Chapter One:

"You're going too fast."

"I am not. Just shut up and let me drive." Tracy glared at her blind partner, wondering how he could tell what speed she was doing. His hands were clenched tight and he didn't appear to be breathing. Not that he had to breathe... but he actually looked like he might pass out. She felt her irritation leave at once. She spoke more gently then. "Nick, it's going to be okay."

"You're doing 62 kph in a 50 zone. It won't be "okay" at all. Now slow down; you're a respected officer, not some ditzy teen out to provoke her daddy."

Tracy hit the breaks, squealing rubber. Perry whined from the back seat. Nick's arms flailed out, stopping his forward momentum as he banged into the dash. Tracy released the brake then and continued, doing a steady 49 kph in total silence.

Nick tried to settle back and relax. One hand gripped the door handle leaving dents in the steel. This was not a good idea, he thought. For eight months now he'd been off work, not including that short stint substitute teaching at the Academy. Maybe he should just make it permanent. "Turn around. I'm going home."

Tracy pulled to the curb and turned off the motor. She heaved a sigh, brushing her short blonde hair off her face. "Nick. We're going to be late," she said.

"Tell Reese I wasn't feeling well. Now take me home, or I'll call a cab."

"Fine. I'll take you home," she said. "But you're coming in to the precinct to tell Reese yourself. I'm not going to lie for you."

"No one's asking you to lie," Nick shouted. "I'm really not feeling up to this!"

Tracy slid closer to him on the seat. She touched his cheek affectionately. "Maybe you need a little something to soothe the savage beast?" she asked playfully.

Nick stiffened at her touch, withdrawing from her. Tracy ignored his reluctance. Taking a fingernail, she scratched her neck, drawing blood. She smiled as the yellow glow sprang to his eyes and felt a warmth stirring within at the sight of his fangs. She craned her neck in offering.

Nick growled angrily, pulling her on to his lap and sinking his fangs into her throat. Tracy sighed contentedly. After a few moments, she returned the bite and completed the blood circle. In the blood she tasted Nick's turmoil. She simply held him. Nick had been through so much this year. She'd take him home in a minute if she thought it was the right thing for him, but she knew how important his job was to him. He needed this. He needed to be needed again.

Nick pulled out of her throat and let his fangs retract. He held her tightly, almost desperately. His hands were trembling.

"I'll be there with you, bro," she said. "Let's just give it a couple of hours. We'll knock off early, as soon as you give the word. Okay?"

He shrugged, trying for indifference. Tracy pecked him on the cheek. "That's the spirit. Now, we've got to get moving. This isn't exactly a parking zone."

She grinned, flipping on the radio to drown out any retort he might make. Nick didn't say another word as she drove the remainder of the journey.

He tensed as she turned off the ignition. It was time. Mechanically, he climbed out of the car, then tilted his seat forward to let Perry out of the back.

Tracy turned away when he doubled over the rosebushes and puked. No one really believed he would get well any more, not even LaCroix. She missed the "old" Nick, with the confidant, arrogant, princely bearing.

"So do I," Nick said quietly. "Let's go."

"You have to quit that, you know."

"Hm?"

She slugged him playfully. "I want you out of my mind. Do I have to put up "no trespassing signs"?"

"It would help."

"I warned them not to throw you a party or anything," Tracy said softly. "I figured you wouldn't want that."

He nodded silently, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.

A chorus of "welcome backs" greeted Nick as he and Perry crossed the crowded bullpen. He forced a smile, nodding and thanking them quietly. The walk to the captain's office had seldom seemed as long.

Reese heard the commotion and opened his door. Nick looked better, he thought, although he was still too pale. But then, Nick didn't run the risks of skin cancer thanks to that damn allergy. Reese was both elated and nervous. He was glad to have his star detective back, and terrified that some harm would come to Nick in his line of work because of his disability. This was a dangerous job. Nick had been shot at many times, once a bullet had even wiped out his memories. A blind man did not belong here.

"Welcome back," Reese said. "Nick, you don't have any open cases right now, as I had to reassign them in your absence. So, until something comes up, I have a stack of unsolveds from past years that I'd like you to look into. I placed them on your desk." Nick stiffened as if he'd been slapped. Paperwork had never been his forte. "I am not here to be a desk clerk," he said curtly.

"I know, Nick. But these cases were never officially closed. We owe it to the victims to be thorough."

"Come on, partner," Tracy said with a sigh. She tugged Nick's sleeve before he got rude or reckless. "Let's take a look. Maybe something new will open up yet tonight."

Tracy took half the files and flipped through them without much interest. Nick scanned the top file into his Braillexel computer. He groaned inwardly when he recognized the case. It was the two crooks he'd drained last year when they had tried to kill Janette. This one could not be "solved". The next case was a vampire's kill, and the next, and the next. Nick shook his head at the uselessness of this exercise. He was here to serve and to protect, but at the moment he was beginning to see how Nat must feel as she was forced to falsify reports to cover for the community. As the night wore on, his generally pleasant disposition grew more and more annoyed.

Several hours later Reese finally approached him with a new case. "The call just came in," he said. "The coroner is already on her way. A son came home from work and found his mother's body. He called 911, and they called us. Here's the address." He handed the file over to Tracy.

"Let's go, partner," she said eagerly.

Nick swallowed. This was it. His big chance to show he could still do the job, or make the biggest fool out of himself trying. He reached for Perry's harness. "Come, boy. It's time."

*****

The night was warm for this time of year. Tracy wished they were driving in Nick's Caddy with the top down, but instead they used her little black sports car. She wasn't particularly excited about Perry riding on the back seat, leaving red-tinged doggy drool and golden hairs all over the place, but Nick hadn't let her spread a sheet over the cushions to protect them. He said it would "hurt Perry's feelings".

Nick ran his fingers over the file, the information kept from him because it was in flat type. He couldn't drive, and he couldn't read this. He growled in frustration.

Tracy flipped open the cover and scanned the file while she waited at a red light. "Not much there, partner," she said. "Richard Hunter, 28 year old white male, called 911 when he found his mother on the living room floor. He started CPR, but was unable to revive her. The EMTs called us."

Tracy pulled up in front of a small home in a quiet neighborhood. Two squad cars, an ambulance, the coroner's van, and Nat's SUV were already there. The flashing police lights were strangely out of place, casting macabre shadows on well-kept lawns and houses. She waited for Nick, and then together they entered the house.

Nick caught the smell of blood immediately. His fangs itched some, and he sensed Perry's interest as well. He hadn't thought how his job might affect his carouche! He hunched down and patted the canine behind the ears. "Are you okay, boy? You can't feed here, you know."

The dog woofed once, almost indignantly. Human blood would never be his first choice anyway.

"Just checking," he said.

"This way," Tracy said, tugging on his sleeve. "The body's over here. Head wound, some blood, but it doesn't look like enough to be the cause of death."

"Very good," Nat said. "Hello, Nick. Tracy's right. She hit her head when she fell. Small laceration above the eye, probably hit it on the sharp corner of this end table. By the color of her fingertips, though, she didn't bleed to death. I think she suffocated."

Nick nodded. So it was murder, then. "We should question the son," he began.

"Nick, I don't think that's going to be necessary. I mean, you guys probably didn't need to show up at all. She's wearing a medical alert bracelet, identifying her severe asthma. The pollens and molds are really bad this time of year until we get a killing frost. It looks like the asthma killed her."

"I should still talk to the son," Nick said stubbornly. "It never hurts to be thorough." The son was easily hypnotized though, and everything he said seemed to corroborate Nat's preliminary evaluation. The woman had no known enemies or lovers and there was no motive.

"I think Reese knew this was going to be a wild goose chase when he sent us here," Nick snapped later, when they were in the privacy of Tracy's car.

"Nick, how could he?" Tracy asked. "And why?"

"Because he has no intention of putting me back to work."

"I hope you're wrong, partner. I'm kind of used to your face. And now that I've finally got you trained, I'm not looking forward to breaking in someone new."

Nick chuckled. "Yeah, right," he said. He let the matter drop, until they returned to the precinct.

The officers stared, awed at the familiar sight, as Nick stormed through the bullpen and threw open Reese's door with a bang. "I'm a detective, Captain, not an errand boy!" he roared.

"Nick, if you don't get a hold of yourself, you'll be behind that desk permanently," Reese warned, his voice low with clear warning.

Flashes of insight overtook him. Pictures of himself, laying in the street in a pool of blood. Nick trembled. He found a chair and slumped into it. Where had that come from? Was it a premonition? Then, just as fast, a picture of Reese and Denise involved in an activity Nick had no business witnessing, appeared in his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear the images. They must be Reese's thoughts.

"I am not a rookie," he said, more calmly than he felt. "I will not put myself or my partner in danger."

"Look, Nick, if it were me, I'd put you out on the streets immediately. But some things just take time."

"I'll go back to my desk, Captain, like a good boy. But the next case that comes in, a REAL case, I expect to be on it." He heard Reese's whispered words, too soft for mortal ears. "I hope we have a quiet week."

Chapter two:

She angled her car so the headlights would shine on the small grave. Once it would have unnerved her to visit a cemetery in the dark, but now the shadows comforted her. Her tears could fall unheeded, she could mourn undisturbed. She tucked her purse under the front seat. Then, with a deep breath, she climbed from her car.

The grass was damp. Fall was settling in again. He had died in the fall seven years ago. She walked the short distance, stepping around the plots considerately, until she stood over the small brass marker. A cherub, a sprig of morning glories, and a Bible verse were all the adornments. Then, the name. She fingered it, as fresh tears spilled forth. "Jeremy Ethan Howard", Infant son of Victoria and Ethan Howard." Then, there were two dates. His birth and his death. So close together.

She glared at the name next to hers. "You bastard," she cursed, again and again. If she could afford a new marker, she'd have his name permanently removed. It was so wrong - evil and sacrilegious - to have that man's name in this quiet place.

"School started two weeks ago," she said then. "You'd be starting second grade. I went inside one day and walked through the hallway, imagining that I was going to see your teacher, just like any other mother. There were three second grade teachers and all of them looked really nice. But I picked out the one that would be yours. She was young, but not too green. She had her class under control. The children were busy working on an art project. They were quietly talking, as they cut and pasted and made such glorious pictures for their mommies' refrigerators."

She had to stop then, as the sobbing made it hard to speak. Her shoulders trembled. The cemetery was empty, so she gave in to her grief and cried out in a loud voice. "Oh, God! I miss him! How can I go on like this!"

Eventually, the aching lessened enough that she could breathe again. She blew her nose and remained quiet until her voice was controlled.

"I know I have to get over this. I will, somehow. But, if only I could see your killer rot in jail, then maybe I could move on. I haven't been able to get anyone to reopen the case. All they see is an unstable, grieving mother. They're probably right about that, but I know, deep in my heart, that he killed you. I promise, I swear, that I will see him pay."

She stood then. Her slacks were damp from the dew and she shivered. "I'll keep trying, baby. Good night."

Leaving was always the hardest. It was so final. Her baby lay beneath the cold dark earth and he would never come home again. She longed to hold him just one more time, to kiss his forehead, to breathe in his scent of baby shampoo and diaper cream, to kiss away his tears. "I love you, Jeremy!" Then she ran towards her car to muffle her sobs behind closed doors.

The lights were on when she pulled into the garage. "Damn," Vicky muttered under her breath. Alex wasn't supposed to come home until tomorrow! Quickly she adjusted the rearview mirror to check the mess her tears had made on her makeup. A hanky and a splash of lipstick were not going to be much help. Alex was going to be so angry with her... Her pulse raced. A delicious shiver ran down her spine. Drawing in a breath of courage, she climbed out of the car.

Alex was her hero. He had rescued her from the dark depression that had crippled her when her marriage with Ethan dissolved immediately following Jeremy's death. She had been in and out of hospitals, contemplating suicide when he had come to her. He was strong and caring, nurturing her when she needed it and giving her the will to go on, but he demanded obedience and respect in return.

The kitchen was empty. She set her purse down on the counter and hurried into the living room.

Alex sat in his favorite chair reading the evening paper. He didn't even glance up when she entered. Vicky hurried to kneel at his feet. Now it was time to wait. She listened as he turned the page, heard the crackle of paper as he read first the top half and then a story at the bottom. Her legs were beginning to cramp and her skin felt irritated from her damp clothing. She felt chilled to the bone. Her mind wandered briefly.

Alex was so different from Ethan. He was tall and dark, while Ethan was heavy-set with thinning red-brown hair. Alex was strict with her, but he demanded even more from himself, observing a rigorous program of exercise and a healthfood diet, followed by hours of meditation. She wondered now what she had ever seen in Ethan.

The paper was folded and placed on the end table. "Fix me an Old-Fashioned," Alex snapped.

"Yes, Master," Vicky quickly replied. She straightened her legs and went to the wet bar. Ice, brandy, sugar, and bitters, then enough club soda to fill the glass. She dropped a cherry into it, then returned to kneel before him. She held the glass until he took it from her.

She heard him take a sip. He didn't praise her, but the lack of any criticism told her that she had made it right. Wordlessly, he lifted one foot. Vicky rested it on her thigh as she removed his shoe and sock. Then she removed the other one as well and began to massage his feet. Another half-hour passed in silence.

"You went there again, didn't you," Alex said accusingly.

Vicky hesitated only a moment. He could always tell when she was lying. She might as well be truthful. "Yes, Master."

"Even though I forbid you to go. Why?"

"I am sorry, Master," Vicky whispered. Tears came to her eyes again and slipped silently down her face. "I don't intend to disobey. I know you want only what is best for me, but I just can't leave him alone. I've tried, Master. I want to! I want my life back, but until his killer is brought to justice, I just can't!"

Alex sighed. "Your disobedience cannot go unpunished."

Vicky bowed her head. "Yes, Master."

"But I have changed my mind. Perhaps it is time to take this to the police. I want your solemn promise, though. If they decide again that it is not homicide, then you will not speak of this again. You will not go there again, except once a year on the child's birthday. Seven years is too long to still be grieving."

Vicky smiled through her tears. "I love you, Master! Oh, thank you!"

*******

"Nick? Maybe you should stay home tonight," Tracy suggested quietly.

"No."

"But you been having such headaches. You really shouldn't shout at the boss like that, you know? What's he supposed to do? Either ignore your lack of respect or fire you?"

"I told him I was sorry," Nick said, striving to keep the irritation from his voice. "It's time to go. Are you going to drive, or shall I call a cab?"

Tracy shrugged. "Whatever. Let's go."

LaCroix met them at the door. Nick stiffened, preparing to wage the same battle on a grander scale, but LaCroix simply laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Take care, my children." Then he opened the door for them.

"That was weird," Tracy muttered. "Old man's going soft."

"Don't even think that, Trace. You never know when he's going to lurk in your mind."

"Does he really do that? Get inside our heads, without us knowing?"

Nick nodded. He wasn't sure himself of the extent of LaCroix's ability. But he had learned, often painfully, to be cautious even with his thoughts, especially when he was in close proximity.

If only the others would stay out of his mind, though! Now Tracy's fears and worries were overpowering him, confused images, short thoughts, lightning quick, stabbing his consciousness, pain and then nothing, only to be stabbed again. He couldn't stop the groan that escaped, as he buried his head in his arms.

"Nick! What?" Tracy tapped the brakes as she looked over at him.

"Nothing! Just drive! Shut up. Don't think. Don't worry, just drive the damn car!"

"Yeah. Sure. Why don't you suck a nail," she snapped. She flipped on the radio. It was too early yet for the "Nightcrawler", but even awful music would be more interesting than her brother/partner/sometime lover. The music was soft and soothing, different from the usual dark stuff LaCroix played. It seemed to have a positive effect on Nick, for he leaned back and his features relaxed.

They entered the precinct in silence and went straight to their desks. Tracy was getting as tired of desk-duty as Nick was, but there was little she could do about it. She figured she had pushed Reese just as far as she could this past year. She'd used up all her sick days, vacation days, personal days, and then some. Now saddled with a blind partner, she felt very insecure in her position.

Nick had been back for three days now. After that first day, when he'd had to knock off a few hours early, he'd managed to put in a full shift, but it had been hard for him. His pale coloring looked a little gray, and there were times when she saw blood tears in his eyes. He was rubbing at his forehead again. These headaches were something new. He didn't need this, she fretted.

"Come on," Nick said suddenly.

"Where are we going?"

"Out. Let's just drive around. That'd be as productive as sitting here another minute."

Tracy grabbed the light jacket she'd brought in. The autumn temperatures had taken a sudden drop yesterday, and even though she was no longer really affected by temperature, the wind had a cold and lonely sound. It wouldn't even be officially "fall" for two more days, at the autumnal equinox.

Perry woofed quietly in agreement. He wasn't sure of the origins of Nick's discomfort, but he sensed it through their faint bond and sitting at Nick's feet beside his desk for hours on end was beyond just plain boring.

"Your car fumes smell off," Nick commented, as she started the engine.

"Really? They just smell the same to me."

"You must have some moisture in your gas tank. You should get an additive the next time you fill."

Tracy grinned. Giving a woman car advice was such a "normal" guy thing to do. "Sure, bro. I'll take care of it," she promised. "Where to?"

"Just around. Skip the freeways and stick to dark streets. The higher crime areas. You never know what you'll find." Nothing, she hoped. Running in to an armed robbery right now was not high on her list.

Nick leaned back and closed his eyes. The lines of tension seemed to lift. As she drove, she reminisced about so many nights like this. Like the time, about a year ago, when he didn't know yet that she knew he was a vampire. She'd had such fun playing pranks on him, from eating garlic bread and pizza in his Caddy, to suggesting he get Urs a Rosary for a gift. LaCroix hadn't liked the pranks though. She shivered at that memory.

Suddenly Nick sat up and clutched at his head. "Turn around!" he barked.

Tracy took a quick look, then hit the brakes and cranked on the wheel, doing a U-turn. "Do I need to turn on the light?" she asked, indicating the police light that sat unused on the seat between them.

"No. Hurry! Turn left. Stop!"

Tracy followed his cryptic directions. Nick threw open his door before the car had come to a complete halt. Perry didn't wait for Nick to tilt up the seat, but leaped over it, snarling a clear warning to the mortal threat outside.

Tracy looked in the dark, trying to see what Nick had somehow felt. She heard a woman crying pitifully, weak and terrified.

"No! Please, no! Oh God, No!"

"Get away from her," Nick commanded.

Then Tracy saw them. Partially concealed behind bushes and trash cans, a man straddled a naked woman, his pants unzipped and pushed down around his knees. The woman's clothing lay in shreds. Her face was bruised, as were her arms, but Tracy suspected that the assault was not yet full-blown rape.

The man whipped out a long, lethal-looking knife. "Get away," he shouted frantically, his eyes almost inhuman-looking in his uncontrolled rage. Then he pressed the knife to the woman's throat. "Get in the car and drive away!"

"Nick, he's got a knife," Tracy said, her voice not quite steady.

Nick tried to reach the man to command him to stop with his newly strengthened ability to hypnotize in spite of his blindness, but the woman's thoughts - her terror - was pelting him, distracting him. She was shivering and in pain. Nick took a step closer.

The woman screamed and Nick caught the scent of blood. Perry leaped then, landing full on the man's chest. He knocked the man down, his fangs on his throat. The man brought the knife up to stab him, but Perry bit down harder. The man screamed, dropping the knife.

Nick fell to his knees. "Perry!" he called out fearfully. He smelled the blood of mortals and carouche; he panicked, feeling lost and vulnerable.

Perry gave a low growl, reassuring Nick he was fine, but he did not loosen his hold on the man's throat.

Tracy took Nick's sleeve then and approached, reading the man his rights as she pulled handcuffs from her pocket. Nick reached for the woman.

She screamed again, drawing away from him.

"It's okay, ma'am," Nick said, pulling off his coat. "I'm blind. Here, put this on, you sound cold."

His soft voice and gentle words had a calming effect, added with the hypnotic suggestion that slowed her erratically beating heart.

"He - he - was going to rape me," she stuttered, shivering uncontrollably.

Nick held out his arms and she didn't even hesitate. She clung to him and burst into tears. The crime might be over, but the nightmares were just beginning.

The man was complaining about police brutality and demanded that he be allowed to pull up his trousers. Nick shrugged. "I never touched you, and Perry isn't a cop."

Tracy placed a call in to the precinct, calling for backup. A female officer would be given charge of the victim, according to standard procedure, and a squad car could bring in the perp. But, with her eyewitness account, this perp would go to jail if the victim pressed charges.

"An ambulance will be here shortly," she told the woman. "We'll have some one look at those cuts and bruises."

She nodded, continuing to sob. Tracy didn't even try to get her name or statement yet. The smell of blood was not strong, and the nick to her throat was already scabbing over.

"How's Perry," Nick asked, his voice uneven with his concern.

Tracy examined the carouche. He was licking at a shallow cut to his side. Already the blood had stopped flowing. "He's fine, Nick. You did good work."

"I did nothing," he said. "Perry's the hero."

"You brought us here. How did you know where to go?"

Nick shrugged. He couldn't tell Tracy in front of the mortals that he'd heard the woman's scream, or that he'd caught the image of evil power the man had wielded as he tried to beat her into submission. Nick knew that his vampiric senses were getting stronger as a result of his blindness... but where did all these images come from? They were so powerful, whipping out of nowhere, painful in their intensity. Maybe he should talk to LaCroix about it. Perhaps the ancient could help him learn to block them.

The sirens approached. Shortly the victim and perp were taken off their hands. They returned to the precinct then as well.

Reese's door was closed, but someone was inside. Tracy tried not to listen in to the private conversation. She only wanted to tell Reese what a great job Nick had done, but it could wait.

Nick filled in his report on the incident. His mind was only half there. More thoughts that were not his own pierced him. Painful memories, debilitating grief. Nick shook his head, trying to drive away the images but to no avail.

"Nick?" Tracy asked quietly. "What's wrong?"

He put both his hands to his temples and leaned back in the chair. The images would not leave. They had never been this strong before. Perhaps it would help if he just faced them.

A small apartment, a young couple... the images meant nothing to him. They were nobody he had ever met. Pain. The woman was screaming. The man sneered at her in contemptible silence. A dead baby.

"No!" Nick growled, unaware that he had spoken aloud. Several others stopped their work to glance at him. They turned to Tracy for an explanation, but she gave them a shrug.

"Nick? What is it?" she coaxed.

The images suddenly stopped. He held his breath, waiting expectantly, but there was nothing. What did it mean?

"No one here's pregnant right now, are they?" he whispered. "No recent newborns?"

Tracy gave a nervous laugh. "Sure, Nick. Did you want in on the pool? "Who?" His voice took on an insistent edge.

"Um, there's Mulroy's baby - the announced due date is November first, with bets covering two weeks in either direction, including weight, time, sex, the usual."

"Tracy, I don't want in on the pool. And the Mulroys are black, it can't be them. Who else?"

Tracy listed several others, mostly day shifters, and one EMT. "That's all I know about, Nick. Why?"

He leaned closer, although with her fine hearing, no mortal should have been able to hear their conversation. "I don't know what it means, Tracy. But I had a vision of a dead baby. Caucasian, about six months old. I don't know where it came from."

She shivered. "That's so creepy..."

"It's gone now. Why don't you go and check with domestics and see how the woman is doing."

She smiled. "Sure thing, Nick. You think she'll press charges?" "Hope so."

Not long after Tracy left, Reese called Nick into his office. Nick sensed the presence of two mortals, but dismissed them. He waited by the door, expecting to be given directions to the latest crime scene.

"Nick, this is Vicky Howard and Alex Reid. They're asking that we reopen an old case, Jeremy Ethan Howard, 1993."

"Captain, that was seven years ago! I work homicide. Or have you forgotten?"

"Sit down, Nick," Reese said.

There was an awkward silence that filled the small office. Nick groped for a chair and sat in it, glaring in Reese's general direction.

"Ms. Howard believes she has sufficient cause to reopen this case. Her infant son's death was ruled SIDS, but no autopsy was done. Current procedure mandates that an infant death can only be ruled SIDS after a thorough death-scene investigation. Mrs. Howard, I've decided to grant your request. I'm placing Nick in charge of the investigation."

"Thanks," she snapped disgustedly. "I've been knocking myself out for years to get someone to take this case and this is the best you can do? A blind cop? Get real!"

"Vicky, that's enough," Alex said quietly. An ominous thread in the few words seemed to vibrate. The woman was instantly contrite.

"Nick is my best detective," Reese said. "He's been on leave for some time and so his case load isn't as bogged down as my other detectives."

Nick wasn't any happier than the woman. He wanted to be really back at work, not slogging through files so old that the perpetrators were collecting social security.

"I'll have Schultz pull the file and place it on your desk immediately, Nick," Reese said. "Dismissed."

Nick stood. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

He opened the door and held it for the woman. She smelled different, he thought, as she walked past. Her heart was pounding, and she was covered in a fine sweat. The woman was definitely worked up about something. The man seemed to exude an air of control that reminded him of LaCroix. Nick stared in his direction a moment, trying to sense him. He was thoroughly mortal, but... there was definitely something odd about him. Nick felt around for the doorknob to the nearest interrogation room. "After you," he said.

Alex took a seat first, then Ms. Howard sat next to him and waited for Nick. He could feel her eyes on him, staring, as he awkwardly found the other chair across the table. "Okay, Ms. Howard, why don't you start at the beginning?"

She sniffed. "Aren't you going to take notes or record this or something? I've given this story so many times, and damn, but it gets harder every time." "I have an excellent memory. Notes are not necessary," he said.

"But I'll take them, if it will make you feel better," Tracy called, as she joined them. "Hi, I'm Nick's partner, Tracy Vetter."

Ms. Howard seemed somewhat comforted when Tracy joined them. She drew in a deep breath and began to recite her story.

"We'd been married just a few months when I got pregnant," she said. "I hadn't known Ethan long, and I wasn't sure how he'd feel about a baby. I almost had it aborted, I was so nervous. But, I told him."

"And how did he react?" Tracy asked.

"Not happy, but not angry, either. He just got real quiet. I asked him if he wanted me to keep it, and he said yes, but that was the end of it. He didn't accompany me to doctor visits, or do natural childbirth classes with me. He wouldn't even go shopping with me, although he did give me a rather large budget. I bought a lovely crib, and the cutest little mobile." She stopped then, sniffing back tears.

Alex put a hand on her shoulder and patted gently. "Take your time, Vicky," he said. "I know you can do this."

Tracy pulled a tissue from the box and passed it to her. "I know this must be hard for you, Ms. Howard."

"You might as well call me "vicky"," she said. "If you're going to take my case. I'm sorry, but I still miss my baby. It's like he died yesterday. Some days, I just don't think I can go on. If it weren't for Mr. Reid, I don't know what I'd do!"

"What makes you think your husband killed your baby, Vicky," Nick interrupted.

"He would never hold him," she said. "He wasn't there when Jeremy was born. He never talked about his son with his friends. I've heard of guys who are not in touch with their emotions, but Ethan wasn't just cold. It was like Jeremy didn't even exist.

"Our relationship started to fall apart. I was depressed after Jeremy was born and I nagged Ethan to help out with the baby. Finally, Ethan told me that he'd had a little girl once and she had died at three months, of SIDS. He said he didn't want to get attached to Jeremy until he know he was going to be around."

Tracy made a disgusted sound. Nick felt the same, but he knew it wasn't his place to judge people. Being cold and indifferent did not make a man a killer.

"Please, continue," he said quietly.

Vicky started to cry harder. "I keep going over the events in my mind, wondering, if only I'd done something different! If only I had got up that night to feed him! If only I had left Ethan earlier! My little boy would be starting second grade this year!"

Alex comforted her again. Nick wondered what exactly their relationship was. And there was that aura of power that radiated from Alex. What did it mean?

"Vicky," Nick said. "You haven't given me a reason to suspect that this was anything other than a tragic accident. What was Ethan's motive?"

"Money," she spat. She opened her purse and pulled out an envelope. "I just discovered that he took out a life insurance policy on Jeremy one month before he died! Fifty thousand dollars! That sonofabitch! He killed his own son for blood money!"

She waved the paper in Nick's face. Tracy took the sheet and skimmed it. "This is a check stub from Lloyd's of London for the sum of fifty thousand dollars to Ethan Howard."

Nick rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was a sick crime, but then, weren't they all? "So when was his opportunity? Can you recount for us your son's final moments?"

Vicky described then how tired she'd been. She was seeing a counselor and taking medication to deal with her depression. She and Ethan had just had another argument when Jeremy woke up. Vicky had burst into tears. Ethan told her to go lie down and he'd take care of it. She slept soundly. She'd been sure that she'd only taken her usual dosage, but she slept for ten hours and when she awoke, she still felt drugged. She ran into Jeremy's room and he was dead.

"I screamed," she said. "I couldn't do anything. Ethan was the one to call 911. The ambulance took Jeremy to Toronto General, where he was pronounced dead on arrival. The doctors ruled it sudden infant death syndrome. I passed out and spent a week in the hospital. When I was discharged, Ethan was gone."

"Bastard," Tracy muttered.

"Tracy," Nick warned. She knew better than to let her personal feelings get involved in the case.

"Whether he's a murderer or not, to walk out on his wife like that when she was vulnerable and hurting was a rotten thing to do," she said.

"He killed him!" Vicky shouted. "What's more, I think he probably killed his daughter, too! Recently I saw his photo in the Engagements section of the newspaper. That asshole is getting married! He's going to do it again!"

"Control yourself," Alex ordered.

"Yes, Master," she whispered, contrite once more. She wiped at her tears.

Nick winced at the archaic term. He knew that neither of them were vampires. He sensed nothing metaphysical about either of them, except the power radiating from Alex, and he wasn't even part of the investigation. It was all very familiar, though. He'd dealt with the Dominance/submission subculture before.

"We'll look into it," Nick said. He started to rub his forehead and grimaced. Tracy looked at him with concern. "Tracy, make sure we have her phone number and address. I don't suppose you know the names of Ethan's first wife or his daughter?"

"Once he called me "Shelley". I assumed it was her name. Michelle. He never talked about his daughter, except what I already told you."

Nick stood then. "We'll be in touch."

Vicky grabbed another tissue. "Yeah. Right. Where have I heard that before?"

"Nick's the best," Tracy said defensively. "If anyone can help you, he can."

Vicky shrugged and left quickly, keeping her head lowered in an effort to conceal her tear-stained face. Alex draped an arm protectively around her shoulders.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tracy," Nick said. "Now I guess I'd better go and prove you right."

Chapter three:

Nick scanned the files of Vicky Howard's case into his computer. He drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for the Braillexel to refresh the screen. At first recognizing the little bumps of his new alphabet had seemed an impossible challenge, but now he could read faster than before. He could certainly read faster than his computer could do the translations, which was damned annoying. His headache was getting worse. Nick rubbed at his forehead.

More crazed images flooded over him. Pictures of the mundane, picking up shirts at the cleaners, and of violence - someone hitting an old man over and over. Nick blinked, trying to stop the images, trying to learn where they were coming from. These thoughts and feelings that were not his own, just flashes of insight, brought intense pain.

"Nick? Are you all right?"

Now Tracy's concern bowled over him. Nick felt dizzy and a little nauseated. Perry whined, laying his head in Nick's lap. "I'm fine," Nick stated. "I just need a break." He stood uneasily, and with Perry's help, rushed into the men's room.

He found the urinal by its smell and heaved. Old cold blood hurled into the porcelain fixture, assaulting his senses as it slowly washed away. Wave after wave shook through him. His stomach was burning.

Perry licked his hand. * Time to go home, Nicholas. *

"I know," he whispered, gagging again, but this time nothing came up. "Just give me a minute."

Perry waited patiently. He didn't understand what was upsetting Nick these days, but he would be his companion. Shortly, there was a sharp rap at the door. Perry tensed, but Tracy quickly poked her head inside.

"Nick? You okay?" she asked nervously.

"Baby, you can't come in here," Nick said.

"I won't. Here, I sensed you needed this." Perry went to take the small flask she offered. Nick grinned sheepishly.

"Thanks, sis. It's nice to have another vampire around."

"Yeah, yeah. Now hurry up and get out here. I am not dealing with all those reports alone."

She let the door close. Perry watched as Nick sipped at the flask, grimacing and rubbing at his forehead. "Too many people here, Perry," he said. "Let me call a cab and we'll go."

Nick went first to his desk and gathered up a few files. He'd mixed them up, and wasn't sure which one was the Howard baby's now. Not wanting to take the time to scan them each individually, he tucked them all under his arm. He'd have to find a better way to keep track.

"Going somewhere, Nick?" Reese asked. His voice sounded more concerned than irritated.

Nick looked up at his captain's approach. "Yes, I thought I'd head home a little early. I'll take these with me, and read them over later."

"You did good work tonight, Detective. Stopping a rape. You may have saved that woman's life. I've written a positive report to show the higher ups. Maybe they'll feel better about having you back on the street."

Nick shrugged off the praise. "Just doing my job, Captain."

Reese bent down and smiled at the guide dog. "And you did great, too. Guess we'll make a police dog out of you yet."

Perry woofed once in agreement.

Nick forced a smile. "Good night, Captain," he said. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The cab was waiting for him when he stepped outside. He settled on the back seat and gave the address to the driver. Then he stroked Perry's soft fur thoughtfully.

"What about it, Perry?" he asked quietly. "If I didn't need you anymore, if I weren't blind, would you leave?"

Perry barked, startling the driver. He nipped at Nick's hand.

"It is a fair question," Nick insisted. "You had a life before me. Do you miss it?"

* Never. *

*****

Nick loaded another file into his home computer, but was less than enthusiastic about working on it. He felt so tired. Not sleepy, not weak, just sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. Damn, but he couldn't go on like this: a dependent, a liability. He blinked, rubbing at his face with his hands.

"Nick? Are you ill?" Urs asked solicitously.

"No. I'm fine. I just have some work to do," he snapped.

She came up behind him and tentatively touched his shoulders. When he didn't immediately flinch and pull away, she began to massage at the tenseness she felt. Nick closed his eyes and relaxed, momentarily enjoying the soothing comfort. But then the flashes stabbed his consciousness. Urs's worried face, her fear for him, overpowered him.

"Stop it!" Nick shouted.

Urs pulled away, confused and hurt. "I'm sorry, Nick," she whispered.

Nick got to his feet. "I am too," he said gruffly. He didn't sound particularly sorry, though. Urs left abruptly. Nick sensed her leaving and suspected she went to drown her sorrows in the crowded nightclub below. She deserved better.

"Perry, let's go to the loft. I really need to be alone."

It was near enough to walk and he knew the way. The short distance was relaxing. He felt the moon's faint touch on his face, the gentle breeze lifting his hair.

Perry went with him, concerned for his favorite vampire. Something was happening and he didn't know how to help. He couldn't taste the trouble in the blood. Perhaps only time would tell.

*****

LaCroix watched Urs dance. Her body was so expressive. He could see the sadness in every way she moved, and knew she and his son must have argued again. He smiled wryly. It was comforting to know that everyone found Nick hard to deal with, and it wasn't just him.

Nick had been depressed ever since returning from Chicago. LaCroix had asked again and again for details of their trip, but he didn't feel that it had any bearing on Nick's current mood. The mortal that had tried to kill his son upset LaCroix greatly. He had contacted the Chicago community to look into it. So far he'd had no word, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the world had one less mortal terrorizing it.

Nick had learned of the death of his mortal friend, Lucius Snow. LaCroix should have anticipated that possibility. Snow had been an old man years ago. Still, to die of old age after a long, active life was considered a good thing among mortals. Although LaCroix could not see anything good in dying, surely his son, who clung yet to such mortal fantasies, would not suffer for the old man. So what else had happened there?

The destruction of his first boat might have brought on some negative thoughts, although LaCroix was much happier with the new boat. This one was sturdier, offering more protection against the light of day. It was pretentious enough to warn away most curiosity seekers and not enough to encourage thieves. Nick and Vachon had named this boat "Liberty". LaCroix smiled. Perhaps, this new hobby of his son's was a good one, offering him in a small measure the freedom that had been robbed with his eyesight.

LaCroix reached out to sense his son. He felt the power of the moon through their bond. Nicholas must be out enjoying the night. He smiled. He could let him be for a while.

Only, as dawn approached, Nick still had not returned. LaCroix waited irritably, as the other children all settled down to sleep. Only Natalie waited up with him. "Do you know where he is?" she asked quietly.

"I believe he is at the loft."

"Hm. Well then, he's fine. Can't you come to bed?"

"He belongs HERE!" LaCroix said vehemently.

Nat wrapped her arms around his waste and snuggled closer. "Yes, he does. But he isn't moving out. Perhaps he just needs some time to be alone."

"He isn't safe alone. I want him where I can keep an eye on him."

Nat sighed. She pressed her cheek against his rock hard chest. "I know you do. But the Nick I knew was always a very private person. In the past eight months he's lost more than just his eyesight. He's lost his independence. Can't you let him spend one day by himself?"

LaCroix was silent and he considered her words. She was but a mortal, less than an infant in the spectrum of time... yet her words rang true in this instance. "We shall sleep," he stated, ending the conversation.

Natalie concealed a grin. "As you wish," she demurred.

*****

Janette felt his loneliness cry out through the new intimate bond as his child. It was stronger now, this link she shared with Nicholas, than anything she had ever experienced before. Not that LaCroix wasn't just as capable of the bond, only that he concealed so much of himself. Nicholas was open and passionate, and perhaps not even aware that he was broadcasting his needs to her so clearly.

"I must go to him," she said, turning to her Indian lover.

Amaru lifted his chin in a gesture of assent. "I shall escort you."

"That isn't necessary," she quickly replied.

He merely smiled. He took her hand and placed a kiss upon it. "Shall we go? Dawn approaches."

"Oui." She took her traveling cloak and drew the hood up around her. It wasn't necessary for its warmth, but more for protecting her from the wind-blown look. Then together they lifted from the balcony and flew low over the city. At Nick's loft Amaru waited only until she was inside. Then he departed. She did not know what his plans were, although she hoped that he would spend the time with his twin.

"Janette?" Nick asked, curiously. A flutter came to his heart when he first sensed her, then the sensation turned to pain. Their relationship had changed and some things could never be the same.

Janette smiled. Nick's feelings were clearly etched on his boyish face, even if she hadn't been linked to him through the bond. He was happy to see her, and yet afraid. At one time she would have toyed with him, prolonged his agony, as she made him beg for forgiveness and perform a thousand acts of servitude... but those days were over. Now she felt his pain and loneliness as though they were her own, many times magnified. It was why she had had to leave Toronto. Before her reconversion, Nicholas had nearly suffocated her with the depth of his feelings. Then, after bringing her back across, those feelings only became more intimate.

"Oui, milord. It is I," she said. She swept across the floor to kneel by his feet. "I am here."

Nick reached out tentatively to cup the side of her face. His thumb brushed at her cheek, finding the tear that strayed there. "Why?" he asked.

Janette gave a little shrug. "You called. I answered."

"I didn't call you," Nick said.

"Hm," was all she replied. "I am here now and it is too close to dawn for me to leave."

She lifted up on her knees to move between his legs and tentatively put her arms around him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were tense. As her hands moved slowly over his back, she brought her lips closer to his. "May I stay with you?" she whispered.

Nick's fangs erupted at her proximity. Her blood still had the power to ignite his desire with no more than a whiff. Centuries of passion, as clear as yesterday, filled him. With a growl, he claimed her lips. His kiss was brutal. His need was terrible. Janette melted into his arms and gave herself to him.

Much later Nick carried her to the bedroom, where they united again, this time more slowly, remembering each detail of the one they loved. As Nick drifted off to sleep, he realized that the terrible headache was gone. And he smiled.

Chapter four:

"So, partner," Tracy said as Nick sat at his desk. He was only a little late. Twin wounds below the ear were still open, staining his shirt collar. "Must have cut yourself shaving, huh?" she said. Then softly she added, "Take a tissue, you're still bleeding."

She felt his embarrassment clearly.

Nick dabbed at his throat with the tissue. "Better?"

"That's open for debate," she said. "Wish I'd been invited."

Nick grinned. "The Howard case, baby. Have you looked at it?"

Tracy sighed as she flipped open to her notes. "Not much. Where do you want to start?"

"The husband is a good place."

"Oh yeah, just walk right up and ask him, "Did you kill your own baby for the insurance money, you sick bastard?"

"Get a hold of yourself," Nick chided. "No. I found out where he lives and where he hangs out. I think we should go and meet him."

"Fine." She grabbed her keys and went to inform dispatch. Nick met her by her car. He seemed more relaxed tonight. She wondered who had had such an effect on him... it hadn't been Urs.

The address they had for Ethan Howard wasn't current. Some of the neighbors remembered him, though, and gave intriguing, if rather conflicting reports.

Some women obviously desired him. Their pulses raced when they talked about him, and their descriptions portrayed him in almost godlike proportions. Some of the men seemed indifferent towards him, although one man definitely disliked him.

"Never could stand the way he treated his wife," the man spat. "Like she was dirt, worthy only to lick his boots. She was pretty, and smart. I tried to get her to leave him. Guess she finally wised up there."

"Do you know where he might be now," Tracy asked.

The man shrugged. "He had a place built. Don't have the address, but he was using a big name contractor. Anderson's, I think."

Nick thanked him and handed him his card. "If you think of anything else, be sure to give us a call," he said.

"Yeah, sure."

Back in the car, Tracy pulled out a phone book from under the seat and looked up a listing for the contractor, then she dialed.

"What are you up to, Tracy," Nick asked, but she shushed him with a gesture.

"Hello? Anderson Construction? This is Loverlane Florists, we have a welcome bouquet to deliver to a - Mr. Ethan Howard, on a - a - I can't quite make out the address, but it's a new construction. I see your sign on several buildings in the area, and I was wondering if you could help me out."

Nick chuckled at the flimsy lie, but Tracy just grinned at him as she repeated the address. "Thank you, very much," she said, "and if you ever need to send flowers, just give us a call!" Then she hung up without giving them the phone number of her phony business.

Nick was still chuckling and shaking his head as she drove the short distance to the new neighborhood. It was an upscale area, with large, almost palatial private residences. Home security systems and yard lights were as prevalent as the fancy cars, three-car garages, and pleasure boats. Noticeably missing were swing sets and sandboxes.

"Bunch of DINKs," Tracy snorted.

Nick gave her a questioning look.

"Double-income, No kids. You know? Young, upwardly mobile consumerists of generation x?" Then she remembered to give Nick a description of the area. He nodded in understanding.

A fortyish-looking man answered the knock and looked at them condescendingly. "Yes?"

Tracy stared at him, wishing there were a way to communicate to her partner the bizarre sight before her. Mr. Ethan Howard was impeccably dressed in black formal attire, but he held a short riding crop in one hand. Behind him, reflected in a large mirror, Tracy saw what could only have been the future Mrs. Howard the third. A young woman with a huge belly knelt on the carpet completely naked. Thick ropes circled her neck, forearms, wrists and waist, criss-crossing her breasts, and then ran between her legs to fasten around her ankles. Her body bore numerous red welts, but her face shone in something very close to ecstasy.

Nick introduced himself and his partner. He noted that Ethan's pulse remained even. The man wasn't obviously hiding something.

"So, what do you want," he snapped.

"I'd like to speak with you regarding your ex-wife," Nick said.

"I've had nothing to do with her in years," Ethan said. "Not since the divorce went through. She went off the deep end, Detective. Spent weeks in a hospital, then months in therapy. Anything she's trying to tell you is just fantasy conjured up in her delusional mind. Now, I'm getting married in a week, and I'd rather not have you upsetting my fiancée."

"I understand," Nick said smoothly. "But I really do need to understand your ex-wife's emotional health for our investigation-"

The door closed firmly. Through the steel they heard the man's caustic reply. "I've got nothing to say to you, detectives. If you want to know about Vicky, then ask her shrinks."

Tracy winced when she heard the sharp crack of the whip.

"Let's go," Nick said.

"But Nick! He's hurting her!"

Nick shook his head. "Do you hear her calling for help?"

"He's whipping her! How can you just walk away from that!"

Nick took her arm and tugged her towards the car parked at the curb. "It's a different lifestyle, Baby. Some mortals are into bondage and submission. Didn't you pick up on that between Vicky and Alex?"

"Pick up what?"

"That she's sold herself to him. She's his slave."

Tracy shuddered. "That is so weird."

"Well, looks like you're going to need your horizons expanded before we go anywhere on this case, Baby."

They returned to their desks, where Nick began a computer search for Ethan's first wife. He'd pulled up a FAQ page for a major Dominance/submission website and instructed Tracy to read it. "Call it research," he told her.

"This is so sick," she objected.

Nick chuckled. There was no record of any Michelle Howard, either with IRS or social security or even the Bureau of Transportation. Either she hadn't taken Howard's last name, or else they had never been officially married. Then he expanded his search, going through assorted bondage websites, FAQ's, chatrooms, and other fetish links. He whistled softly.

"What, Nick?" Tracy asked distractedly.

"Look at this! What do you think?"

Tracy looked at his computer screen. A message board with a black background and blood-red type was displayed, the contents transcribed into Braille on Nick's special adapter. Tracy scanned over the messages, looking for what had caught Nick's attention.

A third of the way down she saw a posting signed by "michelle", using all lower case letters. The author described her pain over the loss of an infant. The reply suggested that she seek counseling to deal with her grief. It was signed "David", correctly punctuated with a capital letter. Tracy asked about it.

"Submissives often refer to themselves in lower case type," Nick said. "It is symbolic of their submission, subjecting themselves as lesser beings to the masters."

"That is so weird."

Nick shrugged. "Different strokes," he said.

"So, is this our Michelle? What chances are there that there are two grieving mothers named Michelle both into this bondage thing? And how do we find her?"

"We'll have to enter into this subculture ourselves," Nick said. "Feel like going under-cover?"

Tracy shuddered. "Do I have to?"

Nick grinned. "Let's do a little switch. You go as the Domme, I'll be your sub."

"No! Nick, I'm not going to hurt you!"

"You won't have to. Not much, anyway. Here, I found a diary published by a sub and her master. Read it over to get aquatinted with your role, then we'll see Urs about getting you properly outfitted."

An hour later Tracy emerged from Vachon's church dressed in black leather from her chin to the tips of her thigh-high boots. Her short hair was slicked back with styling moose and wide, silver hoop earrings adorned her ears. She'd complained loudly about them, as the pierced holes would heal again overnight, but Urs had insisted.

Nick, in contrast, wore only soft fabrics. He had changed from the formal, buttoned-up look that he wore for work, into softer trousers and a blousey shirt, the top four buttons undone to reveal a deep vee of his chest. Vachon gave him a pair of black leather wristbands, the only outward sign of his submission. The rest of his look was one of total sensuality.

"Hm, you look good enough to eat," Urs murmured into his ear.

"I know!" Tracy agreed readily.

"That's the idea," Nick said flatly.

"Here, Tracy," Vachon said. "You'll need this." He handed her a coiled leather whip. She stared at it, then looked at him in shocked surprise. Vachon grinned sheepishly.

"I am not going to use this," she stated.

"You shouldn't have to. But, you may need to pull it out and crack it a few times. Besides, there's nothing like a leather whip to give you a feeling of power. And it's all in creating image."

Tracy stuffed the whip into her purse quickly. She had serious doubts about the whole idea. She considered running to LaCroix, but somehow suspected that he wouldn't object at all and might even join them.

"Perry, I need you to stay behind," Nick said. "I'll be fine with Tracy, but it will be hard enough to convince them I'm a true sub. If I depend on you over her, no one will believe me."

Perry growled. This was not a good idea!

"Why doesn't he just wait in the car, then?" Tracy asked. "We won't be inside too long, will we?"

"Couple of hours."

Perry barked. The car was tolerable. There was no way he was going to leave his charge unprotected in the hands of an infant.

"Have fun," Vachon and Urs called as they waved good-bye.

Tracy stammered with embarrassment, but Nick smiled broadly. "Always." They were silent on the drive to Silver Chains, a bondage nightclub Nick had discovered several years ago. Tracy thought about the diary she had skimmed over. Some of it had been rather erotic, in a disturbing sort of way. She'd bookmarked it, so she could read it again in private. The sub had written some very poetic prose about how her gift, her total submission, was an act of love. The master's section had been less poetic, but his words were haunting just the same. He claimed that in dominating her he showed his love for her. That when she knelt low before him, she was raised above all other women. Part of her wanted to rebel against such sadism, but another part wanted to know more.

They parked a block away from the club, leaving a window open for Perry. The carouche barked a warning at them before he settled down for a nap on the back seat. Nick placed a hand on Tracy's arm and walked half a step behind her.

"You realize that if I were a true sub I would be about ten feet behind you," he said lightly.

"Yeah, well my arms aren't that long."

The music was loud. There were dozens of couples about. Tracy noticed that already she could tell the Doms from their subs. Half the population, mostly female but not exclusively, was visibly passive. Although complaisant and meek, they also exuded a soft sensuality that had Tracy's heart thumping. The other half, mostly male, all walked taller, more purposefully, with a commanding presence and self-assured arrogance. Tracy squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was used to feigning confidence when she felt none... as a natural blonde, she'd been trying to assert her courage and intelligence for years.

Nick remembered the bar from years ago when he'd pursued Murray Kozak, a sub who's only defense against a murder charge was that his Domme had made him do it. Bars were potentially dangerous places, as chairs and tables were never in the same place, customers might crowd him or trip him, and if a fight suddenly erupted, he could be caught in the middle. Still, he drew in a breath and forced himself to relax.

"Stay here," Tracy commanded, trying to sound tough. "I'll get us a drink."

Nick leaned back against the wall, his hands resting casually in his pockets. He listened as Tracy began to talk with another Dom by the bar. She seemed to have slipped into her role like a pro, he acknowledged.

A hand surprised him; Nick jumped as the strong fingers caressed his shoulder and the exposed flesh of his chest.

"You're new here," a deep voice said. "And skittish."

"Excuse me, sir," Nick said, lowering his eyes appropriately. "I didn't hear you approach."

Nick felt the movement of air as a hand waved in his face, another boorish gesture to verify his blindness. He forced himself not to take offence. The man's hand grew bolder, caressing him as only LaCroix had the audacity to do uninvited. This was just a game, he reminded himself. He leaned into the caress.

"Tell me about yourself and your mistress." The man's voice sounded thick. He was definitely interested, Nick realized. He hesitated, wondering how far he was willing to carry the charade. The man tightened his grip on Nick's shoulder, commanding his attention. The firm grip almost bruised him.

"My mistress is Tracy, master," Nick responded. "This slave is nick. She is looking for a former sub, someone she knew years ago. A woman calling herself michelle."

"Well, nick. I've been here for many years. Perhaps if you'll serve me tonight, I might remember something about this sub."

"Hands off, if you want to keep them," Tracy snapped.

The man chuckled, but he did remove his roving hands.

Tracy placed a drink in Nick's hand. It was red wine, but she had diluted it heavily with something else. Nick would be able to sip at it without retching, even if he couldn't finish it.

"Thank you, Mistress," Nick murmured, his voice soft and sensual.

Tracy felt a warmth spreading. Nick was so desirable like this! He was muscular and graceful, shy and sensual... his blood smelled tantalizing. With great restraint, she turned her attention to the other man. "Who are you?"

He smiled evenly. His pale gray eyes were almost colorless against a tanned complexion. Brown hair was graying at the temples and cut very short, revealing a high forehead and an intelligent face. "I am David," he said, by way of introduction. Your slave is intriguing. How does he manage with his disability?"

Tracy sipped at her bloodwine. It was still a little too strong for her. "He serves well enough," she answered vaguely. "In the bedroom one does not require sight."

Nick was embarrassed, listening to Tracy talk about him as though he weren't there. It was familiar, somehow. LaCroix had treated him like that in distant centuries, as his property, his personal slave, his sex toy. Although it had been humiliating at times, Nick had often enjoyed it. He had felt a sense of power that he could drive his master wild with no more than a glance. He sensed that he could do as much to Tracy, but she needed to concentrate tonight to keep up the charade. Instead he turned a charming smile to David, pleased to catch the mortal's quick intake of breath and increasing heart rate.

"nick tells me that you are looking for someone," David said, feigning indifference. "I have an apartment upstairs. Perhaps you would like to come up. We could talk more in private. I might be able to help you, if not to find this sub myself, at least to give you the names of those who can help."

Tracy didn't risk taking a glance at Nick for his approval. How dangerous could it be, really? He was only one mortal, and even Nick was stronger than he. "Fine," she said. "Lead on." David took them out of the club into the back alley and down half a block, before he opened a door that lead to an upstairs apartment. Tracy looked around when he unlocked the door. It appeared almost normal, with regular furniture, although it was very expensively decorated. She didn't see any leather and chains and whips, at least not in the living room.

"Make yourself comfortable," David offered. "While I put on some music and fix us a drink."

"Show me around," Nick whispered, when David left the room.

Tracy walked the circumference of the room slowly, with Nick on her arm. She gave a running dialog, describing everything. "Fireplace on the left, loveseat facing it, large pillows and a rug on the floor in front of it, over here is a glass top table and four chairs, here is the entertainment center…" When she circled back to the front door, Nick whispered his thanks. Then he knelt by the door, his hands resting on his thighs. Tracy shrugged and went to plop down on the loveseat, just as David entered with a tray of drinks and a platter of hors d'oeuvres.

David starting making conversation, talking about himself mostly. He was without a sub for the moment as he had granted his slave permission to travel to the states for a funeral. She was not due back for another week. He admitted to feeling a little bored in her absence, and was grateful to have met Tracy.

Then he glanced over at Nick, still kneeling by the door. "Slave," he called. "Come remove my shoes. My feet are tired."

Tracy bristled at the man's audacity, but it was still a foreign culture to her. Nick rose gracefully, and although his approach was hesitant, he came without mishap. He folded his legs to sit at the feet of their host, and took one shoe in his lap. He undid the laces, gently removing the shoe and then the sock.

Tracy stared. Nick's motions were fluid. She felt too warm. How could he make such a simple gesture so incredibly erotic? He removed the other shoe, then began to massage the foot. David leaned back and continued to talk with Tracy, but he was not unaffected by Nick's sensuality. He forgot where he was in the conversation and his eyes kept returning to the golden-haired younger man so expertly manipulating his feet. Tracy concealed a grin.

"Why are you looking for this sub?" David asked then.

"Just curious," Tracy said blandly. "I met her years ago; she was just coming out of a brutal relationship. She was a mess. I wanted to see how she was doing now."

"Hm," David grunted. "Yes, it is a pity, how some Doms break trust, letting the power they command go to their heads. A good slave is a gift, to be treated as such."

"You don't believe in beating your slaves, then," she blurted.

David laughed. "Of course! You can't expect to command a slave's obedience and respect if you let him get away with anything. But punishment must ultimately be given in love. And I insist on a safeword with any sub."

"Safeword?"

"You must be awfully new to this," David commented.

"I've been around," Tracy said indignantly.

David stretched, pulling his feet from Nick's lap. "Slave, now my back," he ordered.

Nick moved his hands up David's long, trim legs to find his shirt, then slowly began to undo the buttons. Cool fingers removed the shirt, tantalizing with promise. David stretched out on the carpet and grabbed a floor pillow for his head. He groaned pleasantly as Nick began to knead his shoulders and back.

"A safeword is any word that you and your slave agree upon. It should be something that you would never use in ordinary speech. Many use colors, like red, yellow, or blue. One sub liked to use her mother's name. When you are involved in a scene together, if it becomes too much for your slave, or they are grossly uncomfortable, they can speak the safeword, and everything ends immediately. There is usually no further discussion, and no further contact at that time. We separate for a cooling down period, and later, come back to discuss what happened."

"So, you give your slave the power to stop the punishment," Tracy stated for clarification.

"Not really. I give the slave the reassurance that I will do nothing to permanently harm him or her, and that I respect them. They know that if they use the safeword, then they are not only ending the punishment, but also the encounter. Few ever use it. You'll find that most slaves require frequent punishment. They seem to crave it, to desire it, and even to enjoy it."

David rolled over then, anticipating the massage to continue. He patted the carpet beside him. "Come, Tracy. You're too far away."

Watching Nick perform had been almost more than she could stand. Tracy slid to the floor and let David kiss her. David unzipped her tight leather corset and freed her. He began to massage her, rubbing the tight buds of her arousal. She squirmed, wanting something David could not give her. She moved her cool hands over his broad chest, mentally comparing him unfavorably to her master and brother.

She reached for Nick through the bond she didn't fully understand. He whispered to her sofly, too low for David to hear. "I need you, too, Baby. Soon we can rid ourselves of the mortal and I will please you completely."

David tugged at his zipper, suddenly too uncomfortable to wait. Tracy intrigued him, for she seemed tough and experienced, and yet, when he penetrated her, he could have sworn that he breached a virgin's barrier. She was cold around him. Her hands were cold on his chest. It was like having sex in the lake, cold water splashing on hot bodies. She climaxed almost immediately, and slowly he brought her to a second peak, but then he withdrew. His cock was hard and hungry, and there was that gorgeous slave nearby. With a sharp tug, he pulled Nick's clothing free.

Nick knew that he could stop the scene. It was a heady thought, and reminded him of David's discussion on safewords. Scening with LaCroix was different. Nick was vulnerable, powerless before his master's whims. It made him fearful and unable to enjoy the scene they played, but knowing that he could make David stop was exhilarating. Nick was hard and fully aroused. He allowed David to take him.

David grabbed him, tossing him onto the cushions and plunged into him. Nick yelped. The invasion had been too sudden, he had not been properly prepared. David's thrusts were forceful. Nick struggled, as he knew David would expect him to. Then a sharp crack stung across his back.

"Hold still, slave," David commanded, enforcing his words with three more blows of a folded leather belt.

Tracy was upset; Nick could sense it. She wanted to stop, but although they had discussed the concept of safewords, they had not actually created one. The pain was less noticeable now. Nick wasn't sure, but he didn't think he was ready to end it. He reached for Tracy and pulled her close.

Tracy nibbled on his arm, seeking reassurance and guidance. Nick endured more blows, as he positioned himself over her. He plunged into her and began to thrust slowly, deliberately, sensually. Tracy reached around him to grab David's shoulders.

David slowed, matching his rhythm with Nick's. As he plunged into the slave, he saw Tracy being plundered as well, saw the glowing look of ecstasy on her youthful face, and he felt an incredible power, as though he were fucking them both.

At last, he exploded. Cum and blood oozed from Nick's ass, and he whipped him again before he leaned over to kiss the red welts on his back. "He is a delightful slave," David murmured. "If you ever grow tired of him, I would be more than eager to take him."

Nick plunged his teeth into Tracy and she buried hers into his throat. Their own ecstasy crested and they were almost oblivious to the mortal in their midst. Finally, Tracy squirmed beneath the weight of the two men.

"Um, I'd really like to have a shower," she said.

David rose and offered Tracy a hand. Nick stood, a little unsteady. His back was marred with red welts and his ass was sore from David's brutal coupling, but his cock was still tall and erect. Twin wounds still bled from his throat. David gripped his erection firmly.

"I see why she desires you," he praised.

Davie led them then to the master bath, where a large shower with clear glass doors filled one corner. There was a padded bench within, and more than enough room for a party. With David well-fucked and exhausted, Nick hypnotized him.

"Tell us all you know about Michelle," he said, his voice low and seductive.

"michelle hunter had a baby by one of her masters," David intoned. "The baby died. I talked with her online for months. Finally, she went in for some counseling. I haven't heard from her in years, except that she was living across the lake in Buffalo."

They left David naked and sleeping in his bed. They towel-dried and dressed, then returned to the car. It was too late to go looking for Michelle tonight, but they were one step closer than they had been. Silent, tired, sated, and curious, they returned to their homes for sleep.

Chapter Five:

Tracy gave up. She'd been knocking on the loft door for many minutes, and still heard no signs of life within. She flew to the skylight and dropped in.

Nick was still in bed with Urs and both were sound asleep. The tangled sheets and blankets implied that the sleep had been restless, and Nick's raw throat revealed repeated bite marks. Most were still open and oozing. Tracy winced guiltily. She was responsible for at least three sets of bites. That meant Urs had bitten him twice more.

Urs looked lovely. Nick looked ashen. Tracy cleared her throat.

"Come on, you two. Time to get up."

Urs opened her eyes wide. "Tracy? What are you doing here?"

"Nick's going to be late for work," she said.

Urs sat up, mindless of her nakedness. She touched Nick's shoulder in a soft caress. "I don't know if I should wake him. Could you cover for him for a few hours?"

Tracy nodded. "Do you want to call LaCroix? Maybe he should come and feed him?"

"No. Nick will call him when he's ready. I just hope he doesn't wait much longer."

"Okay," Tracy said reluctantly. "I'll check in at work, then I'm going to Buffalo to look for a possible witness. I'll stop back here afterwards, and fill Nick in. See you much later."

Urs waved farewell, then she lay back down beside her knight. For one entire year now she had lived with him. Last October he had been so vibrant. Then there had been the attack by some distant relative, that sick-minded Flavius, and ever since, Nick seemed to have been going downhill. She wiped away a tear. If LaCroix didn't know how to help him, then there probably was no cure. She didn't think Nick would die, but he was growing increasingly weaker. What kind of life would he have? She cuddled closer and pulled him into her embrace. Sound asleep, Nick was loving. He cuddled into her arms, laying his head upon her breast. Urs was no longer sleepy, but she didn't mind the thought of just staying with him. Stroking his golden hair, she whispered words of love.

"Sleep well, my knight."

*****

Tracy turned on her computer and loaded the search engine. Now that she had a last name and possible city to narrow the search, she was able to find three Michelle Hunters. Further search found the name of the deceased infant, Brenda Hunter Howard, and a date, 1990. That helped her to find the correct Michelle Hunter, and her address. Tracy scribbled it down and cleared her screen.

"Where's Nick," Captain Reese called, before she could escape.

"Um, he's checking out an address," Tracy quickly lied. It wasn't really incorrect... just that the address he was checking out right now was his own. "I'm going to meet him later. Got to run!"

"How's that baby case coming?" he called.

"I'll fill you in before dawn," Tracy promised, letting the closing door end the conversation.

It could take all night to get to Buffalo and back by standard means, but only a little over an hour to fly. Tracy popped in to the Raven and loaded up, feeding heavily, and invited Vachon to travel with her. She suspected that LaCroix would not approve of her going so far alone, and she didn't want to risk getting Nick into trouble again.

Vachon agreed readily, then peppered her with questions about her wild night with the D/s subculture. Tracy was hesitant to describe it to Vachon, but as she told him more, she felt herself growing aroused again. It was a dangerous culture, she decided. It could suck her in, and she might never want to leave.

The address was a family-oriented, middle-income neighborhood, so unlike the one Ethan Howard lived in now. A woman in her mid-thirties opened the door. Michelle Hunter had her hair pulled back in a soft chignon and was conservatively dressed in a white blouse and dark, long skirt. When she let the detective and her escort in, Tracy saw photographs of three children and a husband on the wall.

"Now is not a good time," Michelle stammered. "Please, you can't stay long. Bill is out with the kids at pizza party with their soccer team, and I expect him back shortly. He doesn't know everything about my past. I'm not into bondage anymore. Bill is ultra straight, he's a g*ddamn preacher, for cripes sake. You can't stay!"

Tracy grinned at the slip in the woman's conservative façade. "Michelle, did you know that Ethan Howard married again?"

"Yes. I heard. Didn't bother me. We were never really married, you know, even though I put his name on Brenda's birth certificate. I thought I loved him. The jerk."

"Do you know if he have an insurance policy on your baby?"

Michelle nodded. "Yes, a small one. He gave me ten thousand after the funeral, and said he didn't want to see me again."

Vachon made a disgusted sound, but Tracy silenced him. "Michelle, his second wife also lost a baby. It was blamed as a SIDS death, but she thinks he killed her son for the insurance money. We are trying to get a court order to have the body exhumed. If charges are filed against him, will you testify?"

Michelle burst into tears. "Murdered? You think he could have murdered our baby?"

Vachon quickly grabbed her when her knees gave out and helped her to sit down. Tracy apologized for the pain they were causing her.

"We don't know. Only that his second wife suspects him, and he is about to become a father for a third time."

"It seems like a lot of work for only a few thousand dollars," Michelle stammered, still in shock. "I mean, I had a lot of difficulties with my pregnancy, and the hospital bills were much higher than that."

"Perhaps he had more insurance money than he told you about. He had a $50,000 dollar policy on the second infant."

"I just don't know," Michelle said.

"Did he have a rich relative? Where did he get his money?" Tracy pushed.

Michelle laughed. "We never had any money. We lived in a tiny efficiency apartment. Ethan wasn't much of a provider. He only worked hard enough to pay his bar bill."

"Well, he's living in a new house now that has to run close to $400,000."

Michelle fidgeted, worrying her hands in the folds of her skirt. "If you find out that the baby was murdered, call me. I don't know how Bill will feel about this. But, if I can stop another woman from going through what I did, that would be something."

Tracy thanked her then, and gave her a business card. "Talk to your husband, Michelle. If he believes what he preaches, he'll forgive you for your past. If not, then he's not much of a preacher, is he?"

Michelle was silent as she ushered them out the door. Tracy hoped the woman would not let them down.

*****

LaCroix was startled to find Nicholas still sleeping when he entered the loft. Urs gave him a shy smile and offered him a drink.

"No, thank you," he answered absently. "What happened?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know. He just seemed so tired, that Tracy and I thought we'd let him sleep. She took Vachon with her tonight."

LaCroix scowled. He hadn't sensed anything unusual through the bond lately. Nicholas seemed contented. LaCroix hadn't felt right about letting him stay in the loft; he'd grown accustomed to having him around. Now his apartment felt a little too big and empty.

He ascended the stairs and went into his son's bedroom. Nicholas slept soundly on his back, his head turned slightly to the side and one hand resting on his chest. The sheets were half off, revealing his thin frame and unhealthy pallor. Multiple scabs at his throat showed that he had had a busy night.

"Come, Nicholas. It is past time to wake," LaCroix called, pushing through the bond as well.

Nick inhaled, drawing in a deep breath, then he half rose, leaning on one elbow, his hand outstretched to LaCroix. The sheets fell away to reveal all of him. LaCroix smiled. Nicholas was the most sensuous creature and completely oblivious.

"LaCroix? What brings you here?" he asked sleepily.

"It is after midnight, my son. Are you ill?"

Nick cocked half a smile. "No. Of course not," he lied.

"Then join me downstairs. I haven't seen you in a while. Tell me what you've been up to."

Nick nodded. "I'll be right there."

"We'll take those drinks, now," LaCroix told Urs as he settled on the leather couch.

"Yes, sir," she replied, rising at once to pour.

He indicated that Urs should take the chair. That would force his son to sit beside him. He was still concerned for the younger vampire. Nicholas had failed to convince him otherwise.

Before long, Nick joined them. He was fully dressed, his hair brushed and his face washed as though ready and willing to show up at work, only four hours late. He sank onto the couch and snuggled into the corner, resting his feet on LaCroix's lap.

"Comfortable?" the master asked, mildly amused.

"Uh-huh."

LaCroix asked him about his work then, drawing him into idle conversation while he observed what Nicholas was not saying. He noted the dark circles under the eyes and to slowness to Nicholas's movements. He saw how he pretended to sip from his glass often, but the level never seemed to lower. Still, he reached through the bond and found only contentment. Nicholas did not seem to be suffering, which was something of a milestone. LaCroix shook his head at this perplexing child. He set down his own now empty glass and began to massage the feet in his lap.

Nicholas responded with a quiet rumbling sound in his chest. LaCroix massaged up the calf and then over the muscled thigh. Before long Nicholas reached for him and drew him into the feeding embrace. LaCroix sighed with pleasure as he both nourished and drained his beloved child.

Before they drew apart, Tracy returned with Vachon. "Hi, bro! Glad to see you in the land of the living. I found Michelle Hunter, and we might have something." She then started to fill him in on the information she had gathered.

"Well, I see you have work to do," LaCroix said. "As do I. But I want you to stay the weekend with me."

Nick considered the invitation. It was hard to tell the difference between LaCroix's offers and his commands. It didn't matter tonight. He wasn't up to an argument and he missed his family. "Fine. Thanks," he answered.

LaCroix clasped his shoulder. "Take care, Nicholas." Then in a flurry of air, he was gone.

*****

"Well, Tracy," Nick asked later. "Should we go see Mr. Howard again?"

She groaned. "I guess."

The meeting with Ethan Howard was inconclusive. He insisted his ex-wife wasn't "knitting with both needles" any more, and that she was emotionally and mentally unstable. He claimed that he'd made his money through wise investing and lucrative stocks, plus a small inheritance from his grandmother. He certainly sounded like he loved his new wife, for they had just married. Tracy wasn't sure whom to believe.

Nick ended the meeting, covering a yawn. "Thank you, Mr. Howard," he said. "And congratulations. When is the baby due?"

Ethan smiled. "Next week. But it is her first, and they never seem to come when you expect them."

Tracy peppered Nick with questions on the drive in to the precinct. "So what now, Nick? You don't think he's guilty, do you? But what about Vicky? I mean, she didn't seem crazy when she talked with us. She was hurting, yes, but I thought she was coherent."

"But you thought she was weird because of her involvement in the bondage subculture."

"Yes. No. Gee, Nick. I don't know anymore."

Nick laughed. "That's great. When you don't have all the answers, then you make a better detective, because it forces you to go out and find them. We have two people with two very plausible stories. We don't try to prove one right or one wrong. We try to find the truth."

The rest of the night they worked on getting the court order to have the baby's body exhumed and on getting access to Ethan Howard's financial records. By nearly sunup, they'd set the wheels in motion. "Time for bed," Tracy commented.

"Sounds good to me," Nick answered. He didn't see Tracy's concerned look.

Chapter Six:

Natalie shuddered as she stared at the remains of the infant. After this much time what remained hardly looked human. Her own recent fantasies about becoming a mother must have made her more sensitive. She could almost feel this mother's pain. Such a small life, ended too soon. It was a tragedy, whether it proved to be SIDS or murder.

"Well, Jeremy," she said almost reverently. She seldom refereed to her corpses by name. It seemed easier to cut into them when they were merely numbers. But this small child was different. He had been buried too soon, neglected and ignored by all but his grieving mother. He deserved the small gesture. "Let's see what we can uncover."

*****

Nick wasn't sure where to take the investigation next. Natalie was dealing with the autopsy, and the financial records were still inaccessible. On a whim, he called Vicky's boyfriend Alex Reid and set up a meeting.

"Why?" Tracy asked as she drove them over.

Nick shrugged. "To see if she is stable. Or will she need therapy, if this case turns out unfavorably for her?"

Alex greeted them warmly. Nick felt the power radiate from him again, and was perplexed by it. Unconsciously, he slipped back into the submissive role he had played two nights ago, the role he had played with LaCroix for 800 years.

Tracy had described the outside of the house to Nick before they rang the bell. Alex Reid owned a comfortable home, with an attached two-car garage in a family neighborhood. It seemed odd to Tracy. Didn't such deviant subcultures usually exist only in the sewers and slums, or penthouse apartments? Real people didn't do this, did they?

"I'm sorry, Detective Knight, but the living room is a little cluttered," Alex apologized. "There are throw pillows on the carpet, magazines, and my weight set is out. Vicky cleaned up a bit after you called, but she could have used more time."

"It's okay," Nick said.

Between Perry and Tracy, he found the couch and sat down, feeling a little relieved when he did.

Alex sat in a chair near them, stretching his legs out in front and casually crossing them at the ankles. Vicky entered the room then. She was still doing up a button on her blouse and her legs were bare. A soft, flowing skirt covered her to just below the knees. Her hair was loose down her back and her face was devoid of makeup, yet she looked lovely. She seemed to exude an inner peace that had been missing two nights ago when they'd first met her at the precinct. Vicky knelt on the carpet next to Alex's chair and folded her hands in her lap.

Alex reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder affectionately. Vicky smiled. Tracy stared at them, at the love that was obvious between them, and yet, she couldn't reconcile it with what little she knew of the violence that was so much a part of any Dominant/submissive relationship.

"So, Detectives. How can we help you?" Alex asked.

Tracy glanced at her partner. This meeting had been his idea; he had better take the lead.

Nick seemed different, though. He seemed less formidable, less intimidating than his usual self. He seemed almost shy. Tracy stared at him in shocked silence.

"We would like to talk with you and vicky," Nick said quietly. "Ethan has implied that vicky is not entirely..." He fumbled as he searched for a word.

Alex waited. Tracy watched as Vicky glanced up at her master and he nodded, apparently granting her permission to speak.

"Ethan implied I'm just crazy, didn't he," she said.

Nick nodded sheepishly. He felt awkward. This wasn't going well. He pushed off from the couch to sit on the carpet closer to Vicky. "I'm sorry," he said, "that this is painful. But you said you were in the hospital for a week. Ethan implied that it was much longer. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Yes, Nick. We were both telling the truth, in a way. I was in shock after Jeremy died. The doctor gave me a sedative, but I went into some kind of cardiac arrest. I don't know if he gave me too much, or if it reacted badly with the medication I was already taking. And I think Ethan tampered with my medication. It was only supposed to help me sleep, not knock me out for ten hours. But I have no proof.

"After a week, I was well enough to go home. Ethan and I had a small place, but it was comfortable. When I got there, it was barren. He had moved out and taken everything with him. Not just his clothes and personal things, but my clothes, too. The food from the refrigerator, the toilet paper from the dispenser. Even the curtains and the light bulbs were gone. I was weak, grieving, penniless, and desperate.

"Ethan was my master. I had given him everything and he took all I had to give. I had trusted him and he broke that trust.

"For a few days I tried to make do. I went to social services, but they couldn't help me. I called my friends, but I had been so involved with Ethan for years, and I hadn't kept in touch with them. I didn't have current phone numbers for most, and the others were sympathetic, but they weren't really able to do much.

"I was desperate. And I tried to kill myself."

A silence fell on the room. Vicky's face was wet with tears. Nick could smell them. But he could also hear the steady conviction in her voice. Vicky was not hysterical now.

Alex comforted her again. "I found her then," he said, picking up the story. "I had heard about her from a mutual acquaintance, and I was alone at the time. My last sub had chosen to move on. I wasn't really looking to take on a new sub then, only to offer friendship. I started visiting her in the hospital, and when she was discharged, I gave her a place to stay, no strings. I went with her to her therapy sessions, and I've tried to help her rebuild her life.

"Vicky is a wonderful person. She is smart and witty and talented and loving. That creep almost destroyed her. I know she tried to press charges against him before we met, but I didn't encourage her to do so again. I thought she needed to put this behind her and move on. Finally, I felt that she needed to discover, one way or another, if he was truly guilty. She has promised that no matter what your investigation uncovers, this is the end of it. No more wondering, no more doubts."

"Thank you," Nick said.

Chapter Seven:

Nick had Tracy drop him off at the loft after their meeting with Alex and Vicky, saying he was just tired. She asked him about his headaches, but that wasn't bothering him at moment. He wasn't really tired, either. Just out of sorts. He wanted some privacy, which was a rare commodity these days.

He knew Urs would be out still, cleaning someone's apartment. Natalie was still at work, and LaCroix would be broadcasting. Nick smiled wistfully as he removed Perry's harness and hung it on the doorknob.

"Welcome home, boy."

Perry barked. * Is this home? *

Nick laughed. "Don't get technical with me, carouche! You know what they say: 'home is where the heart is'. Well, right now, my heart wants to be left alone."

Perry nipped at Nick's shoes, wagging his tail and barking playfully. Nick responded, wrestling him to the floor in a mock fight. Perry's growl sounded fierce, and Nick's fangs erupted as he growled back. They rolled around until one of them bumped into an end table, knocking it and it's contents to the floor. Nick ended the fight then, laughing as he set things right again.

"Okay, boy. That's enough. Let's feed and find something to listen to."

Perry followed him to the refrigerator. Nick filled his dish with bovine and set it on the floor. Perry lapped at it eagerly. His first meal had been squirrel, but bovine was a close second and ultimately more filling. Nick took a bottle of his beverage and sat on the couch, flipping through television stations with his remote. Not finding anything of interest, he turned it off and put his master's radio show on quietly. Nick settled back into the cushions and closed his eyes, looking very comfortable and a little drowsy. Perry curled up on the rug near the fire for a rest.

Nick's mind wandered aimlessly. When he was alone, there were no headaches, no strange thoughts stabbing him... only his own memories. He thought about the lack of discomfort, then his thoughts wandered over the conversation with Vicky, and the encounter with David the night before.

The song on the CD ended and LaCroix's velvet voice purred over the airwaves.

"Good evening gentle listeners," he began. "Tonight we shall reflect upon the rules under which we live, the codes of conduct that protect us. Perhaps we should ask, 'why have rules'? Isn't the grandest idea of growing up that of moving away from the domination of a parent? To live one's own life? To have the right to make mistakes?

"Yet only a fool thinks to get away from rules. A father's curfew fades, but the freedom to do whatever one wishes remains clearly circumscribed. Civil laws require the clubs one frequents to close by a specified hour. Other businesses close, parks, stores and playgrounds are bolted, their use prohibited until another day. So what benefit does one gain in that oft sought-for freedom?

"Our lives are built upon a foundation set when we were young. Children need rules. Children desire to be dominated. You... desire to be dominated. Return to me, my child, and let me care for you as no one else can."

Nick choked on the blood in his mouth, lunging for the kitchen sink before he coughed it up. How did LaCroix always know what he was thinking? Damn him!

He flipped off the radio, but the memories were persistent. Back to the very beginning, he reflected upon the lessons his master had taught him. LaCroix had been a master teacher. At first the lessons had been given in love. His first feeding - his first kill - had been a quiet, sensual time. The admonishments to stay away from sunlight, wood, and garlic were reviewed often, but always with the underlying message that he was cherished and LaCroix wished only to protect him.

Then one night LaCroix taught him the meaning of submission. Nick had been stripped, chained, beaten and raped. He had been completely humiliated. He was outraged at LaCroix, and disgusted with himself, for he had found it oddly arousing. When he'd crawled back to the ancient on his knees, his wrists still shackled together, his face stained with blood tears, he had begged not only for forgiveness, but for fulfillment. Now when he ran from LaCroix, he knew it was really from himself that he tried to flee.

Urs returned before dawn, offering him more than a pleasant diversion. Nick shelved his turbulent thoughts for another time.

*****

The telephone didn't wake Nick, but the message on the answering machine did. He lunged from the bed and grabbed it before Nat hung up. "Uh, Nat? I'm here," he said groggily.

"Hi, Nick. Sorry to wake you. I thought you'd be up by now."

He held his breath, irritated at the unspoken question. "I'm fine, Nat. What's up?"

"I completed the autopsy. I knew you'd want to know as soon as possible. It isn't good. At the time of death, Jeremy had cerebral edema - swelling of the brain. This was not a SIDS death, Nick. He was smothered."

Nick sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "So we can change the cause of death to homicide. Thanks, Nat."

He hung up, yawning widely as he checked his wristwatch. It was past time to get out of bed. Urs had already showered and dressed and was busy tidying up downstairs. He shook his head at the futility of trying to talk to women when they were in persistent mode, and headed into the shower himself.

Tracy came by shortly to take him to the precinct. He gave her Nat's update.

"I think we still need a bit more information to make a really solid case, though," Nick said. "We need access to his financial records."

"That's what I was thinking," Tracy said. "I went back to the precinct last night, after I dropped you off, to work on it. Ethan lied about the insurance policies. He had a $50,000 policy on his first child, and three policies totaling $220,000 on Jeremy."

"We got him," Nick said with a whoop. "Let's go get that warrant for his arrest!"

"Let's call Vicky and let her know," Tracy said.

Nick wanted to be more cautious. "Nothing is for sure yet, Tracy. He'll be arrested, but there's still the trial. It's hard to say how a jury will go."

She shrugged. "So? This is still good news. Do you want to tell her?"

Nick accepted the phone after Tracy dialed the number. When he told her the news he held the phone several inches away from his sensitive ears as she shrieked in her excitement.

"Thank you, nick! Thank you! This is- this is - after all this time - the answer to prayer and the end of my crusade. Thank you!"

When the police showed up at Ethan Howard's house later that night, though, it was to find the building empty and a "For Sale" sign in the yard.

****

Vicky fidgeted endlessly. Alex scowled at her over the newspaper. He had hoped that the outcome of the investigation into her son's death would bring about a sense of closure. She had come to mean a lot to him... he knew he loved her. He had loved all his subs, but vicky was special. He had been with her longer than any other, but it was more than that. He was even considering marrying her. Only his fear that her first marriage had permanently turned her off to the idea kept him from asking her. He wanted to protect her always.

"Bring me a drink," he said, and watched as she rose to do his will. She wasn't getting ill again. This confident, graceful woman bore little resemblance to the nervous wreck he'd salvaged nearly seven years ago.

She brought him the glass, kneeling again at his feet. He took it and sipped, nodding appreciatively. "Talk to me, vicky," he said gently. "Tell me what is troubling you."

"I'm sorry, Master," she said. "I'm just so worried for Ethan's new wife. She had a little boy, and I can't bear the thought that he might strike again!"

Alex heaved a relieved sigh. Vicky was not still obsessing about her son, but was concerned for some one else. This was wonderful. "The infant is very young, though. Jeremy was six months old and Ethan's daughter Brenda was nearly ten months."

"Yes, sir," Vicky agreed. "But that only shows a pattern. He didn't wait as long to kill again. We have to help the police find them. Please, Alex!"

Alex pulled her onto his lap to comfort her. "Very well, my pet. You are right. I'm sure that I have methods available to me that the law can't use. Now go get dressed and we'll start with the club."

**** There! He did it again! Tracy stared, feeling excited and scared and creepy all at once. For days now she had thought she was seeing things when Nick was around. Like, seeing things move. He'd just approached his desk with his hand held out, groping for his chair. It was ordinary enough, a gesture that even a sighted man might make. But then, the chair slid away from the desk several inches right into his hand! Nick simply pulled it out further and sat down as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Tracy knew that vampires were powerful creatures. They could break door locks with the flick of a wrist, and fly, and hypno-whammy mortals, but controlling telekinesis was not something she had ever seen another vampire do, nor had she heard about it, not even from LaCroix.

Was Nick a freak?

She saw Nick flinch, his hand shook as it poised just above his Braille-adapted computer, and Tracy knew he had sensed her last thought.

"Nick, it's not what you think," she quickly spurted.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I am a freak."

She quickly blinked back tears. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. Nick was just so sensitive right now. Maybe she shouldn't bring up the sliding chairs and levitating jackets thing for a while. But, what if someone else saw him? He wasn't exactly being discreet. Hell, he wasn't even being exactly aware!

"Nick, we need to talk."

He shook his head, then reached up to rub it with both hands. "Not now, Baby. I'm okay. Really."

But he wasn't okay. It was time she did something about it, too. Tonight she would send LaCroix to the loft, and ask Urs to stay with her and Vachon. It was time to tell their master about his headaches. Calling LaCroix was out of the question; Nick would overhear. If she left to place the call from a more private area, Nick would suspect. She emailed him instead, using the instant messenger service she'd recently downloaded after first deactivating the annoying little sounds. Damn… LaCroix wasn't online yet. Hopefully, he would be before their shift ended.

She was limited to only 350 characters when sending a message offline and brevity was never her strong suit. Still, she thought she managed to convey the main ideas. Urs didn't go online with any regularity, so she asked LaCroix to get in touch with her. Then she settled back to work, trusting their master to take care of everything. It was what he liked to do best.

Chapter Eight:

The damn headaches returned. Nick tried to force the sinister images from his mind. He had enough vile memories of his own without enduring those of the mortals around him! Again he saw a pathetic old man being knocked around. Nick couldn't see the man who was hitting him. It was as if he were the one doing the abuse. Nick considered it, but the old man was not familiar, and Nick had never liked to toy with his meal. It must be someone else's memories.

But who? Nick had discovered that he couldn't sense things from any distance. When he'd had flashes of Captain Reese's love life, he'd been in the same room with him. When he'd seen the dead baby, Vicky and Alex had been just down the hall. Nick wasn't really clairvoyant. Not like Denise Fort had been.

Denise had been able to touch an object and get images from it of some past event. She had helped to locate a kidnapping victim, although her involvement in the case also got her killed. Nick felt a lump of grief lodge in his throat at her memory. She had been so appealing. Once she had learned that he was a vampire, she was no longer afraid of him. She wasn't sorry for him, or repulsed by him, either. Instead, she was fascinated. But she was gone now, and these damn headaches were a misery.

No, Nick wasn't clairvoyant. For some reason, though, being blind had sharpened his vampiric ability to sense others. At times he knew what they were thinking. Sometimes it was just a flash of images, sometimes it was word for word as though he were hearing them speak aloud. Always, though, the new knowledge was accompanied with pain. He did not want this gift.

The old man in the memory was weeping. One eye was swollen and bruised, his frail, parchment-like skin broken open and bleeding down the front of his shirt. He gasped for air, like one did with severe pneumonia or broken ribs. Nick could not turn away from him.

Rising, Nick rubbed at the back of his neck and stretched. "I just need to walk around for a minute," he told Tracy. Then, with Perry's assistance, Nick slowly walked through the bullpen.

He opened his mind to this new contact. Not everyone broadcasted their thoughts, and those that did, didn't do it all the time. Nick didn't understand how it worked, only that for a few moments his mind was blissfully blank. Then suddenly the image blasted him. Nick gasped, clutching his head and dropping Perry's harness.

"Something wrong, detective?" Dixon asked, grasping Nick's arms to steady him.

The old man was suddenly clearer, as though Nick could see for real and not through the fog of a dream. "Dixon?" he whispered, his voice as unstable as his legs. "Help me outside for a moment, please. I need some fresh air."

"Yeah, sure," Dixon replied. He seemed uneasy as Nick took a hold of his sleeve. "Maybe you should go home?"

Nick shook his head, but he said nothing until he felt the late September wind on his face. Then he tightened his hold on Dixon's arm. "Is something going on, Jim?" he asked, using his first name to let him know that this was personal and "off the record".

"Like what, Nick? You're the one who almost fainted. Do you want me to call you a cab?"

"No. I'll be fine. But your father won't."

Dixon tried to pull free. He was shocked at the strength of Nick's hold, when moments before he had seemed so weak. "My family is none of your business, Nick," he said, his voice low and threatening.

"Normally, I would agree with you. We have to be able to keep our job separate from our private life. We see so much cruelty and evil that most of humanity is not capable of handling. But sometimes it does get to be too much, even for us. You are not a god, Jim, just a man. Perhaps, a man trying to do too much without any assistance."

Nick kept his voice soft and hypnotic. Within moments he smelled the faint tang of saline and knew that Jim Dixon was weeping.

"Shit," he sobbed. "I don't know what to do! It just all hit at once! My baby's pregnant! I'd like to kill the fucker that got to her, she's only fifteen! She blames me that her mom split three years ago. Partly, she's right, too. Damn job, all that overtime, missed holidays, but shit! I didn't force her to run off with some sleaze she met in a bar. No, I'm the responsible one! I stayed to take care of three kids, and HER father! Her new boyfriend didn't want the old man along. He's no relative of mine, but he's got no place else to go. And he blames me for Missy being pregnant."

Jim was sobbing harder now. Nick felt his own stomach rebel at the volatile emotions. He gulped, trying to force it to settle down. His anger that anyone could abuse a helpless old man was now tempered with compassion for the officer that was overwhelmed by conflict. He wasn't sure what to do or how to help.

"Jim, you need to get professional help," he began.

"Fuck you, Nick," he said. "If anyone finds out, I could lose my job. That'd only make things worse. I have too many people depending on me."

"Then, what about a priest? Someone sworn to keep secrets? I know someone. He has helped me in the past. Please, promise me that you'll give him a try."

"How's a priest going to fix things, huh Nick? Tell me? Can he make my baby innocent again? Give me back my wife? Pay the electric bill?"

"No. But he can help you to put everything in perspective. He'll help you find alternatives. You can't go on like this. You're miserable, the old man's miserable, and Missy needs you both right now. Don't do this for me. You have to do it for yourself."

Jim took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. "Damn, at least you didn't have to see me cry," he said, forcing a lightness into his voice that he didn't feel.

Nick gave him Father Rochefort's name and phone number then, but he had to be sure he had helped the old man. He focused on Jim, capturing his will easily. "If you ever hit your father-in-law again, you will become impotent forever."

Jim shuddered as he came out of the trance and rubbed his groin absently. "Better, Nick? We should go back inside."

Nick nodded. "Thanks. Yes, I do feel better."

Tracy wasn't at her desk when Nick returned, but before long she flopped down into her chair with a loud sigh. "That woman you saved two weeks ago? She's not going to press charges."

Nick grunted. So often they didn't. It was as if having gone through the nightmare, the victim was afraid of going through it again, but Nick would have thought that the simple revenge of putting the perp behind bars would be therapeutic. He could give her a vampiric-push... he'd consider it. But, if she didn't do this for herself, then what was the point? A perp was going to go free. That infuriated him. He could go after him alone... the desire to hunt instantly jumped to life. Nick shut his eyes and willed the beast to withdraw.

"Well, come on, bro. I'll take you home. I need to go a little early tonight. Urs called, too, and said she had something to do and to tell you not to wait up for her."

Tracy stared again as Nick reached in the direction of his jacket, and the light blazer leaped the few inches into his hand. Even the handle on Perry's harness seemed to stand on it's own to snap into his grip. Nick grabbed a few files and tucked them under his arm. Tracy cleared the screen on her computer and pushed in her chair. Just one more shift until she had two nights off. Sometimes this job was just too much.

****

Nick sat at the piano bench, but nothing came to mind. He didn't really feel like playing. After flipping through various television and radio stations, he decided that he didn't feel like listening to anything, either. He fingered the rough-textured canvas hanging by the stairs. It was the red and yellow swirls of his "inner self vying for freedom through the existential…" crap whatever that Schanke had spouted after going to a play with him.

He missed Schanke. It didn't seem to matter how much time passed, or that he loved his new partner. Don had been his first real friend in a long, long time. He hadn't even liked Don at first, but out of the tenuous beginnings they had developed first mutual respect and then honest friendship. Nick knew now that Schanke's death was not his fault. Oh, he could have been on that plane instead, and Schanke would have stayed behind, but, then Nick wouldn't have been able to return to Toronto. He would not have been there to save Captain Reese. Instead of Don's Jenny growing up fatherless, it would have been Reese's two daughters. Life was just too confusing sometimes, he thought. "I still miss you," he whispered.

He turned on his computer and decided to email Myra, just a quick note to find out how Jenny was doing. Then he wrote to Kathryn, Robin, Serena, and a few more friends, before he grew bored again. There were several hundred emails in his inbox, but he certainly didn't feel like going through them all tonight.

He played a game of solitaire with the specially adapted deck of cards Tracy had given him. Maybe he needed to get a few new games. At the blind school he had discovered a whole room full of games that had been modified for the blind. Dart boards that hummed, tactile electronic battleship, Twister with the colored circles slightly raised and labeled in Braille, he'd even played a three-dimensional version of "Candyland" with the youngest of the blind children. Nick realized then that his loft was boring.

Still, it was blissfully silent. No one else's thoughts were disturbing him. A hot soak in the bathtub might be enough to help him relax before dawn sent him to sleep. With the soothing sounds of water splashing, Nick put on some CDs, lit a few candles more for their aromatic therapy than for light, and stepped out of his clothes, letting them fall to an untidy heap on the floor. The water was just right. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Within moments Nicholas Knight was asleep.

*****

LaCroix paced restlessly in the tight confines of his soundbooth. Tracy's email bothered him. She felt that something was very wrong with Nick, and she felt it strongly enough that she asked him to spend the day with him, alone. Yet, LaCroix could sense nothing through the bond he shared with his child, except perhaps on occasion, a little restlessness. When she showed up at the Raven early, he had interrogated her. She had fumbled for words terribly, but he did not sense that she was deceiving him. She truly felt concern for Nicholas.

He wanted to go to his child immediately, but if Nicholas refused to confess to a problem, it could be difficult. LaCroix decided not to drop in until just before sunrise, forcing Nicholas to let him stay the day. If there were a problem, he would discover it. Nicholas had never been able to deceive him, certainly not for that many hours. The waiting was the most difficult, though. Finally he felt the night wane and LaCroix leaped into the dusky glow of early dawn.

He used the skylight, but announced his arrival by opening himself to the bond they shared. He felt nothing back from his child except a general contentment. Nicholas must already be asleep.

The bed was empty, though. The scent of hot wax and perfume filled the air, and warm light flickered under the bathroom door. LaCroix turned the handle and stepped inside.

Soft candlelight cast a warm glow to the small room. LaCroix never tired of gazing at his favorite, whether fully clothed or naked, whether awake or asleep, whether he was good-natured or pitching a fit. With his dark golden hair and softly stubbled chin, his mercurial moods, his little-boy enthusiasm and the soul-suffering wisdom of age, he was such a contradiction and LaCroix loved him all the more for it. The water, however, was cold, and his skin was shriveled. LaCroix pulled to plug to let the water out before attempting to wake him.

The last of the water gurgled loudly as it plunged down the drain. Nick awoke with a start. Disoriented for a moment, he sensed his master in the room. What was LaCroix doing here? Nick reached out to sense him, wondering at his master's mood. When he sensed only mild concern, Nick gave him a sleepy smile.

"Good morning, LaCroix," he said. He accepted the towel offered him and rose to his feet. "What brings you here?" "Do I need a reason to visit, Nicholas?" he asked casually.

"No, of course not." Nick stepped from the tub. LaCroix took the bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and helped him into it. Nick yawned sleepily. He hoped LaCroix didn't want to talk much. It was dawn and he was very tired. "Will you come down for a drink?" he offered.

"Thank you, I will."

LaCroix sat on the couch and watched as Nicholas moved about his loft. His motions were graceful, if a little more cautious than normal. Nicholas did appear to be fine. LaCroix breathed deeply and relaxed. Perhaps he would just ask his son what Tracy was worried about?

Nick offered LaCroix a glass before he sat on the opposite end of the couch. He pulled his feet up on the cushion between them and settled back comfortably. "So how's Nat doing?"

"Better, I think. The infant autopsy the other day upset her. She has felt maternal yearnings recently, and I think that had something to do with it."

"Because of her findings, we were able to get a warrant for an arrest, though," Nick commented, as though that justified Nat's discomfort. LaCroix smiled. Nicholas could be so predictable at times. The conversation continued aimlessly. Nicholas wasn't feeding well, but otherwise, he truly seemed to be fine. LaCroix was encouraged. If only there were something he could do to speed his son's recovery... yet, if there were a way, would not that middle-eastern meddlesome mogul Zuhayr have said something? He ached for his child, that he must suffer so.

"LaCroix, stop, please," Nick cried, rubbing at his forehead.

"Stop what?" LaCroix stared at the sudden transformation. Blood sweat dotted Nicholas's brow. He winced in obvious pain, and yet, through the bond, LaCroix still felt nothing unusual.

"Stop worrying about me. I'm all right!"

LaCroix set his glass down firmly. He leaned over Nicholas, placing one hand on the back of the couch and one on the arm, effectively imprisoning him without touching. "You are NOT all right, my son," he said. "You are in pain. Why?"

Nick didn't immediately respond. LaCroix took his chin in his hand. "Tell me at once, Nicholas. I don't want to have to take it from you by force, but I will."

"Please, sire," Nick whispered. "Stop worrying. You're giving me a headache."

LaCroix was startled. He had not been expecting that. "How so?" he wondered aloud.

Nick shrugged. He pressed his glass to his lips, but he didn't really drink. LaCroix took the glass from him and set it on the table. Something was going on here... something strange. Had Nicholas been into his thoughts? Reading his mind? Who had taught him this new skill? The first name that came to mind was Zuhayr... That swine was trying to take his son away from him!

Nick blanched. "No, LaCroix! It wasn't like that! Zuhayr is not the enemy!"

"How dare you invade my mind," LaCroix hissed.

Nick shrank back. His stomach twisted on him. He gulped, breathing slowly, struggling to keep it down. "I can't make it stop, master," he whispered. "These images in my mind... they hurt, and I can't make them go away."

LaCroix hesitated. Red tears formed in Nicholas's eyes. His child was hurting. Now LaCroix could feel his pain and anguish through the bond as though a barricade had just crumbled. He knew the younger vampire's abilities had grown since his blindness, but he hadn't realized that applied to the psychic bond as well.

"What am I thinking now, Nicholas," LaCroix asked, forcing a calmness in his voice he didn't quite feel.

Nick rubbed at his head with both hands. Then he blanked his thoughts. Nothing. It was blissfully gone. No pain, no images. "I... I don't know, LaCroix," he answered truthfully.

"Why?"

That was it. Nick lunged from the couch and flew into the bathroom. LaCroix let him pass, as he guessed where he was going. Sadly, he rose and followed him. He put his hands on Nick's shoulders, supporting him while the spasms shook his too-thin frame.

"Come, Nicholas," he said, when he sensed that it had passed. "Come to bed."

Nick leaned into his father's embrace. Bed sounded wonderful. He was too tired to think any more.

He was disappointed, though, for after LaCroix offered him his healing blood, the ancient still wanted to talk. "Explain this to me, Nicholas," he ordered.

Nick curled into his master's shoulder. He closed his eyes and drifted for a moment. "I don't know when it started," he whispered then. "Sometimes, I get these images in my mind, and they are not my own. They come out of no where, and they hurt. I can't make them stop. Then I have to go away, somewhere alone."

LaCroix tightened his arms around his child protectively. "Is this why you moved back into your loft?"

"Hm-hum."

"Nicholas, I can teach you to block these images. But I don't know if I can help you to control them. What you describe does not sound like the mental skills a vampire would typically develop with age. It may come as a surprise to you, but I cannot read people's minds. I can know them only through their blood."

"Hm," Nick muttered.

LaCroix smiled. "Good night, my son."

Chapter Nine:

Nick grinned when Tracy arrived. Saved at last! "I've got to go, LaCroix," he said, making a run for it.

LaCroix cleared his throat, an ominous sound that brought Nicholas back to him. "She will wait for you to finish. Sit down and try again."

Nick briefly considered arguing about it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sank back onto the couch. "Shoot."

A smile spread on the master's cool, patrician features. Obedience and respect, at last... what he had been striving to teach this one for centuries. "Concentrate, Nicholas. What can you sense?"

Nick let go of his irritation. His features relaxed. His arms rested in his lap, his feet were still, flat on the floor. Another moment like this and he could easily fall asleep. No images pelted him! He reached out tentatively through the psychic bond for his master. LaCroix was closed to him, but Tracy was not. Nick winced as her thoughts speared him, but then using the new technique LaCroix had been trying to teach, he was able to shut her out. Blissful peace and quiet. Nick was alone with his thoughts.

LaCroix smiled. He was pleased that he had been able to keep his own thoughts private, as well as being satisfied with his son's progress at shutting Tracy out. He still did not understand what Nicholas was doing. This new gift to sense the thoughts and feelings of others was not a vampire's skill. It bore little resemblance to LaCroix's ability, which was born of the blood kiss and strengthened with age.

"Thanks, LaCroix," Nick said sincerely.

The ancient master rose slowly. "You are welcome, my child. And perhaps in the future you will save yourself from suffering and just come to me in the first place."

Nick ducked his head at the admonishment.

LaCroix squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "Take care, Nicholas. Good night." With a smile for Tracy, he lifted through the skylight and was gone.

"Hey Nick," Tracy said, venturing a smile. "You're looking better."

Nick grabbed her, pulling her back against him, imprisoning her in the feeding embrace. "As if you didn't know anything about this, baby? Tell me you didn't manipulate this morning's little lesson?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lied nervously. "I mean, I might have mentioned something to him about your headaches. But, don't you feel better now?" She forced a grin.

Nick nipped at her throat playfully, laughing at her sudden arousal. "You're forgiven, brat. But, next time you could talk to me, you know."

Tracy just laughed. Talk to Nick? That was like "military intelligence". An oxymoron, an impossibility. "Sure, bro. Let's go."

The phone rang before the lift door closed. Nick went back in to answer it. Captain Reese was on the line. "Nick, thought you'd like to know. An anonymous tip phoned in during the day shift. Ethan Howard was seen in Windsor, trying to cross over into the states. He was detained, and they are bringing him in now."

Nick nodded as he exhaled a sigh of relief. "That's great, Captain. Thanks for calling. What about his wife and baby?" "They're fine. They'll be here, too."

"We're on our way," Nick said as he hung up.

"I wonder what will happen to his wife now," Tracy said.

Nick shrugged. They would lose the house. After Ethan was tried for murder, no doubt charges of insurance fraud would be filed. The wife would be left penniless.

*****

The wife was sitting in the bullpen when they arrived. Nick knew it was she through the myriad of confused images that nearly overwhelmed him before he remembered to shut them out. She stood when he came near. "What happens to me now?" she sobbed.

The baby stirred in her arms, making soft little sounds. The woman shifted, gently rocking it back to sleep.

"Hello," Tracy said, extending a hand in friendship. "I'm Tracy, and this is Nick. We didn't get a chance to meet the other night."

She sniffed. "tamar. And this is Joshua."

"He's a pretty baby," Tracy said.

"Come with me, Tamar," Nick said. "Let's talk someplace more private." He led the way into a room, and held the door for them while Tracy got the young mother a cup of coffee.

"Do you have any relatives you could call?" Nick asked.

Tamar shook her head. "No. No one. I... I was a hooker, sir. Ethan picked me up one night when I was really sick. He took me home, nursed me back to health. I've been with him ever since. He wasn't really loving or anything, but he was all I had. He gave me a home. I haven't had a real home since... since my folks died when I was twelve."

There was a knock at the door. Tracy got up to answer it, curious as to who would interrupt them. She was doubly surprised, for Alex and Vicky were there.

Vicky came over to the young mother and knelt on the floor. She looked up at her with unshed tears. "Forgive me," she began. "It was I that brought charges against Ethan. Alex and I tracked him down at the border. I am so sorry for your pain."

The mother reached out and hugged her. "Bless you," she said. "Ethan confessed. He told me how he killed his children for the money. You saved my baby's life! I can never repay you for that."

Nick sensed Alex's commanding presence. He squared his shoulders, wishing he could project more confidence, but this strange mortal intimidated him.

"We would like to invite you to stay with us," Alex said. "You and the child, for as long as you need a home."

Tamar looked at him, and the woman kneeling before her. She stammered incoherently. "You... you do? Me? Why?" "Because Ethan destroyed lives. We want to try to rebuild them."

Tamar nodded, the tears spilling down her face unchecked. She held her baby out to Vicky. "Would you like to hold him? His name is Joshua Jeremiah Howard. I hope you don't mind, but when Ethan told me he had lost a son named Jeremy, I thought he would like it, if we used that for the middle name."

Vicky accepted the newborn in her arms almost reverently. "He's beautiful," she whispered.

Nick rose and went to Alex, leading him away from the women. "Why are you doing this?" he asked curiously.

Alex reminded him so much of LaCroix. Something about his commanding presence, his brutal power, his desire to dominate... yet the ancient vampire would never do something so philanthropic.

He felt Alex's scrutiny and resisted the urge to take a step back. Then he heard the mortal laugh softly. "Because, detective, it is the right thing to do."

Nick had no answer for that. He just nodded. The infant started to cry again, heralding an end to the meeting. Vicky carried him, while Alex put a comforting arm around Tamar and guided her through the bullpen. Tracy watched as they walked away.

"I feel really good, Nick," she said.

He chuckled. "I know. I do, too."

Their cases didn't often end on such a positive note. The victims were usually dead, and capturing the killer did little to change matters. There was still much suffering and heartache.

But this time they had caught the killer before he struck again. The infant would live, and both mothers would not only survive, they would triumph. Nick might have had his doubts about raising a child in the BDSM* culture, but Alex was an honorable person, and both Vicky and Tamar had a lot of love to give.

Captain Reese came out to clap him on the shoulder and praise him for a job well done. "This was great, Nick! Just great. Consider yourself back full time. I think you've more than proved your ability to do the job."

"Thanks," Nick said sincerely. He didn't know how much longer LaCroix would let them remain in Toronto. His life here could not last. But, for as long as it did, he was glad that he had managed to show them that he could still do his job, dancing the streets as a vampire homicide cop.

The end.

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