammered with embarrassment, but Nick smiled broadly. "Always." They 
  were silent on the drive to Silver Chains, a bondage nightclub Nick had 
  discovered several years ago. Tracy thought about the diary she had skimmed 
  over. Some of it had been rather erotic, in a disturbing sort of way. She'd 
  bookmarked it, so she could read it again in private. The sub had written some 
  very poetic prose about how her gift, her total submission, was an act of 
  love. The master's section had been less poetic, but his words were haunting 
  just the same. He claimed that in dominating her he showed his love for her. 
  That when she knelt low before him, she was raised above all other women. Part 
  of her wanted to rebel against such sadism, but another part wanted to know 
  more. 
  They parked a block away from the club, leaving a window open for Perry. The 
  carouche barked a warning at them before he settled down for a nap on the back 
  seat. Nick placed a hand on Tracy's arm and walked half a step behind her. 
  "You realize that if I were a true sub I would be about ten feet behind you," 
  he said lightly. 
  "Yeah, well my arms aren't that long." 
  The music was loud. There were dozens of couples about. Tracy noticed that 
  already she could tell the Doms from their subs. Half the population, mostly 
  female but not exclusively, was visibly passive. Although complaisant and 
  meek, they also exuded a soft sensuality that had Tracy's heart thumping. The 
  other half, mostly male, all walked taller, more purposefully, with a 
  commanding presence and self-assured arrogance. Tracy squared her shoulders 
  and lifted her chin. She was used to feigning confidence when she felt none... 
  as a natural blonde, she'd been trying to assert her courage and intelligence 
  for years. 
  Nick remembered the bar from years ago when he'd pursued Murray Kozak, a sub 
  who's only defense against a murder charge was that his Domme had made him do 
  it. Bars were potentially dangerous places, as chairs and tables were never in 
  the same place, customers might crowd him or trip him, and if a fight suddenly 
  erupted, he could be caught in the middle. Still, he drew in a breath and 
  forced himself to relax. 
  "Stay here," Tracy commanded, trying to sound tough. "I'll get us a drink." 
  Nick leaned back against the wall, his hands resting casually in his pockets. 
  He listened as Tracy began to talk with another Dom by the bar. She seemed to 
  have slipped into her role like a pro, he acknowledged. 
  A hand surprised him; Nick jumped as the strong fingers caressed his shoulder 
  and the exposed flesh of his chest. 
  "You're new here," a deep voice said. "And skittish." 
  "Excuse me, sir," Nick said, lowering his eyes appropriately. "I didn't hear 
  you approach." 
  Nick felt the movement of air as a hand waved in his face, another boorish 
  gesture to verify his blindness. He forced himself not to take offence. The 
  man's hand grew bolder, caressing him as only LaCroix had the audacity to do 
  uninvited. This was just a game, he reminded himself. He leaned into the 
  caress. 
  "Tell me about yourself and your mistress." The man's voice sounded thick. He 
  was definitely interested, Nick realized. He hesitated, wondering how far he 
  was willing to carry the charade. The man tightened his grip on Nick's 
  shoulder, commanding his attention. The firm grip almost bruised him. 
  "My mistress is Tracy, master," Nick responded. "This slave is nick. She is 
  looking for a former sub, someone she knew years ago. A woman calling herself 
  michelle." 
  "Well, nick. I've been here for many years. Perhaps if you'll serve me 
  tonight, I might remember something about this sub." 
  "Hands off, if you want to keep them," Tracy snapped. 
  The man chuckled, but he did remove his roving hands. 
  Tracy placed a drink in Nick's hand. It was red wine, but she had diluted it 
  heavily with something else. Nick would be able to sip at it without retching, 
  even if he couldn't finish it. 
  "Thank you, Mistress," Nick murmured, his voice soft and sensual. 
  Tracy felt a warmth spreading. Nick was so desirable like this! He was 
  muscular and graceful, shy and sensual... his blood smelled tantalizing. With 
  great restraint, she turned her attention to the other man. "Who are you?" 
  He smiled evenly. His pale gray eyes were almost colorless against a tanned 
  complexion. Brown hair was graying at the temples and cut very short, 
  revealing a high forehead and an intelligent face. "I am David," he said, by 
  way of introduction. Your slave is intriguing. How does he manage with his 
  disability?" 
  Tracy sipped at her bloodwine. It was still a little too strong for her. "He 
  serves well enough," she answered vaguely. "In the bedroom one does not 
  require sight." 
  Nick was embarrassed, listening to Tracy talk about him as though he weren't 
  there. It was familiar, somehow. LaCroix had treated him like that in distant 
  centuries, as his property, his personal slave, his sex toy. Although it had 
  been humiliating at times, Nick had often enjoyed it. He had felt a sense of 
  power that he could drive his master wild with no more than a glance. He 
  sensed that he could do as much to Tracy, but she needed to concentrate 
  tonight to keep up the charade. Instead he turned a charming smile to David, 
  pleased to catch the mortal's quick intake of breath and increasing heart 
  rate. 
  "nick tells me that you are looking for someone," David said, feigning 
  indifference. "I have an apartment upstairs. Perhaps you would like to come 
  up. We could talk more in private. I might be able to help you, if not to find 
  this sub myself, at least to give you the names of those who can help." 
  Tracy didn't risk taking a glance at Nick for his approval. How dangerous 
  could it be, really? He was only one mortal, and even Nick was stronger than 
  he. "Fine," she said. "Lead on." David took them out of the club into the back 
  alley and down half a block, before he opened a door that lead to an upstairs 
  apartment. Tracy looked around when he unlocked the door. It appeared almost 
  normal, with regular furniture, although it was very expensively decorated. 
  She didn't see any leather and chains and whips, at least not in the living 
  room. 
  "Make yourself comfortable," David offered. "While I put on some music and fix 
  us a drink." 
  "Show me around," Nick whispered, when David left the room. 
  Tracy walked the circumference of the room slowly, with Nick on her arm. She 
  gave a running dialog, describing everything. "Fireplace on the left, loveseat 
  facing it, large pillows and a rug on the floor in front of it, over here is a 
  glass top table and four chairs, here is the entertainment center…" When she 
  circled back to the front door, Nick whispered his thanks. Then he knelt by 
  the door, his hands resting on his thighs. Tracy shrugged and went to plop 
  down on the loveseat, just as David entered with a tray of drinks and a 
  platter of hors d'oeuvres. 
  David starting making conversation, talking about himself mostly. He was 
  without a sub for the moment as he had granted his slave permission to travel 
  to the states for a funeral. She was not due back for another week. He 
  admitted to feeling a little bored in her absence, and was grateful to have 
  met Tracy. 
  Then he glanced over at Nick, still kneeling by the door. "Slave," he called. 
  "Come remove my shoes. My feet are tired." 
  Tracy bristled at the man's audacity, but it was still a foreign culture to 
  her. Nick rose gracefully, and although his approach was hesitant, he came 
  without mishap. He folded his legs to sit at the feet of their host, and took 
  one shoe in his lap. He undid the laces, gently removing the shoe and then the 
  sock. 
  Tracy stared. Nick's motions were fluid. She felt too warm. How could he make 
  such a simple gesture so incredibly erotic? He removed the other shoe, then 
  began to massage the foot. David leaned back and continued to talk with Tracy, 
  but he was not unaffected by Nick's sensuality. He forgot where he was in the 
  conversation and his eyes kept returning to the golden-haired younger man so 
  expertly manipulating his feet. Tracy concealed a grin. 
  "Why are you looking for this sub?" David asked then. 
  "Just curious," Tracy said blandly. "I met her years ago; she was just coming 
  out of a brutal relationship. She was a mess. I wanted to see how she was 
  doing now." 
  "Hm," David grunted. "Yes, it is a pity, how some Doms break trust, letting 
  the power they command go to their heads. A good slave is a gift, to be 
  treated as such." 
  "You don't believe in beating your slaves, then," she blurted. 
  David laughed. "Of course! You can't expect to command a slave's obedience and 
  respect if you let him get away with anything. But punishment must ultimately 
  be given in love. And I insist on a safeword with any sub." 
  "Safeword?" 
  "You must be awfully new to this," David commented. 
  "I've been around," Tracy said indignantly. 
  David stretched, pulling his feet from Nick's lap. "Slave, now my back," he 
  ordered. 
  Nick moved his hands up David's long, trim legs to find his shirt, then slowly 
  began to undo the buttons. Cool fingers removed the shirt, tantalizing with 
  promise. David stretched out on the carpet and grabbed a floor pillow for his 
  head. He groaned pleasantly as Nick began to knead his shoulders and back. 
  "A safeword is any word that you and your slave agree upon. It should be 
  something that you would never use in ordinary speech. Many use colors, like 
  red, yellow, or blue. One sub liked to use her mother's name. When you are 
  involved in a scene together, if it becomes too much for your slave, or they 
  are grossly uncomfortable, they can speak the safeword, and everything ends 
  immediately. There is usually no further discussion, and no further contact at 
  that time. We separate for a cooling down period, and later, come back to 
  discuss what happened." 
  "So, you give your slave the power to stop the punishment," Tracy stated for 
  clarification. 
  "Not really. I give the slave the reassurance that I will do nothing to 
  permanently harm him or her, and that I respect them. They know that if they 
  use the safeword, then they are not only ending the punishment, but also the 
  encounter. Few ever use it. You'll find that most slaves require frequent 
  punishment. They seem to crave it, to desire it, and even to enjoy it." 
  David rolled over then, anticipating the massage to continue. He patted the 
  carpet beside him. "Come, Tracy. You're too far away." 
  Watching Nick perform had been almost more than she could stand. Tracy slid to 
  the floor and let David kiss her. David unzipped her tight leather corset and 
  freed her. He began to massage her, rubbing the tight buds of her arousal. She 
  squirmed, wanting something David could not give her. She moved her cool hands 
  over his broad chest, mentally comparing him unfavorably to her master and 
  brother. 
  She reached for Nick through the bond she didn't fully understand. He 
  whispered to her sofly, too low for David to hear. "I need you, too, Baby. 
  Soon we can rid ourselves of the mortal and I will please you completely." 
  David tugged at his zipper, suddenly too uncomfortable to wait. Tracy 
  intrigued him, for she seemed tough and experienced, and yet, when he 
  penetrated her, he could have sworn that he breached a virgin's barrier. She 
  was cold around him. Her hands were cold on his chest. It was like having sex 
  in the lake, cold water splashing on hot bodies. She climaxed almost 
  immediately, and slowly he brought her to a second peak, but then he withdrew. 
  His cock was hard and hungry, and there was that gorgeous slave nearby. With a 
  sharp tug, he pulled Nick's clothing free. 
  Nick knew that he could stop the scene. It was a heady thought, and reminded 
  him of David's discussion on safewords. Scening with LaCroix was different. 
  Nick was vulnerable, powerless before his master's whims. It made him fearful 
  and unable to enjoy the scene they played, but knowing that he could make 
  David stop was exhilarating. Nick was hard and fully aroused. He allowed David 
  to take him. 
  David grabbed him, tossing him onto the cushions and plunged into him. Nick 
  yelped. The invasion had been too sudden, he had not been properly prepared. 
  David's thrusts were forceful. Nick struggled, as he knew David would expect 
  him to. Then a sharp crack stung across his back. 
  "Hold still, slave," David commanded, enforcing his words with three more 
  blows of a folded leather belt. 
  Tracy was upset; Nick could sense it. She wanted to stop, but although they 
  had discussed the concept of safewords, they had not actually created one. The 
  pain was less noticeable now. Nick wasn't sure, but he didn't think he was 
  ready to end it. He reached for Tracy and pulled her close. 
  Tracy nibbled on his arm, seeking reassurance and guidance. Nick endured more 
  blows, as he positioned himself over her. He plunged into her and began to 
  thrust slowly, deliberately, sensually. Tracy reached around him to grab 
  David's shoulders. 
  David slowed, matching his rhythm with Nick's. As he plunged into the slave, 
  he saw Tracy being plundered as well, saw the glowing look of ecstasy on her 
  youthful face, and he felt an incredible power, as though he were fucking them 
  both. 
  At last, he exploded. Cum and blood oozed from Nick's ass, and he whipped him 
  again before he leaned over to kiss the red welts on his back. "He is a 
  delightful slave," David murmured. "If you ever grow tired of him, I would be 
  more than eager to take him." 
  Nick plunged his teeth into Tracy and she buried hers into his throat. Their 
  own ecstasy crested and they were almost oblivious to the mortal in their 
  midst. Finally, Tracy squirmed beneath the weight of the two men. 
  "Um, I'd really like to have a shower," she said. 
  David rose and offered Tracy a hand. Nick stood, a little unsteady. His back 
  was marred with red welts and his ass was sore from David's brutal coupling, 
  but his cock was still tall and erect. Twin wounds still bled from his throat. 
  David gripped his erection firmly. 
  "I see why she desires you," he praised. 
  Davie led them then to the master bath, where a large shower with clear glass 
  doors filled one corner. There was a padded bench within, and more than enough 
  room for a party. With David well-fucked and exhausted, Nick hypnotized him. 
  "Tell us all you know about Michelle," he said, his voice low and seductive. 
  "michelle hunter had a baby by one of her masters," David intoned. "The baby 
  died. I talked with her online for months. Finally, she went in for some 
  counseling. I haven't heard from her in years, except that she was living 
  across the lake in Buffalo." 
  They left David naked and sleeping in his bed. They towel-dried and dressed, 
  then returned to the car. It was too late to go looking for Michelle tonight, 
  but they were one step closer than they had been. Silent, tired, sated, and 
  curious, they returned to their homes for sleep. 
  Chapter Five: 
  Tracy gave up. She'd been knocking on the loft door for many minutes, and 
  still heard no signs of life within. She flew to the skylight and dropped in. 
  Nick was still in bed with Urs and both were sound asleep. The tangled sheets 
  and blankets implied that the sleep had been restless, and Nick's raw throat 
  revealed repeated bite marks. Most were still open and oozing. Tracy winced 
  guiltily. She was responsible for at least three sets of bites. That meant Urs 
  had bitten him twice more. 
  Urs looked lovely. Nick looked ashen. Tracy cleared her throat. 
  "Come on, you two. Time to get up." 
  Urs opened her eyes wide. "Tracy? What are you doing here?" 
  "Nick's going to be late for work," she said. 
  Urs sat up, mindless of her nakedness. She touched Nick's shoulder in a soft 
  caress. "I don't know if I should wake him. Could you cover for him for a few 
  hours?" 
  Tracy nodded. "Do you want to call LaCroix? Maybe he should come and feed 
  him?" 
  "No. Nick will call him when he's ready. I just hope he doesn't wait much 
  longer." 
  "Okay," Tracy said reluctantly. "I'll check in at work, then I'm going to 
  Buffalo to look for a possible witness. I'll stop back here afterwards, and 
  fill Nick in. See you much later." 
  Urs waved farewell, then she lay back down beside her knight. For one entire 
  year now she had lived with him. Last October he had been so vibrant. Then 
  there had been the attack by some distant relative, that sick-minded Flavius, 
  and ever since, Nick seemed to have been going downhill. She wiped away a 
  tear. If LaCroix didn't know how to help him, then there probably was no cure. 
  She didn't think Nick would die, but he was growing increasingly weaker. What 
  kind of life would he have? She cuddled closer and pulled him into her 
  embrace. Sound asleep, Nick was loving. He cuddled into her arms, laying his 
  head upon her breast. Urs was no longer sleepy, but she didn't mind the 
  thought of just staying with him. Stroking his golden hair, she whispered 
  words of love. 
  "Sleep well, my knight." 
  ***** 
  Tracy turned on her computer and loaded the search engine. Now that she had a 
  last name and possible city to narrow the search, she was able to find three 
  Michelle Hunters. Further search found the name of the deceased infant, Brenda 
  Hunter Howard, and a date, 1990. That helped her to find the correct Michelle 
  Hunter, and her address. Tracy scribbled it down and cleared her screen. 
  "Where's Nick," Captain Reese called, before she could escape. 
  "Um, he's checking out an address," Tracy quickly lied. It wasn't really 
  incorrect... just that the address he was checking out right now was his own. 
  "I'm going to meet him later. Got to run!" 
  "How's that baby case coming?" he called. 
  "I'll fill you in before dawn," Tracy promised, letting the closing door end 
  the conversation. 
  It could take all night to get to Buffalo and back by standard means, but only 
  a little over an hour to fly. Tracy popped in to the Raven and loaded up, 
  feeding heavily, and invited Vachon to travel with her. She suspected that 
  LaCroix would not approve of her going so far alone, and she didn't want to 
  risk getting Nick into trouble again. 
  Vachon agreed readily, then peppered her with questions about her wild night 
  with the D/s subculture. Tracy was hesitant to describe it to Vachon, but as 
  she told him more, she felt herself growing aroused again. It was a dangerous 
  culture, she decided. It could suck her in, and she might never want to leave. 

  The address was a family-oriented, middle-income neighborhood, so unlike the 
  one Ethan Howard lived in now. A woman in her mid-thirties opened the door. 
  Michelle Hunter had her hair pulled back in a soft chignon and was 
  conservatively dressed in a white blouse and dark, long skirt. When she let 
  the detective and her escort in, Tracy saw photographs of three children and a 
  husband on the wall. 
  "Now is not a good time," Michelle stammered. "Please, you can't stay long. 
  Bill is out with the kids at pizza party with their soccer team, and I expect 
  him back shortly. He doesn't know everything about my past. I'm not into 
  bondage anymore. Bill is ultra straight, he's a g*ddamn preacher, for cripes 
  sake. You can't stay!" 
  Tracy grinned at the slip in the woman's conservative façade. "Michelle, did 
  you know that Ethan Howard married again?" 
  "Yes. I heard. Didn't bother me. We were never really married, you know, even 
  though I put his name on Brenda's birth certificate. I thought I loved him. 
  The jerk." 
  "Do you know if he have an insurance policy on your baby?" 
  Michelle nodded. "Yes, a small one. He gave me ten thousand after the funeral, 
  and said he didn't want to see me again." 
  Vachon made a disgusted sound, but Tracy silenced him. "Michelle, his second 
  wife also lost a baby. It was blamed as a SIDS death, but she thinks he killed 
  her son for the insurance money. We are trying to get a court order to have 
  the body exhumed. If charges are filed against him, will you testify?" 
  Michelle burst into tears. "Murdered? You think he could have murdered our 
  baby?" 
  Vachon quickly grabbed her when her knees gave out and helped her to sit down. 
  Tracy apologized for the pain they were causing her. 
  "We don't know. Only that his second wife suspects him, and he is about to 
  become a father for a third time." 
  "It seems like a lot of work for only a few thousand dollars," Michelle 
  stammered, still in shock. "I mean, I had a lot of difficulties with my 
  pregnancy, and the hospital bills were much higher than that." 
  "Perhaps he had more insurance money than he told you about. He had a $50,000 
  dollar policy on the second infant." 
  "I just don't know," Michelle said. 
  "Did he have a rich relative? Where did he get his money?" Tracy pushed. 
  Michelle laughed. "We never had any money. We lived in a tiny efficiency 
  apartment. Ethan wasn't much of a provider. He only worked hard enough to pay 
  his bar bill." 
  "Well, he's living in a new house now that has to run close to $400,000." 
  Michelle fidgeted, worrying her hands in the folds of her skirt. "If you find 
  out that the baby was murdered, call me. I don't know how Bill will feel about 
  this. But, if I can stop another woman from going through what I did, that 
  would be something." 
  Tracy thanked her then, and gave her a business card. "Talk to your husband, 
  Michelle. If he believes what he preaches, he'll forgive you for your past. If 
  not, then he's not much of a preacher, is he?" 
  Michelle was silent as she ushered them out the door. Tracy hoped the woman 
  would not let them down. 
  ***** 
  LaCroix was startled to find Nicholas still sleeping when he entered the loft. 
  Urs gave him a shy smile and offered him a drink. 
  "No, thank you," he answered absently. "What happened?" 
  She shrugged. "I don't really know. He just seemed so tired, that Tracy and I 
  thought we'd let him sleep. She took Vachon with her tonight." 
  LaCroix scowled. He hadn't sensed anything unusual through the bond lately. 
  Nicholas seemed contented. LaCroix hadn't felt right about letting him stay in 
  the loft; he'd grown accustomed to having him around. Now his apartment felt a 
  little too big and empty. 
  He ascended the stairs and went into his son's bedroom. Nicholas slept soundly 
  on his back, his head turned slightly to the side and one hand resting on his 
  chest. The sheets were half off, revealing his thin frame and unhealthy 
  pallor. Multiple scabs at his throat showed that he had had a busy night. 
  "Come, Nicholas. It is past time to wake," LaCroix called, pushing through the 
  bond as well. 
  Nick inhaled, drawing in a deep breath, then he half rose, leaning on one 
  elbow, his hand outstretched to LaCroix. The sheets fell away to reveal all of 
  him. LaCroix smiled. Nicholas was the most sensuous creature and completely 
  oblivious. 
  "LaCroix? What brings you here?" he asked sleepily. 
  "It is after midnight, my son. Are you ill?" 
  Nick cocked half a smile. "No. Of course not," he lied. 
  "Then join me downstairs. I haven't seen you in a while. Tell me what you've 
  been up to." 
  Nick nodded. "I'll be right there." 
  "We'll take those drinks, now," LaCroix told Urs as he settled on the leather 
  couch. 
  "Yes, sir," she replied, rising at once to pour. 
  He indicated that Urs should take the chair. That would force his son to sit 
  beside him. He was still concerned for the younger vampire. Nicholas had 
  failed to convince him otherwise. 
  Before long, Nick joined them. He was fully dressed, his hair brushed and his 
  face washed as though ready and willing to show up at work, only four hours 
  late. He sank onto the couch and snuggled into the corner, resting his feet on 
  LaCroix's lap. 
  "Comfortable?" the master asked, mildly amused. 
  "Uh-huh." 
  LaCroix asked him about his work then, drawing him into idle conversation 
  while he observed what Nicholas was not saying. He noted the dark circles 
  under the eyes and to slowness to Nicholas's movements. He saw how he 
  pretended to sip from his glass often, but the level never seemed to lower. 
  Still, he reached through the bond and found only contentment. Nicholas did 
  not seem to be suffering, which was something of a milestone. LaCroix shook 
  his head at this perplexing child. He set down his own now empty glass and 
  began to massage the feet in his lap. 
  Nicholas responded with a quiet rumbling sound in his chest. LaCroix massaged 
  up the calf and then over the muscled thigh. Before long Nicholas reached for 
  him and drew him into the feeding embrace. LaCroix sighed with pleasure as he 
  both nourished and drained his beloved child. 
  Before they drew apart, Tracy returned with Vachon. "Hi, bro! Glad to see you 
  in the land of the living. I found Michelle Hunter, and we might have 
  something." She then started to fill him in on the information she had 
  gathered. 
  "Well, I see you have work to do," LaCroix said. "As do I. But I want you to 
  stay the weekend with me." 
  Nick considered the invitation. It was hard to tell the difference between 
  LaCroix's offers and his commands. It didn't matter tonight. He wasn't up to 
  an argument and he missed his family. "Fine. Thanks," he answered. 
  LaCroix clasped his shoulder. "Take care, Nicholas." Then in a flurry of air, 
  he was gone. 
  ***** 
  "Well, Tracy," Nick asked later. "Should we go see Mr. Howard again?" 
  She groaned. "I guess." 
  The meeting with Ethan Howard was inconclusive. He insisted his ex-wife wasn't 
  "knitting with both needles" any more, and that she was emotionally and 
  mentally unstable. He claimed that he'd made his money through wise investing 
  and lucrative stocks, plus a small inheritance from his grandmother. He 
  certainly sounded like he loved his new wife, for they had just married. Tracy 
  wasn't sure whom to believe. 
  Nick ended the meeting, covering a yawn. "Thank you, Mr. Howard," he said. 
  "And congratulations. When is the baby due?" 
  Ethan smiled. "Next week. But it is her first, and they never seem to come 
  when you expect them." 
  Tracy peppered Nick with questions on the drive in to the precinct. "So what 
  now, Nick? You don't think he's guilty, do you? But what about Vicky? I mean, 
  she didn't seem crazy when she talked with us. She was hurting, yes, but I 
  thought she was coherent." 
  "But you thought she was weird because of her involvement in the bondage 
  subculture." 
  "Yes. No. Gee, Nick. I don't know anymore." 
  Nick laughed. "That's great. When you don't have all the answers, then you 
  make a better detective, because it forces you to go out and find them. We 
  have two people with two very plausible stories. We don't try to prove one 
  right or one wrong. We try to find the truth." 
  The rest of the night they worked on getting the court order to have the 
  baby's body exhumed and on getting access to Ethan Howard's financial records. 
  By nearly sunup, they'd set the wheels in motion. "Time for bed," Tracy 
  commented. 
  "Sounds good to me," Nick answered. He didn't see Tracy's concerned look. 
  Chapter Six: 
  Natalie shuddered as she stared at the remains of the infant. After this much 
  time what remained hardly looked human. Her own recent fantasies about 
  becoming a mother must have made her more sensitive. She could almost feel 
  this mother's pain. Such a small life, ended too soon. It was a tragedy, 
  whether it proved to be SIDS or murder. 
  "Well, Jeremy," she said almost reverently. She seldom refereed to her corpses 
  by name. It seemed easier to cut into them when they were merely numbers. But 
  this small child was different. He had been buried too soon, neglected and 
  ignored by all but his grieving mother. He deserved the small gesture. "Let's 
  see what we can uncover." 
  ***** 
  Nick wasn't sure where to take the investigation next. Natalie was dealing 
  with the autopsy, and the financial records were still inaccessible. On a 
  whim, he called Vicky's boyfriend Alex Reid and set up a meeting. 
  "Why?" Tracy asked as she drove them over. 
  Nick shrugged. "To see if she is stable. Or will she need therapy, if this 
  case turns out unfavorably for her?" 
  Alex greeted them warmly. Nick felt the power radiate from him again, and was 
  perplexed by it. Unconsciously, he slipped back into the submissive role he 
  had played two nights ago, the role he had played with LaCroix for 800 years. 
  Tracy had described the outside of the house to Nick before they rang the 
  bell. Alex Reid owned a comfortable home, with an attached two-car garage in a 
  family neighborhood. It seemed odd to Tracy. Didn't such deviant subcultures 
  usually exist only in the sewers and slums, or penthouse apartments? Real 
  people didn't do this, did they? 
  "I'm sorry, Detective Knight, but the living room is a little cluttered," Alex 
  apologized. "There are throw pillows on the carpet, magazines, and my weight 
  set is out. Vicky cleaned up a bit after you called, but she could have used 
  more time." 
  "It's okay," Nick said. 
  Between Perry and Tracy, he found the couch and sat down, feeling a little 
  relieved when he did. 
  Alex sat in a chair near them, stretching his legs out in front and casually 
  crossing them at the ankles. Vicky entered the room then. She was still doing 
  up a button on her blouse and her legs were bare. A soft, flowing skirt 
  covered her to just below the knees. Her hair was loose down her back and her 
  face was devoid of makeup, yet she looked lovely. She seemed to exude an inner 
  peace that had been missing two nights ago when they'd first met her at the 
  precinct. Vicky knelt on the carpet next to Alex's chair and folded her hands 
  in her lap. 
  Alex reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder affectionately. Vicky smiled. 
  Tracy stared at them, at the love that was obvious between them, and yet, she 
  couldn't reconcile it with what little she knew of the violence that was so 
  much a part of any Dominant/submissive relationship. 
  "So, Detectives. How can we help you?" Alex asked. 
  Tracy glanced at her partner. This meeting had been his idea; he had better 
  take the lead. 
  Nick seemed different, though. He seemed less formidable, less intimidating 
  than his usual self. He seemed almost shy. Tracy stared at him in shocked 
  silence. 
  "We would like to talk with you and vicky," Nick said quietly. "Ethan has 
  implied that vicky is not entirely..." He fumbled as he searched for a word. 
  Alex waited. Tracy watched as Vicky glanced up at her master and he nodded, 
  apparently granting her permission to speak. 
  "Ethan implied I'm just crazy, didn't he," she said. 
  Nick nodded sheepishly. He felt awkward. This wasn't going well. He pushed off 
  from the couch to sit on the carpet closer to Vicky. "I'm sorry," he said, 
  "that this is painful. But you said you were in the hospital for a week. Ethan 
  implied that it was much longer. Can you tell me what happened?" 
  "Yes, Nick. We were both telling the truth, in a way. I was in shock after 
  Jeremy died. The doctor gave me a sedative, but I went into some kind of 
  cardiac arrest. I don't know if he gave me too much, or if it reacted badly 
  with the medication I was already taking. And I think Ethan tampered with my 
  medication. It was only supposed to help me sleep, not knock me out for ten 
  hours. But I have no proof. 
  "After a week, I was well enough to go home. Ethan and I had a small place, 
  but it was comfortable. When I got there, it was barren. He had moved out and 
  taken everything with him. Not just his clothes and personal things, but my 
  clothes, too. The food from the refrigerator, the toilet paper from the 
  dispenser. Even the curtains and the light bulbs were gone. I was weak, 
  grieving, penniless, and desperate. 
  "Ethan was my master. I had given him everything and he took all I had to 
  give. I had trusted him and he broke that trust. 
  "For a few days I tried to make do. I went to social services, but they 
  couldn't help me. I called my friends, but I had been so involved with Ethan 
  for years, and I hadn't kept in touch with them. I didn't have current phone 
  numbers for most, and the others were sympathetic, but they weren't really 
  able to do much. 
  "I was desperate. And I tried to kill myself." 
  A silence fell on the room. Vicky's face was wet with tears. Nick could smell 
  them. But he could also hear the steady conviction in her voice. Vicky was not 
  hysterical now. 
  Alex comforted her again. "I found her then," he said, picking up the story. 
  "I had heard about her from a mutual acquaintance, and I was alone at the 
  time. My last sub had chosen to move on. I wasn't really looking to take on a 
  new sub then, only to offer friendship. I started visiting her in the 
  hospital, and when she was discharged, I gave her a place to stay, no strings. 
  I went with her to her therapy sessions, and I've tried to help her rebuild 
  her life. 
  "Vicky is a wonderful person. She is smart and witty and talented and loving. 
  That creep almost destroyed her. I know she tried to press charges against him 
  before we met, but I didn't encourage her to do so again. I thought she needed 
  to put this behind her and move on. Finally, I felt that she needed to 
  discover, one way or another, if he was truly guilty. She has promised that no 
  matter what your investigation uncovers, this is the end of it. No more 
  wondering, no more doubts." 
  "Thank you," Nick said. 
  Chapter Seven: 
  Nick had Tracy drop him off at the loft after their meeting with Alex and 
  Vicky, saying he was just tired. She asked him about his headaches, but that 
  wasn't bothering him at moment. He wasn't really tired, either. Just out of 
  sorts. He wanted some privacy, which was a rare commodity these days. 
  He knew Urs would be out still, cleaning someone's apartment. Natalie was 
  still at work, and LaCroix would be broadcasting. Nick smiled wistfully as he 
  removed Perry's harness and hung it on the doorknob. 
  "Welcome home, boy." 
  Perry barked. * Is this home? * 
  Nick laughed. "Don't get technical with me, carouche! You know what they say: 
  'home is where the heart is'. Well, right now, my heart wants to be left 
  alone." 
  Perry nipped at Nick's shoes, wagging his tail and barking playfully. Nick 
  responded, wrestling him to the floor in a mock fight. Perry's growl sounded 
  fierce, and Nick's fangs erupted as he growled back. They rolled around until 
  one of them bumped into an end table, knocking it and it's contents to the 
  floor. Nick ended the fight then, laughing as he set things right again. 
  "Okay, boy. That's enough. Let's feed and find something to listen to." 
  Perry followed him to the refrigerator. Nick filled his dish with bovine and 
  set it on the floor. Perry lapped at it eagerly. His first meal had been 
  squirrel, but bovine was a close second and ultimately more filling. Nick took 
  a bottle of his beverage and sat on the couch, flipping through television 
  stations with his remote. Not finding anything of interest, he turned it off 
  and put his master's radio show on quietly. Nick settled back into the 
  cushions and closed his eyes, looking very comfortable and a little drowsy. 
  Perry curled up on the rug near the fire for a rest. 
  Nick's mind wandered aimlessly. When he was alone, there were no headaches, no 
  strange thoughts stabbing him... only his own memories. He thought about the 
  lack of discomfort, then his thoughts wandered over the conversation with 
  Vicky, and the encounter with David the night before. 
  The song on the CD ended and LaCroix's velvet voice purred over the airwaves. 
  "Good evening gentle listeners," he began. "Tonight we shall reflect upon the 
  rules under which we live, the codes of conduct that protect us. Perhaps we 
  should ask, 'why have rules'? Isn't the grandest idea of growing up that of 
  moving away from the domination of a parent? To live one's own life? To have 
  the right to make mistakes? 
  "Yet only a fool thinks to get away from rules. A father's curfew fades, but 
  the freedom to do whatever one wishes remains clearly circumscribed. Civil 
  laws require the clubs one frequents to close by a specified hour. Other 
  businesses close, parks, stores and playgrounds are bolted, their use 
  prohibited until another day. So what benefit does one gain in that oft 
  sought-for freedom? 
  "Our lives are built upon a foundation set when we were young. Children need 
  rules. Children desire to be dominated. You... desire to be dominated. Return 
  to me, my child, and let me care for you as no one else can." 
  Nick choked on the blood in his mouth, lunging for the kitchen sink before he 
  coughed it up. How did LaCroix always know what he was thinking? Damn him! 
  He flipped off the radio, but the memories were persistent. Back to the very 
  beginning, he reflected upon the lessons his master had taught him. LaCroix 
  had been a master teacher. At first the lessons had been given in love. His 
  first feeding - his first kill - had been a quiet, sensual time. The 
  admonishments to stay away from sunlight, wood, and garlic were reviewed 
  often, but always with the underlying message that he was cherished and 
  LaCroix wished only to protect him. 
  Then one night LaCroix taught him the meaning of submission. Nick had been 
  stripped, chained, beaten and raped. He had been completely humiliated. He was 
  outraged at LaCroix, and disgusted with himself, for he had found it oddly 
  arousing. When he'd crawled back to the ancient on his knees, his wrists still 
  shackled together, his face stained with blood tears, he had begged not only 
  for forgiveness, but for fulfillment. Now when he ran from LaCroix, he knew it 
  was really from himself that he tried to flee. 
  Urs returned before dawn, offering him more than a pleasant diversion. Nick 
  shelved his turbulent thoughts for another time. 
  ***** 
  The telephone didn't wake Nick, but the message on the answering machine did. 
  He lunged from the bed and grabbed it before Nat hung up. "Uh, Nat? I'm here," 
  he said groggily. 
  "Hi, Nick. Sorry to wake you. I thought you'd be up by now." 
  He held his breath, irritated at the unspoken question. "I'm fine, Nat. What's 
  up?" 
  "I completed the autopsy. I knew you'd want to know as soon as possible. It 
  isn't good. At the time of death, Jeremy had cerebral edema - swelling of the 
  brain. This was not a SIDS death, Nick. He was smothered." 
  Nick sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "So we can change the cause of death to 
  homicide. Thanks, Nat." 
  He hung up, yawning widely as he checked his wristwatch. It was past time to 
  get out of bed. Urs had already showered and dressed and was busy tidying up 
  downstairs. He shook his head at the futility of trying to talk to women when 
  they were in persistent mode, and headed into the shower himself. 
  Tracy came by shortly to take him to the precinct. He gave her Nat's update. 
  "I think we still need a bit more information to make a really solid case, 
  though," Nick said. "We need access to his financial records." 
  "That's what I was thinking," Tracy said. "I went back to the precinct last 
  night, after I dropped you off, to work on it. Ethan lied about the insurance 
  policies. He had a $50,000 policy on his first child, and three policies 
  totaling $220,000 on Jeremy." 
  "We got him," Nick said with a whoop. "Let's go get that warrant for his 
  arrest!" 
  "Let's call Vicky and let her know," Tracy said. 
  Nick wanted to be more cautious. "Nothing is for sure yet, Tracy. He'll be 
  arrested, but there's still the trial. It's hard to say how a jury will go." 
  She shrugged. "So? This is still good news. Do you want to tell her?" 
  Nick accepted the phone after Tracy dialed the number. When he told her the 
  news he held the phone several inches away from his sensitive ears as she 
  shrieked in her excitement. 
  "Thank you, nick! Thank you! This is- this is - after all this time - the 
  answer to prayer and the end of my crusade. Thank you!" 
  When the police showed up at Ethan Howard's house later that night, though, it 
  was to find the building empty and a "For Sale" sign in the yard. 
  **** 
  Vicky fidgeted endlessly. Alex scowled at her over the newspaper. He had hoped 
  that the outcome of the investigation into her son's death would bring about a 
  sense of closure. She had come to mean a lot to him... he knew he loved her. 
  He had loved all his subs, but vicky was special. He had been with her longer 
  than any other, but it was more than that. He was even considering marrying 
  her. Only his fear that her first marriage had permanently turned her off to 
  the idea kept him from asking her. He wanted to protect her always. 
  "Bring me a drink," he said, and watched as she rose to do his will. She 
  wasn't getting ill again. This confident, graceful woman bore little 
  resemblance to the nervous wreck he'd salvaged nearly seven years ago. 
  She brought him the glass, kneeling again at his feet. He took it and sipped, 
  nodding appreciatively. "Talk to me, vicky," he said gently. "Tell me what is 
  troubling you." 
  "I'm sorry, Master," she said. "I'm just so worried for Ethan's new wife. She 
  had a little boy, and I can't bear the thought that he might strike again!" 
  Alex heaved a relieved sigh. Vicky was not still obsessing about her son, but 
  was concerned for some one else. This was wonderful. "The infant is very 
  young, though. Jeremy was six months old and Ethan's daughter Brenda was 
  nearly ten months." 
  "Yes, sir," Vicky agreed. "But that only shows a pattern. He didn't wait as 
  long to kill again. We have to help the police find them. Please, Alex!" 
  Alex pulled her onto his lap to comfort her. "Very well, my pet. You are 
  right. I'm sure that I have methods available to me that the law can't use. 
  Now go get dressed and we'll start with the club." 
  **** There! He did it again! Tracy stared, feeling excited and scared and 
  creepy all at once. For days now she had thought she was seeing things when 
  Nick was around. Like, seeing things move. He'd just approached his desk with 
  his hand held out, groping for his chair. It was ordinary enough, a gesture 
  that even a sighted man might make. But then, the chair slid away from the 
  desk several inches right into his hand! Nick simply pulled it out further and 
  sat down as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 
  Tracy knew that vampires were powerful creatures. They could break door locks 
  with the flick of a wrist, and fly, and hypno-whammy mortals, but controlling 
  telekinesis was not something she had ever seen another vampire do, nor had 
  she heard about it, not even from LaCroix. 
  Was Nick a freak? 
  She saw Nick flinch, his hand shook as it poised just above his 
  Braille-adapted computer, and Tracy knew he had sensed her last thought. 
  "Nick, it's not what you think," she quickly spurted. 
  "It's okay," he said quietly. "I am a freak." 
  She quickly blinked back tears. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. Nick 
  was just so sensitive right now. Maybe she shouldn't bring up the sliding 
  chairs and levitating jackets thing for a while. But, what if someone else saw 
  him? He wasn't exactly being discreet. Hell, he wasn't even being exactly 
  aware! 
  "Nick, we need to talk." 
  He shook his head, then reached up to rub it with both hands. "Not now, Baby. 
  I'm okay. Really." 
  But he wasn't okay. It was time she did something about it, too. Tonight she 
  would send LaCroix to the loft, and ask Urs to stay with her and Vachon. It 
  was time to tell their master about his headaches. Calling LaCroix was out of 
  the question; Nick would overhear. If she left to place the call from a more 
  private area, Nick would suspect. She emailed him instead, using the instant 
  messenger service she'd recently downloaded after first deactivating the 
  annoying little sounds. Damn… LaCroix wasn't online yet. Hopefully, he would 
  be before their shift ended. 
  She was limited to only 350 characters when sending a message offline and 
  brevity was never her strong suit. Still, she thought she managed to convey 
  the main ideas. Urs didn't go online with any regularity, so she asked LaCroix 
  to get in touch with her. Then she settled back to work, trusting their master 
  to take care of everything. It was what he liked to do best. 
  Chapter Eight: 
  The damn headaches returned. Nick tried to force the sinister images from his 
  mind. He had enough vile memories of his own without enduring those of the 
  mortals around him! Again he saw a pathetic old man being knocked around. Nick 
  couldn't see the man who was hitting him. It was as if he were the one doing 
  the abuse. Nick considered it, but the old man was not familiar, and Nick had 
  never liked to toy with his meal. It must be someone else's memories. 
  But who? Nick had discovered that he couldn't sense things from any distance. 
  When he'd had flashes of Captain Reese's love life, he'd been in the same room 
  with him. When he'd seen the dead baby, Vicky and Alex had been just down the 
  hall. Nick wasn't really clairvoyant. Not like Denise Fort had been. 
  Denise had been able to touch an object and get images from it of some past 
  event. She had helped to locate a kidnapping victim, although her involvement 
  in the case also got her killed. Nick felt a lump of grief lodge in his throat 
  at her memory. She had been so appealing. Once she had learned that he was a 
  vampire, she was no longer afraid of him. She wasn't sorry for him, or 
  repulsed by him, either. Instead, she was fascinated. But she was gone now, 
  and these damn headaches were a misery. 
  No, Nick wasn't clairvoyant. For some reason, though, being blind had 
  sharpened his vampiric ability to sense others. At times he knew what they 
  were thinking. Sometimes it was just a flash of images, sometimes it was word 
  for word as though he were hearing them speak aloud. Always, though, the new 
  knowledge was accompanied with pain. He did not want this gift. 
  The old man in the memory was weeping. One eye was swollen and bruised, his 
  frail, parchment-like skin broken open and bleeding down the front of his 
  shirt. He gasped for air, like one did with severe pneumonia or broken ribs. 
  Nick could not turn away from him. 
  Rising, Nick rubbed at the back of his neck and stretched. "I just need to 
  walk around for a minute," he told Tracy. Then, with Perry's assistance, Nick 
  slowly walked through the bullpen. 
  He opened his mind to this new contact. Not everyone broadcasted their 
  thoughts, and those that did, didn't do it all the time. Nick didn't 
  understand how it worked, only that for a few moments his mind was blissfully 
  blank. Then suddenly the image blasted him. Nick gasped, clutching his head 
  and dropping Perry's harness. 
  "Something wrong, detective?" Dixon asked, grasping Nick's arms to steady him. 

  The old man was suddenly clearer, as though Nick could see for real and not 
  through the fog of a dream. "Dixon?" he whispered, his voice as unstable as 
  his legs. "Help me outside for a moment, please. I need some fresh air." 
  "Yeah, sure," Dixon replied. He seemed uneasy as Nick took a hold of his 
  sleeve. "Maybe you should go home?" 
  Nick shook his head, but he said nothing until he felt the late September wind 
  on his face. Then he tightened his hold on Dixon's arm. "Is something going 
  on, Jim?" he asked, using his first name to let him know that this was 
  personal and "off the record". 
  "Like what, Nick? You're the one who almost fainted. Do you want me to call 
  you a cab?" 
  "No. I'll be fine. But your father won't." 
  Dixon tried to pull free. He was shocked at the strength of Nick's hold, when 
  moments before he had seemed so weak. "My family is none of your business, 
  Nick," he said, his voice low and threatening. 
  "Normally, I would agree with you. We have to be able to keep our job separate 
  from our private life. We see so much cruelty and evil that most of humanity 
  is not capable of handling. But sometimes it does get to be too much, even for 
  us. You are not a god, Jim, just a man. Perhaps, a man trying to do too much 
  without any assistance." 
  Nick kept his voice soft and hypnotic. Within moments he smelled the faint 
  tang of saline and knew that Jim Dixon was weeping. 
  "Shit," he sobbed. "I don't know what to do! It just all hit at once! My 
  baby's pregnant! I'd like to kill the fucker that got to her, she's only 
  fifteen! She blames me that her mom split three years ago. Partly, she's 
  right, too. Damn job, all that overtime, missed holidays, but shit! I didn't 
  force her to run off with some sleaze she met in a bar. No, I'm the 
  responsible one! I stayed to take care of three kids, and HER father! Her new 
  boyfriend didn't want the old man along. He's no relative of mine, but he's 
  got no place else to go. And he blames me for Missy being pregnant." 
  Jim was sobbing harder now. Nick felt his own stomach rebel at the volatile 
  emotions. He gulped, trying to force it to settle down. His anger that anyone 
  could abuse a helpless old man was now tempered with compassion for the 
  officer that was overwhelmed by conflict. He wasn't sure what to do or how to 
  help. 
  "Jim, you need to get professional help," he began. 
  "Fuck you, Nick," he said. "If anyone finds out, I could lose my job. That'd 
  only make things worse. I have too many people depending on me." 
  "Then, what about a priest? Someone sworn to keep secrets? I know someone. He 
  has helped me in the past. Please, promise me that you'll give him a try." 
  "How's a priest going to fix things, huh Nick? Tell me? Can he make my baby 
  innocent again? Give me back my wife? Pay the electric bill?" 
  "No. But he can help you to put everything in perspective. He'll help you find 
  alternatives. You can't go on like this. You're miserable, the old man's 
  miserable, and Missy needs you both right now. Don't do this for me. You have 
  to do it for yourself." 
  Jim took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. "Damn, at least you 
  didn't have to see me cry," he said, forcing a lightness into his voice that 
  he didn't feel. 
  Nick gave him Father Rochefort's name and phone number then, but he had to be 
  sure he had helped the old man. He focused on Jim, capturing his will easily. 
  "If you ever hit your father-in-law again, you will become impotent forever." 
  Jim shuddered as he came out of the trance and rubbed his groin absently. 
  "Better, Nick? We should go back inside." 
  Nick nodded. "Thanks. Yes, I do feel better." 
  Tracy wasn't at her desk when Nick returned, but before long she flopped down 
  into her chair with a loud sigh. "That woman you saved two weeks ago? She's 
  not going to press charges." 
  Nick grunted. So often they didn't. It was as if having gone through the 
  nightmare, the victim was afraid of going through it again, but Nick would 
  have thought that the simple revenge of putting the perp behind bars would be 
  therapeutic. He could give her a vampiric-push... he'd consider it. But, if 
  she didn't do this for herself, then what was the point? A perp was going to 
  go free. That infuriated him. He could go after him alone... the desire to 
  hunt instantly jumped to life. Nick shut his eyes and willed the beast to 
  withdraw. 
  "Well, come on, bro. I'll take you home. I need to go a little early tonight. 
  Urs called, too, and said she had something to do and to tell you not to wait 
  up for her." 
  Tracy stared again as Nick reached in the direction of his jacket, and the 
  light blazer leaped the few inches into his hand. Even the handle on Perry's 
  harness seemed to stand on it's own to snap into his grip. Nick grabbed a few 
  files and tucked them under his arm. Tracy cleared the screen on her computer 
  and pushed in her chair. Just one more shift until she had two nights off. 
  Sometimes this job was just too much. 
  **** 
  Nick sat at the piano bench, but nothing came to mind. He didn't really feel 
  like playing. After flipping through various television and radio stations, he 
  decided that he didn't feel like listening to anything, either. He fingered 
  the rough-textured canvas hanging by the stairs. It was the red and yellow 
  swirls of his "inner self vying for freedom through the existential…" crap 
  whatever that Schanke had spouted after going to a play with him. 
  He missed Schanke. It didn't seem to matter how much time passed, or that he 
  loved his new partner. Don had been his first real friend in a long, long 
  time. He hadn't even liked Don at first, but out of the tenuous beginnings 
  they had developed first mutual respect and then honest friendship. Nick knew 
  now that Schanke's death was not his fault. Oh, he could have been on that 
  plane instead, and Schanke would have stayed behind, but, then Nick wouldn't 
  have been able to return to Toronto. He would not have been there to save 
  Captain Reese. Instead of Don's Jenny growing up fatherless, it would have 
  been Reese's two daughters. Life was just too confusing sometimes, he thought. 
  "I still miss you," he whispered. 
  He turned on his computer and decided to email Myra, just a quick note to find 
  out how Jenny was doing. Then he wrote to Kathryn, Robin, Serena, and a few 
  more friends, before he grew bored again. There were several hundred emails in 
  his inbox, but he certainly didn't feel like going through them all tonight. 
  He played a game of solitaire with the specially adapted deck of cards Tracy 
  had given him. Maybe he needed to get a few new games. At the blind school he 
  had discovered a whole room full of games that had been modified for the 
  blind. Dart boards that hummed, tactile electronic battleship, Twister with 
  the colored circles slightly raised and labeled in Braille, he'd even played a 
  three-dimensional version of "Candyland" with the youngest of the blind 
  children. Nick realized then that his loft was boring. 
  Still, it was blissfully silent. No one else's thoughts were disturbing him. A 
  hot soak in the bathtub might be enough to help him relax before dawn sent him 
  to sleep. With the soothing sounds of water splashing, Nick put on some CDs, 
  lit a few candles more for their aromatic therapy than for light, and stepped 
  out of his clothes, letting them fall to an untidy heap on the floor. The 
  water was just right. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Within moments 
  Nicholas Knight was asleep. 
  ***** 
  LaCroix paced restlessly in the tight confines of his soundbooth. Tracy's 
  email bothered him. She felt that something was very wrong with Nick, and she 
  felt it strongly enough that she asked him to spend the day with him, alone. 
  Yet, LaCroix could sense nothing through the bond he shared with his child, 
  except perhaps on occasion, a little restlessness. When she showed up at the 
  Raven early, he had interrogated her. She had fumbled for words terribly, but 
  he did not sense that she was deceiving him. She truly felt concern for 
  Nicholas. 
  He wanted to go to his child immediately, but if Nicholas refused to confess 
  to a problem, it could be difficult. LaCroix decided not to drop in until just 
  before sunrise, forcing Nicholas to let him stay the day. If there were a 
  problem, he would discover it. Nicholas had never been able to deceive him, 
  certainly not for that many hours. The waiting was the most difficult, though. 
  Finally he felt the night wane and LaCroix leaped into the dusky glow of early 
  dawn. 
  He used the skylight, but announced his arrival by opening himself to the bond 
  they shared. He felt nothing back from his child except a general contentment. 
  Nicholas must already be asleep. 
  The bed was empty, though. The scent of hot wax and perfume filled the air, 
  and warm light flickered under the bathroom door. LaCroix turned the handle 
  and stepped inside. 
  Soft candlelight cast a warm glow to the small room. LaCroix never tired of 
  gazing at his favorite, whether fully clothed or naked, whether awake or 
  asleep, whether he was good-natured or pitching a fit. With his dark golden 
  hair and softly stubbled chin, his mercurial moods, his little-boy enthusiasm 
  and the soul-suffering wisdom of age, he was such a contradiction and LaCroix 
  loved him all the more for it. The water, however, was cold, and his skin was 
  shriveled. LaCroix pulled to plug to let the water out before attempting to 
  wake him. 
  The last of the water gurgled loudly as it plunged down the drain. Nick awoke 
  with a start. Disoriented for a moment, he sensed his master in the room. What 
  was LaCroix doing here? Nick reached out to sense him, wondering at his 
  master's mood. When he sensed only mild concern, Nick gave him a sleepy smile. 

  "Good morning, LaCroix," he said. He accepted the towel offered him and rose 
  to his feet. "What brings you here?" "Do I need a reason to visit, Nicholas?" 
  he asked casually. 
  "No, of course not." Nick stepped from the tub. LaCroix took the bathrobe from 
  the hook on the back of the door and helped him into it. Nick yawned sleepily. 
  He hoped LaCroix didn't want to talk much. It was dawn and he was very tired. 
  "Will you come down for a drink?" he offered. 
  "Thank you, I will." 
  LaCroix sat on the couch and watched as Nicholas moved about his loft. His 
  motions were graceful, if a little more cautious than normal. Nicholas did 
  appear to be fine. LaCroix breathed deeply and relaxed. Perhaps he would just 
  ask his son what Tracy was worried about? 
  Nick offered LaCroix a glass before he sat on the opposite end of the couch. 
  He pulled his feet up on the cushion between them and settled back 
  comfortably. "So how's Nat doing?" 
  "Better, I think. The infant autopsy the other day upset her. She has felt 
  maternal yearnings recently, and I think that had something to do with it." 
  "Because of her findings, we were able to get a warrant for an arrest, 
  though," Nick commented, as though that justified Nat's discomfort. LaCroix 
  smiled. Nicholas could be so predictable at times. The conversation continued 
  aimlessly. Nicholas wasn't feeding well, but otherwise, he truly seemed to be 
  fine. LaCroix was encouraged. If only there were something he could do to 
  speed his son's recovery... yet, if there were a way, would not that 
  middle-eastern meddlesome mogul Zuhayr have said something? He ached for his 
  child, that he must suffer so. 
  "LaCroix, stop, please," Nick cried, rubbing at his forehead. 
  "Stop what?" LaCroix stared at the sudden transformation. Blood sweat dotted 
  Nicholas's brow. He winced in obvious pain, and yet, through the bond, LaCroix 
  still felt nothing unusual. 
  "Stop worrying about me. I'm all right!" 
  LaCroix set his glass down firmly. He leaned over Nicholas, placing one hand 
  on the back of the couch and one on the arm, effectively imprisoning him 
  without touching. "You are NOT all right, my son," he said. "You are in pain. 
  Why?" 
  Nick didn't immediately respond. LaCroix took his chin in his hand. "Tell me 
  at once, Nicholas. I don't want to have to take it from you by force, but I 
  will." 
  "Please, sire," Nick whispered. "Stop worrying. You're giving me a headache." 
  LaCroix was startled. He had not been expecting that. "How so?" he wondered 
  aloud. 
  Nick shrugged. He pressed his glass to his lips, but he didn't really drink. 
  LaCroix took the glass from him and set it on the table. Something was going 
  on here... something strange. Had Nicholas been into his thoughts? Reading his 
  mind? Who had taught him this new skill? The first name that came to mind was 
  Zuhayr... That swine was trying to take his son away from him! 
  Nick blanched. "No, LaCroix! It wasn't like that! Zuhayr is not the enemy!" 
  "How dare you invade my mind," LaCroix hissed. 
  Nick shrank back. His stomach twisted on him. He gulped, breathing slowly, 
  struggling to keep it down. "I can't make it stop, master," he whispered. 
  "These images in my mind... they hurt, and I can't make them go away." 
  LaCroix hesitated. Red tears formed in Nicholas's eyes. His child was hurting. 
  Now LaCroix could feel his pain and anguish through the bond as though a 
  barricade had just crumbled. He knew the younger vampire's abilities had grown 
  since his blindness, but he hadn't realized that applied to the psychic bond 
  as well. 
  "What am I thinking now, Nicholas," LaCroix asked, forcing a calmness in his 
  voice he didn't quite feel. 
  Nick rubbed at his head with both hands. Then he blanked his thoughts. 
  Nothing. It was blissfully gone. No pain, no images. "I... I don't know, 
  LaCroix," he answered truthfully. 
  "Why?" 
  That was it. Nick lunged from the couch and flew into the bathroom. LaCroix 
  let him pass, as he guessed where he was going. Sadly, he rose and followed 
  him. He put his hands on Nick's shoulders, supporting him while the spasms 
  shook his too-thin frame. 
  "Come, Nicholas," he said, when he sensed that it had passed. "Come to bed." 
  Nick leaned into his father's embrace. Bed sounded wonderful. He was too tired 
  to think any more. 
  He was disappointed, though, for after LaCroix offered him his healing blood, 
  the ancient still wanted to talk. "Explain this to me, Nicholas," he ordered. 
  Nick curled into his master's shoulder. He closed his eyes and drifted for a 
  moment. "I don't know when it started," he whispered then. "Sometimes, I get 
  these images in my mind, and they are not my own. They come out of no where, 
  and they hurt. I can't make them stop. Then I have to go away, somewhere 
  alone." 
  LaCroix tightened his arms around his child protectively. "Is this why you 
  moved back into your loft?" 
  "Hm-hum." 
  "Nicholas, I can teach you to block these images. But I don't know if I can 
  help you to control them. What you describe does not sound like the mental 
  skills a vampire would typically develop with age. It may come as a surprise 
  to you, but I cannot read people's minds. I can know them only through their 
  blood." 
  "Hm," Nick muttered. 
  LaCroix smiled. "Good night, my son." 
  Chapter Nine: 
  Nick grinned when Tracy arrived. Saved at last! "I've got to go, LaCroix," he 
  said, making a run for it. 
  LaCroix cleared his throat, an ominous sound that brought Nicholas back to 
  him. "She will wait for you to finish. Sit down and try again." 
  Nick briefly considered arguing about it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sank 
  back onto the couch. "Shoot." 
  A smile spread on the master's cool, patrician features. Obedience and 
  respect, at last... what he had been striving to teach this one for centuries. 
  "Concentrate, Nicholas. What can you sense?" 
  Nick let go of his irritation. His features relaxed. His arms rested in his 
  lap, his feet were still, flat on the floor. Another moment like this and he 
  could easily fall asleep. No images pelted him! He reached out tentatively 
  through the psychic bond for his master. LaCroix was closed to him, but Tracy 
  was not. Nick winced as her thoughts speared him, but then using the new 
  technique LaCroix had been trying to teach, he was able to shut her out. 
  Blissful peace and quiet. Nick was alone with his thoughts. 
  LaCroix smiled. He was pleased that he had been able to keep his own thoughts 
  private, as well as being satisfied with his son's progress at shutting Tracy 
  out. He still did not understand what Nicholas was doing. This new gift to 
  sense the thoughts and feelings of others was not a vampire's skill. It bore 
  little resemblance to LaCroix's ability, which was born of the blood kiss and 
  strengthened with age. 
  "Thanks, LaCroix," Nick said sincerely. 
  The ancient master rose slowly. "You are welcome, my child. And perhaps in the 
  future you will save yourself from suffering and just come to me in the first 
  place." 
  Nick ducked his head at the admonishment. 
  LaCroix squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "Take care, Nicholas. Good 
  night." With a smile for Tracy, he lifted through the skylight and was gone. 
  "Hey Nick," Tracy said, venturing a smile. "You're looking better." 
  Nick grabbed her, pulling her back against him, imprisoning her in the feeding 
  embrace. "As if you didn't know anything about this, baby? Tell me you didn't 
  manipulate this morning's little lesson?" 
  "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied nervously. "I mean, I might 
  have mentioned something to him about your headaches. But, don't you feel 
  better now?" She forced a grin. 
  Nick nipped at her throat playfully, laughing at her sudden arousal. "You're 
  forgiven, brat. But, next time you could talk to me, you know." 
  Tracy just laughed. Talk to Nick? That was like "military intelligence". An 
  oxymoron, an impossibility. "Sure, bro. Let's go." 
  The phone rang before the lift door closed. Nick went back in to answer it. 
  Captain Reese was on the line. "Nick, thought you'd like to know. An anonymous 
  tip phoned in during the day shift. Ethan Howard was seen in Windsor, trying 
  to cross over into the states. He was detained, and they are bringing him in 
  now." 
  Nick nodded as he exhaled a sigh of relief. "That's great, Captain. Thanks for 
  calling. What about his wife and baby?" "They're fine. They'll be here, too." 
  "We're on our way," Nick said as he hung up. 
  "I wonder what will happen to his wife now," Tracy said. 
  Nick shrugged. They would lose the house. After Ethan was tried for murder, no 
  doubt charges of insurance fraud would be filed. The wife would be left 
  penniless. 
  ***** 
  The wife was sitting in the bullpen when they arrived. Nick knew it was she 
  through the myriad of confused images that nearly overwhelmed him before he 
  remembered to shut them out. She stood when he came near. "What happens to me 
  now?" she sobbed. 
  The baby stirred in her arms, making soft little sounds. The woman shifted, 
  gently rocking it back to sleep. 
  "Hello," Tracy said, extending a hand in friendship. "I'm Tracy, and this is 
  Nick. We didn't get a chance to meet the other night." 
  She sniffed. "tamar. And this is Joshua." 
  "He's a pretty baby," Tracy said. 
  "Come with me, Tamar," Nick said. "Let's talk someplace more private." He led 
  the way into a room, and held the door for them while Tracy got the young 
  mother a cup of coffee. 
  "Do you have any relatives you could call?" Nick asked. 
  Tamar shook her head. "No. No one. I... I was a hooker, sir. Ethan picked me 
  up one night when I was really sick. He took me home, nursed me back to 
  health. I've been with him ever since. He wasn't really loving or anything, 
  but he was all I had. He gave me a home. I haven't had a real home since... 
  since my folks died when I was twelve." 
  There was a knock at the door. Tracy got up to answer it, curious as to who 
  would interrupt them. She was doubly surprised, for Alex and Vicky were there. 

  Vicky came over to the young mother and knelt on the floor. She looked up at 
  her with unshed tears. "Forgive me," she began. "It was I that brought charges 
  against Ethan. Alex and I tracked him down at the border. I am so sorry for 
  your pain." 
  The mother reached out and hugged her. "Bless you," she said. "Ethan 
  confessed. He told me how he killed his children for the money. You saved my 
  baby's life! I can never repay you for that." 
  Nick sensed Alex's commanding presence. He squared his shoulders, wishing he 
  could project more confidence, but this strange mortal intimidated him. 
  "We would like to invite you to stay with us," Alex said. "You and the child, 
  for as long as you need a home." 
  Tamar looked at him, and the woman kneeling before her. She stammered 
  incoherently. "You... you do? Me? Why?" "Because Ethan destroyed lives. We 
  want to try to rebuild them." 
  Tamar nodded, the tears spilling down her face unchecked. She held her baby 
  out to Vicky. "Would you like to hold him? His name is Joshua Jeremiah Howard. 
  I hope you don't mind, but when Ethan told me he had lost a son named Jeremy, 
  I thought he would like it, if we used that for the middle name." 
  Vicky accepted the newborn in her arms almost reverently. "He's beautiful," 
  she whispered. 
  Nick rose and went to Alex, leading him away from the women. "Why are you 
  doing this?" he asked curiously. 
  Alex reminded him so much of LaCroix. Something about his commanding presence, 
  his brutal power, his desire to dominate... yet the ancient vampire would 
  never do something so philanthropic. 
  He felt Alex's scrutiny and resisted the urge to take a step back. Then he 
  heard the mortal laugh softly. "Because, detective, it is the right thing to 
  do." 
  Nick had no answer for that. He just nodded. The infant started to cry again, 
  heralding an end to the meeting. Vicky carried him, while Alex put a 
  comforting arm around Tamar and guided her through the bullpen. Tracy watched 
  as they walked away. 
  "I feel really good, Nick," she said. 
  He chuckled. "I know. I do, too." 
  Their cases didn't often end on such a positive note. The victims were usually 
  dead, and capturing the killer did little to change matters. There was still 
  much suffering and heartache. 
  But this time they had caught the killer before he struck again. The infant 
  would live, and both mothers would not only survive, they would triumph. Nick 
  might have had his doubts about raising a child in the BDSM* culture, but Alex 
  was an honorable person, and both Vicky and Tamar had a lot of love to give. 
  Captain Reese came out to clap him on the shoulder and praise him for a job 
  well done. "This was great, Nick! Just great. Consider yourself back full 
  time. I think you've more than proved your ability to do the job." 
  "Thanks," Nick said sincerely. He didn't know how much longer LaCroix would 
  let them remain in Toronto. His life here could not last. But, for as long as 
  it did, he was glad that he had managed to show them that he could still do 
  his job, dancing the streets as a vampire homicide cop. 
  The end. 
*BDSM- stands for Bondage/discipline, Dominance/submission, Sado-Masochism. 
Many thanks to my wonderful readers! I would not have continued this series 
through fourteen sequels without your overwhelming support and encouragement! 
I'd like to thank my beta readers, Kylie and Laurie of the Isles. Kylie has been 
a great help, perhaps more of an alpha reader, as we discuss plots and scenes 
and concepts. Laurie's help with grammar, sentence structure, and punctuation 
(and French, when I need it!) is invaluable. Thanks so much!
  
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