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ALL THE FUN |
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"All the Fun" - Highlander
Fanfiction |
AUTHOR: Parda
May 2008 |
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DISCLAIMER: Not my original characters (except Ben, Mitzi, and Alex's family), not my created universe. No money is being made from this story. |
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NOTE: All the Fun is the sequel
to All the Good Women,
which follows
Wild Mountain
Thyme. All the stories take place in the HL3 universe,
so the events of HL2 and Endgame didn't happen here.
Author's Notes
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============================
============================
"Take it off!" Richie Ryan yelled,
pounding on the table and almost knocking over the beer bottles.
"She is taking it off, Richie," Duncan
MacLeod observed as he rescued his beer from an imminent demise, even though
this brand of beer really wasn't worth drinking.
"All off," his kinsman, Connor
MacLeod, agreed, keeping a close eye on the proceedings.
Duncan and Richie had spent the summer hiking in
the Pyrenees and swimming in the Mediterranean (topless beaches were still a
novelty in Richie's eyes), sparring every morning, drinking wine and dancing
with pretty girls almost every night, moving on again in a day or two or four,
as the mood took them. They were both building new lives--Richie settling into
his immortality, Duncan finally letting go of his mourning for Tessa--and the
footloose existence had suited them both--no schedule, no pressure … no ties.
At the end of July, mail arrived at their hotel
by special courier: large, hand-addressed cream-colored envelopes from the
States, one for Richie, one for
"No."
___________________________________
Mrs. Margaret Johnson
requests the honor of your presence
at the marriage of her daughter
Alexandra Elise Johnson
to
Connor MacLeod
___________________________________
"What!"
"Holy shit," Richie breathed, staring
at his own invitation. "Sir Lancelot ties the knot. Huh. Hey, did Connor
tell you anything about this--" he looked at the invitation again "--Alexandra
Elise Johnson woman when he and John stayed with you on the barge back in
March?"
"No,"
"How'd Connor know where we were?"
Richie asked. "We've been on the move for weeks."
"When I told him I'd sold the barge and
that you and I were traveling around
"Why didn't he just tell you to keep in
touch?"
"Because then I would have asked him
why."
"Seems kind of … devious."
"Just keeping things private, until he's
ready. He's like that."
"Must run in the family," Richie said
under his breath.
Connor explained--briefly, of course. He had met
Alex (Dr. Alexandra Johnson, noted archeologist) in January. They had started
dating in April, right after Connor and John had returned from
No,
Not in a church, at Connor's place on
"You caught me by surprise with this,"
In the silence that followed,
And explaining--or even mentioning--a failed
love affair was not something Connor would ever want to do,
"Yes, everything." Connor paused.
"The Game, and the Prize."
"What's she like?" That was what
"A good woman," he said, "and
fun. She taught John and me to do the Hokey Pokey."
"The Hokey Pokey,"
"You know." Connor started to sing:
"'You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out.'"
"Oh, yeah,"
"No, that's the Bunny Hop," Connor
corrected. "That was on the flip side of the 45. In the Hokey Pokey you
usually stand facing each other or side by side. After John was asleep, Alex
decided the Hokey Pokey was best done naked."
"Uh … right,"
"The last verse is the best," Connor
supplied helpfully.
"Uh-huh,"
"Or maybe it was the second to last,"
Connor mused.
<You put your head in, you put your head out
…>
"Thanks,
"I'm looking forward to meeting her."
Connor laughed, that familiar dry chuckle.
"Come to
~~~~~
And they did. Richie hadn't been to
There were quieter moments, too, when Duncan and
Alex got a chance to talk. "You and Connor haven't known each other very
long,"
"About seven months," she agreed,
"but sometimes I feel as though I've known him my entire life." She
gave a small puff of air upward, blowing her bangs off her forehead, the way
Tessa used to do. Then Alex shook her head in amused exasperation. Tessa used
to do that, too.
"Other times," Alex said, "I
think I'll never know him, no matter how much time we spend together." She
added milk to her coffee and stirred. "Connor's very … private."
"Yeah, he is,"
"Richie hasn't been immortal very long, then,"
Alex observed.
"So, he really is as old as he looks."
"He'll be twenty next month,"
Alex leaned forward a little, her hands not
quite steepled but with her fingers interlaced, her dark blue eyes inquisitive
and focused. Her voice, naturally husky, was low as she asked, "Who's the
oldest Immortal you've met?"
"Darius and Rebecca are dead, too."
Alex didn't make it a question.
"Darius died in May of last year, and
Rebecca four months ago," he confirmed briefly then turned to more
pleasant matters. "Everything ready for the wedding? Flowers, music,
cake?"
"Hundreds of black orchids and fifteen
bagpipers, with drummers and pipers, too," Alex said and then laughed
aloud at
Alex lifted an eyebrow. "So much for that
Celtic stereotype."
"Connor,"
"That's certainly true," Alex said,
with a small smile that was anything but demure. "But he can be a
traditionalist, with some very old traditions. We're having two cakes: a
bride's cake and a groom's cake. The bride's cake is white, of course, and the
groom's cake will be chocolate. John is happy about that, and Elaine and Jimmy
will be, too. They're my brother Pete's kids," she explained.
"Is the chocolate cake only for the
kids?"
"You can wrestle them for it," Alex
suggested with another smile, wider this time. "Are older Immortals
different?" Alex asked, turning right back to immortal matters, not
letting that go. A stubborn woman, Connor had said, and he was right.
Alex nodded, but she didn't look totally
convinced.
~~~~~
Early on Friday morning Connor made a quick trip
with Alex to the courthouse in the morning for the legal ceremony, and then
everyone went to Rachel's (formerly Connor's, c. 1915) small summer cottage at
Breezy Point for a day at the beach. On Saturday, the women were busy with
"things." The men were left to their own devices until the wedding on
Sunday afternoon, because Rachel had made plans for a "bachelorette
party" that evening: dinner at a restaurant followed by some movies at her
house, and then a sleepover for the "girls."
"What movies?" Connor had asked when
he had heard. Rachel had only smiled, arousing everybody's curiosity and
suspicions, but she wasn't talking, not even when
Connor and Duncan and Richie and John spent
Saturday at
Connor and Duncan exchanged glances. They'd been
to strip joints. Lots of them.
Richie hadn't, at least, not enough of them.
"It's tradition!" he said, outraged at their lack of enthusiasm.
"What do you Scots do instead the night before a wedding?" he
challenged them. "Go bowling? Arrange the pleats in your kilts?" He
walked over and stared down at Connor, who was lounging back on the sofa with
his feet up on the coffee table.
"Shear sheep?"
That did it. Mrs. Reston, a good friend of
Rachel's, arrived to keep watch over John, and so the three men headed out into
And having a pretty good time. Richie's
enthusiasm was contagious, or at least amusing, and the night out on the town
brought back fond memories of
Really living, not this endless brooding waiting
that sucked out all enjoyment and excitement. After Connor's wife Brenda had
been killed in a car accident seven years ago, sometimes it seemed to
Connor was laughing now as Richie groused about
the stripper. "Well, she's not taking it 'all off' fast enough," the
young Immortal said.
"Yelling won't make her go faster,"
"Thank you very much," Richie said as
he plucked the money from
"Good choice, Richie,"
Connor didn't answer. The show was already
starting, and Connor was giving it--and her--his full attention.
========================
=======================
"Are you nervous, honey?" Mom asked,
on the limo ride from the restaurant back to Rachel's house. "About
tomorrow?"
Alex laughed. "Yes. But more about the wedding
than the marriage." That wasn't a surprise, was it? She already *was*
married legally, though it didn't seem real. The civil ceremony had been quick,
dry, and boring, performed by a tall, thin judge with a bad cold who had
sneezed four times between the "I now pronounce" and "husband
and wife."
"Congratulations," she said then
called, "Next!" and it was done. Connor and Alex retreated to the
hallway, where a triangular sign warned of a slippery floor and civil servants
wandered back and forth with file boxes in their arms.
"Back to the loft?" Connor suggested,
an eager gleam in his eyes.
"John and Duncan and Richie are
there," Alex objected.
He nodded. "Right. A hotel, then. That's
safer, anyway, with
"Oh, he wouldn't--," Alex began, but
Connor raised an eyebrow and then turned for the stairs. "Connor,"
she said, laying a hand on his arm. "Let's wait. Until Sunday, after the
real wedding. I want it to be special."
"We've been waiting," Connor pointed
out. "All week, ever since Duncan and Richie got into town, and you moved
back into your apartment to be with your mom."
"It's only been five days," she
corrected. "Not all week."
"By the time the wedding is over two days
from now, it will have been all week."
"Sunday night," she insisted, but with
a smile, soft and tempting, dangerous and slow. "It'll be worth the
wait."
Connor sighed then smiled back and bowed as he
offered her his arm. "Sunday night," he'd agreed, even as he claimed
her as his own: "Mrs. MacLeod."
"Yes," Alex had said, answering to her
new name, her new husband, and she'd given him her hand as they headed to the
lawyers to sign some papers.
Still, tomorrow was the wedding ceremony, and
Alex was nervous about that. "I keep wondering if the musicians will show
up on time," Alex admitted to her mother as the limo stopped for a red
light. "Or if the food will be edible, or if I'll remember both my shoes.
And I have this horrible feeling there's something I forgot to do."
"Oh, it's always that way," her
sister-in-law, Lara, said. "I had to run out and buy a slip, just three
hours before my wedding!"
"I remember," Mom said dryly, and Alex
remembered, too.
"Mitzi got her start planning weddings as
my maid of honor, over thirty years ago," Rachel reassured them, "and
she's planned hundreds of them since then. The food will be fine, and if you
forget something, she probably has an extra one somewhere."
"Even musicians?" Alex asked, though
Mitzi's white van (emblazoned with the words "Mychelle's Wedding
Designs" and decorated all over with pink hearts and doves outlined with
black) seemed to hold any number of amazing things. Alex had watched her pack
it a few days after Rachel had first suggested getting some professional help.
"Oh, thank you," Alex had said, on
that hot and sticky July evening, as they sat in the small garden behind
Rachel's brownstone and Rachel poured iced tea. "But I don't think--"
"Just in case," Rachel said, as she
gently but firmly pressed a glass into Alex's hand. "The wedding's in six
weeks, right?"
"The twenty-seventh of August," Alex
agreed. "We've got the rings and the location; I've asked some musicians
and a caterer. How much else can there be to do?" Rachel's lips twitched
and her eyebrows went up, and Alex suddenly wondered if she might perhaps have
bitten off more than she could chew.
"Do you have a dress yet?" came the
next question.
"I'm going shopping next week." That
had Alex a little nervous; usually, she just bought all her clothes through the
mail. But L. L. Bean didn't carry wedding gowns, so she was going to have to
brave a real store.
"Why don't you come watch Mitzi get ready
on Friday?" Rachel suggested. "Just so you can see."
So Alex had watched Mitzi get ready, and had
been astonished by the contents of the van. "Four different veils?"
"In case the bride's veil is stepped upon
and torn," Mitzi had answered, her be-ringed fingers twinkling as she
expertly coiled the lace into a stiff cardboard box. "This way, she has a
choice. I have four spare wedding rings, too, for both bride and groom."
"Do you have slips?"
"Of course. Twelve kinds: white, ivory,
slits, no slits, full-length, T-length, knee."
Alex had hired Mitzi that afternoon, shifting
the wedding date from Saturday to Sunday so that Mitzi would be free. Alex knew
she was lucky that Mitzi had any room in her schedule at all. People put
deposits in with Mitzi before they even got engaged.
"Oh, for a friend of Rachel,
anything!" Mitzi had exclaimed, her bright black eyes sparkling above a
sharp blade of a nose. No one would ever call Mitzi pretty or nice--her
features were too pronounced, her tongue too sharp--but no one ever forgot her,
or no one ever just walked on by. "A striking woman," Connor had
commented, and with her signature hand-painted silk scarves and tailored black
linen pant suits, Mitzi turned heads all the time.
She had a head for business, too. Mitzi owned
three florists and a bridal shop, and was planning on acquiring a jewelry
store. "With me as her partner," Rachel had said then added
thoughtfully, "We might even use a corner of the antique store. People
could get their wedding presents there, too."
"Mychelle's Wedding Emporium," Alex
had suggested flippantly, but Rachel had nodded with a still-thoughtful smile.
Rachel was smiling now, too, but it was more of
a grin. "Mitzi hasn't had a live musician in the back of her van since
"Oh," Alex said, surprised again by
the odd, yet pleasurable, feeling of having things done for her, instead of
doing everything by herself. "Well, good."
"Just relax, Alex," Rachel encouraged
her. "It'll be fine. Do you have reservations for tomorrow night?"
"Yes, Connor and I are going to leave the
party around ten and go to a hotel. Everybody else can stay at the loft if they
want to and have a good time." The limo started moving again, its motor a
gentle hum. Alex leaned back into the softness of the leather seat and
stretched out her legs, all the way. She could get used to this.
"Which hotel?" Lara wanted to know.
"I don't know," Alex answered.
"It's a surprise."
It was also a secret. "
"Think he might put rice in the bed?"
Alex had asked with a smile, but Connor hadn't smiled in return.
"It's better this way. Trust me."
And Alex did. She'd decided to trust him months
ago, against her own better judgment and the cop's advice. Connor's advice,
too. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he had told
her the night they first met, when she had still known him by the name of
Russell Nash, before she had known him at all. "Stay away."
She hadn't, not even after the cop had told her
the same thing. "Russell Nash is a dangerous man," Lieutenant Stenn
had told her as they sat in an all-night pool hall hazy with cigarette smoke,
and smelling of mildew and over-ripe cheese. "Now I suggest you stay away
from him." His narrow, stubbled face was earnest, his watery blue eyes
red-rimmed. His hands shook slightly from continuous overdoes of nicotine and
caffeine. It was five in the morning, and neither the lieutenant nor Alex had
gotten any sleep at all; she'd been chasing after Connor MacLeod, and so had
John Stenn. And so had a slimy Immortal named Kane.
Connor and the lieutenant had been right, both
of them. She hadn't known what she was getting into, and Connor was a dangerous
man. But he wasn't dangerous to her, no matter what Lieutenant Stenn or her
friend Tommy thought. Or said. Or insisted. Alex was sure.
"Some butterflies in the stomach are
normal, of course," her mother was saying. The limo turned a corner, only
three blocks from Rachel's house. "But I'm not surprised you don't have
them about Connor. He's a good man, and you always were one to know exactly
what you wanted."
"And to know how to get it," put in
Lara, laughing. "Your brother's told me some stories about you."
"I chased Connor until he caught me,"
Alex admitted, smiling, completely certain that marrying Connor was the right
thing to do. "How is Pete doing?" she asked. She hadn't seen him
since the family had gathered in
Mom had been really excited. "Have you
picked the colors for your wedding yet?" she'd asked after dropping the
kitchen towel on the floor and giving Alex a hug. Alex had blinked before
answering, "Uh, no. I've only been engaged about twelve hours, Mom. I
haven't really thought about it yet." She'd never thought about it at all.
That had been BTW: before the wedding. Alex
could now converse knowledgably about MOB dresses, ring bearer pillows, and
custom-dyed shoes for bridesmaids. Alex was more than ready to get the wedding
over with. At least Mom was still excited.
"Oh, Pete's good," Lara was saying.
"Tired from the drive today. It's a long ride from
"Aren't you tired?"
"Oh, no," Lara said with a grin.
"I napped while he drove."
"We're here!" announced Rachel. The
four women got out of the limo and went down the stairs into the entryway of
the brownstone. Rachel unlocked the door and led them into a hallway crowded
with two bicycles and a pair of large garbage cans. She unlocked another door
that opened onto a staircase.
"What's that other door to?" asked
Lara, pointing down the hall, as curious as always.
"That's the basement apartment,"
Rachel answered. "When the house was first built, this ground floor was
the dining room and the kitchen, but it was turned into an apartment during
World War II. I'm renting it to two college girls now. They're probably out
dancing tonight."
"You own the building?" Mom asked as
they went up the staircase.
"Yes, my husband's grandfather bought it,
over a century ago. David and I lived in the fourth-floor apartment right after
we were married, not that he was here much. The Army kept sending him places,
and then with
Alex and Rachel walked into the living room, but
Mom and Lara stopped in the doorway. "Oh, my," Mom said in surprise,
and Lara added a "Wow." Alex had done the same thing the first time
she'd been here. The house may have been built in the Victorian period, but the
furnishing was minimalist Danish modern, all spare lines and glass and polished
wood and open space. A large Mondrian painting of stark red and blue lines hung
over the fireplace, and a set of Japanese raku pottery in blues and browns was
the main decoration on the open bookshelves against the wall to the right.
"I work with antiques all day," Rachel
explained as she walked past the three tall, narrow windows that looked out
over the street. "I like a change of pace when I come home."
"It's lovely," Mom said, and she came
on in. "Very relaxing. Very...clean."
Rachel laughed as she turned on the light in the
corner. "I've been working at the store for over twenty-five years, and
I've come to *hate* dusting curlicues on furniture. Mitzi hates dusting,
too."
"Will she be here soon?" Alex asked.
"She'll be home before
============================
============================
"
"Is he always this cheerful?" Connor
asked
"Usually,"
"Better not introduce him to
Fitzcairn," Connor cautioned, watching the erratic progress of his
student's student past the subway entrance. "The boy might lead Fitz into
bad habits."
"It's a hell of a town!" Richie continued.
"At least it's not raining,"
Connor started to laugh at the image of Richie
dancing with an umbrella and singing in the rain. "Gene Kelly he's
not," Connor said firmly. "But he looks like he's a good kid."
"Yeah,"
"How's he doing?" Connor asked. Richie
had become an Immortal less than a year ago, and the transition was not an easy
one. Neither was the life.
"All right,"
Connor raised one eyebrow. "That was
quick."
"Too quick,"
"I can't imagine that," Connor
commented with a completely straight face, and it was
"You don't have to imagine it, Connor. I
gave you plenty to remember."
"Good memories," Connor said,
grinning, too, and he clapped
"Wouldn't have missed it for the
world,"
Connor knew why. There had been another wedding
planned, less than a year ago, and Connor was to have been
"No,"
"And all they have, too." Connor
looked up, trying to see the stars, but the lights of heaven were drowned by
the lights of man.
Brenda hadn't had very long at all, but she'd
known a lot, just the same. "One year of love, even though it ends in
death, is better than an eternity alone," she had said to him once, and it
had become so wonderfully--and then so terribly--true. Almost a year later, she
had died in Connor's arms.
But it had been a good year. A great year.
Brenda had made it so. And because of her, and because of what she had taught
him, Connor had decided to take a chance and risk his heart again, to have the
family he'd wanted for so long. Connor didn't need to look up at the heavens
anymore. The stars were always shining, even beyond the glare.
A police car cruised by, and Duncan muttered a
curse when it pulled over at the street corner, right next to Richie and the
two prostitutes who were sauntering toward the boy. "
============================
============================
"Oh my God, I can't believe he did
that!" shrieked Lara, pointing at the screen.
"Him?" Alex said, almost choking on a
nacho. "What about her?"
"There goes her foot, there goes her foot!"
Mom called.
"That settles it, ladies," Mitzi
announced from her seat next to Rachel on the couch. "We should all drink
pink champagne."
"We have to," Lara said mournfully,
tilting the pitcher. "The margaritas are gone."
"The champagne's in the refrigerator,"
Rachel said, starting to get up.
"I'll get it," Alex volunteered.
Mom joined her in the kitchen, a shining space
of chrome and stainless steel. "Rachel seems very nice," Mom said as
she took glasses from a cupboard and set them on a tray.
"Oh, she is," Alex agreed, rummaging
in a drawer for the cork puller. "She's great. And she said just about the
same thing you did when Connor and I told her we were getting married."
"'That's wonderful'?"
"Yes, that," Alex agreed. "And
then she said, 'It's about time.'"
"I never said that," Mom protested.
"You thought it."
"Well...," Mom admitted with a laugh.
"You did seem married to your work for a while," she said, and it was
true. "Not that a career isn't important, of course," Mom continued,
"but there's more to life than a job."
Alex grinned. "I know." She'd always
known that; it was only lately that she'd found it. "Ready?" she
asked, and they carried the champagne and the glasses into the living room.
They paused the movie while Mitzi did the honors with the cork and Rachel
poured.
Lara sipped her champagne then leaned back in
her chair with a contented sigh, wiggling her toes. "What a great party!
And great food. That Chinese place was fantastic!"
Rachel nodded. "The Jade Dragon has been a
favorite of ours for years."
It was one of Alex's favorites now, too. And it
had been a marvelous dinner, even if there had been that awkward moment when
Lara had wanted to know what Connor's Chinese birth year was. "You were
born in the Year of the Tiger, weren't you, Alex?" she'd asked, scanning
the horoscope page on the back of the menu. "Is Connor a Tiger, too?"
Alex had looked up blankly, not knowing what to
say, because 1518 certainly wasn't listed as a birth year and besides that, the
date would have to be converted from Julian to Gregorian. "Um..."
"His birthday's in January," Rachel
had put in smoothly. "So it's before the Chinese New Year. I'm not sure if
that means he's the one before or the one after. What's your Chinese sign,
Lara?"
"I'm a Rat," she'd said, going back to
the menu. "It says I'm 'charming, persuasive, and often self-centered.'
Hey! I don't think I'm like that. Do you think I'm like that? The self-centered
part, I mean, not the charming and persuasive parts."
Mom had agreed that, no, of course not, Lara
wasn't self-centered, and Alex had agreed too. It was true, mostly.
"I can see why you like that
restaurant," Lara was saying to Rachel. "And it was really great that
Alex got the best fortune cookie, especially once we added 'in between the
sheets' to it."
"What was it again, honey?" Mom asked.
Alex pulled the scrap of paper out from her
purse to read: "'It is not how much you do, but how much love you put in
the doing."
"I like that one," Rachel said
thoughtfully. "Even without the 'sheets' bit added on."
"If only it were true for laundry,"
Mom replied, and Alex smiled as she put the paper away to use in her wedding
scrapbook later on.
Lara sighed dramatically. "Of course, I'm
the one who got stuck with, 'There is no love like self love...in between the
sheets.'"
"There is some truth to that," Mitzi
said, and everyone nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes," Lara said, "but not as
much fun," and everyone nodded again.
"Mine was sweet," Mom said. "Both
ways. 'True gold fears no fire.'"
"Mine was awful," Rachel said. "Beware
of odors from unfamiliar sources..."
"...in between the sheets!" Lara
added.
"It is good advice, dear," Mitzi said,
patting her arm.
Rachel smiled sweetly. "I'll get you
yours." She went to the kitchen and came back with the cookie. All the
women leaned forward as Mitzi broke it open and unrolled the scrap of paper,
then sat holding it. "Well?" Rachel finally asked.
Mitzi straightened, tossed back her head, and
proclaimed: "Ignorance is not innocence but a lack of effort..."
And all the women gleefully chanted, "...in
between the sheets!"
"It is good advice, dear," Rachel told
her, smiling sweetly again as she patted Mitzi's arm.
Mitzi returned her smile fondly then declared,
"I need more champagne."
"I haven't had a 'girls' night out' in
years," Lara said as the glasses were refilled. "And it really is a
night out, the whole night. I can't remember the last time I had a slumber
party. For me, that is. Elaine had one on her eighth birthday party." She
shook her head. "Those girls giggled the whole time."
"That's what we're doing," Alex
pointed out.
"But not for the same reason," Mitzi
countered.
"God, I hope not," Lara said, rolling
her eyes.
"Thank you for letting us spend the night,
Rachel," Mom said, moving the conversation along. "It really is a treat,
and tomorrow morning won't be as rushed since we're all at the same place, and
your house is closer to Connor's than Alex's apartment."
"Plus it's more fun!" Lara said.
"That's exactly why I suggested it,"
Rachel agreed.
"Speaking of fun," Mitzi said, "are
we ready for the movie again?"
"Oh, yes!" Lara said, and everyone
turned back to the screen.
"Oh my goodness," Mom murmured a
little while later from the corner. "The look on his face..."
"And hers," Rachel put in, leaning
forward to see better.
As Alex sipped at her champagne, she wondered
how things were going back at the loft. John was no doubt asleep--it was nearly
two in the morning--but the three immortals might have decided to stay up and
watch a movie or play cards. Or maybe they were having fun with swords. Alex
shrugged mentally and went back to enjoying herself. Connor had told her there
was nothing to worry about; he'd take care of "the boys."
============================
============================
Connor was beginning to
be worried. The cops hadn't been that interested in Richie, and had been about
to tell them all to go on home, when the tall cop--whose nametag read Ramirez,
Connor had noticed earlier with some amusement--suddenly motioned to Carlton,
his gray-haired partner, and said a few quiet words.
"Watch it," Connor said to
"If you'll just come with us to the
station,"
"What kind of questions?" Connor
snarled, moving partially between
The cop's weary eyes, almost colorless in the
glare of the streetlight, slid over him and came back to his face, then stayed
there. "Just some questions," he said evenly, though his tension at
the confrontation showed in the set of his jaw and the tightness of his
shoulders, visible even under the ill-fitting uniform. Behind him, Ramirez
placed a hand on his gun.
"Connor,"
"We'll see," Ramirez said
noncommittally
"Nothing to worry about, Connor,"
Connor swore, the weight of
"
============================
The Bridal Party - The Morning After
============================
"I love
"There's no place like it on earth,"
Alex agreed, watching a delicate brown sparrow as it hopped on the paving
stones that lay in a curving path between the nodding pink flowers of cyclamen.
The bird's goal was probably the water puddle in the old grinding stone that
lay half hidden by feather-leafed ferns and the dark foliage of the red astilbe
at the end of the path. On the white-painted brick of the far wall, English ivy
hid the pipes and gutters. In the spring, Alex remembered, gold and white daffodils
replaced the pinks and reds. Rachel and Mitzi had created a peaceful oasis
behind their home. All Alex had managed in her efficiency apartment was a
potted ivy that climbed up her bookcases, and a row of herbs in front of the
bedroom window, the only place that received any sun. Their new house, she had
informed Connor, had to have space for a garden.
"Plenty of room for a garden in the
"I don't want to spend all of our honeymoon
looking at houses," Alex had warned.
Connor had grinned and pulled her onto his lap.
"Neither do I," he'd said and proceeded to demonstrate a few of the
other things he had in mind.
Alex added some fresh coffee to her cup from the
blue ceramic carafe, smiling to herself as she remembered that afternoon two
weeks ago, and other afternoons, and various evenings and mornings and nights.
And tonight--their wedding night--was going to be the best of all.
"You're going to miss
"I know," Alex agreed. "But we'll
come back at least once or twice a year." Connor had enough money to make
that easy. Connor had a lot of money. He'd even given some of it to her, six
days after they'd gotten engaged.
"I'm an Immortal, but I could still be dead
tomorrow," Connor told Alex that night, as they sat on the red couch in
front of the TV, soon after John had gone to bed. "I want you and John to
have a place to stay, with everything legal, no way to dispute it, so I put
your name on the title to the loft. Rachel owns the rest of the building. And
you get this." He reached into the briefcase on the floor then handed her
a list of accounts and various investments. "Just in case."
"Connor!" Alex protested in shock,
when she saw the number of zeros that followed the dollar sign. "I can't
possibly--"
"It's yours," he said flatly. "No
matter what."
"But--"
"Rachel
has more," Connor told her with a slightly tilted grin. "And so does
John."
That
helped, some, but..."This is dated today," Alex said, looking at the
paper again. "Shouldn't it take effect after we get married?"
Connor
shook his head. "Now." Alex opened her mouth to protest again, and
Connor immediately interrupted her, again. "The money shouldn't be any part
of your decision, Alex. I want you to want to marry *
"I don't want the money, Connor," she
said, dropping the paper on the floor. "I want to marry *you.*" She
kissed him then held him tightly in her arms, knowing words alone wouldn't be
enough right now. He'd been abandoned too many times. "I love *you.* I
never asked--"
"I wouldn't have given you the money if
you'd asked," he broke in, and Alex blinked at the bluntness of his words
and the determined look in his eyes--eyes of unflinching granite gray. He
handed her the paper again, put it right in her hand and closed her fingers
around it. "Take it. I want the choice to be yours."
She had to laugh at that. "But you won't
give me a choice in this."
Connor wasn't laughing. "The choice to
leave. Next week, next year, ten years from now. If you ever want to."
Alex started shaking her head. Marriage was
forever, a lifelong contract, not a lease renewable from year to year. "I
won't--"
"It's not easy, Alex, living with the
Game."
She knew that. She'd seen Kane, and Connor had
shown her what it was to live with death. She didn't like it, but people lived
that way in other countries, or during wars. They managed, and so would she.
But this..."Did you give money to Brenda, before you married her?"
Alex asked. At Connor's nod, she pressed, "And? What did she do?"
"She slapped me in the face and ripped up
the paper. Said she'd never been so insulted in her entire life."
Alex snapped her mouth shut. "Oh."
"Then I told her I'd always dreamed of
marrying a woman who could support me in luxury." One side of his mouth
curled upward, and his eyes lightened to a sky-washed blue: Connor's version of
a self-amused grin. "She decided she would never be a kept woman, but
keeping a gigolo might not be too bad."
Alex decided she rather liked the idea of Connor
as a gigolo, too.
"I don't think she would have gone for
it," Connor continued, "if I hadn't promised to do the cooking,
too."
"Couldn't Brenda cook?"
Connor shook his head solemnly.
"Terrible."
"I don't cook," Alex warned.
"Just baking, and some simple recipes now and then, like macaroni and
cheese." She could do hamburgers and hot dogs, too. Soup was easy enough,
and maybe a tuna noodle casserole, as long as she had a can of cream of
mushroom soup. But Connor was a chef. She'd seen him in the kitchen, with
spices and French cookbooks spread in front of him, humming to himself as he
diced and minced and julienned, then turned to sautéing and flambéing with
ease. If she hadn't gotten so much exercise lately at the dojo and the gym--and
in bed--she was certain she'd have gained ten pounds.
"John likes macaroni and cheese,"
Connor said equably and added more suggestively. "And I like your cookies."
"Do you?" she replied, trying not to
smile.
Connor's gaze started at her eyes, went down to
her toes, and then back up--very slowly. "Oh, yeah," he said, looking
into her eyes again, with that huskiness in his voice that sent shivers all the
way down her spine and then uncurled slowly deep inside. "Especially your
macaroons," he said.
Alex folded the paper neatly and laid it on the
table then turned her attention to Connor, staring right into his eyes as she
placed both her palms flat against his chest. "Don't you ever think about
anything but food?"
Connor raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you
have something better to offer?"
Alex ran her right hand up to his shoulder and
around to the back of his neck, burying her fingers in the softness of his
hair. "I think so."
"So do I," Connor said and turned his
head to kiss the inside of her wrist, just within his reach. Alex closed her
eyes as the shivers exploded deep inside. Connor started tiny little nibbles at
the base of her palm, but when the shivers made her tremble, Connor stopped to
say, "Take the money, Alex."
She sighed in exasperation and frustration and
pulled her hand from him. "Connor--"
"Alex." He caught her hand in his, the
grip gentle and inexorable, just like the man. "Take it. The Game's not
easy to live with," he repeated. "And neither am I."
"How would you know?" she challenged.
"And isn't that my decision?"
"Yeah," he agreed, slow and cautious,
but smiling just the same.
"My decision..." She shoved him
backwards on the couch, and he pulled her with him as he fell. "...my
choice. And I choose to marry you, Connor MacLeod." Alex loved the way he
caught his breath whenever she called him by his name. "My love, for a
lifetime," she reminded him and kissed him once more, determined and sure.
Connor's hands roved with easy certainty from the nape of her neck to the base
of her spine, and Alex loved that, too.
But Connor still wasn't done with business, and
as soon as she lifted her head, he said it again, patient and inflexible,
stubborn as a rock of granite gray. "The money's all invested, Alex.
Ignore it or use it--start a company, sponsor an archeological dig, whatever,
but it's yours."
"All right," she agreed, finally
accepting his gift. Once they were married she'd have access to his money,
anyway, some of it at least. This was just a little earlier, that was all.
"I'll keep you as my gigolo. As long as you do the cooking," she
warned.
"I'll cook," Connor promised.
"And don't think I'll let you neglect your
other duties."
Connor grinned. "Don't you ever think about
anything but sex?"
"Not with you lying underneath me,"
she told him and took him straight to bed.
"But...what do I do with it?" she'd
asked Connor the next day.
"Buy me presents," he'd suggested, and
Alex had: some books she had found in a rare book store, a sweater or two, an
antique map--and a wedding ring, a plain gold band. She'd bought presents for
her family, too, and even splurged on herself: a day at a spa and new clothes.
She'd been writing checks for the wedding expenses, including Mitzi's hefty fee
and a custom-made designer gown. She hadn't even begun to make a dent. Alex had
decided not to think about it anymore, not for a while.
But she knew all that money would make their
life easier, and that would help them to cope with the things that were hard--like
the Game. Alex watched as another sparrow joined the first. One fluttered in
the water; the other stood guard.
Rachel leaned back in the small wire-frame chair
and regarded Alex steadily. "Ready for your big move?"
"Pretty much. I'll feel better once we find
a house."
"The
"Well, yes and no. I grew up in farm
country in
"Yes," Rachel agreed. "Connor
loves horses--and the
"Have you been?"
"Oh, about thirty years ago. I'd heard so
much about the
"Did you go with Connor?"
"No, he was off traveling the world. I went
with some college friends. We hiked near
"Whisky is the other reason Connor gave for
living there," Alex said with a laugh. "I'll miss
"And there aren't many Immortals in the
"No." Alex clutched her coffee with
both hands, staring at nothing. "We've talked about that, too. Connor says
we'll all be safer there." She smiled at Rachel, bright and hopeful.
"It'll be a good place for us."
"Yes," Rachel agreed briskly. "It
will." She reached across and patted Alex's hand. "You'll be
fine."
Lara came outside through the kitchen door,
dressed in her pajamas, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Her short blonde hair
stood up in tufts. Rachel's gray cat, Dame Agatha, came with her. "Oh
great, coffee and real bagels!" Lara exclaimed. "All we can get in
"Mitzi bought them this morning,"
Rachel explained as Lara joined them at the table. "She went to talk to
the florist, and she'll be back in an hour or so."
"I guess we'd better get started,"
Alex said, yet she felt oddly reluctant to move at all.
"Your mom's taking a shower right
now," Lara said to Alex and poured herself a cupful from the carafe. Dame
Agatha crossed the patio and began a cautious stalk along the brick walkway.
The two sparrows immediately flew away and landed on the birdfeeder attached to
the side of the house, just outside the kitchen window.
"So," Lara said, adding a third
spoonful of sugar to her coffee while Alex shuddered and turned away from the
sight, "what time does the hairdresser arrive?"
~~~~~
Lara and Alex went running after breakfast, and
when they got back at eleven, the hairdresser had just started work on Alex's
mom. "You get a shower first," Lara said to Alex. "Your hair's
more important than mine today." When Alex emerged, flushed and damp from
the steamy bathroom, Rachel and Mitzi had already left for the loft to prepare
for the "big event," and the hairdresser wasn't quite done with Mom.
"I'm getting my shower now," Lara said. "Lunch is
downstairs."
Alex sat alone in the kitchen and nibbled at the
shrimp dip and crackers, all the while staring at the phone. She ought to call
Tommy this morning. She should have called him weeks ago, but she'd been so
busy, with the wedding and all the--
No. She hadn't been *that* busy. She'd been
afraid to talk to him, afraid of what she might say, of what Tommy *would* say.
She had thought of writing to him and trying to explain, but she'd never gotten
very far.
------------------------
Dear
Tommy,
I know you
didn't think much of Connor when we had lunch together because he wasn't giving
straight answers to your questions, but, you see, he's older than he looks, and
so he tends to evade--
------------------------
Dear
Tommy,
I know
you're disappointed in me for being obsessed with this guy, but he really is
wonderful, and I do love him, more than I ever thought I--
------------------------
Dear
Tommy,
I know you
think Connor is a liar and a murderer, and you're right, he is, but that's only
because he's an Immortal, and so he has to lie about his age. Then there's this
thing called The Game...
------------------------
All the explanations either made her sound like
a female who trusted a man to the point of idiocy, or sooner or later they
slammed straight into a wall of lies. Sooner, usually. Tommy was the kind of
guy who would keep digging and digging at that wall until he'd undermined the whole
thing, and it all came tumbling down. Just like Alex had done, when she'd
chased Connor down in
So, she hadn't been able to explain anything to
Tommy, not even when she'd told him she was getting married, and instead of congratulating
her, he'd shaken his head in amazed disgust and looked away, running a hand
through his curly brown hair. She hadn't been able to explain why she was
quitting her job, either, or why she was moving away. "Jesus, Alex,"
Tommy had sworn when she'd told him. "How can you--? Don't you know how
these guys work? He's taking you away from everyone you know, everyone who
could help you if...if something goes wrong."
"Tommy, he's not like that. He loves
me."
"Yeah, right. That's just what guys like
that say." Tommy had given up the sarcasm and tried reason again.
"Alex, that is one scary dude. He's got killer eyes, I'm telling you, and
I don't just mean sexy."
"I know," she'd whispered, because it
was true.
"And you're still going to marry him."
"Yes."
Tommy had shaken his head and swallowed hard,
then taken her by the hands. "Look...call me, OK? If you need anything.
Anytime. Middle of the night, whenever. You can even call collect. I'll fly out
there, if you want."
"Oh, Tommy," Alex had said and hadn't bothered
to blink back her tears. "Thank you."
"I just..." His bright blue eyes had
been brighter than usual. "Don't you disappear," he'd ordered.
"I won't," she'd promised. "And
I'll be fine. I love Connor, and Connor loves me. I know you don't trust him,
and he is hard to get to know, but really, we'll be fine. Maybe you can visit
us in
"Yeah, maybe," Tommy had said in the
way that means "like hell," but he'd given up trying to stop her.
She'd let go of his hands to hug him, and she'd kissed him on the cheek before
she'd walked away. She hadn't spoken to him since. She'd missed him every day.
Alex took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
============================
============================
By
"Stay here and watch over John,"
Connor continued. "Rachel and Mitzi will take care of everything upstairs.
You can tell Alex or Rachel or Sean--but nobody else--where I am if I'm not
back before three." Richie was still nodding as Connor walked out the
door.
Connor didn't slow down when he entered the
precinct house, but he wanted to. He'd been in this building before, first with
Moran and Bedsoe nine years ago, and then with Lt. John Stenn six months ago.
Connor hadn't enjoyed either visit.
"I matched the description of a guy wanted
for murder in
"That took all night?"
"No, but the line-up did."
Connor muttered some more obscenities as
Connor didn't want to think about the other four
boroughs, the other forty-nine states, or any number of foreign countries.
Connor hated fingerprints and Social Security Numbers and photo IDs. Life had
been a lot simpler a century ago, when you could just walk away and change your
name and nobody knew or cared. When you could die and revive without being
buried alive by a mountain of paperwork. When fighting for your head had been
the worst of your worries.
"Let's get out of here," he said to
Duncan, avoiding looking at any of the cops, hoping that Stenn had the day off,
hoping that the crawling feeling on the back of his neck was just from his
usual paranoia. Once they were out of the building, Connor gave
"Thanks,"
"Did Porasin ever show up?" Connor
demanded as they merged into the throng on the sidewalk. He better have. The
size of the retainer Connor paid to that law firm was more than enough to cover
the loss of one's night sleep.
"Yes, and he did a good job, got things
moving. He left about nine-thirty; his daughter was singing at church this
morning."
"You've got three hours," Connor told
him as they headed for the subway. "The wedding starts in four."
============================
============================
Tommy Maclure folded his bike and carried it up
the three flights of stairs to his one-room apartment. Once inside, he hung his
bike from its hook on the ceiling, in the corner above the day-bed. His helmet
went under the couch. His shoes went on the pedals of the bike, his dripping socks
went over the handlebars, and his sweat-soaked T-shirt and shorts went over the
hooks on the door. Tommy went into the shower, with the water turned all the
way cold.
He toweled his hair half-way dry after he'd
rinsed off the sweat, but he didn't bother to dry the rest of him. Evaporation
felt good. The air conditioning was on, but it didn't seem to help much, so he
turned on the fan, too. Tommy grabbed a soda from the fridge and rolled the
cold metal can against his forehead before he popped the lid. He lay down naked
on the rug in front of the couch, the only floor-space in his apartment long
enough to accommodate his six-foot-two frame. He rested the soda on his chest,
moving it every few moments to equalize the temperature, and he closed his eyes
as the breeze from the fan moved over him from knees to head and back again. He
needed a fan with a larger arc. His feet were still hot, and moving the fan
farther away decreased the breeze too much. Maybe a jug of cold water would
help. He could put his feet on that.
Tommy stood and walked the three steps to the
sink in the corner of the room. He punched the button on his answering machine
and got out an old milk jug while the tape whirred in rewind, then started
popping ice cubes out a tray, only half-listening as his girlfriend, Sally,
asked what time he would show up for their bike ride, not listening at all to a
request for a donation to rescue retired racing dogs. But he stopped the noisy
job of breaking ice when Alex's voice came on.
"Tommy? Hi. I, um, I've been thinking about
you, all this month."
Sure she had. When she wasn't too busy being
wined and dined by Mr. Connor MacMillionaire, or driven around in his fancy
car. Not that Tommy was jealous, or disliked that MacLeod fellow just because
of his money, but...that guy was hiding something. Maybe drugs, maybe an
ex-wife--or a dead one--maybe smuggling or Mafia connections, but something.
Tommy knew it. He'd told Alex, but she had blithely assured him that MacLeod
wasn't hiding anything from her. Talk about love being blind! He'd always known
she was stubborn, but he'd never thought that Alex--Alex, of all people!--would
ever be that stupid or that obsessed about a guy.
"I know you'd said you'd be busy,"
Alex's voice continued, "but...if your plans have changed, I really would
like you to come to my wedding."
Oh, yeah, the wedding--and then the move to
"The wedding is today,
"My mom and Pete are in town," Alex
added. "They said they'd love to see you again. The shop is closed today,
but there's a door on the back of the building you can use. Go up three flights
of stairs and turn left."
No need. He wasn't going to go.
"You're my best friend, Tommy," Alex
said, not sounding at all assured now. "I've missed you. I hope you can
come. Please."
Then came the click and the whir, and Alex's
words were hidden somewhere in the yards of tape. Tommy finished filling the
jug with ice water, then lay back down on the floor, his feet propped on the
jug. Her best friend. Damn straight he was. That day she'd quit her job, he'd
even offered her what he *knew* she was going to need: a way out.
But Alex had only protested again that all would
be well, that she loved Connor and that Connor loved her. She'd given Tommy a
hug and kissed him on the cheek, and Tommy had been left to watch helplessly as
she'd walked away. He hadn't heard from her since, until this afternoon.
He'd seen her, though. He'd wandered over to
So, either all five neighbors were lying to
Tommy, or MacLeod was lying to Alex. Tommy couldn't afford a detective agency,
so two weeks ago he'd finally gone to the police with his suspicions. The cop
at the front desk hadn't been interested. "Look, kid, so your girlfriend
dumped you for another guy. It happens."
"It's not that! I'm worried about her. I
don't think she's safe with him."
The cop had sighed and leaned forward on two
beefy forearms, his bald head gleaming in the glare of fluorescent lights.
"Is he beating her up? Giving her drugs? Making her steal stuff?"
"No."
"Is she turning tricks? Is he her pimp?"
"No!"
The cop had shrugged and straightened up.
"She's not complaining; he's not doing anything illegal...you got nothing,
kid. My advice? Find another girl."
So Tommy had - a girl he'd met six months ago at
the bike club, a girl who just happened to work in the records division for the
police. He could have gone to her first, if he'd thought about it. Tanishia had
been sympathetic and--more importantly--helpful. "Connor MacLeod doesn't
have a file or a criminal record," she'd told him when he'd taken her out
to lunch later that week. "Not even a parking ticket. I checked back
twenty years. But he doesn't own that building. I called my friend over in
Property and Titles. Rachel Ellenstein bought it from a guy named Russell
Nash."
"Thanks, Tanishia," Tommy had said
warmly, even though he still hadn't been satisfied. OK, so maybe that explained
the name on the store, but lots of criminals had perfect records. It just meant
that they were careful, not that they were clean. Even having a decent kid
didn't prove anything; Tommy had met John when Alex had shown him around the
museum back in early June, and Tommy had liked the kid a lot, even though he'd
felt sorry for John, having to live with Connor MacLeod. Alex, on the other
hand, had a choice, and she'd actually chosen to *marry* the guy.
Tommy rolled over on his stomach and propped his
chin on his hands, thinking of Alex's last words: "Her best friend. Please
come." Damn it. He had to go, if only to let her know she could depend on
him, no matter what. But he wasn't going to bring a wedding present, and he
wasn't going to wear a tie. Tommy hauled himself to his feet and checked the
clock on the wall: ten minutes to three, plenty of time to eat something, get
dressed, and get over to
============================
============================
The women arrived from Rachel's house at
three-thirty, piling out of the limousine with boxes and bags in the alley
behind the store. Connor was watching from the apartment window until Richie
pulled him away. "You can't see the bride ahead of time!" Richie
insisted, and
Pete and Sean arrived, taking refuge from the
on-going chaos upstairs, where Rachel and Mitzi were still overseeing the
caterers and florists and musicians. Alex and her mother and Lara were--no
doubt--monopolizing the master bedroom and the bath. John was playing in the
storeroom across the hall with Alex's niece and nephew, and making a hell of a
lot of noise. "He says they're being fighter jets,"
"So much for peace and quiet," Richie
observed, raising his beer as he propped his feet up on the coffee table placed
between the two dark green sofas, but not too close to Connor's feet, which
were also propped there.
"So, Connor, tell me about her," Sean
said as he came out from behind the kitchen counter, thus forestalling a
different kind of explosion, because Connor had been about to charge out the
door to the storeroom and lay down the law on the kids. Sean sat on one of the
kitchen stools, next to Pete, and sipped at his beer. "How did you and
Alex meet?"
Connor picked his own beer up from the coffee
table and leaned back on the sofa, resigning himself to the thumps on the wall.
Sean was good at this sort of diversion. He probably got a lot of practice at
it in his work. "Alex's an archeologist," Connor explained, tailoring
his words for Pete's benefit. "Since I own an antique store, she came to
me for some information in January, and she kept coming back until she got what
she wanted."
"That's Alex," Pete said, with a
rueful shake of his head and a grin, and Connor watched this masculine version
of Alex in fascination, so like and yet so different. Pete's hair was a darker
shade of blond than his sister's, and his neatly-trimmed beard was almost
brown, but the eyes were just as blue, and the inquisitive tilt of the head and
the challenging lift of the eyebrows were the same.
"I used to call her Burr when we were
kids," Pete said, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he
perched on the edge of the stool. "That's because she was like a burr in a
horse's tail, kind of prickly on the outside and hard to get rid of."
Connor smiled to himself and drank some beer,
filing that little piece of information away for future use.
"And when did she decide she wanted you,
Connor?"
Connor had asked Alex the same question, a few
days after he'd set the engagement ring on her finger. They had been walking on
the beach hand-in-hand, watching the sea and the sky. "When did you first
know?" he'd asked, while John had splashed in the waves. "That you
wanted a lifetime with me?"
"When you didn't say goodbye."
When he had gone to fight Kane. Connor had
stopped walking and lifted her hands in his, holding them against his heart.
"I never do," he'd promised her. "Not to the people I
love."
"Did you show her your etchings?"
Richie asked, his eyebrows wagging suggestively.
"I think it was my extensive library and
art collection that did the trick," Connor replied and added blandly,
"Alex has a passion for ancient things, especially mine."
"Uh, yeah, right," Richie said with a
gulp and a grin, and Duncan and Sean hid smiles.
"So, Sean, are you French?" Pete
asked, oblivious to the real reason for the Immortals' amusement. "Lara
said you flew in from
"Irish, originally, but I moved to
"And what do you do?" Pete continued,
the quintessential American question.
"I'm a psychiatrist. I work at a hospital
in Limay."
A damned good psychiatrist, Connor knew. Sean
had done wonders with John after the kidnapping by Kane. Sean had helped
Connor, too; though at first, Connor had resisted the idea. "I don't have
a problem," Connor had insisted. "John's the one with the
nightmares."
"And you don't have nightmares?" Sean
had asked. "Ever? You don't dream of finding John's dead body on your
doorstep? You don't blame yourself for almost getting your son killed?"
Connor had said nothing, because of course Sean
was right. Connor had almost gotten John killed. Rachel had been in danger,
too. Connor had been selfish and stupid and blind. He should have known. He
should have stopped it. He should have--
Sean had come up behind him and laid a hand on
his shoulder, a touch Connor wouldn't have permitted from any other man, except
"No?" Connor had demanded in anguish
and rage.
"No. Not all of it."
Over the next seven weeks, Connor had come to
see that Sean was right. John had gotten better, too. Not finished, either of
them, but on the right road and walking together. That helped, and now that
John knew about Immortality, Connor didn't have to lie anymore. When they left
"And what do you do, Pete?" asked the
good doctor now, giving the other man his complete and focused interest, as he
always did, the blue eyes warm and interested in a lined face, the reddish hair
curling more than ever, clipped close in the short hair style of this decade.
"In the winter, I'm a ski instructor in
"Runs in the family then," Connor
commented, because Alex had a set of skis hanging from her living room ceiling.
"Yeah, Alex comes to visit us all the time
when we have snow," Pete agreed. "She's the one who got me started; I
was more into hockey when we were kids. She's awesome on the slopes." He
turned back to Richie. "In the summer, I spend most of my time fixing
motorcycles."
"Yeah?" Richie said with interest.
"What do you think of--" and he launched into a long string of
numbers and words. Pete responded in kind.
Sean took his beer with him when he went
upstairs a few moments later to take his place as the master of ceremony.
Connor caught
"Haven't heard that tune in a while,"
Connor fastened a silver cuff link. "Why do
you think I'm whistling? That's Alex's big brother in the next room."
============================
============================
Good police work, an old
sergeant had told John Stenn and his classmates long ago, depended on three
things: patience, perseverance, and perspicacity. "For you
boneheads," he'd added, "that means: don't rush, don't quit, and pay
attention!"
John Stenn remembered. He remembered a lot of
things, things other people forgot, things other people never learned in the
first place. But he remembered.
And he paid attention.
So when he walked past the vending machines at
the police station and heard the name "MacLeod", he stopped to
listen. Officer Ramirez was putting the moves on Tanishia, one of the girls who
worked in Records, or maybe she was putting the moves on him. Hard to tell
sometimes who was chasing and who was running. "This MacLeod fellow you
picked up last night," Tanishia was saying, "was his first name
Connor?"
"No. It was Donald, I think. Or maybe
"Oh, nothing," she said. "I
looked up a Connor MacLeod in Records a couple of weeks ago, and I wondered if
it was the same guy."
"Where'd he live?" Stenn asked, and
she turned startled eyes his way. Stenn repeated, "Where'd this Connor
MacLeod live?"
"On
"At 1182," Stenn said, savoring each
number.
"Yeah," she said in surprise.
"How'd you know?"
"I remember things," he told her, not
letting his fierce exultation show. Finally, that head-chopping bastard Nash
was back in his sights. Using a different name, yeah, but when Russell Nash had
been booked for breaking through customs at Newark Airport back in February,
he'd been using a passport with the name Connor MacLeod, and he'd been raving
about some boy named John MacLeod that he claimed had been kidnapped.
Nash had never bothered to file a report on the
supposed "kidnapping," though...just another lie. "What'd you
find?" Stenn asked.
"Nothing, Lieutenant," she said.
"He was clean."
She would have found something if she'd looked
under the name Russell Nash. "Why were you looking this guy up?"
Stenn asked next. She hesitated, and he shook his head, saying softly,
"Don't worry." He didn't care about procedure, not right now.
"See," she said, talking too fast,
"this guy I know--a friend of mine--said he was worried about a friend of
his, said she was getting into too deep with MacLeod. Tommy doesn't trust him,
and he asked me if I could check him out. I mean I figured, what the heck, you
know? If MacLeod was clean, no harm done. And if he wasn't, then the girl
should know. Right?"
"Right," Stenn agreed. "You did
good. What's your friend Tommy's last name?"
"Maclure."
Stenn filed that away before he turned to
Ramirez. "Why'd you pick MacLeod up last night?"
"He matched the description of a murder
suspect in
Stenn nodded and walked away, remembering other
murders through the years, and one very recent one in
Another beheading.
And Nash--or MacLeod, either Donald or Connor or
"What's up?" she asked.
"The beheader."
"Good," she said fiercely. "Can
you nail him this time?"
"I'm going to try," he promised.
"Kiss Davey goodnight for me, would you?"
"Of course, sweetheart. Love you."
"Love you, too." Stenn hung up the
phone and reread the report on the latest beheading, taking notes.
Not much longer now.
============================
"Almost time, Alex," her mom said from
the doorway of the bedroom. "Here's your bouquet. Did you remember both
your shoes?"
Alex laughed and pointed to the shoes--both of
them--by the oak blanket-chest at the foot of the bed. "And I have my
slip," she said, pulling it on. The dress was next, a soft whispering of
cream silk and lace. "Can you button me up, Mom?" Alex turned around,
but she didn't have to pull her hair out of the way. The hairdresser had woven
pink-tinged cream roses into Alex's crown of braids.
"There," her mother said when the tiny
satin-covered buttons were finally done, and her hands--those calm and loving
hands that had helped Alex so much through the years--smoothed the wrinkles of
the gown on Alex's back.
"Thanks, Mom," Alex said, turning
around to look at the woman who had cut the crusts off her sandwiches and
bandaged her knees, who had helped her with spelling and calmly re-dyed Alex's
hair after that awful mistake she'd made when she was fifteen, who had always
been there. "Thanks for everything. I'm so glad you're my 'best woman'
today." Right after the engagement, Alex had gone through her list of
girlfriends from high school and from college and come up only with names of
people she hadn't seen for years. Her mom was truly the closest friend she had.
So Alex had asked her, and Mom of course had said yes.
"You've always been the best woman I
know," Alex told her.
"Oh, honey," her mom said, and they
hugged, carefully because of the clothes and the make-up and the hair, on both
of them. "Thank you." She stepped back and gave a satisfied sigh.
"You're beautiful. I only wish your father could be here."
Alex wished that, too. Nearly two years it had
been now, since Pete had called to tell her that Dad was dead. "A brain
aneurysm, they think." Pete's voice had sounded strangely calm, almost
empty, and Alex, sitting at her desk at work, felt empty too, and numb with
cold. "Mom said he was out cutting the grass, and then...Lara and I and
the kids are on our way, but you're closer, Alex. Can you get out to Mom and--"
Pete had stopped, because there was no "Mom and Dad's," not ever
again. "Can you get to Mom right away?" Pete had said, and his voice
hadn't been empty anymore. It had been filled with tears.
"Yes," Alex had said immediately, and
she had left the city and driven westward, nearly blinded by the light from the
setting sun and her own tears.
"You know, sometimes, when I'm at
work," Alex said to her mom, as they stood in Connor's bedroom, "when
we find a new artifact or uncover something exciting, I think: 'Oh, I need to
call Dad and tell him.' And then I remember, I can't call him. Ever again. But
I tell him anyway, in my mind." She toyed with the antique ring on her
right forefinger, the ring her dad had given to her when she'd finally finished
years and years of school and gotten her doctorate. "Do you talk to him,
too?" Alex asked.
"Oh, yes," Mom said. "All the
time. It helps." She took out a handkerchief and smiled even as she dabbed
at her eyes, and then carefully dabbed at Alex's, too. "No more tears for
us, Alex. We don't want Connor to think he's marrying into a family of
raccoons."
"No," Alex agreed, laughing now.
"Oh, dear." Mom bit her lip. "I
think I smeared your mascara."
Alex glanced at the French ormolu clock that
stood on the table next to the king-sized bed. "Ten minutes, plenty of time."
She walked past the wall of bookshelves and went into the bathroom to repair
the damage.
============================
============================
"It's time, Connor," Richie said,
poking his head into the apartment. Connor and Duncan were the only ones left;
Pete had gone up ten minutes ago to help Lara corral the kids. "Rachel
said you can come upstairs now," Richie continued. "She's waiting by
the door."
"Finally," Connor muttered. Something
was seriously wrong with the world when a man couldn't even walk into his own house
without permission. "You have the ring?" he asked
"Yes, Connor,"
Connor nodded and started for the door, but
"I'm telling you, Mac," Richie said
sorrowfully, "the man does not have a boutonniere. I mean, what kind of a
guy gets married without flowers?"
"I would never dream of it,"
"God damn it--," Connor started, but
Richie was already heading for the door.
"I got it! I got it!" he called over
his shoulder, and in a few moments he was back, a floral offering held proudly
in his hand. Connor stared at the pair of limp daisies hanging from a foot-long
bedraggled stem, the roots still festooned with clumps of dirt. "I saw 'em
in the alley earlier today," Richie said brightly. "And I thought,
Wow. Even in
"And a tree grows in
"Absolutely right, Mac, absolutely right. I
couldn't have said it better myself." Richie flicked off the dirt chunks.
Connor stepped back to avoid the flying clods. "And maybe it's a little,
well...long," Richie observed, holding it out at arm's length. "But,
a bit of a twist--," he broke the stem three inches below the ragged-edged
leaves, "--and, voila!" He held out a single white-petalled flower
with an eager, happy smile.
"I am not," Connor stated,
"wearing a weed."
Richie's
face fell. "Oh, but--"
"Connor,"
Connor
reached out and snatched the rest of the long-stemmed weed--and it was a weed,
God damn it, no matter what
"Uh," Richie began, but then Rachel's
voice called their names from upstairs.
"Time to go," Connor ordered, and
Richie tossed the stem in the trash and trotted up the flight of stairs. Connor
and Duncan followed. "Go on ahead," Connor said to
Rachel stared after them then turned to Connor
with a bemused look. "Why is
"I know," Connor said and shrugged.
"
"Thank you," she said, preening a
little. "You're quite the fashion plate yourself." She walked around
him and clucked in some dismay. "Though I had always hoped to see you in
top hat and tails."
"Not today," Connor answered with some
relief. Alex had been fine with a suit-and-tie wedding, and that was fine by
him. "Is Ben here?" he asked.
"Yes, about fifteen minutes ago, and he
brought his date, Natalie," Rachel replied. "I think it's nice you
and Alex had at least one friend in common to invite."
"You're here."
"I'm family," she said dismissively,
but Connor knew she was pleased. "I know you and Alex have been busy,"
she said as she turned to pick up the small white box sitting on the table in
the corner, "and you're moving anyway, but it helps for a couple to have
friends."
"We'll work on it when we get to
Rachel smiled. "Don't keep a woman waiting
on her wedding day." She opened the box. "But...there's only one
boutonniere here," she said in surprise. "Richie promised me he'd get
them both."
"Richie," Connor repeated, savoring
the name.
"Well, he's probably holding it for
"No doubt," Connor agreed, already
planning his revenge on the pair.
Rachel took out the cream-colored rose with its
darker companions of purple heather and green rosemary and pinned it to his
lapel. "I'm so glad you found someone again, Connor," she said as she
smoothed his collar and straightened his tie, then patted down an errant lock
of hair, those little caring touches of hers that Connor knew so well.
"You inspired me," Connor said simply,
and it was true. No matter what had happened in her life, Rachel had always
looked for someone to love, and she always found what she was looking for.
"You made me a romantic again."
"I think Brenda and Alex had something to
do with that, too," Rachel said, smiling.
"Yes," Connor agreed. "But you
were first." He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips, held
them as he looked into her eyes. "I will always love you, Rachel," he
promised. "Always."
"I know," Rachel said, and that, too,
was simple between them, though it hadn't always been. "I love you too,
Connor. Always." She stepped forward and kissed him, first one cheek, then
the other. Connor pulled her to him and held her close, resting his cheek
against the softness of her hair, and they stood there for a moment before
Rachel pulled away.
"Time for you to get married," she
said, and--finally--it was. "Now, you and Duncan are going to wait near
the dining-room table," she reminded him. "Alex and her mother will
come down the staircase, and then the four of you will walk toward Sean in the
seating area, meeting in front of the windows."
"I know," Connor said. The details of
the wedding had been discussed in exhaustive detail, over and over again. But
first-- "Would you take this up to Alex?" he asked, handing Rachel
the slim wooden box from his pocket. The daisy was stuck under the envelope he
had fastened to the top with a ribbon, and he peeled the flower loose then idly
started pulling off the petals--she loves me, she love me not, she loves me,
she loves me not--
Rachel laid her hand on his, stilling his
anxious fingers. "She loves you," Rachel said quietly, and she took
both the mutilated flower and the box. "Yes, I'll take it to her. You go
on in." Rachel went into the loft and up the stairs. Connor took a deep
breath, straightened his tie, and walked through the open door.
============================
============================
Alex gave her appearance one last check in the
bathroom mirror. Slip not showing, no runs in the stockings, hair neat, makeup
fixed, flowers still unwilted, eyes bright...and stomach fluttering and hands
atremble--just like every other bride. "You wanted a real wedding,"
she told her reflection, and it smiled back at her bravely. Alex waved goodbye.
"I'm ready," she told her mother in
the bedroom.
"Not quite," said Rachel, peeking
around the door, and she held out a slim wooden case with an envelope on it,
tied there with an old-fashioned silk ribbon, not stuck on with tape.
"Connor asked me to give you this."
Alex took the case from her and sat on the edge
of the bed to read. The writing on the envelope was in Connor's hand, neat and
small and controlled, and it was addressed to "Mrs. MacLeod." Alex
read that three times before untying the blue ribbon and taking out the note.
"I was looking forward to putting this on you," she read, "but
I'm told I must wait to see the bride. So I look forward to taking it off--tonight."
It was signed simply with "I love you" and his name. "Open
it!" her mother urged, and Rachel was waiting, too. Alex undid the catch
on the polished rosewood box and lifted the lid, then sat staring at what she
saw. "Oh, Alex," her mother breathed. "Oh, my."
"Oh, good," Rachel said in
satisfaction. "He's been looking for that all summer."
Alex let out her breath in a shaky laugh.
"So much for wearing pearls." She lifted out the sapphire pendant on
its chain of gold, a teardrop of winter sky captured by the sun. "Well,
this certainly takes care of something new and something blue."
"And something old," Rachel added.
"That stone is from the Empire period."
"Napoleon?" asked Mom incredulously,
and she breathed "Oh, my" again at Rachel's nod. Alex almost dropped
the necklace.
"Do you have something borrowed?"
Rachel asked. "Might as well complete that rhyme."
Alex nodded and pointed to her earrings, small
swirls of gold. "These are Lara's."
"Here, Alex," said Mom, practical
again. "Let me help you put the sapphire on."
Alex set the box on top of the bedside table and
took off her pearl necklace. She turned around so her mother could fasten the
clasp. The stone lay cool and heavy against her skin, just above her breasts.
Alex took a deep breath and picked up her bouquet of cream-colored roses and
long sprays of heather and greens. Then she took another deep breath, hoping
her phone call that morning had worked. "Is everybody here?" she
asked.
"The florists have come and gone, the room
is lovely, and Mitzi has the caterers and musicians all arrayed," Rachel
answered.
"Good," Alex said, not wanting to confess
she hadn't even given that a thought. Not in the last fifteen minutes anyway.
"Good. And the guests?"
"The family's all here, of course,"
Mom said. "And that nice Dr. Burns made it in from
"Ben's here, with his date," Rachel
supplied.
"Oh, right. Natalie," Alex said. Ben
had never mentioned a girl even once this summer, when he had been training
Alex in hand-to-hand combat. "I'm looking forward to meeting her."
"And your friend Tommy arrived about five minutes
ago," Rachel finished.
This time, Alex let the air out.
"Good," she said, and the sense of happy relief that flooded her
carried away the butterflies that had been fluttering inside her all afternoon.
But her hands were still trembling. Oh, well.
"I'm ready," Alex said cheerfully,
heading for the door. "Let's go!"
"Um, Alex?" Mom called after her.
"Your shoes?"
============================
============================
The wedding was, of course, perfect. The flowers
and greens were lovely, the musicians started on cue, the photographer had
enough film and the right kind of extension cords, and everyone was exactly
where they were supposed to be. And once the reception started, Rachel knew,
the cakes would be magnificent, the food delicious, and the drink plentiful.
Mitzi knew her business well.
And the bride and the groom...Mitzi hadn't had
anything to do with arranging that pairing, but Rachel certainly had, and she
permitted herself a well-deserved and well-satisfied sigh as Connor slid the
ring onto Alex's finger, with John and Duncan standing at his side.
Finally. The MacLeods were becoming a family
again. Oh, Connor and Duncan could manage on their own, but it wasn't good for
them, not decade after decade, and ten-year-old John definitely needed more. So
did Richie. Alex would be good for them all.
As Tessa would have been.
She would have liked Alex, Rachel thought. Those
two would have been quite the pair, each of them blonde, beautiful, intelligent,
well-traveled...and each married to a man who lived with a sword. Oh, the
stories they would have had to share!
But it would never be. Almost a year it had
been, Rachel realized, since Tessa had died.
Rachel took out her handkerchief and dabbed away
tears. Margaret was doing the same as she stood by Alex and watched her place a
wedding ring on Connor's hand. Lara and Natalie were both teary-eyed and
smiling, too, although Ben and Richie (confirmed bachelors still, apparently)
had a bit of a wary look about the eyes. Alex's young nephew, Jimmy, was
engrossed in playing with his tie, but John was watching solemnly, and Alex's
niece, Elaine (who at eleven was becoming interested in such things), was
watching carefully, too. Pete looked very proud of his younger sister, and
Alex's friend Tommy, however, was standing
half-hidden behind the grand piano, scowling darkly at the back of Connor's
head, even though he had returned Alex's welcoming wave and smile as she had
come down the stairs. "Tommy doesn't trust Connor," Alex had
explained a month ago. "He says Connor lies. And he says he has 'killer
eyes'."
Tommy was quite right. But Rachel had no time to
worry about that, not now.
"I now pronounce you husband and
wife," Sean proclaimed, and he placed Connor and Alex's hands together.
Then he stepped away, and the newly-married couple was silhouetted against the
window, hand in hand, her face upturned to his, his head slightly bent, with
the late afternoon sun lightening Connor's hair to gold and setting the roses
in Alex's hair aglow. On the windows behind them, garlands of greens and flowers
framed the skyline of
Alex and Connor stood staring at each other
until Duncan hissed in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard in the kitchen
at the far end of the room, "Hey, Connor! You're supposed to kiss the
bride!"
Connor completely ignored him, though Alex and
Sean smiled, and John, Richie, and Ben laughed out loud. Finally, Connor did
move, lifting Alex's hands in his and then kissing, not her lips, but her
wedding ring, all the while looking into her eyes. He murmured something, too
quiet for anyone but Alex to hear, and by now all the women--including Alex--had
tears in their eyes again.
Then Alex stepped forward and kissed him,
soundly and well, until everyone in the room, led by
Rachel closed her eyes for a brief prayer of
thanksgiving. When she opened them, Mitzi was at her side. "Your boy's
quite the romantic," Mitzi observed, then added with a smile, "It
must run in the family." She kissed Rachel swiftly on the cheek and then
whirled off to the kitchen to supervise the food and wine.
"Yes," Rachel murmured, watching as
Connor as he stood, laughing, one arm around his son and his gaze never
straying far from his new wife, surrounded by his family and friends. "And
he's a poet, too."
~~~~~
After dinner (a formal affair for the twelve
adults at the dining-room table, since John had asked weeks ago if he and
Elaine and Jimmy could eat at their own table up on the balcony and have their
food sent up in a basket--as long as they were called back down in time for
cake--and Mitzi had promptly said, "Of course!") came the toasting
(started by Duncan, added to by Sean, Pete, and Margaret, and continued for
quite some time with enthusiasm by Richie and Lara), and then the cutting of the
cakes. The children stopped their spirited discussion about the relative merits
of the fantasy worlds of Narnia vs. Star Wars and appeared quickly on the
stairs.
"Are you going to use a sword, Aunt
Alex?" Jimmy asked as Connor and Alex approached the table that held a
two-tier white wedding cake and an impressive block of chocolate.
"I think that's only a military tradition,
Jimmy," Lara said. "I was at an Army wedding once, and he used his
sword on the cake." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "After the
best man had smacked the bride on the backside with his."
"Don't even think it," Alex said to
"I'd listen to her if I were you," Ben
said to Richie. "She can be deadly."
"I think a sword would be cool," John
said, hanging over the railing to watch the proceedings below.
"Makes the blade sticky," his father
replied.
"Do you have a sword, Connor?" Pete
wanted to know.
"I've collected a few, over the years.
Comes with the job." He gave the room a bland smile before he picked up
the knife. "Shall we?" Connor asked his bride, and he and Alex cut
the cakes together then neatly fed each other.
"Oh, come on! Mash it!" Richie
encouraged.
"Like Ben said," Connor replied after
swallowing his mouthful of cake, "she can be deadly." Alex said
nothing, only sliced off another piece of cake with a swift, sure motion of the
knife.
Richie grinned. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Ben said. "I trained
her."
"So did I," Connor added, and one look
at the grin on his face wiped the grin from Richie's.
Alex had placed two large pieces--one chocolate,
one lemon--on a plate. "Richie?" she offered, holding it out to him
with a demure smile, and he gave her a mock cringing salute before taking it
and retiring to the table to eat.
"John?" she asked next, and everyone
gathered around as she and Connor sliced away.
~~~~~
The presents were opened after the dancing (the
Hokey Pokey had been the most fun), and then Alex distributed flowers from her
bouquet to the women in the room. "It's silly to toss it," Alex had
said to Rachel a few weeks ago. "There will only be Lara, Mom, Elaine,
Natalie, and you. Lara's married, Mom won't want to chase after it, Elaine's
too young, and you--"
"--won't want to go chasing after it,
either," Rachel had finished. "That would leave only Natalie. I
agree; handing out flowers is a lovely idea." So Alex went around the
room, handing each woman a rose with sprigs of heather and rosemary in a
crystal vase, and then she gave John and Jimmy letter openers (shaped like
swords, of course) and engraved with the day's date.
"Cool!" both boys said and immediately
started fencing with each other.
Connor took his time about removing Alex's
garter, prompting much helpful advice from Duncan, Richie, and Ben. With five
bachelors present and only one garter, there was no question about following
that tradition. Connor shot the garter backwards over his shoulder--"Just
like a rubber band!" John exclaimed--and Sean was the one to catch it,
much to his surprise. Tommy, Rachel noticed, hadn't even lifted his hands. Nor
had he brought a present.
But at least he had come. He had seemed to enjoy
his conversations with Duncan and Sean at dinner, he'd danced with Alex and
with her mother, and he'd even shaken Connor's hand.
"I think meeting Connor's friends has
helped," Alex had said quietly to Rachel during a lull in the dancing.
"I think Tommy's realizing Connor's OK. So at least that's over."
Then
But now it was winding down, and it was time for
the bride and the groom to leave. Rachel tapped Alex on the arm. "Did you
want to change before you leave for the hotel?"
"No," said Alex. "I'll go like
this." She leaned nearer to confide: "Connor said he wanted to undo
all these buttons himself."
"I'm sure," Rachel murmured. It had
taken Margaret five minutes to fasten them all. Connor would either be much
faster or much slower. Rachel was betting on slower.
"I'll go tell Connor we should get
ready," Alex said.
"And I'll tell Mitzi to prepare the final
toast." But as Rachel started to walk toward the kitchen, the doorbell
rang. The security camera revealed a thin man in a badly-fitting suit and three
uniformed policemen. Rachel swore silently. The doorbell rang again.
"Who is it?" Connor called, coming
over.
"Police."
Connor's swearing was also silent, but Rachel
knew exactly what he'd said.
And again, the doorbell rang. "I have a
warrant," called a voice through the door.
Connor stabbed the intercom button. "Show
it to the security camera." He peered at the writing on the monitor, then
swore out loud. By now, people were starting to notice, and Alex and Duncan
were coming over. Connor's slow exhalation of breath was a readying for battle,
not a sigh. "Let 'em in," he ordered, and Rachel opened the door.
"Lieutenant Stenn!" Alex said in
surprise as the badly-dressed man came into the room, trailing the scent of
stale cigarettes. He needed a shave. Two of the three policemen came in and
fanned out along the wall; the last one stood near the door.
"Are those really cops?" Jimmy asked
from his perch on the balcony, and his sister hissed, "Yes. Now be
quiet." John was standing rigid halfway down the stairs.
"Show me the warrant," Connor said,
and one of the policemen held it out to him.
While Connor was reading, Lieutenant Stenn
looked over the room, his gaze traveling from the remains of the cakes on the
table to the pile of opened presents, taking in the flowers and greenery around
the room. Rachel was very glad now that she had moved the rack of swords that
usually stood at the bottom of the stairs into Connor's trophy room. The last
thing they needed was a collection of lethal weapons in plain sight.
The lieutenant's gaze finally came to rest on
Alex in her bridal gown. "Looks like somebody just got married." He
shook his head with a look of mingled pity and annoyance. "You don't take
advice very well, do you, Ms. Johnson?"
"It's Mrs. MacLeod now," Alex replied,
walking over to Connor and laying her hand on his arm. He laid his hand over
hers, but briefly, then they both stepped a little apart. Preparing for action,
Rachel thought. Separating the targets. Warrior training went deep.
"Is it?" Lieutenant Stenn asked Alex
skeptically. "You sure it's not Mrs. Nash?" He stood directly in
front of her. "Or maybe it should be Mrs. Warrington. Or maybe...Mrs.
Smith? Or Mrs. Jones." He turned to Connor. "Just how many names have
you had, Nash?"
"I've been called a lot of things,"
Connor replied easily. Richie tried to turn his snort of laughter into a cough,
while
Margaret, on the other hand, was looking
worried. Sean took her by the arm and led her to the couch, then sat close by
her side. Rachel glanced around the room. The three children were still on the
stairs, and Pete, Lara, and Natalie were all seated at the dining-room table,
just starting to realize what was going on. The caterers were peeking out from
behind the carved wooden screen that shielded the kitchen from view, while
Mitzi was in front of it, watching everything. For once, she seemed taken aback
by an occurrence at a wedding. Tommy was standing next to the table of presents
with one of those tiny, delicious cream puffs half-eaten and totally forgotten
in his hand.
Thank goodness the musicians had already gone
home.
The lieutenant was ignoring them all. "And
now you're calling yourself 'MacLeod,'" he said to Connor.
"It's my legal name."
"Yeah? Since when?" He stepped closer.
"Did you change it before Brenda died? Or after?"
Rachel had seen that tightness in Connor's jaw
before, but only rarely. He usually hid his rage from her. "Before."
"Right," Lieutenant Stenn drawled.
"Another Mrs. MacLeod." He looked back at Alex. "Maybe you
should call yourself Mrs. Bluebeard." Her only answer was a steady stare,
and he went back to baiting Connor. "You got papers to prove this name
change?"
"They're in a safe deposit box. At my
bank."
"Of course they are. And here it is Sunday
night. Bank's closed. What's your first name now, Nash? Donald? Darrin?"
He sniffed and scratched at his eyebrow, his lips curling up in what seemed
meant to be a grin. "Dumbo?"
"Connor."
"Uh-huh. Then who's Duncan MacLeod?"
"I am,"
Lieutenant Stenn looked from one to the other.
"Two of you, with the same last name. So this is...what? A crime
family?"
"Oh yeah right," Richie said with
disgusted sarcasm. "They're the Scottish mafia."
"Richie…,"
"Sorry, Mac, I'm just … I mean, come on!
This is crazy."
"What's crazy," Lieutenant Stenn said,
stalking over to where Richie stood, "is a psycho who likes to chop people's
heads off. With a sword. Can you imagine?"
Abruptly, all traces of humor dropped away, and
Richie didn't look young anymore. He folded his arms across his chest.
"No."
"No," Lieutenant Stenn repeated,
sounding dubious. His pale blue eyes scanned Richie. "What's your
name?"
"Ryan."
"Ryan what?"
"Oh no, Officer," Richie said, with
such a show of exaggerated politeness and smart-assed innocence that Rachel
closed her eyes in exasperation. "You've got it all wrong. Ryan's my last
name."
"Don't fuck with me, punk," Stenn
snapped, but Rachel suspected Richie would have kept doing just that if the
expressions on
"The name's Richard Ryan," Richie
finally said, gritting his teeth.
"And you can call me Lieutenant,"
Stenn said in return, writing down Richie's name in a small notebook. Then he
went around the room and took the guests' names while a policeman went to the
kitchen to talk to Mitzi and her staff. The other two policemen stood staring
at Connor the entire time.
Stenn ended up back in front of Connor, and he
made a show of asking Connor twice how to spell "MacLeod" before he
put his book away. He sniffed again and this time wiped at his nose. "How
the hell did you come up with a name like that?"
"I wanted to get in touch with my
"Oh, you'll get 'in touch' tonight," Lieutenant
Stenn said with a nasty grin. "But not with your new wife. And not with
your
"Hey, wait a minute," Duncan
protested, coming forward as Connor stepped in front of Alex, pushing her
gently behind him. The first policeman took out a set of handcuffs, and the
other two took out guns.
"I can," Stenn interrupted, snatching
the warrant from the other policeman and waving it in
"Oh, but this is obviously a horrible
mistake!" Margaret exclaimed, standing up. "No one could possibly
imagine that Connor would ever cut off someone's head." She looked around
the room, seeking agreement, but no one met her gaze.
"Mom, please," Alex murmured, looking
rather pale.
"I'm certain Connor didn't kill Mr.
Earken," Rachel said to Margaret reassuringly. And she was certain; she'd
seen Connor on Friday morning and again on Saturday. She would have known if
Connor had taken a head in that time.
"Decapitation," Stenn repeated, his
gloating eyes only for Connor. "Just like nine years ago at
On the other hand, Rachel was equally certain
that Connor had taken those heads. She knew Lieutenant Stenn was only doing his
job, and she knew he was quite right to suspect Connor, but she didn't care for
the lieutenant's manner, and she didn't think he should be taking quite this
much pleasure in his job. And she really didn't appreciate him coming here now.
Tonight, of all nights, when she had finally gotten Connor married! Rachel
permitted herself another silent bout of swearing.
Connor shrugged. "I never knew any James
Earken."
"Sure you didn't," Stenn agreed.
"Like you didn't know Iman Fasil. Like you didn't know Yung Dol Kim or
Victor Kruger or Hugh O'Neill."
"You got nothing," Connor stated.
"Wrong, Nash. Dead wrong. I got your
ass."
Connor shook his head, almost in pity.
"This is a mistake, Lieutenant." For answer, Stenn again motioned the
policeman with the handcuffs forward. Connor shrugged and held out his hands.
"Go ahead, Officer. Do your duty. I'm always happy to cooperate with the
police. Isn't that right, Duncan?"
"Absolutely,"
Rachel was relieved that Connor had chosen to
treat this as a mistake and play along. Considering that his in-laws were
watching and there were nearly twenty people in the room and the police had
their guns out, resisting arrest could be deadly--for someone, anyway.
"Not in front," Stenn reminded the
policeman who was lifting Connor's hand. "Cuff him in back." Connor
stood passively while the handcuffs were put on.
"No!" That was John, careening down
the stairs. He thudded to a stop in front of Stenn. "You can't take my
dad!"
Stenn squatted down so that his eyes were at the
same level as John's. "Yes," he said, and his smile was like a dead
opossum's. "I can."
At ten, John had yet to learn restraint, and
really, Rachel couldn't blame him. Stenn was being odious. Even so, Rachel
didn't see it coming, and obviously, neither did Stenn.
John's punch caught Stenn in the sternum and
knocked him flat on his backside. John's karate teachers would have been
impressed with his speed and his power, though his stance could have been a bit
more balanced. It was good John hadn't punched him in the face; Stenn might
have ended up with a broken nose--certainly a bloody one--and that would have
been quite a mess, in more ways than one.
"Hey," Connor said softly, smiling at
him. "It's all right, slugger. Don't worry. This is just an honest
mistake. I'll be home soon." He winked at him, and Rachel blinked back
tears when John bravely winked back.
Stenn had gotten to his feet, and he was rubbing
his chest where John had hit him. He looked at the boy with a calculating gaze.
"Quite the little piss ant you got there, Nash."
"Our name is MacLeod," Connor said
evenly, while John glared up at the lieutenant.
"Right, Nash. Right." Stenn folded the
warrant neatly in thirds and tucked it away.
"Rachel," Connor said urgently, one
eyebrow raised, and Rachel nodded and replied, "I'll call Porasin,"
knowing all too well what needed to be done.
"Alex...," he said next, not as sure
now, for this was new, but she stepped forward and kissed him, confidently,
thoroughly, the way a wife kisses her husband.
She smiled bravely and said, "I'll be here
when you come home. John and I will be waiting for you."
He smiled back at her, and Rachel smiled too, to
see the love between them. He turned finally to his clansman. "
"Connor," came the reply, and as
always, that was all either of them needed to say.
"Sorry, everybody!" Connor called to
the room at large. "You'll have to finish the party without me."
"We'll throw the rice at you when you get
back!" Richie answered, but no one else was in the mood for jesting.
"Get him out of here," Stenn ordered,
and the police took Connor away. Stenn, however, started wandering around the
loft.
"Looking for something, Lieutenant?"
Stenn stopped, took one last look around the
room, and headed for the door. Richie opened it for him and made a mocking bow
to usher him by, but Stenn paused halfway through the door. "Hey,
Maclure," he called, and Tommy looked up in surprise. Stenn nodded to him
and said, "Good job," before he walked out and finally left them
alone.
Tommy's mouth was hanging open as everyone
turned to stare at him. He only closed it when Richie slammed the door.
"'Good job'?" Alex repeated, biting
off each word, and once again Rachel was glad that she had hidden all the
swords.
============================
============================
Usually,
Not this time. "Let's all sit down,"
he said, taking over as host, as Connor expected him to.
Alex wasn't listening. "'Good job'?"
she said again to Tommy. "What the--"
"Alex,"
"What?" she snapped, not looking at
him.
"Let's sit down first," he said.
"Ok? Then we'll figure this out. Everybody has questions." That
finally got through to her, and she nodded abruptly and sat at the head of the
dining-room table. "Mitzi,"
"Of course," she said and motioned to
the caterers, who quickly asked everyone what they would like. Mitzi remained
near the screen, where she could listen to every word.
"I have to call Connor's lawyer,"
Rachel said, heading for the stairs. "I'll be right back."
"Connor has a lawyer?" Pete said in
surprise.
"It's the same law firm that Rachel's
family has been using for decades,"
"Oh," Pete said blankly.
His wife nudged him in the ribs.
"Lifestyles of the rich and famous, baby. All millionaires have lawyers on
retainer. You do, don't you,
Apparently, Alex wasn't the only forthright one
in the family. "Yes,"
"Oh," Pete said again, and then Lara
tugged on his arm and they joined everyone else at the table (except for Tommy,
who was clearly avoiding getting too close to Alex and was standing with his
arms crossed at the bottom of the stairs).
Rachel returned a few moments later, and it was
Alex's mother who asked the question that was on everyone's mind: "What is
going on?"
"About nine years ago,"
"It was just 'wrong place, wrong
time'?" put in Richie.
"Yeah," agreed
"I know about that." Richie shook his
head. "Cops."
"That mean cop said a bad word," Jimmy
piped up.
"He certainly did," agreed his
grandmother, then turned to Alex. "Honey, why did that police officer keep
calling Connor 'Nash'?"
"Connor had a different name before,
Mom," Alex said. "Years ago."
"Why'd he change it?" Pete asked.
"As he said," Rachel explained calmly,
"he'd been researching his Scottish ancestry, and after he and Brenda
decided to move to
That brought smiles from all the married women
in the group.
"What happened to Brenda?" That was
Tommy, coming in for the attack and moving to stand at the edge of the circle.
Even Alex's glare down the sixteen-foot length of the polished mahogany table
didn't deter him. "How did she die?"
"A car accident," Rachel said softly.
"A year after they were married."
"Oh," said Natalie, a small sound of
sympathy.
"They had been about to adopt John,"
Rachel said, and she reached out and fondly ruffled the boy's hair, who was
leaning against her chair. "After the funeral, Connor brought him
home."
"Lieutenant Stenn was a friend of
Brenda's," Alex said, picking up the tale. "He never believed Connor
was innocent of that murder at
"That other beheading he mentioned?"
Ben asked. "In the hospital?"
"Yes," Alex said. "It happened
about the same time, I guess."
"He said a couple of other names,
too," Lara said. "Three or four. That's a lot of beheadings."
Ben shrugged. "This is
"I've never heard of those other people
before tonight," Alex said.
"I do know there was no evidence against
Connor for the murder at the hospital, either," Alex went on. "But
that didn't matter to Stenn. He was convinced Connor was guilty, and he
bothered Connor for weeks."
The caterers brought over the drinks, and
Alex asked her mother to pass her the cream then
added it slowly to her coffee and stirred, staring into her cup. "We
hadn't heard from Stenn for months. We thought he'd finally decided to leave
Connor alone." She lifted her head and stared straight at Tommy.
"Until tonight."
"I've never seen Stenn before in my
life," Tommy said, now on the defensive. "I had no idea he was
coming. The only person I know in the police department is a civilian, and she
works in records." He wet his lips before admitting, "A couple of
weeks ago, I asked her to check out Connor."
"Why?" interrupted Ben, clearly
affronted at this insult to his friend.
"I just...I had some questions, and I
didn't think he was giving me straight answers."
"He's a private kind of guy," Ben said
with a shrug. "That's all."
Tommy started to respond but then gave up on Ben
and turned to Alex. "I was worried about you," he said softly, his
words an explanation and an apology combined.
Her glare shifted to a look of irritation and
exasperation, then they all waited while she quite obviously counted to ten.
"OK," she finally told him, but
"That's all you did?"
"What? Yeah," Tommy said, but
"And what did your friend find?" Ben
asked pointedly.
"Nothing," Tommy admitted, and
"It probably has something to do with you
getting picked up last night," Richie said to
"What?" Alex said, and now
"Mistaken identity,"
"I'm sorry," Margaret said, obviously
still flustered, "but...you were picked up yesterday and now Connor's been
arrested? This just isn't normal."
"You're right," Ben said. "This
is
"Are you saying people get arrested all the
time?" she demanded. "Innocent people?"
"Of course not," Sean said soothingly.
"But people do make mistakes. And in a city, police sometimes err on the
side of caution."
"I wasn't arrested, Mrs. Johnson,"
"Plus, we weren't exactly in the best part
of town last night," Richie put in. "Cops always assume the
worst."
"Tell me about it," Ben said.
"The cops have picked me up, and all I was doing was standing there."
He made a face as he reached for his beer. "And being black."
"That never helps," Richie agreed.
"Like with those two guys the cops thought
were purse snatchers," Natalie said. "The cops shot at them and beat
them up, then charged them with all kinds of stuff, only it turned out they hadn't
done anything. A jury just gave them millions of dollars for wrongful
arrest." She looked at Ben and added, "I read about it in the papers
last month."
"They're not like the cops in a small town,
Mom," Alex said.
"I can see that!" Margaret replied. "Sheriff
Dyson is never that rude."
"Sometimes he is." Pete looked at his
mother across the table. "Not to you, of course, or your friends, but he's
harassed some of my buddies pretty good."
"Cops," Richie said in disgust,
shaking his head.
"We need them," Sean said firmly.
"Even if they make mistakes, even if they get rough sometimes because of
the work they have to do, they're good people who care about the law, and we
need them." He turned to Margaret. "This is just one of those
mistakes. I'm sure they'll realize that soon, and then Connor will be
home."
"So, you two aren't part of the Scottish
mafia?" Lara asked
"Sorry, no,"
"And hours and hours of opera," Richie
said under his breath.
"I wonder what the murder weapon was,"
Ben said slowly, more to himself than to anyone at the table.
"What?" asked Pete.
"Hm?" He looked up. "Oh, just
that, usually these days the murder weapon is a gun. To cut off someone's head,
you'd need something like...well, a sword."
"Goodness," Alex said, getting to her
feet and covering a yawn with her hand. "I'm so sorry, everyone. I'm
afraid I'm just exhausted. It's been..."
"Yes, of course," Rachel murmured,
standing up, and everyone else followed her lead. Ten minutes later, the guests
were gone, the caterers had packed up and left (Mitzi would send a cleaning
crew in the morning), John was upstairs getting ready for bed, and Margaret was
standing at the head of the dining-room table, carefully taking the flowers out
of Alex's hair.
Duncan
and Richie quickly said goodnight and went after Tommy Maclure. "Man, I
bet this isn't the wedding night Sir Lancelot had planned," Richie said as
they ran down the stairs.
"I'll
take that bet,"
"Do
you ever find out where they were going to go tonight?" Richie asked.
"Nope,"
Richie
opened the outside door, and they spotted Tommy at the far end of the alley.
"Hey, Maclure!"
"What?" Tommy's response was way past
tired and just short of surly. The sultry summer night was ripe with the scent
of the garbage rotting in the dented green bin nearby.
"I was just wondering,"
"I didn't tell them anything." Tommy ran a hand through his dark curly
hair and sighed, his chagrin overcoming his irritation. "I asked. Before I
went to my friend for help, I asked the cops to look into Connor."
"Why?" Richie wanted to know.
"I didn't trust him," Tommy said
bluntly. "The guy shows up out of nowhere, and sweeps Alex off her feet.
I've known her for six years, and she's never acted like that before. Next
thing I know, she's lying to me. Then she wants me to meet him, so I do, and he
lies to me. I ask her about it, and she lies to me some more. That is not a
good sign."
"Like Ben said upstairs,"
"There's being private, and there's having
something to hide," Tommy retorted. "I thought he had something to
hide."
And he was absolutely right about that. But
"Then Alex tells me she's quitting her job.
She's moving out of the country. And what do I know about this guy, really?
He's richer than God, yeah, but nobody on this street knows him, even though he
told her he's lived here for years."
"He changed his name," Richie said.
"Yeah, well, I didn't know that. And I
didn't know about his first wife, and I sure as hell didn't know about any
beheadings, and I didn't know that cop had it in for him, because nobody told
me a damned thing, OK? And unlike you guys, I'm not a MacMillionaire; I can't
afford to hire a detective. So I went to the cops and asked for help. Not that
I got any, they sent me away. I never even told them my name. Or Connor's
either. Stenn didn't find out anything from me that time." Tommy sighed
again. "That's why I didn't tell Alex about it tonight." He punched
his fist against the trash bin, and the sound echoed dully between brick walls.
"Shit." He shook his head again. "Tanishia said he didn't have a
record, so I never thought anything like this would happen."
"OK,"
Even in the dim light from distant street lamps,
"You know, Mac, he does have a point
there," Richie said.
"Yeah,"
"But that's not all," Tommy went on.
"I know you two are cousins, but...that guy's dangerous."
"You're right,"
"Rachel?" Richie asked in surprise.
"She's a third-degree black-belt,"
"But he's used it," Tommy interrupted
bluntly. "That look he gets sometimes..."
"He was a soldier,"
"So he has killed people."
"But they were all bad," quipped
Richie, quoting a line from the movie they had seen the week before, and even
Tommy had to grin.
"Tommy,"
"I trust him with mine," Richie said,
and for once, he was totally serious.
"So do I,"
Tommy looked back and forth between them then
nodded. "OK. It's just...I was worried about her."
"I know,"
"Thanks," Tommy said, standing a
little straighter. "Tell Alex that, would you? I really don't want to find
out what Ben and Connor have been teaching her this summer."
"I'll tell her,"
"Damn," said Richie, as they headed
back into Connor's building. "Talk about true lies."
"That's what our life is,"
============================
============================
"Would you like me to unbutton your dress,
Alex?" Mom asked when she was done taking the flowers from Alex's hair. A
heap of wilting blossoms gleamed whitely against the table's dark wood. A few
stray petals lay scattered on the floor. Little breadcrumbs marking the trail
home.
"No," Alex said, standing up.
"Thank you."
Mom hesitated, then said it anyway. "It may
be a while. Before he comes home." Behind her, the lights of the city
spread out across the sky.
Alex had watched those lights many times from
this room, encircled by Connor's arms. "I know. I'll wait." She had
been waiting a long time for him.
Mom hesitated again, then smiled a little and
nodded. They hugged goodnight, and she went up the stairs to the guest bedroom
at the end of the hall. Alex gathered the flowers and stood for a moment,
holding them in her hands. No flower girl at this wedding. No bridesmaids, no
ushers, no quarreling over an enormous guest list, no frantic rushing about.
Alex had wanted their wedding to be simple, elegant, and fun.
And it had been. Until the cops had come and
taken her husband away.
"Damn it," she swore, over and over
again, until the scent of crushed rose petals drifted from between her hands.
Alex carried them to the kitchen and spread them
out carefully on a tray. After they had dried, she would make them into
sachets, along with the rosemary and heather. She could tie them with the blue
silk ribbon Connor had used for his gift to her. She would hang them in the
closets here and in their new house in
Once her husband was home.
Alex locked all the doors, turned off the
lights, and went up the stairs. After she had brushed her hair and washed her
face, she went to say goodnight to John. He was sitting up in bed, his arms
around his knees, and staring at the city lights outside. Alex flipped on the
baseball-shaped night-light on the wall and drew the heavy curtains. The glow
of the city still slid into the corners of the room, but that was OK. John
didn't like sleeping in the dark.
Not since Kane.
"I don't like cops," John said. One
side of his face was dimly lit from beneath by the night-light, the other side
of his face was in shadow. He looked very small.
The skirt of Alex's wedding gown rustled and
slid softly against her skin as she sat on the edge of the bed. "All
cops?"
"Maybe not all," he agreed after a
moment. "Dr. Sean was right, I guess. We need 'em. But that one cop, that
Stenn guy, no."
"I don't like him either," she
confessed, and they shared a smile.
"When's Dad coming home?" John asked
next.
Alex wasn't sure which was harder: trying to
smile or trying not to cry. "I don't know, John. Tomorrow, probably, after
they clear it all up. It's hard to get things done in the middle of the
night."
"Uncle Dunc was at the police station for
hours and hours. And he hadn't even done anything."
"Your dad hasn't done anything,
either," she said firmly.
In the dim light, John's eyes was as velvet and
fathomless as a country night sky. "Not this time."
"John--"
"He's killed people. He killed Kane."
"Yes," she said evenly. "To
protect you. That's allowed, to kill people if they're trying to kill you, or
your family. You know that."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But the cops
don't like it. And we can't even tell them anything, because of the Immortal
stuff."
"That's right."
"But then the cops start thinking Dad is
the bad guy!" he burst out. "And it's the other guy! That's not
fair."
"You're right," Alex agreed, deciding
to ask Sean to talk to John before going back to
John was tracing the baseball stitching pattern
on his sheet with his finger. He completed an entire circle before he looked up
to say, "Dad's like a secret agent, right? Like in that movie Dad and I
saw with Richie and Uncle Dunc when the guy couldn't tell anybody--not even his
wife--what he was doing? Or like Superman and
"Yes," Alex agreed, smiling now. She
had, on occasion, thought of Connor as a superman, but she'd never thought of
herself as
"Except Dad told you, so you know."
"Yes, he did. And he told you."
"And we have to keep his secret. No matter
what."
"No matter what," she agreed.
"And we will," he said fiercely.
Alex nodded. Maybe she wouldn't have to ask Sean
for help after all. She leaned over and kissed John on the forehead.
"Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight," he said and lay down.
"Alex?" he said, after she had made her way around the various
projects and puzzles lying on the floor and was almost to the door.
"Yes?" she said, turning around.
He was halfway up, leaning back on his elbows.
"Can I call you Mom now?"
Those tears were threatening again. Happy ones,
though. "I'd like that," she said. "I'd like that a lot."
He grinned, his teeth showing white in the
dimness. "OK." He flopped back down. "Goodnight, Mom," he
called, as easily as if he'd been saying it for years.
She could only hope motherhood would come that
naturally for her. "Goodnight, John," she said again and quietly shut
the door. Then she leaned her back against it, closed her eyes, and let the
tears flow.
When that was finished, she washed her face
again and went back downstairs. She made tea then sat down at Connor's desk
with their brand-new stationery at hand, and the phone near by. There were
thank-you cards to be written, and she had nothing better to do.
Except wait for the phone to ring, and wait for
her husband to come home.
============================
============================
Connor had sometimes debated which was worse:
competent cops or incompetent cops. The competent ones were more dangerous; the
incompetent ones were more irritating. He didn't much like either kind.
Especially in the middle of the night.
Especially in the middle of this night. He was
supposed to be in bed with his wife, either blissfully asleep or even more
blissfully awake, but he was most definitely not supposed to be spending his
wedding night with the cops, getting dragged from the cop car to the holding
cell to processing and then back to the holding cell again and then back to
processing again.
All goddamned night long.
"I ran out of film that last time,"
said the photographer. "Bring 'em all back and let me take their pictures
again."
"Have to redo the fingerprints," said
the guy in processing. "That last batch got smeared."
At least the guy who did the full body search
was competent. Connor really didn't want to have to go through that again.
Then the office computer went down, and
everything ground to a halt. Nothing moved without paperwork. Connor remembered
when getting "booked" required actual books--big, heavy ledgers with
row after row of name, crime, place, and date, all recorded in flowing ink in a
variety of hands. Now it was all typed in, clickety-clickety-click, anonymous,
modern, efficient, and fast.
Except when the computers went down.
Around five in the morning, they finally took
Connor to an interrogation room, one of those featureless rooms with the
off-white walls pocked with tiny holes and a faded water stain on the ceiling.
In Connor's experience, all interrogation rooms had water stains on the
ceiling.
"I want my lawyer," Connor said then
sat tight until Porasin came. That only took about ten minutes. Porasin had
been in the building since
When Porasin came into the interrogation room,
he was shaking his head with what looked like pity. "I tried to hurry
things up, but it's the Sunday night shift, and I think they're all new."
"Stenn's not new," Connor said. Stenn
was no doubt enjoying this, biding his time.
Porasin nodded as he sat down on one of the gray
metal chairs. It creaked under his weight. "And Stenn knows the rules.
Legally, the police don't even have to arraign you for twenty-four hours, and
you've only been here seven. You irritate these people, and this could drag on
for a long time. So play nice. And keep quiet. You're paying me to do the
talking, remember? Shut up and get your money's worth."
"Since you put it that way...," Connor
said, but his amusement didn't last long. "Have you talked to Alex?"
"Twice: right when I got here and about an
hour ago. She says John's asleep, and she's waiting for you to come home."
Home sounded wonderful. Alex sounded wonderful.
Instead he was stuck here. Connor ran his hand through his hair, resisting the
urge to pull some of it out.
Porasin looked Connor up and down, shook his
head, then lifted his briefcase onto the table. The latches looked absurdly
delicate beneath his enormous hands. "Here," he said, pulling out a
comb.
Connor obligingly smoothed his hair back down.
"You got a toothbrush in there?"
"Just a toothpick." Connor accepted
that, too. "Better," Porasin said when Connor was done. "Except...put
your tie back on."
Connor would have liked to argue with him, just
for the fun of it, but it was a moot point. "They took it away."
"Oh. Right. Sorry." He shrugged.
"That's OK. You looking fine." Then Porasin shook his head again and
chuckled, a deep rumble.
"What?" Connor demanded.
"Usually, I'm better dressed than my
clients. Course, usually they're not getting married and dressed in an Armani
suit. And usually, they don't have this many problems on their wedding day.
Your best man show up on time?"
"Yeah," Connor said. The wedding
seemed a long time ago.
Porasin looked Connor straight in the eye.
"They're holding you on a murder charge."
"I never met James Earken," Connor
stated flatly.
Porasin looked at Connor a moment longer before
he nodded. He took out a legal pad and a stylish black pen then pushed his
briefcase to one side. He wrote a question and handed the pad to Connor. Connor
replied, and then the pad went back and forth a few more times, both of them
being careful to hold the pad so the messages couldn't be read by prying eyes.
Porasin nodded again and put the legal pad back in his briefcase and shut it.
Then they started discussing the upcoming football season and the possible
effects of the new rules. Porasin was enthusiastic about moving the kick-off to
the thirty-yard line; Connor was less than sanguine about the two-point conversion.
The clock on the wall read
Stenn came in at
"Good morning," Porasin to everyone
with a cheerful grin. At the same time, he stomped hard on Connor's foot,
causing him to wheeze in sudden pain, then try to hide the sound behind a
strangled cough because Stenn was looking on with avid amusement. Porasin,
still cheerful, turned to Connor and mouthed the words: "Shut the fuck
up."
Connor shut up.
Porasin began by vigorously protesting the
delays his client had been subjected to. Possible lawsuits were not-so-subtly
hinted at. Stenn and Jarbon looked bored, but Porasin seemed to be enjoying
himself, and Connor's foot still hurt. He said nothing.
Jarbon nodded when Porasin was done, said
perfunctorily, "We'll take note of your concerns," then flipped his
papers back to page one. "Mr. Nash, you--"
A solid thump of a heavy fist on the table
interrupted him. "My client's name," Porasin said with precise
politeness, "is Connor MacLeod. I have the legal documents attesting to
that fact right here." He patted his briefcase. "Would you like a
copy?"
Jarbon glanced at Stenn, but he was still
glaring at Connor. Jarbon shrugged. "Yeah." He took the paper, read
it, made a small notation, and stuck it on his clipboard at the bottom of the
pile. "Mr. MacLeod," he began again, "what was your relationship
with James Earken of
"Don't answer that," Porasin ordered,
and Connor shut his mouth and moved his feet out of the way. "What charges
are being brought against my client?"
"We're still gathering information at this
point."
"There was a warrant issued for his arrest.
What was the charge?"
"Murder."
"On what evidence?" Porasin asked
next.
Jarbon referred to his notes. "An
eye-witness identified him as leaving the scene of the crime."
"Identified?" Porasin gave Connor an
exaggerated once-over. "This eye-witness was sure? It couldn't have been
some other fellow of medium build, about six foot tall, light brown hair, and
blue eyes?"
Stenn answered this time. "He was
sure."
"How many mug shots did you show your
eye-witness to get him to make that ID, Lieutenant?" Porasin asked.
"Half a dozen? Or just the one?"
"Your client has been involved in murder
cases like this before," Jarbon said.
"My client has been accused of being
involved in murder cases before. He's never been convicted; he's never even been
charged. He's innocent until proven guilty, and since you haven't proven a
thing, he's innocent."
"Innocent my ass," Stenn growled.
"Hey, Nash, how many people have you killed?"
"Don't answer that," Porasin ordered,
but he needn't have bothered. Connor couldn't answer that question. He'd lost
count a few centuries ago. "Let's get this over with," Porasin said.
"Besides a spurious identification and your baseless suspicions, what else
do you have?"
Jarbon cleared his throat and flipped to the
next page. "Mr. MacLeod, where were you between nine and
Porasin nodded his permission, and Connor said,
"At the courthouse." It felt odd, he reflected, not to have to bother
about how much to lie.
"Making bail?" Jarbon asked.
"Getting married."
Stenn leaned forward to sneer, "You just
got married."
"That," Connor explained, "was
the party. The civil ceremony was on Friday morning at nine-forty, in front of
Judge Henkins. Room 212C," he added helpfully to Jarbon, who was writing
all this down.
Jarbon looked at his partner. "Stenn?"
"He's lying."
Connor leaned back in his chair and smiled.
"Ask the judge."
"It's
"Then check the records," Porasin
ordered.
"Records Department doesn't open until
eight." Jarbon pushed back his chair. "We'll put him back in holding
until then."
Only Porasin's warning look and lifted foot kept
Connor from swearing out loud.
~~~~~
"Well?" Connor demanded some two and a
half hours later. His mood had not improved. His breakfast had consisted of
lukewarm coffee and a stale raisin bagel that tasted of onions, and he'd
acquired yet another cellmate to add to the five already there. The new one
smelled of urine, vomit, and beer. He also snored.
"Records Department doesn't have the papers
from Friday yet," Porasin reported, and over Connor's swearing he
continued, "The judge is supposed to come in for work at nine. They're
going to ask her then."
But they didn't, because the judge didn't come
in for work that day. "She called in sick," Porasin told Connor.
"Bad cold."
Connor slowly started beating his head against
the bars.
"They're faxing her your picture and your
name," Porasin said. "It shouldn't be long now. Hang in there."
What else could he do?
~~~~~
It was nearly eleven before the duty officer
opened the cell door and let Connor go, but the outprocessing took hours too.
The night shift seemed to have mislaid his personal effects. Porasin had to get
downright stern.
Stenn was there, watching, an unlit cigarette in
his hand, when Connor finally made it to the door. "I told you that you
were making a mistake, Lieutenant," Connor said cheerily.
"Fuck you, Nash."
"Do you enjoy lawsuits, Lieutenant
Stenn?" Porasin asked. "Wrongful arrest, police harassment, that sort
of thing?" Stenn didn't answer, and Porasin nodded. "Didn't think
so." He pushed the door open and held it for Connor.
"Hey, Nash!" Stenn called. Connor kept
going. "MacLeod!" Stenn called this time.
Connor stopped and ever so slightly turned his
head, one hand on the door. "What?"
"That kid you got living with you..."
"My son."
"Yeah right. Is that Brenda's boy?"
Connor ignored Porasin's urgent commands and
turned all the way around. The door slowly swung shut behind him.
"He doesn't look much like her," Stenn
went on. Porasin yanked open the door again and held it wide. "Doesn't
look like you, either," Stenn continued. "Got a temper on him,
though. And a mean punch." He rubbed his chest and sniffed. "Just
like you. Where'd you get him?"
"He's my son," Connor repeated.
"Have a nice day, Lieutenant." He and Porasin were outside before he
expressed his true opinion. "Fucking asshole."
"I wasn't entirely joking about the
lawsuit," Porasin commented.
In his more irritable moments, Connor had
considered it, but it wouldn't be smart, and he knew it. He couldn't withstand
that kind of scrutiny. "Nah," he told Porasin. "I don't have
time for it. My wife's waiting."
Porasin grinned. "Hurry home!" he
called, and Connor did.
============================
============================
For the third time in nine years, Stenn watched
that fucking asshole of a head-chopping serial killer walk clean away. He
sucked savagely on his cigarette, then dropped it to the pavement and ground it
beneath his heel. He was lighting another when Jarbon came out. "There
goes a murderer," Stenn said as Nash rounded the corner, walking fast.
"Yeah," Jarbon said, tapping a
cigarette out of its pack. "But not this time. What we had was iffy; it
was a stretch to get that warrant and you know it. And his alibi is as solid as
cement. No way the DA would file charges. We had to let him go."
"He's still a murderer."
Jarbon took a long, slow drag. "Let it go,
Johnny."
Stenn couldn't let it go. By definition, serial
killers didn't stop at one. Or two. Or three. Like psychotic demented energizer
bunnies, they just kept going and going and going, until somebody else made
them stop.
And Stenn wanted it to stop. He'd seen enough
bodies, crumpled, drained, and dead. He'd seen enough heads brutally tossed
aside, the slackened, empty features bruised and battered from being flung
halfway across the room, but still with surprised and staring sightless eyes.
He'd stepped in enough blood, the wide glistening pools of blood that
surrounded the bodies and seeped into his shoes.
The blood that lapped nightly at his dreams.
He wanted it to stop. He especially wanted it to
stop before he got the call about the headless body of a ten-year-old boy.
Serial killers weren't renowned for their happy family lives.
Stenn ground out his cigarette and went back to
work.
He was going to make it stop.
============================
============================
When Connor got back to the loft, his wife and
his son were waiting for him. It was a good way to come home. "Dad!"
John yelled, running to the door and then launching himself into Connor's arms.
"Hey, slugger!" Connor said, whirling
around and then flipping John upside down. "Hey," he said more
quietly to Alex, smiling at her over the top of John's feet.
"Hey," she said back, smiling back.
The flowers were gone from her hair, but the sapphire necklace he had given to
her yesterday still gleamed at her throat, and all the buttons of her wedding
gown were still waiting to be undone.
John put his hands on the floor, and Connor let
go of John's legs so he could do a walkover to get down. Then Alex was in his
arms, with a kiss that promised an equally enthusiastic--and acrobatic--welcome
from her, just as soon as they were alone.
It was a great way to come home.
~~~~~
As soon as Connor had answered John's many
questions about the visit to the police station (while ignoring some
smart-assed comments from Richie and an amused grin or two from
"Bye, Dad! Bye, Mom!" John yelled.
"I got promoted," Alex said in response
to Connor's questioning look.
"We'll be back around seven!" Margaret
called, and they were out the door.
Connor checked the clock (
Unfortunately, Duncan and Richie weren't nearly
as understanding--or as wise--as Margaret. They required a firm hint, a glare,
and finally a shove to get them out the door. He heard them laughing all the
way down the stairs. Connor locked the door after them then changed the
security code. No way was
But first...
"Did Duncan or Richie go upstairs today?" Connor asked Alex.
"Yes, John was showing them his baseball
card collection this morning."
Connor didn't need to hear anymore. Their
laughter had said it all. He ran up the stairs and stood just outside the
bedroom doorway, inspecting from afar. The books were still neatly on the wall
of bookshelves, the gold and purple kimono hung as usual from its bamboo rod on
the wall behind the bed, all the dresser drawers were completely shut, and
nothing seemed astray.
Connor didn't believe that for minute.
Behind him, he heard the rustle of Alex's gown,
and Connor swiftly brought his arm up to bar her way. "What?" she
said, and he pointed upwards to where a flat, plastic pan was precariously
balanced atop the bedroom door. "Oh, you've got to be kidding," Alex
said, as Connor eased his way into the room, pulled over a chair, and climbed
up to see. "Water?" she asked.
"Rice." Connor unhooked the string
that would have tipped the rice on top of whoever walked into the room then
handed the pan down to her.
"Well, Richie did say he'd throw rice
later," she said, letting the grains run through her fingers.
"Yes, he did," Connor agreed. But even
fair warning wouldn't save him. And Connor hadn't forgotten about the daisy,
either. "Let's see what else they've done," he said, and he and Alex
started prowling the bedroom suite.
"There's no toilet paper," Alex called
from the bathroom. "On the holder or in any of the cupboards." She
appeared in the doorway. "And no towels."
Connor shook his head even as chuckled grimly.
That was
"How did they know when to set them?"
Alex asked, looking at a digital travel clock set to go off at
"Remember when John went to get his
hat?" Connor asked. He held up the Mickey Mouse clock that was set to buzz
at three-thirty and had been hidden in his sock drawer. "This is
John's."
"He set them."
"Mm-hmm. After
"Oh dear. John doesn't need to be
encouraged. Especially not by them." She squared her shoulders and went to
check the bookcases.
The bed was very neat. Too neat. "Did you
make the bed today?" he asked.
"No, I never went to bed."
Connor was instantly alert. "Are you
tired?"
"Definitely not too tired," she
replied, turning around to smile. "I fell asleep on the couch
downstairs."
Connor smiled back. "Good." He
cautiously patted the pale blue coverlet with his hands. The bed made a
crinkling sound. When he pulled the coverlet back, he found more rice in between
the sheets.
"They actually did put rice between the
sheets," Alex said, sounding incredulous. "No wonder you didn't want
When Connor patted the pillow cases, they
crackled. There he found Rice Krispies.
"Oh, that must be John," Alex said.
They stripped the sheets off the bed, neither bothering to comment about it
being short-sheeted. "It's still crinkling," Alex said. Underneath
the mattress liner, someone had laid out Saturday's newspaper in neat,
symmetric rows. The sports section was in the exact center of the bed, and a
golf article had been circled in red and had seven arrows pointing to it.
"Amazing Hole-in-One!" the headline
read.
Alex laughed. Connor rolled his eyes and sighed.
"I don't want to know if they explained
that to John," Alex said.
"I'll get some new sheets and
pillowcases," Connor said, and then together they restocked the bathroom
and remade the bed.
"What else could they have done?" Alex
asked.
"I'm sure we'll find out later,"
Connor said. "And we should check our luggage before we leave tomorrow.
But right now..."
"Yes?" she said invitingly from the
other side of the bed.
He opened his mouth to answer, but his stomach
spoke up first. It growled. Loudly.
Her smile shifted from seductive to amused. "Right
now you need to eat."
"I am hungry," he admitted
apologetically. He hadn't eaten much at the wedding dinner last night
("Nervous?"
She didn't argue. "I'll get us something to
eat while you're washing," she said, and Connor peeled off his clothes on
his way into the bathroom. He hurried through the business of scrubbing off the
grime of the police station, brushing his teeth, and shaving, but even so, it
was
Alex had food waiting (leftovers from last
night) on a small table in front of the west windows. The cream silk of her
wedding gown clung to every curve above the waist and flowed gracefully over
those below. The light from the window made a halo of her hair and caressed her
skin with gold, and when Alex turned and smiled at him, Connor had to remind
himself to breathe.
"Mrs. MacLeod," he greeted her and
lifted her hand to kiss, all the while looking into her eyes. When he
straightened, he kept her hand within his, and she reached out to trace the
line of his cheek and chin, then let her fingers trail over the bare skin of
his shoulder and chest. Connor told himself to breathe again. "I think I'm
underdressed for the occasion," he observed, motioning to her designer
gown and then his worn blue jeans.
"I like you underdressed," she said
impishly, her hand moving tortuously lower. The tips of her fingers were cool,
but he could feel each line of warmth they left on his skin. "Especially
for this occasion."
Connor grinned back. "Good." Then his
stomach growled again.
"You are hungry," Alex said, and she
stepped away. "We eat first," she decreed. "I know you're
Immortal, but I'd rather you didn't die from hunger on our wedding night--or
rather, our wedding day." She gaze slid down him slowly, and it was a lot
hotter than her hands. Connor was about to tell her to forget the food, he
could manage, but then she said, "I don't want to have to wait while you
revive."
Connor had to admit she had a point. And he
really was hungry. Besides, they could flirt across the table. He held her
chair for her, a gesture considered either outrageously gallant or politically
incorrect in this day and age, but Alex was wearing a full-length skirt and
actually needed the help. Besides, it gave Connor a chance to stand directly
behind her and enjoy the view of her generous décolletage--and plan his assault
on those buttons, all thirty-two of them.
"Food," she reminded him, looking up
and laughing, and he laughed too and placed a lingering kiss in the hollow on
the side of her neck before he sat down. Then he piled the food on his plate
and started to eat.
"So, where was it we didn't go last
night?" Alex asked as she speared a tomato slice from her salad.
Connor hastily swallowed a mouthful of duchess
potato puff. "A bed-and-breakfast on
"Not too far from here then," she
said.
"I didn't want us to get stuck in traffic
and have to--"
"--have to wait any longer than we already
had," she finished for him.
Connor stopped chewing long enough to give her
the slow and careful perusal that always brought a flush to her cheeks. It
worked this time, too. "It's been a week," he reminded her.
"Eight days," she corrected.
"Nine hours, forty minutes." She buttered a roll, ate half of it,
then looked at his plate. He'd demolished the salad, the potatoes, a helping of
asparagus, and the chicken breast was nearly gone. "Are you going to want
more when that's gone?" she asked.
He could definitely go for another helping, but
it would be rude to keep a lady waiting. Connor shook his head and swallowed
his food, then stood to pull out Alex's chair.
Only three hours and thirty-five minutes before
John and Margaret returned.
~~~~~
Alex relaxed in Connor's arms as he
carried her up the stairs. When he paused, she suggested, "You could just
carry me into the bedroom. Or use the elevator."
"I'm not tired," he said. "I'm
just enjoying the view." He wasn't looking out the windows.
Alex followed his gaze to see that the sapphire
was securely tucked between her breasts. Low-cut dresses definitely had some
advantages. "Does the necklace come off first," she asked, pitching
her voice to somewhere between husky and breathless, "or last?"
His smile started in his eyes, moved to the
corners of his mouth, and left her truly breathless. "After," he
replied then began climbing again.
The bedroom door was safe now, and Connor
carried her across the threshold then twirled them both around so that her
skirt flared about them and she had to tighten her arms around his neck. They
both laughed, and he set her down but didn't let go of her, and Alex gave him a
kiss that outdid the one she'd greeted him with when he'd come home. "I
love you," she told him.
His smile this time was simply happy. "I
love you, too."
"Is that an old tradition?" she asked.
"Carrying the bride across the threshold?"
He shrugged. "Older than I am."
So, he had carried Heather across the threshold
of their home. And Brenda too most likely. But Alex wasn't going to ask about
his other wives, not now. This was her time.
This was their time.
"So...," she began, and somehow didn't
know what else to say. Or what to do. That is, she knew what to do, but she
wasn't sure how to start doing it, which was silly. They'd been lovers for
seven months, ever since Valentine's Day in the
Connor seemed to understand. "Alex,"
he said, brushing her hair back from her face and tracing the curve of her
cheek with a gentle hand, "let me."
"But--"
One
finger moved to still her lips. "Later," he promised, with a hint of
a grin as his hand started moving again, "I'll let you."
His
hand had found its slow and sure way to the nape of her neck, to the sensitive
place beneath her hair, and his fingertips were moving, just a little.
"You're very convincing, Mr. MacLeod," Alex said.
"I'm
glad to hear it, Mrs. MacLeod." His other hand was brushing along her
collarbone, very close to the hollow of her throat.
"And you definitely have something to
offer."
One eyebrow and one side of his mouth lifted in
that challenging and amused look of his that she found so endearingly sexy.
"Better than business?" he asked.
"Much better." Her voice came out
breathless and husky of its own accord.
His touch was firmer now, more insistent, and
his eyes were molten gray with desire and love. "Then let me."
This time, Alex knew exactly what to say.
"Yes."
The buttons came first, one by one, and Connor
took time between each of them to find a different place to touch her, to
caress her, to send shivers of longing chasing after waves of desire.
When at last he slid the dress from her
shoulders and let it pool around her feet, he stepped back to admire.
"Nice," he said, but in a way that reassured her the lingerie had
been worth every penny and then some. She'd spent more on her bridal underwear
than she usually spent on an entire outfit.
Connor was circling her slowly, close enough
that she could feel his breath on her skin.
"No more buttons," she pointed out.
The sound he made was halfway between a chuckle
and a growl, and it sent a shiver from the nape of her neck to her toes.
"But it does have laces," he replied.
It did indeed. The lingerie was white, but that
was the only virginal thing about it.
"Do I start untying here?" Connor
asked, reaching out to tug gently at one of the laces. Then he moved to stand
behind her. "Or here?" He tugged again, making Alex gasp, and this
time Connor's low voice was purely a growl, a whisper of desire close by her
ear. "Soon."
But first, he knelt in front of her and
carefully and slowly divested her of shoes and stockings and corset, and then
he laid her down upon the bed. "I love you," he told her.
"I can tell," she said and pulled him
down for a kiss. "I've never felt so...cherished."
Connor was interlacing his fingers between hers
so that their wedding rings touched. He looked up to say, "That's part of
the vow."
"To love, honor, and cherish," she
agreed, tightening her hand on his. "I love you, too." They kissed
again, sweetly. The passion could wait a few moments more. "I'm glad we're
at home," she said. "It's a good place to start a marriage."
"I think so, too." Then he carefully
brushed the hair back from her face and kissed her, and the sweetness flowed
into fire as his hands began to move once more.
Some time later, when Alex was floating
somewhere between exquisite pleasure and unbearable urgency, she heard Connor
say, "Fuck," with great intensity.
If Alex's eyes had been open, she would have
blinked. Connor wasn't usually so blunt. Sometimes, yes, during what Lara would
call "wild-assed monkey sex", but not during tender moments, not when
they were making love, and definitely not when he was making love to her.
"Connor?" she began, but he kissed her
quickly with a muttered apology and left her alone in the bed. It was only then
that she heard his cellular phone ringing in the sitting room.
"They'll come in handy," he'd said
when he'd bought them each one in April. "We'll be able to contact each
other no matter where we are, even without the car phone."
"Like communicators from Star Trek,"
Alex had said, hefting the black, rectangular phone in her hand. "Except
bigger."
"They'll shrink," Connor had said.
"And in a couple of years, everybody's going to have one."
At the time, Alex had thought they were a good
idea. Being able to contact Connor could be critical. But besides herself, only
Rachel, Duncan, and John had that phone number. If this was
If not..."Fuck," Alex said, sitting up
and wondering what had gone wrong now.
Connor came back in, his face grim. "Get
dressed," he said, even as he followed his own order and grabbed a T-shirt
out of the armoire.
Alex went straight to the dresser for some
underwear, the everyday kind, and she grabbed slacks and a shirt from the
closet. She didn't ask questions; Connor had been that abrupt with her only
once before, when he'd found out that Kane was planning to kidnap John. As they
pulled on their clothes, Connor explained, "Stenn's going after our
son."
Damn. Except for the name of the bad guy and one
very important pronoun, the words were the same as they had been six months
before.
Well, she thought as she zipped her slacks, at
least no one had lost their head. And unlike Kane, Stenn wasn't a psychotic
murderer. John was probably frightened and angry, but he wouldn't be sobbing in
terror and he wasn't in mortal danger. This wasn't all that bad. Relatively
speaking.
Even so...damn it all to hell.
She kept the sapphire necklace on, trusting that
Connor would, eventually, have the chance to take it off. Sandals were quicker
than shoes, and she ran her fingers through her hair and was ready to go.
Connor was waiting, his sword in his hand.
She had to step over her wedding gown on the way
out the door.
===========================
===========================
"They took him," Margaret said,
looking beseechingly from Alex, who was seated on the art deco settee next to
her, then up to Connor and Duncan, down to Rachel on the silk-covered Louis XVI
chair, and back to Alex again. "We were standing in line to buy movie
tickets, and they just came up and took him. I wanted to go with him, I said my
daughter was married to John's father, but the policeman said no, I wasn't
really family. I tried, but..." She shook her head, a picture of
bewildered shock, this nice, middle-aged woman from a small town who'd probably
never even gotten a parking ticket. "I can't believe they took him."
"Mom," Alex said, taking her hand.
"It'll be all right. We'll get him back."
"What precinct were they from?" Connor
asked.
"What? I don't--"
"Why'd they pick him up?" he asked
next.
"They didn't say."
"You sure they were cops?"
"Well, yes, of course! I mean, who else
would--"
Another Immortal would, Connor thought grimly.
"They had uniforms and badges,"
Margaret went on. "And a police car. I heard the scanner."
That sounded real. Connor relaxed--a little.
"Did you see their license plate?"
"No."
"Christ," he muttered.
"Margaret, did they give you any
papers?" Rachel asked gently, with a stern look to Connor that let him
know she thought his impatience had trespassed into rudeness. Connor pulled
over a stool from the desk and sat down, so he wouldn't be towering over the
women.
"No," Margaret said to Rachel.
"They said they had to deliver the papers to his legal guardians."
"Nothing's been delivered yet,"
Connor wasn't surprised. It had been only twelve
minutes, and Stenn was in no hurry. If it really was Stenn.
"It wasn't Stenn's precinct," Rachel
said. "Or at least, John's not there yet. I just called."
"Here," Richie said, coming over from
Rachel's desk, a piece of paper in his hand. "Social Services' phone
number. They'll have somebody with him. Right?" he asked Margaret.
"Why, yes! There was a woman, sitting in
the police car. I did see that."
"That's good, Mom," Alex said.
Connor reached for the paper, but Richie said,
"They're more likely to talk to a mom," and Alex stood to take it.
"It helps if it sounds like you're crying," Richie added, and Alex
nodded matter-of-factly, even though Connor knew she hated to cry. Alex went to
the desk to dial the number, while Rachel walked to the front door and flipped
the sign to "Closed" even though it wasn't even four in the afternoon
yet.
"You should have some ID for John when you
go to get him," Richie said Connor. "They like to see
paperwork."
"Thanks, Richie," Connor said. It was
handy, having a former juvenile delinquent around.
"I'll start calling the precincts on the
phone in the apartment,"
Connor took Alex's cell phone from her purse and
called Porasin yet again
"You should change," Rachel said when
he was done. "You'll need to look respectable when you go to get
John."
Fuck it, Connor wanted to say, but Rachel was
right. Jeans and a T-shirt, while fast to put on and comfortable to wear,
didn't impress. At least he had shaved recently. Alex, in navy slacks and a
crisp white shirt, would be fine when it came time to go. When they knew where
to go.
When they knew where John was.
"Damn it," Connor swore viciously, and
he would have kept going in much more colorful terms, but his mother-in-law was
watching him with uneasy eyes, and he couldn't afford to lose his temper, not
now, not here, no matter how much he wanted to beat Stenn into a sniveling,
bloody pulp. Only scum went after a man's son.
"We'll find John, Connor," Rachel
said, standing in front of him so that he had to stop pacing. "There are
five of us here to help."
He heard what she was saying beneath the words:
He had family. He wasn't alone.
"Go change," she said gently, and he
did, taking a minute to eat a banana and another minute to put some hundreds
and some twenties into his wallet. Cash was always handy, and there might be
fines to pay. Or bribes to offer. One never knew.
Then Connor called Sean Burns.
"Of course, Connor," Sean said, after
Connor had explained the situation. "I'm not leaving until Friday; it's no
bother. I can testify to the family environment and to John's mental state. And
to yours."
"Right," Connor said dryly.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"Indeed. Let me know if you need me at the
police station."
"Thanks, Sean. I'll call," Connor
said. Porasin had said he'd bring along the adoption papers, just in case, and
Connor picked up John's passport on his way out the door.
"Yes, yes," Alex suddenly said into
the phone, and Connor closed his eyes in relief.
Alex held up a hand for silence as everyone
gathered around. "You're sure? You just got the call. Oh, thank you so
much, Susan. You've been wonderful. It's simply been awful, you know?" She
sounded close to tears. "Thank you again. Goodbye." Alex blew out a
gust of air as she set down the phone. She was perfectly dry-eyed. "Sixth
precinct," she announced, standing up to go.
"I just called them,"
Richie shrugged and rolled his eyes.
"Cops."
"It's only a few blocks north of
here," Rachel said.
"Then let's walk," Alex said to
Connor, and she picked up her purse. "It won't take long."
Connor left his sword in the Chinese vase next
to the elevator, its usual hiding place. It wasn’t smart to take a murder
weapon with you to a police station, especially when you wanted to take a cop
apart with your bare hands.
"Good luck!" Margaret called, and the
others said the same.
"Thanks!" Alex said. "We'll call
and let you know."
"Why'd they pick John up?" Connor
asked Alex as they went out the door.
"The people I talked to didn't know."
"Jesus Christ," Connor muttered, and
they both picked up the pace, sweating under the hot August sun. Still, walking
was better than being cooped up inside a subway car or sitting in traffic, and
the precinct headquarters was less than half a mile away.
The building announced itself by its ugliness. A
few spindly trees had been stuck in the sidewalk, but they did nothing to
soften the stark monolith of concrete with haphazardly placed and grimy
windows. It was clearly one of the "modern" buildings done about
forty years before. The second floor jutted out over the entry, brooding over
two preposterously slender columns that looked like misplaced fangs set in an
impossibly wide and gaping mouth. Connor gritted his teeth and went in.
The cop at the front desk didn't know anything
about John. "You got to ask juvie," he said. He jerked his head
toward the stairs. "Follow the signs."
The cop at the "juvie" desk didn't
know. "Hey, Charlie!" he yelled, turning to look across the room.
"You got anything on a kid named MacLeod?"
"No. Talk to Chen."
"Chen just went off shift," said a cop
who was walking by. The clock on the wall read
"Jesus fucking Christ," Connor swore,
and Alex laid her hand on his arm, while the cop at the desk looked him over
with narrowed eyes. Connor tried to slap a pleasant, inoffensive look on his
face. It didn't work too well.
The cop pointed to the row of flimsy plastic
chairs pushed up against the wall. "Just have a seat, Mr. and Mrs.
MacLeod."
Alex perched on the edge of a chair, but Connor
didn't sit down. Sitting down meant being ignored. Sitting down meant waiting
even more.
The cop locked eyes with him for a moment then
shrugged and started flipping through a log book. Cops came and went. A
screaming seven-year-old was carried through the hall. A sullen girl with too
much eye makeup blew a cop a kiss then laughed at him. The desk cop finally picked
up the phone. Connor listened in.
"Yeah. Ok. Any problems? Oh." He wrote
something down. "Right." He hung up.
Connor
straightened expectantly. Alex stood.
"Hey, Charlie," the cop said.
"Take these folks to Room 12, would you?"
"Thank you, Officer," Alex said with a
smile that was halfway between pathetic and grateful. She got a smile in
return. Connor got a dirty look.
"You didn't tell me you had stage
experience," Connor said to her as they followed Charlie down the stairs.
"Don't you know anything about catching
flies?"
"Who wants flies?"
She punched him on the arm.
"Here you are," Charlie said, opening
the door to a room that looked very much like the interrogation room Connor had
been in some twelve hours before. This time, though, the water stain was in the
right-hand corner of the ceiling, and the table was olive green instead of
gray. "Have a seat," Charlie said, and then he left them there alone.
Connor didn't sit down.
"There's no one here to intimidate,"
Alex said, taking a chair facing the door. "Or impress."
"I don't impress you?"
This time her smile was real.
"Always." She took her phone from her purse and filled Rachel in on
what had happened. Which was basically nothing. "Rachel says a policeman
showed up, but wouldn't give her the papers because she's not John's legal
guardian," Alex reported. Connor shook his head, then took the phone and
called Porasin.
"I'm at the front desk, MacLeod,"
Porasin told him.
"Why the hell did they pick him up?"
"I don't know yet." He interrupted
Connor's muttered imprecations to say, "I'll be with John soon."
At least that was something. "Good. Let us
know how he is."
"Will do."
"And tell him we're here."
"You bet."
"That's good," Alex said as she put
away the phone away. "John likes him."
Connor nodded grimly. John shouldn't be alone.
John shouldn't be here at all.
Alex looked at her watch. "What do you say
we give them five more minutes and then go ask them what is going on?"
Connor grinned. She was definitely his kind of
woman. "Four."
"Four it is."
But Lieutenant Flaherty and Officer Cusicki
arrived with seventy-five seconds to spare. "Mr. MacLeod, Mrs.
MacLeod," Flaherty said heartily, shaking hands with both of them. Cusicki
was clearly the guard dog; he stood in front of the door. "Thank you for
coming to the precinct house," Flaherty said as he sat down.
"We'd have been here sooner if we'd known
where our son was," Connor replied.
Flaherty peeled a note off the front of the
folder. "It says here they tried to call a bunch of times, but the numbers
were always busy."
"They told my mother they'd deliver
papers," Alex said.
"Oh, they do that, too, but phones are
faster." He stuck the note back on the folder and added, "Except when
they're busy."
Some days, Connor decided, it just wasn't worth
trying.
"Now then," Flaherty said, flipping
through the file, "what do we have..."
"You tell us," Connor said. "Why
did your cops pick him up?"
"You don't know." He sounded
surprised.
"No." Connor managed to keep the word
from being a growl.
Flaherty looked at the file again. "It says
here you both witnessed the incident."
"What incident?" Alex asked with
honest bewilderment.
Flaherty leaned back in his chair, his hands
folded over his ample stomach, his thumbs casually circling around each other,
but his eyes were judgmental and cold. "Your son assaulted a police
officer last night."
"Oh, come on," Connor said in disgust.
Even Stenn couldn't be this petty.
"The petition of complaint was filed this
morning," Flaherty added. "That's why we took him into custody."
"You arrested him?" Connor asked
incredulously. "For that? You've got to be kidding."
"You don't think this is serious."
"Stenn
doesn't even have a bruise." Except maybe on his ass.
"It's
still assault, Mr. MacLeod."
"Don't
you cops have serious crime to deal with? John's only ten years old."
"Yeah.
I know." Flaherty leaned forward, his jovial mannerisms completely gone.
"And you know what, Mr. MacLeod? Age don't mean shit. We've got
eight-year-olds dealing drugs on the street corners and nine-year-old giving
blowjobs in the alleys. And right now, we've got a seven-year-old in lockup for
killing his baby sister with a plastic bag and an extension cord." For a
second, he looked away, swallowing hard.
"It
starts younger every year," Flaherty went on. "A little backtalk to
the parents, a little attitude to the teachers, then he's taking a swing at a
cop--and that is a serious crime, Mr. MacLeod, and no, we don't kid about stuff
like that around here, because the next thing you know he's shooting a cop or
he's shooting his parents, or he's shooting up his whole damn school with a
semiautomatic and everybody says, 'How come we didn't see this coming?'
"Well
this time, we did see it coming. And we're stopping it right here. That kid of
yours needs to be taught a lesson: you don't hit cops."
Connor
did. On occasion. And "that kid" was his son. "John isn't--"
"You're
right, Lieutenant Flaherty," Alex interrupted. "John shouldn't have
lost his temper, and he certainly should never have tried to hit Lieutenant
Stenn. It is a serious matter, and we intend to treat it--and John--very
seriously."
"Well,
Mrs. MacLeod, I'm glad to hear that. Some people--" and here Connor got
another dirty look "--don't take that kind of responsibility for their
children."
Connor
started to answer, only to feel Alex's nails digging painfully into his
forearm. He shut up. At least she wasn't stomping on his feet.
"John
really is a very good boy," Alex said. "He was just upset, and--"
"Says
in the file you call him 'slugger'. Does he usually hit people when he's
upset?"
"No,
of course not, but they were--"
Now
it was Connor's turn to take hold of Alex's arm. Flaherty didn't need to hear
about John's father being arrested on suspicion of murder. "The nickname's
from baseball," Connor explained. "I want to see him."
"All in good time, Mr. MacLeod."
"Now is a good time."
Flaherty gave him a tight smile, the kind that
is more irritated than amused. "No, it really isn't, Mr. MacLeod."
"How is he?" Alex asked with a quaver
in her voice. Connor thought he saw the glint of tears in her eyes. "We've
been so worried."
"He's fine, Mrs. MacLeod," Flaherty
said, now sympathetic. "A lady from Social Services is with him. They're
just doing paperwork."
"So,
what happens now?" Alex said to Flaherty.
There
was a tap on the door, and someone handed another file to Cusicki.
"We
finish processing him..."
Connor
hated that phrase. It sounded like making sausage. Cusicki set the file on the
table, next to Flaherty's right hand.
"...take
his fingerprints, his picture, that sort of thing. Talk to him for a bit.
You'll need to fill out some paperwork. Have to set a date for the
adjudication, and then..."
"And
then we can take him home?" Alex finished hopefully.
But
now Flaherty was reading the new file.
"Lieutenant
Flaherty?" Alex asked.
He
was still reading. Then he glanced once at Connor, stood, murmured something to
Cusicki, and left.
"Officer
Cusicki?" Alex tried next.
"If
you'll just wait here, ma'am," the young man said, but he kept his gaze
steadily on Connor and didn't even look at her, which was how Connor knew something
was seriously wrong.
He
didn't like this at all.
~~~~~
Ten
minutes later they were asked to be seated in yet another room. This one lacked
the water stain. It even had a window. The view, however, was of a blank
concrete wall, and the furniture was just as ugly.
Connor
called Rachel and explained what was going on. "I'll call you when we know
something more."
"Good,
but don't call the store," she said. "I'm taking Margaret home with
me for dinner."
He'd
forgotten all about his mother-in-law. "Thanks, Rachel," Connor said for
the fourth or fifth time that day. She deserved flowers, definitely, and he'd
make her cream puffs, too. She liked cream puffs.
Then
he called Porasin again, who said that John was fine, he was eating a sandwich
and that, no, Connor couldn't talk to him, because that was just how it was,
and yes, of course, he'd been trying to hurry the cops along, and now he had to
go; they were calling his name. Yes, he would tell John that his mom and dad
loved him, and oh, yeah, Connor should be patient. And be quiet.
Connor
hung up on him. He was really getting tired of this crap.
Alex
leaned against his shoulder and sighed. After a while, Cusicki brought coffee.
It was terrible, but at least it was hot and had caffeine. Connor's eyes felt gritty,
and he was starting to get that far away buzzing in his ears that came with
lack of sleep. He stirred in a packet of sugar and drank half the vile brew.
Finally,
the door opened, and a fair-haired man in a grey suit came in. "I'm
Michael Jackson," he announced, shaking their hands, "but I go by
Mike, because I'm not that Michael Jackson, hah-hah." He pushed his
wire-rimmed glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and smiled in hopeful
friendliness, looking back and forth between them like a
"That's
a very good idea, Mr. Jackson," Alex said, sounding totally sincere.
"Where's
John?" Connor asked.
"Ah,
yes. John." Mike Jackson sat down and pulled out yet another file.
"I'm afraid there have been some, um, concerns raised about handing John
over into your custody, after this unfortunate affair is settled."
"Why?"
Connor demanded. "He's our son."
"Well,
that's the question now, isn't it." He pushed his glasses up again.
"Is he your son? Legally?"
"Son
of a bitch," Connor breathed, remembering Stenn's comments from earlier
that day. Stenn wasn't just out to arrest John. He wanted to take him away.
"That son of a bitch."
Alex
touched him lightly on the arm, and Connor summoned centuries of practice and
let his hot rage slide into icy calm. "John's adopted," Alex was
saying, "and our lawyer has the papers with him. He's here in the
building. You can--"
"It
was a French firm," Connor said. "He was adopted in
"Yes?
So?"
This
guy really was an idiot. "So it's
"Oh.
Yes, so it is. Well, um...I guess the offices are probably closed."
"Probably,"
Connor agreed dryly.
"Well.
Oh dear. I'm afraid we'll have to wait."
"Until
tomorrow?" Alex asked.
"I'm
afraid so. You do understand our position, Mr. and Mrs. MacLeod. We can't just
let the boy go without being sure that he doesn't a family somewhere waiting
for him."
Connor
leaned forward. "He does have a family waiting for him. Right here. We're
the only family he has."
Mike
Jackson beamed at him across the table. "And as soon as we're sure of
that, you can get him back."
Connor
was going to get John back no matter what. No one--especially not Stenn--was
going to get between him and his son.
===========================
===========================
"Now
what?" Connor asked Porasin, as the three of them slid into a booth near
the back door of a diner that was down the street from the precinct house. The
cracks in the plastic seats were patched with silver duct tape, the corner of
the table was sticky, and something crunched beneath Alex's foot. Perhaps, she
thought amid the clink and clatter of dishes, perhaps it was good that her
marriage to an Immortal had started out this way. Not much would surprise her
after this.
"Was
the adoption legit?" Porasin asked. He took up nearly the entire bench on his
side.
"Yes."
"Then
we wait. They get the papers, they see that John's legally yours, they give him
back to you."
"And
meanwhile, he's God-knows-where for God-knows-how-long," Connor said.
"We
know he's in a safe house tonight; we just don't know where, because then you
might--oh, just possibly--try to get your kid back. Don't worry; once the
police get the paperwork, it shouldn't take long."
"And
the assault charge?"
"We'll
try to get that dismissed or adjusted, which shouldn't be too hard, but if not,
I really don't think there'll be any time to serve. Instead, there'll be some
counseling, maybe some family counseling..."
"John
and Connor already saw a psychiatrist earlier this year," Alex said.
"Sean would testify for us, wouldn't he, Connor?"
He
nodded. "I asked him this afternoon."
"Hmmm...might
help, might not," said Porasin. "Still, good to know. Whatever
happens, John's going to have to show up for court."
Connor's
snort somehow combined exasperation and disgust. "And we're on our way to
"Oh,
yeah, the honeymoon in the
"Tomorrow
night at eight-thirty," Alex said.
Porasin's
eyebrows went up. "Might want to cancel your tickets."
Alex
glanced at Connor, who shook his head. "If we have to, we'll buy new
ones."
It
was nice, this having lots of money. Weird, but nice.
"Was
John going with you?" Porasin asked next.
"No,"
Connor said. "The plan was for him to go camping in the
Plans
changed. Alex sighed then picked up the menu, which featured sixteen different
kinds of hamburgers and three flavors of milk shakes. This restaurant hadn't
been in the plan, either. They were supposed to be dining at their favorite
Italian restaurant, after having spent a wonderful day both in and out of bed.
Well, she'd get to wear that dress another time. And that underwear.
"Don't
tell the cops about
"Good
thing I didn't show them his passport," Connor noted.
A
waitress came to their booth. Her pink hair matched her uniform.
"Something to drink?"
"Coffee,"
Connor said. "Caffeinated."
"For
me, too, please," Alex said. In the last thirty-six hours, she'd had about
four hours of sleep. Connor, she knew, had had none.
"Nothing
for me, thanks," Porasin said, and the waitress nodded and left. "I'm
going home to eat," Porasin said, jabbing a finger at Connor. "And I
would like to spend the entire night in my bed. So don't you--or anyone else in
your family--go getting arrested again, OK?"
"We
won't even jaywalk on our way home," Alex promised.
"Good.
I'll find you a lawyer who specializes in juvenile cases. This isn't my
game."
"Thanks,"
Connor said.
Then
Porasin got up, looming over their table just by standing there. "Don't
screw with the cops, MacLeod," he warned. "As you may have noticed
lately, they can make your life miserable. And that makes my life miserable,
too." He grinned cheerily, in the same way that Connor and
Alex
turned to Connor. "Stomp on your other foot?"
He
shrugged. "His way of reminding me to take his advice."
"Ah."
"Phone?"
Connor asked, and Alex handed it to him. He called the apartment. "
Connor
turned the phone a little so she could hear
"Stay
the hell out of my bedroom."
Alex
didn't need to have the phone turned now.
"No."
He grinned. "But the new security code will."
"New
security code?"
He
nodded, already punching in Rachel's number. "I changed it this
afternoon."
Alex
reached over and put her hand over the phone. "And you were going to tell
me this...when?"
He
looked up, his forefinger hovering over the nine. "Um..."
She
waited, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Things
got busy," he said, with an apologetic grin.
He
looked very sweet that way. Charming. Boyish, even. Alex wasn't buying. She
took hold of one of his ears, which was her way of reminding him to take her
advice. "I'm your wife, Connor. Don't leave me out, and don't shut me
out." Alex gave his head a shake. "Not ever."
The
charm disappeared from his smile, but the sincere apology remained, and Alex
accepted it now. "Right," he agreed, and kissed her so that they both
smiled. "Not ever."
~~~~~
And
yet, right after they got home, Connor changed back into T-shirt, jeans, and
sneakers, kissed her once, and headed for the door.
"Where
are you going?" she said, getting in front of him.
"To
see Stenn."
"No,
you're not."
"Alex--"
"No,"
she said, and his expression hardened, going from normal stubbornness to
irritated determination. Alex didn't care. She'd let him order her around when
they first found out John was missing; she was going to be in charge now. "What
are you going to do?" she asked. "Talk to him? Or hit him?"
He
shrugged, but his eyes betrayed his anger. "That cop needs to be taught a
lesson: don't mess with my son."
"John's
been arrested for assaulting a police officer; do you think it will help if his
father is arrested on the same charge? Again?"
"If
you're talking about the time at the airport, that was for resisting
arrest," Connor corrected. "Not assault."
"Whatever,"
she said dismissively. "Will it help us get John back? And keep him?
Because even if they agree the adoption was legal, we still might have to prove
that we're 'fit parents'. We could still lose him."
Bleakness
washed over the anger in his eyes. "I know."
"So
we leave Stenn alone," she said, laying her hands on his upper arms,
hoping to soothe him with her touch. "And we wait, just like Porasin said,
and we stay out of trouble. Tomorrow, the police will get the paperwork, John
will come home, and then you and I will go to the
He grimaced, as if tasting something sour, but
he nodded. "OK." The anger was still in his eyes, still in the
tenseness of his stance. "It's just...I hate waiting."
Alex
shook her head. "You're good at waiting." He was one of the most
patient men she'd ever known. "What you hate is being helpless."
That
got her a smile, a small one, and he reached up to take her hand in his.
"Yeah." He pulled her closer, and she went into his arms and hugged
him tight. Slowly, she felt some of his tension ease away. "I can't shut
you out," he said softly against her hair. "You're already
inside."
In
the last twenty-four hours, Alex had lost count of how many times she'd found
tears in her eyes. At least this time, there was a smile that came along.
"I love you," she told him, and then he kissed her, the fingers of
one hand tangling in her hair, and his other hand sliding along her spine,
urging her closer, pulling her in.
Then
the telephone rang.
"Oh
God," Alex sighed with exasperation, then the worry came flooding back.
"I guess we should answer that."
Connor met her eyes with grim understanding
then went to answer the phone. "Margaret, hi," he said, and Alex came
over to rescue him. Connor wouldn't want to talk to her mother right now.
"Hi,
Mom," Alex said, taking the phone. "Yes, we just got home... Tomorrow,
we hope... We ate at a diner... No, this isn't your fault, Mom. I'm sure. Yes...
No..."
Connor
was starting to pace, and Alex covered the receiver with her hand and
suggested, "Why don't you go downstairs to the gym?" Sitting around
and being frustrated by other people always made him extremely cranky, and he
hadn't gotten any exercise (except for that interrupted tryst in bed and the
brief walk to and from the police station) since yesterday morning.
He
nodded and disappeared, and Alex went back to soothing her mother, who was busy
blaming herself for losing John.
They
were still talking when Connor came back upstairs, though they'd moved on to
easier topics for a while and now her mother was soothing her. Connor waved to
her, made scrubbing motions with his hands, and went upstairs.
Three
minutes later he came back, dripping wet and wearing only a towel, and he
stalked through the living space and out the door.
"Uh,
Mom," Alex said. "I really have to go." They said goodnight, and
Alex hung up the phone and went to the hallway. Connor was nowhere to be seen,
though a faint line of damp footprints led to the stairs. She went to the
stairwell and opened the door. A few partial footprints could be seen going
down.
Richie's
voice floated up. "It looks like he didn't want that cold shower after
all, Mac."
"Not
many men like cold showers on their honeymoon," Richie pointed out.
"That's
true." And then they were both laughing as Connor's footsteps neared.
She
retreated to the loft and waited there. Connor entered, shaking his head and
muttering. She thought it was Gaelic. She was sure it was swearing. He went
back upstairs, and she heard the shower start again.
Alex
went upstairs to the bedroom. Connor, always the neat one, had picked up the
wedding clothes that they had abandoned on the floor earlier that day and laid
them on the divan. Maybe she'd have time to send them to the drycleaners
tomorrow. Maybe not. Alex started putting things away.
When
Connor came out of the bathroom, he was still shaking his head, but he was
almost smiling now.
"
Connor
nodded as he opened a dresser drawer. "He kept his promise; he didn't come
into the bedroom. He turned the hot water off from downstairs." Connor
chuckled with mingled fondness, exasperation, and pride. "I should have
known; he's always been dependable--for both good things and bad."
Alex
refrained from pointing out that
"Any
hot water left?" she asked.
"Sure."
"My
turn then. I won't be long." She wanted to get the cigarette smoke from
the diner out of her hair. And afterwards...
But
afterwards, her husband was asleep. She couldn't blame him. It had been a very
long day. And night. And day.
He half-opened his eyes when she got into bed.
"Sorry."
"It's all right." She snuggled against
him. "I'm tired, too."
"We could..."
She kissed him, but only lightly. "When we
'celebrate' this marriage, I want your full attention, and I want to be able to
give you mine. We're both tired, we're both worried, and I don't think either
of us is in the mood."
"Yeah." His eyes were already closed.
"Sorry," he said again.
"Me, too. Goodnight, sweetheart."
"Goodnight, Mrs. MacLeod." The words
were slurred with sleep, but his arms were holding her tight, and she felt safe
in his arms.
She hoped John felt safe, too. She hoped the
house Social Services had put him in was all right. "When you're worried
about your children," her mother had told her on the phone, "you
don't sleep, not at first. But eventually you do. You have to, and beside, you're
no use to anyone without it. Do what you can, sleep, and then do what you can
again."
Connor wasn't the only who hated being helpless.
But there was nothing more she could do, not tonight. Tomorrow, as Scarlet O'Hara
liked to say, was another day. Alex closed her eyes.
~~~~~
When
she woke, Connor was gone and the bed beside her was cold. It was still dark
outside, and the clock read
Downstairs,
Connor was talking in Arabic on the phone. It was
Alex
made coffee, then asked, "Breakfast?" when Connor finally got off the
phone.
"Yeah,
in a bit," he said, standing to stretch his arms behind his back. She
watched in appreciation as the muscles of his shoulders shifted and gathered
under the thin fabric of his shirt. "But I need to go running. Want to
come?"
She
hadn't even finished her coffee. "No thanks. Why don't you ask
"Good
idea."
But
fifteen minutes later, while Alex was mixing muffin batter,
"Want
help making breakfast?" he asked, and of course she let him in.
"You
didn't go running?"
"Oh
no," he answered. "I never run with Connor when he's in a bad mood."
He poured himself some coffee, then grinned cheerfully and said, "Omelets?
Or a soufflé?"
~~~~~
After
breakfast (Richie somehow managed to show up just in time), they waited for the
phone to ring.
Porasin
called at
"Good.
What's the verdict?" Connor asked.
"Well..."
"What?"
he snapped.
"They're
in French and Arabic. The cops are having them translated. It'll be a little
while."
Connor
went downstairs to hit the punching bag.
About
half an hour later, he came back up with a vase of flowers in his hand and gave
them to Alex. "Oh," she said in blank surprise. "They're beautiful.
And daisies are one of my favorites, of course. But I--"
"They're
not from me," he interrupted.
"Oh,"
she said again, in just the same way, then took out the card. It read simply,
"Sorry," and it was signed with the letter T.
"Tommy?"
Connor asked.
"Mm-hmm."
Alex slowly put the card back in its envelope. They'd talked yesterday morning,
while Connor was still in jail, and although she'd been angry with Tommy at the
beginning, they'd ended with a hug. She hadn't expected flowers, though. And
this really wasn't a good time to explain, with John not home. Connor wasn't in
the best of moods.
"Sorry
he didn't bring a present to the wedding? Sorry you're leaving?" Connor
inquired. "Or sorry you married me?"
Alex
set the flowers down on the table and faced her husband to say calmly,
"He's sorry he didn't believe me when I said you were a good man, because
he believes that now." She was very aware of
Connor
blinked. Just once. "Did he."
Alex
had heard that calm, quiet voice of his only a few times before. It was never a
good sign. "We found out last night," she said, "right after you
left--"
"After
the cops arrested me," Connor corrected. "At our wedding. Because
Tommy tipped them off."
"It
wasn't his fault," Alex told him. "You know Stenn's always after you.
Any excuse would have done. Tommy was worried about me; he was only trying to
help."
After
a moment, Connor nodded, and Alex knew this "fight" was done. They'd
talked about Tommy's suspicions before, and about the lies Alex had to tell.
Then
Connor asked: "And you were going to tell me about this...when?"
She
fed him back the line he'd given her earlier, with the same kind of apologetic
grin. "Things got busy." She added more softly, "I'm sorry. I
forgot all about him. I've been thinking about John, and before that--"
She looked him over deliberately, appreciatively, and then slowly wet her lips
as she met his eyes. "Before that, I was thinking about you."
Connor
gave her the same kind of slow, smoldering look in return. "Good."
Hot
and steamy was definitely on the weather forecast for today. But not this
morning; they were still waiting for the phone to ring. Alex kissed him with a
murmured promise of "Later," and got back a repeat of the
half-growled "Soon" that had sent shivers down her spine yesterday
and did the same today.
But
soon wasn't now. She pulled away reluctantly then tried to keep busy. She sent
the wedding clothes out to be dry-cleaned and repacked their suitcases (it took
her fifteen minutes to shake out the rice). She was putting stamps on the thank-you notes when
Porasin called to say, "Good news, MacLeod. You can come get your
boy."
"Thank
God," Alex breathed.
While
Alex put her shoes on, Connor finished pouring the chocolate sauce on the last
of the cream puffs. Then he kicked Richie and Duncan out of the loft and very
pointedly locked the door, and she and Connor walked to precinct headquarters
again. Alex soon realized why
"I'm
here to pick up my son," Connor told the officer at the juvie desk.
"Name?"
"MacLeod.
John MacLeod."
"Don't
know. Let me see." He dug through some paperwork and finally said,
"Oh, yeah. You got to talk to Lieutenant Flaherty first."
"All
right," he said, and Alex didn't trust the evenness of Connor's tone.
"Where is he?"
"Don't
know. Let me see." He nodded to the row of chairs against the wall.
"You two can just sit down over there."
Connor
didn't sit down. Alex took a deep breath, smiled nicely at the officer, and
stayed by Connor's side.
They
had time to read all the wanted posters on the wall and the advice about using
car seats before Flaherty showed up at
"Where's
our son?" Connor demanded.
"There's
something you need to take care of first, Mr. MacLeod."
"What?"
Alex winced. The word sounded almost as sharp a
