Disclaimer:This story is a Highlander/The Sentinel Xover. I guess
you could say I've brought Highlander characters into the Sentinel
universe. Highlander is owned by Panzer/Davis and the Sentinel is
owned by Bilson/Demeo. I wrote this for fun and will not/did not
receive any money for my efforts. The only original characters are
Alicia Manning, the immortal bad-guy and Hank Fielding, the Major
Crimes Watcher. Some of you may remember him in another story I wrote
called Bonds.

Highlander:The series is about Duncan MacLeod's life. He is
immortal, over four hundred years old. My story takes place just
before the sixth season show, Indiscretions. In that show Joe Dawson
is in Paris and we learn that Duncan MacLeod is in London for one of
Claudia Jardine's concerts. Claudia was introduced to us in the
episode Timeless, which most of us have overlooked due to Methos'
romance with Alexa. You don't need to remember any of that for this
story. The important thing to know is that Claudia was made immortal
at that time and has refused to learn how to use a sword saying that
she needs to feel mortal in order to keep her music. Reluctantly,
Duncan accedes to her wishes. My story tells of Claudia's time in
Cascade, right before she leaves for London.

The Sentinel:The series is about Jim Ellison, who is a police
detective who has five enhanced senses; smell, taste, touch,
eyesight, and hearing, which makes him a sentinel. His abilities are
anchored by his guide, Blair Sandburg, an anthropology graduate
student who works part time for the Cascade Police Department. The
time frame for this story is in the fourth season, but I have decided
not to include any of the emotional baggage that Alex Barnes brought
them.

Many thanks to my beta's. First to Cindy Combs, who helped me make a
realistic police story out of an idea, and who suggested the title.
Sis, who read through for Simon-speak. Angela Mull-Gabriel, who went
through the story and corrected all my grammar and passive voice
problems. Lastly to my teacher, Lisa Hughes, who has taken a very
inexperienced writer and tried to instill the ability to weed out the
extraneous from the important. Every story is a new lesson in
writing. Without you guys, none of this would be possible.

Hope you all enjoy the story. Comments to, lwright3@rochester.rr.com

Prima Donnas and Secrets

Part I

I

Detective James Ellison pulled his truck alongside a Cascade PD
cruiser. His partner, Blair Sandburg, sat beside him, anxious to meet
the famous pianist upstairs. Miss Claudia Jardine had arrived in
Cascade to do a concert the following evening. At the hotel, a sniper
had taken a shot at her and hit the roof of her limo, just inches
from her head. The mayor, a college friend of her manager's, had
asked that they take care of it personally. The scuttlebutt
throughout the precinct was that she was a spoiled brat and
impossible to please. Jim was *not* looking forward to this
assignment.

A uniformed officer came over to greet them.

"I’m supposed to take you up," Rodwin informed them.

Jim nodded. He motioned Sandburg in front of him and they followed
the officer inside.

As the elevator doors closed, Rodwin turned to Jim. "Have fun. Her
majesty has been driving everyone crazy."

Jim glanced at his partner with a look of resignation. Major Crimes
had offered to move her to a safe house, but she had refused. She
wasn't about to change her life because of some sicko, had been her
reply. In fact, they had been instructed to take her to the Cascade
Auditorium Theater in order to practice. It was not a safe course of
action, but it wasn't his decision to make.

When the doors opened, all three could hear a woman shrieking from
inside the suite. 

"I want to leave *now*! I’m not afraid of someone shooting at me. I
just want to get out of here before I die of *boredom*. If these
wonder-cops don’t get here soon, I'll..."

Rodwin smiled at Jim with pained amusement. "Better you than me."

Straightening his shoulders, Jim knocked on the door.

She flung it open. "It’s *about* time. I’ve been waiting for over
two hours!" Her arms were folded across her chest.

He interrupted. "Hasn’t anyone ever told you that when someone is
threatening your life you don’t just open the door to any Tom, Dick
or Harry who knocks?"

She pointed to the officer standing off to the side. "He’s here,
what could happen?"

Jim's jaw clenched in frustration. He turned around to look at
Rodwin, who mouthed, "Told you." 

"We can leave for the Cascade Theater now," Jim told her firmly.

"Did my piano arrive safely?" she asked as she swept by him.

"Yes."

"Good. The mayor assured me that it would be there all set up and
that I could practice this afternoon for as long as I like."

He ignored her jabbering as he pushed the first floor button in the
elevator. 

"I hope you have a nice car and don’t plan on taking me there in one
of those black and white things. That would be *so* embarrassing."

"I don’t have a police car."

Jim gave an internal sigh. Prima donna, Simon had called her. What
an understatement. They rode the elevator down with her still
complaining, which he tuned out. Simon owed him big time for this.
Sandburg patted him on the back and he realized that the elevator
doors were open and he was blocking the exit.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" Claudia asked sarcastically.

His head began to throb. "Just making sure there aren’t any gunmen
in the lobby waiting for you."

She swept past him again. Blair smiled conspiratorially. Jim took
the lead again and led them to his truck and waited for the
fireworks. It didn’t take long.

"What? You want me to get into that? Where's the limo?"

Jim looked at her, trying to seem patient. "This is it." 

She didn’t move. He reached around her and opened the passenger
door. "Would you like me to help you in?" A veiled threat wove its
way through the polite words.

"Absolutely not. I have no intention of getting in a *truck*."

Was she dense? "Listen lady," he leaned into her face. "You’ve two
choices. Get in and I’ll take you to your piano, or we can turn
around and go back up to your room. And keep in mind, while you stand
here and think it over, your sniper friend probably has you in his
sights."

She gave him a saccharine smile. "If you put it that way, I guess I
have no choice."

She put her hand on Sandburg’s shoulders and pushed herself into the
truck.

Blair grinned at him. "Hope that's not an example of the famous
Ellison charm." Then he followed her inside.

Jim slammed the door shut behind them. Damned woman. He walked
around to the other side, giving his surroundings a quick scan.
Nothing caught his eye, so he opened the door and got behind the
wheel.

"So do you boys know anything about real music?" she asked as they
drove.

Jim felt his jaw clench again, but Blair saved him from having to
speak.

"I’m Blair Sandburg, by the way. I have to confess that classical
music isn’t one of my fortes, but I do know the difference between
Chopin and Mozart."

She groaned melodramatically. 

Jim chuckled. "Hey, there *is* something you're not an expert in."
Jim felt himself relax slightly.

"Very funny," Blair retorted with pretended indignation.

Claudia looked back and forth between the two men. 

"Are you planning on staying in Cascade after the concert tomorrow
night?" Blair politely asked Claudia.

"No. On Thursday night I have a concert in London. My friend,
Duncan, is joining me here and we'll be flying to England together."

Jim's thoughts returned to the attempt on her life. "Tell me more
about what happened this morning."

Claudia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "We pulled in under
the awning at the hotel. My chauffeur got out and opened the door for
me. I got out of the car and stood there talking to him for about a
minute and then I felt something go whizzing by my head. I didn’t
hear the gunfire or anything. Jake pushed me down and then my manager
came tearing out of the hotel. He called the police and made me wait
in the car 'til they came."

"Sounds terrifying." Blair patted her on the arm.

"It is, I mean was." Then she gave Blair a genuine smile, which he
returned full force.

Jim pulled up in front of the Theater. "Stay here until I check out
the inside." 

The front door was unlocked, and the lights had already been turned
on. Jim opened his sense of hearing as he walked down the center
isle. He could not detect the presence of anyone else. His eyes
scanned down each row of seats as he passed them. Fully confident
that they were alone, Jim allowed his guide and Claudia to enter.

"My piano!" she squealed, as she ran down the aisle to the stage.

She ran her hand across the wood, caressing the instrument, as the
two men joined her on stage.

"This piano goes everywhere with me," she told them reverently. "It
was a gift from Duncan, and now I can’t perform without it." She
laughed self-consciously.

Moving to the front, she made herself comfortable on the bench. Her
fingers ran over the keys, drawing out a melody that Jim was
unfamiliar with. He propped himself up against the piano, leaning on
his elbow.

She jumped up, shoving him off. "What in the hell do you think
you’re doing?"

"I wasn’t hurting it," Jim mumbled as he moved away from her
precious piano.

"Go sit in one of those chairs and stop bothering me. Better yet,
why don’t you walk around outside, you know, walk the perimeter or
something cop-like."

"I’m not leaving you alone. Sandburg and I will stay inside where we
can keep an eye on you."

"How reassuring," she said sarcastically.

Blair sat down at the edge of the stage with his feet dangling down.
Jim faced him, sitting on a Theater chair.

She began to play again. He could tell the second that she lost
herself in the music. Her heartbeat slowed considerably and then
increased along with the intensity of the song. Her eyes were closed,
yet her fingers found the correct keys as if by instinct. He felt his
own heartbeat slow as he too became lost in the melody. Tides of
color and feeling swept through him as the notes echoed in the empty
building.

"Hey, Jim. Jim! Come on, you’re zoning, man."

Abruptly the sensation was gone and the starkness of the world
returned.

"Jeez Jim-don’t scare me like that. You were really losin’ it there."

"I can see now why people put up with her. I'd better go take a look

around." He shook his head a bit, clearing it of the after effects
of his near zone-out.

Blair nodded. 

He first headed for the back of the Theater. As the distance grew
between him and the stage, he found it easier to filter out the sound
of her music.

Standing against a side door, he gradually opened his ears. A soft
squeaking noise captured his attention first. It sounded like
sneakers walking on a floor. Zeroing in, he could hear two
heartbeats. Crouching low, he carefully made his way along the wall
back towards the stage. As he got closer, he was able to discern that
the noise was coming from below. He crept behind the curtain, trying
to locate a way down without alerting anyone of his presence. The
light was dim behind the stage, but with his sentinel eyesight, he
was able to make out a closed trap door towards the back. Easing it
open, he crouched down to peer inside. Soft voices became audible.

"You sure that when we fire it'll go all the way through the floor
and the bench?"

"I placed that bench exactly where I wanted it. As long as she’s
sitting on it, she’ll die."

"Then we just have to get her out."

"Piece of cake."

Jim heard a click and sprang to his feet. Sprinting across the
stage, he grabbed Miss Jardine off the bench and both tumbled onto
their sides and rolled off the stage onto the hard floor beneath.
While they were sailing in the air, several rounds were pumped
through the floor and the bench blew into pieces.

Jim pulled himself to his feet and flung the phone to Blair. "Call
Simon and get some back-up."

He pulled his pistol, giving the breech a quick pull to load a round
into the chamber, and then raced back to the trap door. He dropped
through to the floor underneath and followed the sounds to the
gunmen. Suddenly, the men started swearing and running. He picked up
speed as he took off after them. Dodging props and furniture thrown
in his path, he started closing the distance. Then they turned a
corner and ran up some stairs, locking the door behind them. He lost
valuable seconds kicking the door down. Their footsteps were still
echoing down the hall. Then he heard another door open to the
outside. Sprinting as fast as he could, he followed the sound. As he
ran through the doorway, he saw an idling car, which the perpetrators
jumped into. Tires spun, and it roared off down the road. Standing in
the middle of the street, he focused his sentinel eyesight to get at
least a description of the car and the license plate number.

With a grunt of defeat and self-recrimination, he returned inside.
Sandburg was on the phone still talking with Simon. As Jim walked up
to his partner, the phone was handed to him. 

"Yeah, they got away." Jim glanced at Claudia Jardine. He had
forgotten her in his pursuit of the suspects. She was sitting on one
of the Theater’s chairs, looking furious, but holding her tongue, for
which he was thankful. He had enough troubles without adding any
tirades from her.

"Give me something, Ellison. I gotta have a place to start," his
captain’s voice echoed with his displeasure.

"Three Caucasians. Two in here, one waiting in a ‘93 dark blue Ford
Mustang, Washington plate number, 1-1-7-M-U-U. I didn’t get a look at
the driver, but the other two were male, mid-thirties, both had brown
hair, one had a mustache. They were tall; one was at least six foot
four. They were wearing jeans and cotton button-down shirts."

"Anything else?"

"They used a .44 Magnum pistol. One of them pitched it under the
stage. I’ll bring it in; maybe there’ll be prints."

"Did you see their faces?"

"Very briefly. Not enough to do a composite sketch. It was dark and
they were running away from me."

"Fine. I’ll start with the car and you find that gun and bring it in."

Jim snapped the phone shut. He turned his attention back to Miss
Jardine. "Do you believe in the threat now?"

"I’ve always believed in the threat. I just refuse to hide away and
not live my life as I want."

"Do you want to get shot?"

"Not particularly. I hear it hurts pretty bad."

"It can also kill you."

A peculiar look crossed her face that Jim couldn’t interpret. "Stay
here, I’ll be right back."

II

Simon hung up the phone, then turned to face the computer. How he
hated the contraption. Sandburg insisted that next to flush toilets,
the computer was man’s greatest invention. He violently disagreed.

After calling up Motor Vehicles, he entered the license plate number
Ellison had given him. The little hourglass showed up, so he sat back
in his chair. Looking out the window, he gazed at the detectives
under his command. The bullpen was a hive of activity. Rafe’s arms
were flailing around, obviously trying to make a point. Taggart and
Brown were nodding, lips twitching, hiding their smiles. He wished he
had Ellison’s hearing so he could share the joke. 

He looked back down at his screen. The Motor Vehicles’ logo topped
the page and his data was listed at the bottom. The car was
registered to Mr. Mark Shuba, age 52. His address was in one of the
more affluent suburbs of Cascade. In blinking red letters, the word
"stolen" flashed. Simon exhaled in disappointment.

His attention was brought back to the bullpen. Detective Hale was
dragging in some punk. The teen was gesturing wildly, his mouth
moving as fast as his arms. Simon smiled as Brown went over to help,
using his imposing body to its best advantage. The punk quieted
somewhat. The captain wondered what the teen had done. He would have
liked to go out to see, but he didn’t want his officers to think he
was checking up on them. His gaze returned to the computer and he
pressed the print button. 

A knock sounded at the door, making the captain jump.

"Come in," he yelled, releasing the tension that had been building
up. Taggart poked his head in.

"Ellison and Sandburg are downstairs with that woman. They’re on
their way up, just thought I’d warn you."

He followed Taggart out and took a circulatory route around all the
desks. The teen was still seated by Hale’s desk and shot him a glare,
filled with distrust and bravado, as he walked by. The elevator doors
opened and arguing voices greeted the bullpen.

"...Make this quick. I’m hungry and I just want to rest."

Jim smiled sardonically and then turned to Cassie, who had been
standing by idly watching. He mumbled a few words and handed her a
gun in a plastic bag. Her face lit up and she left.

Blair's voice caught his attention. "Claudia. There’s Captain Banks.
Let me introduce you."

The kid was practically dragging her towards him. She was about five-
five and African American, like himself. Her age was somewhere
between twenty-five and thirty-five and she had shoulder-length curly
hair. At first he only noticed her attractiveness. But then, for some
reason, he observed the same expression in her eyes that he had
detected in the teen. Distrust and bravado. Why he was granted such
insight, he didn’t know, but he was sure of his conclusions. Why
would she distrust the police? Her life was in danger and they were
responsible for protecting her. Did she think they were incompetent?

"Miss Jardine, a pleasure."

She reluctantly took his hand and gave it a limp shake. "Captain."

Well, he had used up his niceness quotient for the day. "Sandburg,
keep her company. Ellison, my office."

After closing the door, he retrieved the printout. "Here’s the owner
of the Mustang. He reported it stolen two days ago. Why don’t you go
check it out. Leave Miss Jardine here..."

"Are you sure?" His eyes brightened with enthusiasm.

"I need you to play lie-detector. I hate wasting time on dead ends
and I’d like to eliminate this guy as soon as possible. Take Rafe.
Sandburg and I will escort Miss Jardine back to the hotel. Meet us
there."

Luckily Ellison didn’t see anything wrong with the suggestion. He
should’ve had Rafe accompany *him* and let Sandburg go with Jim. But
he needed Sandburg’s conversational abilities to cover up his own
inadequacies. She made him nervous. He briefly pondered the reason,
then shoved the question aside.

Ellison motioned to Rafe, who quickly joined him. The detective
patted Sandburg's shoulder in a reassuring manner. Simon saw Jim bend
down to whisper, and then the kid nodded.

"What, abandoning me so soon?" came Claudia's tart reply.

Ellison turned to her and grinned. "Yeah, but I’m leaving you in
very capable hands. And to show you what a great guy I am, I’ll bring
back Chinese for dinner. What d’ya want Chief?"

"Chinese? Take out?" Claudia sounded appalled. "Why can’t we go to a
nice restaurant?"

"Snipers just love those places. It’s where they do their best
work," Jim dead-panned.

Simon silently laughed at her chagrined expression. Beneath her
fractious behavior he could detect her very real feeling of
abandonment. He didn't need this, he told himself sharply. Gathering
his things from his office, they went to his car. Politely he opened
the passenger door and motioned her inside. She ignored him and got
into the back seat. 

"This is more like it."

Sandburg shrugged and hopped into the front. Banks found himself
gritting his teeth, doing an Ellison impression.

Simon started the car and drove slowly out of the underground
garage. Sandburg turned in his seat so he faced the back. Simon
glanced in the rear view mirror. She was looking out the window.

"So what are you going to play at the concert tomorrow night? A
concerto, selected pieces?" Sandburg asked.

Still looking out the window, she answered. "I don't know yet. I was
going to play soft, romantic selections." Then she turned and looked
at them. "But I don't feel like that now. Maybe some Brahms. That
certainly fits my mood."

"How long have you been giving concerts?"

"Since I was born."

Undeterred, Sandburg continued his questions. "I've been to many
different kinds of concerts. I went to rock concerts with my mother
from the time I was born, but now my tastes have grown. I love all
kinds of music, from tribal rhythms all the way to classical. I've
been to operas and even had tickets to one of your concerts several
years ago."

"Really? Did you like it?"

"I couldn't go. My mom flew into town, so I gave my ticket to
someone else. But, I'm sure I would've had a good time."

Simon looked back at his passenger. Her eyes were closed and her
shoulders sagged. Suddenly they opened and pinned his in the rear-
view mirror. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Why don't you turn on the radio?" she asked, breaking eye contact.
"There must be at least one decent station in this town."

Simon turned on the radio. Easy listening music filled the car. The
sound efficiently reduced the ability to talk.

When they got to the hotel, Simon had them go straight up to the
room. He nodded to his men stationed outside and in the lobby. The
kid carried his ever-present backpack, no doubt filled with lesson
plans and papers to grade. No second was ever wasted.

He closed the door to her suite and exhaled deeply. Safe for the
moment, at least. His internal solitude was shattered by Claudia's
voice.

"I want to clean up a bit, if you don't mind. Getting shot at twice
doesn't happen to me every day."

As she walked out of the room, Simon muttered to himself. "Wonder
why?"

Sandburg laughed.

"Two days of this." Simon wiped his hand across his forehead. "I'm
getting an ulcer already."

III

Jim closed the door to Miss Jardine's suite as Simon left. He
regretted that he didn't have any good news for his captain. Shuba
had an iron-clad alibi: his car had truly been stolen. The man's
heartbeat corroborated his story. Simon declined the invitation to
stay, giving an excuse or two, but Jim understood. After just one
hour with the prima-donna, he was ready to bail. Rank did have its
privileges.

"I’m telling ya Chief, Chinese food has to be nutritious. It’s got
all these vegetables," Ellison teased his guide, as he handed out the
little containers. Both took comfort in their easy banter.

"It’s all the oil and MSG that’ll kill you."

"Then we shoulda gotten the Wonderburgers."

"Yuk!" Claudia's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Hamburgers are so-so
plebeian. If you must have beef, then Bottacelli’s prime rib is the
way to go."

"That’s a little expensive for my wallet," Blair sighed wistfully as
he took a pair of chopsticks and unwrapped them.

Jim cuffed him in the head as he reached over for his container.
"Red Lobster’s too expensive for *your* wallet." He poured the
chicken chow mein over his rice.

Claudia spooned her jumbo shrimp with garlic sauce onto her plate
and looked disdainfully at Jim’s food. "How can you eat something so
bland?"

Jim looked up and purposefully took a bite. "I get enough
indigestion at work. I don’t need to add to it."

Her eyes glittered in anger, but she let the comment slide.

They ate in silence. Blair had turned on the television set earlier,
so they sat and listened to the news. Claudia frequently looked at
the time, making Jim nervous. She took her last bite and sat back,
looking at her watch once more. Like a coiled spring Jim exploded.

"What the hell is going on? If you look at that damned watch one
more time…"

"Duncan should be here soon," she interrupted. "I called him in
Paris and he said he'd take the next flight out. I'm hoping he's
going to walk through the door any minute now."

"No one's gonna just walk in that door. We have men downstairs that
prevent anyone from getting up here."

"Then you'd better call and tell them that when Duncan MacLeod gets
here, they had better let him up. I won't tolerate anyone keeping my
friends away."

Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll need to check
him out first."

"Absolutely not! I'll kick all of you out if you interfere in my
life like that. I trust Duncan a hell of a lot more than I trust any
of you."

Jim jerked the phone out of his pocket and called down to the men
monitoring the lobby. "Miss Jardine has requested that a Mr. Duncan
MacLeod be allowed up when he arrives."

"Yes, sir."

Jim shut the phone and turned stiffly towards the television, still
fuming. At least her manager wasn't a constant thorn in his side. The
man had settled into the mayor's house and waited for them to find
the assassin. All he had to contend with was this *friend*.

Sandburg grabbed his backpack and carried it over to the table.
Emptying its contents, he sat down to work. She looked back and forth
between Jim and Sandburg. What did she expect, that they were going
to entertain her? Jim refused to consider it. He picked up the remote
control and started surfing. Ahhh, football. He nestled into the
couch, making a big production of it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss Jardine get off the couch
and wander over to where Blair was working.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"I'm going through this book for class."

"You're taking an ancient history class?"

"No, I'm teaching it."

Her eyes widened. "You're an expert in this old stuff?"

Blair looked up at her over the top of his glasses. Jim had to
stifle a laugh. Now she would know the real meaning of suffering.

"I'm studying the tribal customs of a settlement in Peru that lived
over five hundred years ago."

That was too bad, he was taking it easy on her. There were no large
incomprehensible words or long strings of ideas spoken without a
breath. Jim shook his head with regret.

"Peru? What about Europe or England? Do you know anything about
medieval Scotland?"

"Scotland? No, I can't say I've studied it. Now, there was this one
Chopec, hey, where're you going?"

Jim smiled. She'd had enough. He turned his attention back to the
game.

She sat down in a chair and pretended to watch the Friday night
football game with him. It was obvious that she didn't know one thing
about football. Luckily for him, she didn't question him relentlessly
about it.

As he sat enjoying the game, he let his senses wander. Focusing his
hearing, he listened to his guide. Sandburg was murmuring things to
himself as his pen slid across the paper. Next he turned it onto Miss
Jardine. She wasn't talking and her heart was beating rhythmically.
Then he swept the suite. No hidden noises there.

The score flashed on the screen. Then he heard the elevator start to
move. Someone was coming up. He stood up, alert for danger. Miss
Jardine gave him a puzzled look, which he ignored. The elevator doors
started to open and almost simultaneously, Miss Jardine clutched her
head, as if in pain, whimpering softly. 

He heard her mutter under her breath, "When will I get used to this?" 

A knock sounded at the door. Blair looked up.

Jim removed his gun. "I'll get it." 

Claudia stood up. The pain seemed to have disappeared, but she was
still pale. Her heart pounded rapidly and her breaths came in quick
gasps. It was the first time he had seen evidence of fear in her.

At the closed door, he yelled out, "Ellison here."

"Duncan MacLeod has arrived. I brought him up."

Jim opened the door.

A uniformed officer was standing next to a dark-haired man, whom he
presumed to be Miss Jardine's friend. MacLeod looked anxious to come
into the room, yet he stayed still, waiting. Ellison took note of the
athletic build and the deceptively casual way he stood. He radiated
self-confidence and patience. They locked eyes, each taking the
measure of the other. Jim reluctantly admitted to himself that the
man was formidable. An excellent ally; a deadly enemy. The mutual
appraisal was cut short when Claudia pushed him aside and fell into
MacLeod's arms. A smile of pure pleasure lit MacLeod's face.

"Oh, Duncan," she cried melodramatically, "thank goodness you're
here!" Then she jerked back, her mood abruptly altering. "What
happened to all that lovely long, black hair?" she demanded. "Why'd
you cut it?"

"Penance," was his enigmatic reply.

Jim nodded to the other officer as he closed the door behind him. He
turned back to see MacLeod leading Claudia to the couch. MacLeod was
caressing her back and talking soothingly to her. This was not the
same woman who had been in their charge all afternoon. Jim marveled
at her submissive attitude. 

"Tell me what happened," MacLeod asked softly.

"Someone's trying to kill me," Claudia answered.

"With a gun?" MacLeod asked.

Jim frowned. That was a strange question to ask.

"Yes. But it isn't Walter this time," Claudia said quietly.

"Who's Walter?" Jim interjected.

"A friend," MacLeod answered. Then he turned towards the others.
"Before we continue, maybe we should have some introductions."

Jim was missing something in this conversation. If he understood
what they were saying, a friend named Walter had tried to kill her
with a gun. MacLeod was deliberately offhand about it all. The man
was an enigma. He was cultured, and yet Jim's instincts warned him
that he was a predator as well. The clothes he wore were expensive,
yet his haircut was ragged. His accent was strange. Very European,
but not French. It wasn't British either.

She didn't answer.

"Claudia, I would like to know the names of these nice officers,"
MacLeod repeated.

He was treating her like a child.

"They're not nice," she pouted. "They…"

"Claudia," he said, and a warning edge crept into his voice. The
rest of her complaint seemed to die in her throat.

Jim looked at him with even greater respect. Finally, someone who
had the upper hand with the prima donna. She'd been acting like a
spoiled child all day. Maybe treating her as you would a sulky child
who knows better was the way to deal with her.

"Duncan, this is Detective Ellison, and that's Blair something-or-
other." She waved a hand in Sandburg's direction.

The two men shook hands. Even though Jim was taller than MacLeod
was, somehow he felt smaller. Jim nodded to him. MacLeod smiled, as
if he realized how discomfited Jim was by his presence. It made the
detective even more uptight, and the fact that he didn't understand
where his discomfort originated made him even angrier. 

Then MacLeod shook Blair's hand, too. He glanced down at his books.

"Peru, huh? I visited there once."

There was that secretive smile again. 

"When? What did you see?" Blair asked enthusiastically. 

"It was a long time ago. I was interested in the ruins, although
circumstances prevented me from seeing very many of them. I'll have
to go back sometime. Ancient history is one of my passions."

"Like medieval Scotland?" Blair asked without guile.

MacLeod's heart started hammering, yet nothing showed on his face.
Jim watched the man's every move. Only his heartbeat revealed his
anxiety.

Blair kept talking, oblivious to MacLeod's discomfort. "Just before
you got here, she asked me if I knew anything about medieval
Scotland. I've studied about a lot of places, but not Scotland. Now I
understand why she asked, you being Scottish and all. She was
probably hoping to dazzle you with some facts…"

MacLeod's heart rate slowed down. If Jim hadn't been a sentinel, he
never would have noticed how uncomfortable the stranger had gotten
with that innocent remark. It was amazing how the man could hide his
emotions so well. Jim's intuition was screaming at him. The only way
the man could be so adept at hiding his feelings was if he'd had
years of practice. Years and years of practice.

"Detective, maybe you should tell me what you know?" MacLeod asked,
focusing his eagle-sharp gaze on him.

Jim jerked to attention. "I assume Miss Jardine told you about the
sniper this morning?"

"Yes, she did."

"Well, two men tried again this afternoon while she practicing," he
said, and then quickly outlined the events of the afternoon.
"Forensics didn't find any prints on the gun. The sniper was in an
upper-story room here at the hotel, judging by the trajectory of the
bullet. The man who owns the blue Mustang checked out. No prior
record and he's an upstanding citizen. We haven't eliminated him, but
it doesn't look likely that he was involved. I got a look at the two
guys and I'm sure he wasn't one of them."

"What was the car owner's name?"

"Mark Shuba, why?"

"Just curious. So, no other leads?"

"None yet."

"Did you overhear them talking before they ran away?"

"Only that the one man had positioned the bench in the exact
position so that when he fired the gun, she'd be dead."

MacLeod and Claudia exchanged a quick look that appeared strangely
amused to Jim's eyes, then MacLeod turned to him. "Since I'm here,
you two don't need to stay. I'll protect her tonight, but tomorrow
we'll need you again."

"She's a visiting celebrity. We can't just pull our men."

"I don't mean that. I mean you personally don't have to stay in her
room. Keep watch downstairs, by all means."

"Fine. Chief, get your stuff. We've been relieved."

They rode the elevator down and exited to the truck.

"We're not really gonna leave?" Blair asked him.

Jim smiled. "I'm going to circle around and listen outside her
window. I think she's holding something back and is waiting to tell
MacLeod in private." He paused, "So what do you think of him?"

"Huh, MacLeod?"

Jim nodded, as he inserted his key in the ignition of the truck.

Sandburg laughed, as he closed his door. "He's just like you. He's
got this protective streak a mile wide and right now, he's not sure
he trusts you."

Jim was nonplussed. Didn't Blair pick up that he was hiding
something? "That's it?"

Blair laughed some more, and Jim turned to glare at him. Then he
threw the truck in drive and started towards Miss Jardine's side of
the hotel.

"Hey man, it's like some territorial thing between you. MacLeod must
somehow threaten your feeling of superiority. He's on your turf and
you feel defensive."

His jaw tightened. "That's not it."

He pulled into a parking space below her window. Without being told,
Blair put his hand on his shoulder and Jim slowly turned up the
dials, while filtering out the everyday noise around him. Then he had
her.

"…I'm positive, there was no hint of a presence. I was standing
outside and then the bullet whizzed by. There was no warning. And at
the Theater, nothing. Ellison said the men were right below me and I
didn't feel them at all."

"No headaches, huh? So we could be dealing with an average guy who
you've pissed off in some way. *That* really narrows the field down
to… everyone you've ever met."

"Except you," she said pointedly.

"Except me." Jim could hear the smile in MacLeod's voice. "Think
back. Where were you last?"

"I was in New York City. This is just a spur-of-the-moment side
trip. It wasn't on my itinerary at all. The mayor called my manager
and they arranged it. They're good buddies, you know."

"Okay, in New York, did you receive any threats?"

"No. I already told the cops that." 

"With the way you're always sniping at people, maybe you offended
someone you shouldn't have?"

"No, Duncan, nothing like that." Then she paused. "Honest. I've been
a model of decorum."

Jim heard MacLeod laugh.

"What about any ex-lovers?"

"You've got to be kidding. I haven't been on a date in six months."

There was some more talking in a low tone, which he couldn't hear.

"Honest, Duncan." She was pleading.

"Okay, has anyone come close enough to get at you with a blade?"

"No, only the guns."

"Well, as long as they are keeping with the guns you're safe." 

Jim couldn't help but explode. "Safe!? My god, Chief, that MacLeod
just told her that as long as the perps stuck to guns, she'd be safe.
What kind of crack-pot is he?"

"Maybe you heard it wrong," Blair answered, his hand still steady on
Jim's shoulder.

"I know what I heard." Jim was adamant. He redirected his attention
upstairs.

"…but Duncan, if I die a public death…oh God, I can't bear to think
it."

"Take it one step at a time. I'll be there to help."

"But, to never play the piano again..."

"Don't even think about it now. Why don't you go take a shower and
get ready for bed. I'm going to make a few calls and let some people
know where I am. I did leave Paris rather suddenly."

There was quiet and Jim could hear MacLeod dialing the phone again. 

"Anything else?" Blair interrupted softly.

"Shhh," Jim commanded.

"Hey Joe, Duncan here."

Jim couldn't hear the other side of the conversation. The phone was
too far away even for his ears.

"Check out a Mark Shuba," MacLeod instructed.

There was a pause. MacLeod was having someone check out one of
*their* leads, Jim thought incredulously.

"No, as a Watcher." Jim definitely heard the capital 'W'. "Yeah,
Claudia is scared, but holding up fine. She's hassling the police,
but that's normal for her."

Another pause while Dawson talked.

"Right. No, I'm doing fine. You stay in Paris and I'll call you when
I learn anything new. Claudia asked about you."

MacLeod laughed at something the person on the other end of the line
said, and then continued.

"No, she liked playing with you. Maybe after her London concerts
she'll come to Paris for a little R and R."

How in the hell was this Joe guy supposed to check Shuba out in Paris?

"Bye, Dawson."

Then there was quiet. Claudia came out and said goodnight. She went
into the bedroom and Duncan stayed on the couch. It was quiet.

"I guess we can go home now, Chief." Jim started the truck again and
pulled out onto the street.

"So, what else did you hear?" Blair asked.

"She really doesn't know who's after her."

"Do you think this Duncan MacLeod is a cop?"

"No," he said thoughtfully, "but he has a contact in Paris who is
checking out Mark Shuba."

"The guy who owns that Mustang?"

"Yep."

"You think his contacts are like the CIA or Interpol?"

"Good question. Maybe I should run a check on this Duncan MacLeod
and Joe Dawson." Jim paused as he considered the idea. "Yeah, let's
go down to the station and run some names through the computer."

Ellison didn't notice Blair's resigned sigh. He parked his truck in
the garage and headed for the elevator. Blair hung his backpack over
his shoulder and followed alongside him.

The bullpen was almost empty. The only occupant was Hank Fielding at
his desk working on some paperwork. It wasn't unusual to see the man
working late, since he didn't have any family waiting at home. It was
an occupational hazard with police officers; the lack of family or
home life.

Blair lugged in his backpack and sat down to do his school notes or
something. Jim noticed this absently as he sat down and logged onto
his computer. MacLeod had mentioned something about a Walter
something-or-other trying to kill her. Too bad he didn't have a last
name. Jim typed in Miss Jardine's name, but the only thing that came
up were references to her music career. Next he ran Joe Dawson
through some international databases. Nothing came up. He wasn't a
convicted felon, a wanted man or even in law enforcement. This Dawson
was either some top-secret agent, or involved in something illegal.
Then again he could be an ordinary citizen, of some country. He
retyped Dawson's name in the American database. Bingo. The man owned
a bar in Seacouver. 

"Hey, Chief? Didn't you say that you once had tickets for a concert
Claudia Jardine was giving?"

"Yep."

"Where?"

"Seacouver."

Well, well, well.

Next he typed in Duncan MacLeod. All the bells and whistles sounded.
Jim sat back, pleased with his progress. It took over fifteen minutes
to print out the data. With only a glance it seemed that MacLeod had
been involved in some questionable circumstances. When Ingrid Henning
had been stalking Wilkinson, that neo-Natzi running for the Senate,
MacLeod was involved with Inspector Breslaw in his attempts to stop
her. Nothing in the write-up said that he and the Inspector were
working together, just that MacLeod was around. There was an entry
where MacLeod and Special Agent McCormick were working together to
try and solve a murder case involving Carl Robinson, the baseball
player. On and on the list ran. There was even a blurb on how MacLeod
saved the life of Victor Paulus, the famous peace activist, when an
unknown assassin stalked him. And now, Duncan MacLeod was right in
the middle of another assassination attempt. At least he now knew
that MacLeod had experience in this kind of situation. What made it
more interesting was that each of the entries occurred in Seacouver.

He tried MacLeod's name in the International database, and a sheet
almost as long came out of there, too. Several documented cases in
England, but the majority were located in Paris. MacLeod never had a
legitimate reason for his involvement, yet he seemed to be underfoot
quite a lot of the time. Just like now.

Jim grabbed the print-out and called to Blair. "Let's go, Chief."

"So now what?" Blair looked up at him from above his glasses.

"We go home, get some rest, and start again tomorrow."

The two men made their way back to the truck. Jim handed the print-
out to Blair so he could look it over while he drove them to the
loft. When they arrived, he tossed his jacket onto the couch and made
for the kitchen. 

"Want a beer?" Jim asked Blair as he opened the fridge.

"Sure," Blair replied as he sat on the couch, still reading through
the papers Jim had printed out.

"I think MacLeod and I ought to work on this together," Jim
announced as he sat beside his guide.

"Together? You think that's possible." Jim could hear the sarcasm in
Blair's voice.

"I'll have to keep an eye on him anyway. Better to keep him close,
and if he does have contacts that can give him information, I want to
know what they give him."

Blair nodded, looking serious. "Did you notice in this how he seems
to be in Seacouver for six months to a year and then Paris for the
same amount of time?

"Really?" How had he missed that?

"Also, nothing is on this sheet before 1992, yet he was living in
Seacouver since the 80s. What changed in '92?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders in puzzlement.

 

Part II

I 

The Highlander didn't sleep. He rested, with his eyes closed, while
he sifted through everything he had learned. Even though Walter was
the last one to have wanted to kill Claudia, he was pretty sure that
he wasn't involved this time. Possibly another immortal was using
mortals to capture her, but that didn't make sense either. Claudia
didn't even know how to use a sword. That wasn't much of a challenge,
for even the most unskilled swordsman. If it was another immortal,
why didn't they just openly challenge her?

Around and around it went. The only conclusion he came up with was
that he'd have to work with the detective, Ellison. He needed to know
everything the police knew in order to stay one step ahead of them.
Especially if it turned out that an immortal was threatening Claudia.
Then Duncan smiled; Ellison's partner was interesting. Judging from
first impressions, he never would have picked those two to work
together. Yet they did. Sandburg was interested in ancient
civilizations. Wonder what brought them together?

Then there was Ellison himself. Here was a man used to taking
charge, to knowing exactly what was going on. He had sharp eyes;
Duncan had seen them narrow after Blair made that innocent remark
about Scotland. He must have given off some subtle clue that the
question had made him uncomfortable. The man almost seemed to be able
to read minds; or body language. He was pretty good at that himself.
Four hundred years had given him a lot of practice. It was going to
be an interesting couple of days.

When the sun poked in through the curtains, Duncan went to take his
shower. Feeling more refreshed, his stomach reminded him that it had
been too long since his last meal. Claudia was still sleeping, but he
knew the smell of coffee would wake her. With that thought in mind,
he ordered breakfast. 

When it arrived, he tipped the waiter, and went to Claudia's room.
He waved a mug of the hot brew under her nose. "Come on sleepy head.
Rise and shine."

She mumbled something and buried herself deeper into the covers.

Duncan laughed and took the coffee back into the living room. It
took at least five more minutes before its aroma got to her.

"Any left for me?" she asked, stumbling out into the living room.

"Sure, help yourself." Her disheveled appearance made him smile.
Then the room started to blur. He blinked his eyes, as a feeling of
dizziness assailed him. 

"Wait!" he told her urgently. "Don't eat anything." His breathing
became rapid and he began to perspire. 

Her voice faded into the background. "Duncan. Dun…"

Blackness. Death.

Gasp. Someone was caressing his face.

"Duncan, you died. Someone tried to poison me!" 

"Easy Claudia. Give me a minute." Duncan sat up, realizing he must
have fallen to the floor. He took some deep breaths trying to regain
his equilibrium. "Has anyone tried to get into the room while I was
out?" 

"No. It's been quiet. You weren't dead for very long." She was still
kneeling at his side.

"Whoever it is, really wants you *mortally* dead. Now they're trying
poison." Duncan slowly raised himself into the chair once more.
Claudia held his arm, giving him little help.

"Thanks. Why don't you go back and sit down." 

She did as he asked, still wailing, and flapping her arms. "What if
I had eaten that stuff in front of Detective Ellison? Oh God, Duncan.
What am I going to do?"

"Nothing. This was an *attempt*. We didn't eat the food, so we
didn't die."

"But you ate two eggs and a piece of toast."

"I'll have to cover that up, and we still have to tell the police
about this so they can investigate the cooks and busboys and other
personnel."

"I would think that the hotel wouldn't hire someone new when a
famous guest is staying there."

"Claudia? How much advance warning did you give them?" 

"Okay, not much. The mayor called my manager and set this thing up
just last week. But that means that whoever did this must have been a
new hire. *That* should narrow the field down."

He thought more about it as he cleaned up all evidence that he'd
eaten any of the breakfast. Taking a deep breath, he called the
police to notify them of the *suspected* poison.

Detective Ellison and Blair Sandburg showed up fifteen minutes later.

"So you think someone's messed with your food?" Ellison asked, all
business.

Then his nose started twitching and he walked over to the table. He
put on latex gloves and pulled out several bags. Twice he blinked.
Duncan watched, mesmerized by the detective's actions. It reminded
him of a bloodhound on a scent. Sandburg stayed still, next to the
door, not helping at all. Not much of a partner. When Ellison
finished, he walked over to Duncan.

"I think you're right. There *is* poison in your food. Are you sure
you didn't eat any?"

"Positive," Duncan affirmed.

Ellison's nose twitched again. "If you did, you really should go to
the hospital and get checked."

"I'm fine. I think if I'd had any of it, I'd be dead by now, don't
you think?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "Did Miss Jardine eat any?"

Claudia had hung back. Duncan could tell she was still shaken. With
hardly a tremor in her voice, she answered the detective herself.
"I'd just woken up when Duncan told me of his suspicions."

Duncan gave her a mental pat on the back. Good response. She didn't
lie, yet she didn't reveal the truth either. He turned his attention
back to Ellison and groaned in disappointment. The detective's body
language was telling Duncan that he didn't buy it.

"But," Ellison continued to address MacLeod, "even a little can make
you very sick. I think you should go and let a doctor look at you."

"I," Duncan said sternly, "think you should go have the food
analyzed and check out the staff here. Someone working at this hotel
must be involved."

"Riiiight." Ellison stood back. "We'll be back as soon as we've
delivered this to forensics. Meanwhile, there's two officers
stationed outside this door. No one is to come in."

Duncan breathed easier after the detective left. "He's good,
Claudia. We're going to have to stay alert to stay one step ahead of
him."

"My concert's tonight. When it's over, let's just fly to London and
leave this creep behind."

"No. We have to stay here till we find out who's doing it. Ellison
is sharp, and if this situation has nothing to do with the game, he's
more likely to find your creep. Running away won't solve anything."

Claudia sighed. "I'm hungry, but I'm afraid to eat."

"When they get back, we'll all go to breakfast."

Claudia showered and dressed and was waiting with Duncan in the
living room part of the suite when Ellison and Sandburg came back.

"I want you to take us to breakfast," she demanded.

"Claudia," Duncan said, an edge creeping into his voice. 

Claudia didn't look at him, but she winced a little. Then she
cleared her throat and started again. "Detective Ellison, could you
please take us someplace to eat?"

"Okay," he responded absently.

Duncan looked up at Ellison, and the man was looking at him
peculiarly.

"Is something the matter?"

"You're keeping something from me," Ellison told him pointedly.

"Nothing important." Duncan was beginning to worry that he wouldn't
be able to pull this off.

"So you say." The detective wasn't convinced. 

"I think we should work together." Duncan figured he'd take a more
conciliatory approach. "We both want to keep Claudia safe."

"But, you don't trust the police enough to give me all the facts."

"It has nothing to do with trust. If I had *useful* information,
believe me, I would give it to you."

The detective nodded, but he still looked suspicious. "I met up with
Captain Banks when I took the sample of the hotel food to forensics.
We switched vehicles and agreed to meet at the restaurant in an hour.
Sandburg figured that you'd still need breakfast, and we haven't
eaten either. After that, Simon'll go with Miss Jardine back to the
hotel while we check some leads."

Duncan smiled at the detective. So, he had already considered the
option of them working together. This situation must be very
irritating for him. Was Blair going to accompany them or return to
the hotel?

The trip to the restaurant was uneventful. The waitress set down
their food and Claudia dug in. Duncan's stomach was still a little
queasy, no doubt psycho-somatic.

"So tell me Blair, what interests you about Peru?"

The fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "I research tribal customs." 

Duncan wasn't fooled. This boy was a talker, but for some reason he
was holding back. Why? "I'm also very interested in Peru. I know
there are tribes living there now that haven't changed in hundreds of
years. They are completely self-sufficient, and innocent of modern
ways."

Sandburg's eyes brightened. "I've visited some of them. It is
amazing how western culture just passes them by. They still grow
their own food, make their own medicine and practice the religions of
their ancestors."

"Yeah, like the Moche," Duncan said quietly to himself. How he hated
Larca for keeping that tribe as slaves. Their whole existence had
revolved around worshiping him. 

"So, why did you become interested in the Incan ruins?" Blair asked
him.

"I try to travel all over the world. Every society has something to
teach us if we're willing to listen."

"Where've you been?"

Duncan laughed. What should he tell the boy? Claudia was even
looking interested. 

"Mostly the Far East. I studied with some monks in Tibet, and
recently I was in a monastery in Mongolia." His voice cracked in
pain. Now he knew why the boy intrigued him so much. Blair reminded
him of Richie; so eager, so full of life. He felt the sting of tears
behind his eyes. With outer calm, he tried to regain his inner
balance. Ellison was looking at him steadily again. He had uncanny
instincts in recognizing his discomfort.

"All the places, are they religious in nature?" Blair asked.

"No, not all. But it does seem that enlightenment comes from
searching through your soul and a church is the best place to do
that." Then he laughed. "They also have the best libraries."

The door blew open and all heads turned. Ellison stood up. Blair
didn't. Interesting.

"Hello, Captain."

"Sit, Ellison." He waved to the waitress. "I'll have coffee, please."

"MacLeod, this is Captain Simon Banks. Simon, this is Duncan MacLeod."

The two men shook hands.

"Well, the food was definitely poisoned. And," Simon paused, "there
was an attempt this morning to gain access to your room. Two men
tried to sneak in from the staff entrance in the back. They dressed
as bell-hops and took some stairs to the tenth floor and then tried
to get onto an elevator to your top floor suite."

"You have them in custody?" MacLeod asked eagerly.

"Unfortunately not. We were able to prevent them the access, but
they got away. One uniform is in the hospital with a gunshot wound,
but he's going to be fine."

The captain paused, waiting as the waitress set his coffee on the
table. As she glided away, he continued. "Also, Shuba's daughter
turned up dead this morning."

Claudia and Blair gasped. 

"How?" Ellison asked.

"Floated in. Got a call from Pier 23. Some fishermen hooked it.
Scared the shit out of them when they started pulling her up. Shuba's
been in my office blaming us for not doing anything and finding his
car after it was involved in the murder attempt. You sure, Ellison,
that there wasn't a female involved?"

"She could've been the driver, but I doubt it. The person behind the
wheel was tall. His, or her, head was very close to the roof of the
car. Was the dead woman very tall?"

"No, she was average in height. Had an interesting tattoo on her
wrist. Looked like a 'V' with a circle around it," Banks added.

Duncan tried to school his reaction, but his heart was thumping in
his chest. A Watcher? Joe hadn't gotten back to him yet. Ellison was
staring at him again. 

"I also got the report back on the gun you found. No prints, but
there was steel-jacketed ammunition in the clip."

Jim whistled. "Heavy duty stuff. They weren't kidding around. To be
as accurate as he needed to be, the assassin must have been lying
down, pointing the gun up, even with the piano bench stationed as it
was."

Claudia groaned. "There wouldn't been much left of me afterwards."

MacLeod patted her back, reassuringly.

Simon finished the last of his coffee and stood up. "Sandburg, you
coming with us, or going with Jim?"

"I've got to get to the University. I've got a class to teach today,
and office hours during lunch. I'll catch up with you guys later." He
paused. "Unless you need me, Jim. I can get someone to replace me."

"I'll be fine, Chief. Do your teaching thing and give me a call when
you're done."

"Teaching?" Duncan asked. "I thought he was your partner?"

Ellison looked at him. "He is. He just has other duties, too." Then
Ellison closed up. 

Interesting. They had secrets, too. A partner who taught at the
University. Blair implied that Ellison might *need* him. Duncan
glanced at Banks. And whatever the secret was, the captain was in on
it.

Ellison led him to his truck. "Do you want to take a look at the
body? You seemed interested when the captain mentioned it."

"Yes, I would like to." He was actually anxious to do so.

Was that tattoo really a Watcher one? Were there any Watchers on the
Cascade police force? Duncan wasn't sure if that would complicate
matters or make them easier.

The trip to the morgue was uneventful. The doctor pulled the sheet
back and Duncan admitted truthfully that he didn't know the young
woman. She looked about twenty-five, and on her wrist was the Watcher
tattoo. He needed to call Joe.

"Detective, would you mind excusing me? I need to make a phone call."

"No problem. We'll go upstairs so you can use the one on my desk."

"Thanks."

Ellison left him at his desk, went over to another desk and sat down
in the chair. Duncan took out his phone card and put in the ID
numbers for an overseas call. He glanced over at the detective, but
he seemed to be reading something. It was nice of him to give him the
privacy without him even asking for it. He dialed Joe's number.

"Yeah, Dawson here."

"Joe, it's me. Did you find out anything on that name I gave you?"

"Hi, Mac. He's nothing, but his daughter's a Watcher. Her assignment
is Alicia Manning. She came over to the States about three weeks ago.
I don't have anything else."

"The daughter, Joan, is dead. Could Manning have done it?"

"She's dead!!??"

"She was found this morning; fished out of the bay. Somehow this is
all connected. Someone tried to kill Claudia and used Shuba's car as
a get-a-way. Then we find out Shuba is, or rather was, Manning's
Watcher and that she's now dead. Tell me about this Alicia Manning."

"I'll have to look her up. The only thing I remember is that she's
not very old. I've got someone picking up Joan's chronicles. We
should know more after we've read them."

"All right, Joe. Keep me posted."

"MacLeod?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch your head."

"Bye, Joe."

Jim went over to where MacLeod was sitting. "Did you get anything?"
the detective asked.

"Possibly. Let's check out your leads first."

"Fine."

Their first stop was the hotel.

As they walked into the lobby, Ellison asked him in an off-hand
manner, "So what does the tattoo mean?"

Duncan felt his heart plummet.

Ellison pressed. "I know you recognized it. What does it mean?"

MacLeod took a deep breath. "I have no idea how that girl was
involved. She belonged to a group of, ah, scholars who write
histories." That was mostly the truth. 

"If she was a scholar, what could she have been working on that was
so sensitive?"

"That's what we've got to figure out."

They came up to the front desk and Ellison flashed his badge and
demanded to talk to the manger. Duncan backed up a little and perused
the lobby. He pretended to listen to what Ellison and the manager
were talking about, but his mind was cataloging all the occupants. No
one was paying them the slightest attention.

"MacLeod? You ready to go?"

"Yes. Of course. Did he tell you anything?"

"No one new has been hired in the last three weeks."

"A dead end."

Ellison nodded. "I'll get some uniforms to question everyone on the
staff here, but…"

"I understand. It's a needle in a haystack. Do you mind waiting
while I use the phone again?"

Ellison smiled. "Please do. I'll wait here till you're done."

Duncan walked to the pay phones and made a trans-Atlantic call to
Joe. As he was punching in the numbers, he noticed the manager go
over to talk to Ellison again. The detective flashed him an angry
glare, then turned his attention to what the hotel official had to
say.

"Hey, Dawson. Find anything else out?"

"Her chronicles are gone."

"Gone?" He paused, catching his breath. "Gone as in can't find them,
or gone, as in stolen."

"Stolen. My man said that her hotel room had been trashed, her hard
drive erased, and her briefcase was open and empty."

"What about her parents? Maybe she sent something to her father, or…"

"You're assuming that she had advanced warning."

"What did her last report say?"

"Manning took a head four months ago in Moscow. A young violinist…"

"How young?" Duncan interrupted.

"Very. Before that, she took the head of a ballet dancer in Paris,
and before that, a poet. Alicia Manning seems to have a penchant for
young artistic geniuses."

"Like Claudia." Duncan's apprehension increased.

"Like Claudia," Joe repeated

"Does she always use help to catch her victims?"

"Not always, but she's a beautiful woman. Men are always eager to
help her, no matter what her payment plan is. What are you going to
do now?"

"I'm working with a police detective. It's going to be hard to keep
him from finding the truth, protect Claudia and deal with this
Manning woman all at the same time."

"Good luck, Mac. If I find what happened with Manning's Watcher,
I'll let you know."

"Make sure the replacement is careful. I'd hate to have to explain
another Watcher death to this detective. Bye, Joe."

Duncan slowly hung up the phone. How was he going to tackle this? He
left the phone booth as the manger shook his head and retreated. "Did
he add anything important?"

"A certain employee didn't punch in this morning, yet several co-
workers saw him. He was the one who brought the tray up to your room.
He's missing now. His physical description matches one of the men I
saw under the stage." He paused for effect. "So did *you* learn
anything?"

"A name, Alicia Manning. I think she may be behind the young woman's
murder. I don't know if she has anything to do with the attempts on
Claudia's life." MacLeod was curious to see where the detective went
with that information.

"I'll have Simon run the name through." Ellison stared at him
intently. "This group of scholars," he paused, "are you one of them?"

MacLeod grinned sardonically. "No, I am definitely *not* a member."
I'm barely tolerated, he added to himself. "So where to now?" he
asked the detective, hoping to change the subject.

"I'm thinking a trip to the dead woman's father's house. I'd like to
ask him about the tattoo and if she had left anything with him."

"Like what?"

"Books. Notes. Whatever she was working on may have gotten her
killed. You did say that she was a historian."

That I did, MacLeod thought to himself. But he knew that they
wouldn't find anything.

II

The police captain opened the door, and she preceded him into her
room. She really wished Duncan was here instead of this cop. She felt
exposed and powerless. If some immortal came after her now, she would
die and so would the cop. Her fingers itched. How she wished there
was a piano in the suite.

The captain followed her in and sat down on the couch. He didn't say
anything to her, and she couldn't think of anything to say to him,
either. A melody formed in her mind, and its message became louder
and louder. The outside world retreated, and she sank onto a chair
and let it run through her. The emotion of fear was sparking her
creativity, and she could hardly grasp the notes as they sang in her
mind.

A soft knock at the door barely penetrated the internal song. Her
fingers tapped the melody on her legs, as if her skin were the keys. 

"You okay?"

The voice shattered the inspiration and left her dazed, for a
moment. Then fury took over and she jumped to her feet. Her nose was
even with the middle of his chest and she had to tilt her head up to
vent her frustration.

"What in the hell did you do that for? I had the beginnings of a
concerto,"

He put an electronic keyboard into her hands. She blinked in surprise.

"I had one of my men pick this up for you. Thought it might help you
pass the time until you go on tonight." He turned around and sat back
on the couch.

She didn't know what to say. He wasn't looking at her. She ran her
hands over the keys, almost caressing them. 

"You have to plug it in to get any sound out of it."

She stiffened. "I know that." She didn't feel off balance anymore.
Now she was irritated. 

She set the keyboard down on the chair and unraveled the cord. She
felt his eyes on her the whole time. Couldn't he stand outside the
door? Like in the hall? Or better yet, in the lobby downstairs.

She went back to the chair and started picking out the music inside
her head once again. The single note melody from before was
transformed, when both hands were on the keys. When she needed an
octave above the keyboard's range, she became flustered and then
agitated. What she needed was paper to write the notes down on so she
wouldn't forget them. She carefully set the instrument down and went
into her room to find the specially lined paper.

She wrote down notes as fast as they came into her head. The captain
stayed on the couch, although he got up once to turn on the
television. 

The suddenness of the cell phone ringing shattered her
concentration. "Damnation!" 

Banks answered it.

"Yeah, Ellison?" The captain barked into the mouthpiece.

He was quiet as he listened.

"We're fine here. Things have been pretty quiet."

There was another pause.

"Really," he turned and looked at her. He was scowling, which looked
like a common expression for him.

"You check it out and then come back here directly after. I'll get
on this right away."

He hung up the phone.

She glared at him, yet he didn't say anything more. "Well, aren't
you going to tell me what he said?"

"They questioned some people here and didn't get any leads. Now
they're going back to the dead woman's parent's home to question them
some more."

"Why?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know," he barked. "I'm here with you." 

She stiffened from his verbal attack. It sounded as if he resented
being here with her. Well, she sure as hell resented being cooped up
with him, too.

He went over to his laptop computer, and tapped some stuff in and
grunted periodically. She wanted to get up and take a look at what he
was doing, but from what his body language was telling her, no way.

Suddenly, he closed the computer, got up and started pacing around
the room. She followed his movements with her eyes, yet he didn't
take the hint and tell her what was going on in his mind. His
edginess was getting to her. The music was gone from her head, and
that fact frustrated her even more. She stood up and started to carry
the keyboard over to the table when the presence of an immortal
slammed into her. The instrument clattered to the table and she put
her hands to her temple. Damn, she knew it couldn't be Duncan because
he was out with that cop.

"Captain, someone's coming, and it's not the good guys." The pain
was blinding.

Banks withdrew his gun and made sure it was loaded. She didn't have
the heart to tell him that the gun would be useless. Why didn't he
call for back-up? Didn't he believe her? A body fell outside the
door, and then it was too late. 

Banks turned towards the door and aimed his gun, but the presence
was coming from…the window. Just as the door flew open, a body on a
rope crashed through the glass. She heard a shot, but her focus was
on the woman who came to a halt before her. She was dressed in skin-
tight leggings and a T-shirt. A very satisfied smile lit her face as
she brought her sword out from behind her back. She resembled a cat
who had just cornered her mouse. Claudia wanted to turn and see what
condition the police captain was in, but she dared not.

"I've been listening to your latest composition. Not bad."

Then she felt a bullet rip into her back. Blackness descended.

Part III

I 

Jim Ellison navigated the streets of Cascade, lost in thought. Mr.
Mark Shuba hadn't given them anything to go on. He had told them that
he hadn't known about his daughter's tattoo, and his heart rate had
corroborated his story. With permission, Jim had searched the woman's
childhood room but found nothing pertaining to the case. She hadn't
sent her father anything in the mail and he had promised to notify
them if something arrived in the future. Throughout the interview,
Duncan MacLeod had been quiet. His eyes had darted everywhere, but he
hadn't contributed. Jim had a feeling that this was out of character
for the other man. 

"Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Shuba," Jim had said
sincerely.

"Have you checked out the rooming house?"

Jim's eyes had narrowed. "Pardon?"

"Joan was staying at this place in the city. She came to borrow my
car when she first came into town a few weeks ago, then she returned
it. I never saw her again, 'til I had to identify her body in the
morgue." His voice had cracked in pain.

Armed with the address, the two men headed to what had been Joan
Shuba's temporary home. The land lady greeted them at the door.

"You want to see it again? I was told that someone would be in to
clear it all away this morning. That would be you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jim responded.

She unlocked the door and they found a completely empty room.
Everything had been removed. Jim walked into the room, focusing his
eyes in all the hiding places he could fathom. Nothing remained. He
opened his sense of smell, and the faint aroma of aftershave hung in
the air. They were too late. As Jim turned around to leave, he caught
MacLeod's look. The condition of the room was not a surprise to him.
He had expected it.

Now, they were on their way back to the hotel and Jim felt the
mystery surrounding his companion had something to do with the case.
He just couldn't put his finger on the connection. The Watchers had
come to clear out the room. Jim was positive of this. What kind of
organization were they? They had to be international. Dawson was in
France, yet he was able to direct situations in Cascade. Was their
function to go after hired assassins? Miss Jardine did say that she
felt more secure with MacLeod than anyone else. He must have
experience protecting her. Of course there was Walter, the friend. 

He had tried all morning to get a glimpse of MacLeod's wrist. When
he did, he saw it was bare of any trace of a tattoo. That
corroborated MacLeod's story of not belonging to the group of
"historians". He wasn't sure if he bought that story, either. They
didn't seem to operate as if they were biographers. 

"Well, MacLeod, what's your opinion of all this?"

The man slowly looked over at him. "They'll have to make another
move soon. Her concert is tonight. After that we'll be gone."

"You think they wanna kidnap her?"

"No. They want to kill her. But on their terms, on their own turf,
so to speak."

"After they kidnap her, how long do you think she'll have before
they take her life?"

MacLeod looked grave. "Not long."

As soon as they entered the hotel, Jim knew something was wrong. The
smell of blood assaulted his nostrils. Fresh blood. He quickened his
pace and turned the corner towards the elevators. No guards. He
pushed the up button and two doors opened, revealing a dead man in
one elevator. The man hadn't been dead for longer than ten or fifteen
minutes, judging by the heat remaining in his body. Rushing into the
other, he pulled out his cell phone and called it in. MacLeod pushed
the penthouse button and the doors closed. The small compartment
seemed even closer, with the smell of death smothering the sentinel.
Simon had been alone with Miss Jardine. 

Ignoring the other man, he rushed out as soon as the elevator
opened, gun drawn.

MacLeod put his hand on Jim's shoulder and said briskly, "It's too
late. She's not in there." 

Ellison flashed him an irritated look, then concentrated his hearing
inside the room. No heartbeats. The subtle whiff of Simon's cigars
met him, and then the metallic smell slammed him. MacLeod was right.
They were too late. He momentarily closed his eyes, and then opened
the door. 

Three more officers were on the floor, dead by gunshot. He released
the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Simon or Miss Jardine
might still be alive. He wrapped himself in professional detachment
and went to work. A faint trail of blood led from the door to the
bodies. They had been dragged in. Carefully, he stepped over the
corpses and perused the room. The picture window was smashed. As he
made his way over to the window, he could see glass covering the
floor. Something had come in through it. He leaned out and could see
a rope dangling from the roof. Did they come in through the window
and leave through the door? No. That didn't add up, because the
bodies were dragged in. Maybe there were two fronts, one from the
window and one from the door, and then they all left through the
door. 

He continued cataloguing the evidence. Had Simon been killed? He
carefully opened up his sense of smell, instantly shuddering at the
barrage of scents. Where the hell was Sandburg?! Oh yeah, at the
University. Sandburg's voice echoed within his mind, giving him
direction and control. Slowly, he let the varied scents reach his
brain. He filtered out the known ones. The ever-present cigar smell
was there. Jardine's floral scent was also present, but there was
another as well. More musky. He let his thoughts drift for a second,
trying to pin a name on it. Then he felt a slap on his back, jarring
his attention back to the room.

"Detective? Are you all right?"

"Huh? Yeah, MacLeod, just thinking."

"I can see a puddle of blood in the center of the carpet. Do you
think it's your Captain's?"

Jim followed the line of where MacLeod was pointing. He took out a
pair of latex gloves and put them on. Standing above the pool, he
opened his sense of smell. The blood didn't belong to Simon. In fact,
he didn't smell Simon's blood at all in the room. But the blood did
have a strange odor. He couldn't place it. It wasn't a chemical. It
smelled more like ozone, or something that had been fried by an
electrical surge. No, that wasn't it either. It was more metallic;
like blood, but not. He bent down and collected a sample. Let the
labs figure it out.

"I don't think the blood belongs to Simon." He spoke slowly as he
tried to work out possible scenarios. "It could possibly belong to
Miss Jardine, but I don't think either of them were killed here."

MacLeod nodded his head as if he agreed.

"But why not?" Jim thought out loud. "If the murder of Claudia
Jardine is the motive, why didn't they do it when they broke in? Why
kidnap them?" 

"I don't know," MacLeod answered.

Ellison looked at him sharply. He was lying. Slowly, he returned to
his perusal of the room. What was he missing? The seconds were
ticking by, and he didn't even know where to begin.

The elevator squeaking on its pulleys reminded him that his sense of
hearing was still partially open. Turning the dial down, as Sandburg
was constantly prompting him to, he waited for the passengers to
disembark. Jim gave a sigh of relief as Sandburg entered the room.
His guide paled as he stepped wide around the bodies, but his eyes
were centered on Jim.

"I'm so sorry, man. I should have been here for you."

"I handled it, Chief."

"They're not here?"

"No, but we think they're still alive." He cast a quick look at
MacLeod, but the man's face was closed to him.

Jim went over to the lap top. Simon had done some searches for Alica
Manning, but they had all come up empty. Forensics was all over the
room now. With any luck, they'd find something he'd missed. Maybe the
blood sample would yield something.

"Let's go back to the station." Jim couldn't think of what else to
do. Frustration gnawed at him. They were powerless until they
discovered where Simon and Miss Jardine had been taken. Sandburg
patted him on the shoulder, and he felt his jaw unclench slightly. He
gave his partner a weak smile.

II

Simon's body screamed at him as he became more aware of his
surroundings. His hands were tied behind his back, his feet were
likewise tied, and his back was to a wall. Slowly, he raised his head
to look around. His eyes were gritty, but soon tears filled them as
the pain from his head almost overwhelmed him, sending him back to
darkness. Forcing himself to breathe slowly, he clung to
consciousness until he could handle the pain. He willed his head up
and his eyes open.

Claudia Jardine was tied up as well, but she looked alert. Where he
felt pain everywhere, she looked…whole. Relief filled him as he
realized that she hadn't been hurt after all. Through the haze, he
thought he remembered that she had been shot. Obviously, he was wrong.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, wincing as he spoke.

She looked over at him. "Couple of hours. They knocked you pretty
hard."

That was an understatement.

"Then *she* flew in through the window," Claudia continued.

Ahh, the sniper. "Do you know her?"

"Never met her before in my life." Then she muttered to herself, "My
very short life."

He didn't understand what she meant, so he chose to ignore it. He
took a look around him. The room they were in was clear of any
furniture, and as there weren't any windows, he reasoned that it must
be an interior room. They were sitting on carpet, but it felt like
the kind used in cheap hotels or department stores. The room was
barren of any decorations, and even his rustling echoed within the
empty space. He didn't think it was someone's home, but he had no
idea what kind of place it was.

Claudia was struggling with the bonds around her wrist, but judging
by the frustration on her face, she wasn't getting anywhere. Suddenly
she stopped, squinted, and then bowed her head. She looked like she
was in pain. Then the door opened and Simon turned to look as a slim,
brown-haired woman entered. She wore blue jeans, a rugby shirt, and,
of all things, a long beige trench coat. 

Then she glanced over at him. He was riveted by her ice blue eyes.
Despite their chilling effect on him, he could tell that she was
happy and excited. She was almost twitching in anticipation.

"I see your friend is awake," she said to Claudia.

"What do you need him for?"

"I don't know. Something to relieve the boredom? A hostage to use in
case of an emergency? Maybe he's just a treat for my men to play
with."

The two women's eyes were locked. Neither paid *him* the slightest
attention.

The woman continued. "Do you have any music running through that
brain of yours?"

Her eager maliciousness intensified.

"Not really," Claudia responded.

"That's too bad. It might have bought you some time before I took
your quickening."

'What the hell was a quickening?' Simon thought to himself. It
didn't look like she carried anything in with her. Yet, it had to be
here or else that threat wouldn't have had the same impact.

She drew a sword out from inside her coat. Claudia started
struggling harder. This amused the woman. Slowly, she walked over to
where Claudia sat.

"Do you feel inspiration hitting you yet? A melody of death?" She
paused and then leaned into Claudia's face. "Do you feel mortal?" Her
voice became progressively more harsh.

The woman backed up slightly. She ran her sword up Claudia's arm and
over her shoulder, resting it against her neck. Neither moved.
Claudia turned her head away, and sat rigidly against the wall.

"Do you know who I am?" The voice was harsh and demanded attention.

Simon found himself answering, "Alicia Manning," trying to gain some
control over what was going on around him.

The woman swiveled sharply. "Another damned Watcher." Simon felt her
cold, calculating eyes size him up. Frustration made him struggle
with his bonds once more.

A smile of enjoyment erased the calculation in her eyes as she
turned once more to Claudia. "Another damned Watcher," she repeated,
ignoring him. 

"What do you mean? He's the captain of the Cascade Police Department
whose job is to protect me."

"How clever of you." She tilted her head in a mock salute.

Simon couldn't tell to whom she was referring. Manning was looking
at Claudia, yet he thought her comment might pertain to him.

"So what now?" he asked, trying once again to redirect her attention
to him and away from Claudia.

She blinked and stepped back. "Very good question, Captain." 

Manning went to the door and yelled out. "Hey, Larry! Get a move
on!" She stood at the door while a man brought in a cart with a
keyboard and reams of paper and pencils. 

Simon watched the proceedings with interest; the possibility for an
escape attempt had just increased. Could he pick a lock with a
sharpened pencil? The man left the cart by the wall and stood
motionless beside it. His open flannel shirt parted slightly,
revealing a holster.

Manning's sword was gone when he turned back towards her. She spared
him a quick glance and then focused on Claudia. "You see, I'm a
repository for artistic genius. I have taken the heads of some of the
greatest dancers, painters, and composers in the world. And soon I
will add yours to the mix." She grinned. "But first, I'm offering to
let you compose your last concerto. The last masterpiece by Claudia
Jardine, but, ah," she giggled, "you'll be too dead to perform it in
public."

The woman was insane. Simon sifted through his mind, looking for
some kind of an escape plan. He wiggled his wrists, but the ropes
were very snug. The abrasions were getting raw. He swore he could
feel blood in his hands. The pounding in his head had subsided a
little, but his eyes still burned. He must be suffering from the
after-effects of some kind of sedative.

She waved her arm, pointing out the accoutrements on the cart.
"Compose your little heart out. As long as you write, you stay in one
piece. When you finish, I'll challenge you fair and square." Then she
laughed. "Have you ever even lifted a sword? Rumor has it that you
refused to let the Highlander teach you anything. I thank you for
this easy victory."

Still laughing, she opened the door. "I'll leave you to your work."

"You'll have to untie me first."

"You're right. My apologies."

The man with the cart, Larry, brought out a gun and aimed it at
Simon. Manning went around and untied her.

"Don't try anything. And if you do," she glanced over to Simon. "He
dies first."

Then the two of them walked out. Claudia stood up and stretched.
Slowly, she came over to Simon and untied him.

"Captain Banks. Do as she says and don't try anything. I made my
bed, I'll just have to lie in it."

"I'm not going sit here and do nothing. There *is* a means of
escape, I just have to find it."

"Don't. She's not kidding about killing you."

"She's going to kill me anyway. Our only chance is to get out of
here."

Claudia nodded, but Simon had a feeling she was just placating him.
She took the keyboard off of the cart, carried it to a corner and
plugged it in. Running her fingers over the keys, melodies emerged
that brought a smile to her face, but were just notes to him. It
irritated him that she was able to lose herself so easily when their
lives were on the line. 

He eased himself down to lie flat on the ground, and slowly
stretched his back. He was sore all over. His head had a knot on it
where someone had hit him and probably knocked him out. The rest of
his body was okay, but his wrists were still bleeding. Sitting up, he
tore a strip from his undershirt and wrapped it around the abrasions.
The blood seeped into the linen. He shook his head, trying to clear
it of the fogginess threatening his concentration, and then stood
back up. He had to keep moving.

He ran through his options. When one of the men came back, he could
jump him, take his gun and push his way out. If he were alone he
would try it, but with a woman in the picture, it didn't look
promising. Jim might find him. Considering MacLeod's sources and
Jim's sentinel abilities; that might be their best hope. However, he
wasn't one to just wait. Slowly, he paced around the room hoping for
inspiration.

He took a couple of the pencils and tried to stick one in the lock.
The point broke off. He pushed the pencil in further, but he couldn't
spring the lock. Frustrated, he started pounding on the walls,
listening for a hollow sound. Maybe he could kick in a wall. He was
kidding himself. There was no way he could escape without getting
them both killed. 

The music poured forth from the keyboard. Occasionally, she would
stop and write things down. Eventually, Simon realized that he was
hearing the same melody over and over, but done in different notes.
He glanced over, and saw frustration eating away at her. Maybe the
muse wasn't being as cooperative as she wanted. 

Boom! Her hand slammed down on the keys. "I can't get it right!" 

She threw the pencil across the room, then she, too, started pacing.
And rambling. Simon stopped in his tracks and listened to her with
fascination.

"Why won't it come to me? My music has always been a part of me,
except after Walter killed me."

"Whoa, lady. What do you mean, 'after Walter killed me'?"

She continued as if she hadn't heard him, still pacing. "But I only
lost it for a short time. It did come back. What if I was wrong? Oh
God!! What if it's gone for good?" She shook her head in denial. 

Simon grabbed her shoulders, both to get her attention and to stop
her tirade. "Walter *killed* you?"

"No, I mean he tried to kill me." Then she really looked at Simon.
"Maybe it's you," she accused. "Maybe I'm more afraid for your life
than my own."

"I doubt that," he answered dryly.

"No. It could be."

"I don't think you give a damn about anyone but yourself. Since you
blew into town, you've managed to alienate every uniformed officer we
have."

"Yeah, yeah. And your precious detectives."

There was a tone to her voice that sounded different. It reminded
him of Daryl when he was trying to cover up his feelings. A sarcasm
that rang false, almost. Could her abrasiveness be an act? A way of
keeping people at a distance? Maybe she really did care about his
life. Their eyes locked for a second, then she looked away.

"It doesn't matter who likes or doesn't like me. If I can't write,
we die. I can't defeat her. She's right about that. God, why didn't I
learn like Duncan said to. None of this would have happened if I had
just done what I was supposed to."

Simon went over to put his arm around her in comfort. As soon as it
touched her shoulder, she moved away, rejecting the gesture. What a
piece of work she was. He turned his mind once more to figuring a way
out. Then the eyes of the punk from the station came back to haunt
him. Fear and bravado. She really was scared, but was refusing to
show it.

"We'll get out. Between my detectives and your friend, MacLeod,
they're sure to find us."

"You really think so?" An almost childlike expression of hope lit up
her face, but she sounded lost and uncertain. Then the look was gone
so fast he thought he might have imagined it.

"I can't expect Duncan to save me from my own mistakes. He has a
life and problems of his own."

"But, he's your friend. He won't give up. Neither of them will give
up 'til we're found."

"So, I write. That ought to give them some time to find us."

He nodded. She went back to the keyboard and produced some more
notes. He sat back down on the floor. 

"What's your quickening and how's she going to take it?"

Claudia looked up. "It's European slang for blood. She's going to
spill my blood."

That didn't make any sense. Manning definitely thought she was going
to take it, not spill it. His head started to pound again and his
stomach was churning. Sliding down the wall to a sitting position, he
rested his head in his hands. He'd have to make sense out of it after
they escaped. For now he had to concentrate on quelling the nausea so
he could think of a way to escape. Maybe he should rest. Then if
Ellison did arrive, he'd be alert and ready to help with his own
rescue. 

III

Jim, Blair and Duncan MacLeod walked into the bullpen. The noise was
deafening to the sentinel as they made their way to his desk. It
seemed that everyone was talking about Simon's kidnapping.

Cassie came running up to him. Jeez, the woman must have been lying
in wait. "I have the results on the blood analysis you wanted." She
flashed him an eager smile and Jim had to force himself not to take a
step backward.

"What did you find?"

She handed him a folder. "Nothing, actually. The blood type is 'O'
negative. No chemicals. The red blood cells were normal as were the
white cells. They didn't look like they had come in contact with
electricity or magnetic fields. I ran all the tests I could think of.
There's nothing in there that shouldn't be."

Jim pondered what she said. He knew what he smelled. The blood was
different. Cassie just didn't run the right tests. But, what *were*
the right tests?

Blair called out to him. "Hey, Jim, there's a note on your desk."

He snapped to attention. "What's it say?"

Blair opened it. "This is weird, man. It's like a business card."

Jim ripped it out of Blair's hand. "ReMax Realty. You ever heard of
it, Chief?"

"Yeah, it's that old Victorian mansion over in Glendale. The place
went out of business a few years ago. I had a student during my first
year whose mom worked there. She moaned and groaned for days about
how she wasn't able to go to spring break in Florida because of…"

"We should go," MacLeod interrupted.

Jim looked at him, puzzled.

MacLeod looked impatient. "That's where your captain and Claudia are
being held."

"How do you know?" Jim leaned into his personal space.

"I just do," came his enigmatic response.

Frustrated, Jim nodded and motioned for Blair to precede him out the
door.

"Jim, wait," Blair exclaimed. "If this is the place, we should take
back-up. At least Rafe and Henri."

Sandburg was right. He looked over at Rafe and went over to tell him
what was going on. On the way back, he happened to glance at
Fielding. The detective wasn't looking at him, but his heart was
going a little fast. As Jim got closer, his heartbeat increased.
Without meaning to, Jim glanced down and looked at his wrist. It bore
the same tattoo as the dead woman. Fielding started fidgeting in his
seat. Jim stopped in his tracks and stood there, staring at the
tattoo. 

Suddenly Blair grasped his arm. "Come on, man. Let's get going."

With a powerful stare into Fielding's eyes, Jim acquiesced and
followed Blair and the rest out the door. 

Henri pulled up behind Jim's truck. Jim put a pair of binoculars up
to his eyes, for show, and looked over the grounds. MacLeod was
standing next to him. Jim handed him the pair.

"I don't see anything. Do you?" Jim asked MacLeod.

"No, we're still too far away. I think the other two should go up to
the front door and ring the bell. You two," he pointed to Jim and
Blair, "should go around back." 

"And you?" Jim asked, a little put out over the man taking charge.

"I'm going to try a different entrance."

Jim didn't wholly trust MacLeod, he knew the other man was operating
on his own agenda. But the man did want Simon and Claudia Jardine
alive, so Jim buried his misgivings and okayed the suggestion.

"Come on, Chief." Jim took out his gun and led the way to the back
of the large house. They got to the back door and found it unlocked.
He put his finger up to his lips to keep Sandburg from talking.
Carefully, he opened the door and focused his eyes on the interior.
The place was clear. Blair followed him in with his hand on Jim's
shoulder. 

The back door opened into a hallway leading to the front of the
house. A kitchen of sorts was beyond the first door to the right.
Focusing his eyesight, he could make out a set of stairs starting
about 18 feet down the hallway, on the left. The first few steps
ended at a small landing, and then at a ninety degree turn, another
set of stairs led up. Anyone coming down the stairs would have their
backs to Jim. He walked a few more steps in, gradually turning up his
hearing. 

Aside from his and Blair's, he could hear six distinct heartbeats.
Then he heard the knock on the front door. Someone came tearing down
the stairs leaving a string of profanity in his wake. Jim flattened
himself against the wall, flinging his arm across Blair as a
protective measure. Taking tiny steps, he inched forward, toward the
staircase. They came to an open doorway. Jim slid forward and peered
inside. It was a den or library of sorts; deserted. He shook his head
at Blair and continued inching towards the stairs. 

"Do you hear anything?" Blair whispered.

"Rafe and Henri are at the front door. The man who came flying down
the stairs is sneaking out a side window."

"Think we should help them?"

"Naw, they can handle it. Let's go up the stairs. I can hear voices
up there."

"Simon's?"

"No, a woman, not Jardine. And possibly three others. I don't hear
MacLeod, Simon or Jardine."

They stopped talking and made their way towards the stairs once
more. Stepping warily, they started up. Jim turned to Blair. "I can
hear someone opening up a door." Jim froze for a second and then
continued up, gun ready, aiming for the top, Blair slightly behind
him as usual.

They got to the top and Jim carefully looked around the corner. A
long hallway greeted him with numerous doors, all closed. He listened
carefully and could make out footsteps coming toward them. He
stiffened in expectation. Suddenly a shot rang out. Jim clutched his
head and sank into a crouch on the top step. The pain the sound
caused was excruciating. 

"Turn the dials down, man," Blair urged, his whisper penetrating the
agony.

Jim looked around the corner, but couldn't find the origin of the
shot. Then came another. The bullet embedded into the wall behind
him. Now he had the trajectory. A flash of something moved down the
hall and through a door. He focused his hearing, praying that he
wouldn't get clobbered by another loud sound. One heartbeat. It
became a waiting game. Jim held his gun ready. A flash. Jim fired and
a man fell into the hall. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling
slowly as one, sentinel and guide went to the fallen man. The bullet
had pierced his lung. He was dead. Damn.

Jim stood, listening. One faint heartbeat could be heard. He
followed the sound. It seemed to be coming from another floor up.
Ascending to the third floor, he caught a faint whiff of cigar smoke.
He opened several doors, until he came to a locked one. Taking a few
steps back, he rushed and kicked in the door. Simon was lying on the
floor, alive, but with a nasty knock on the head. There was no sign
of the Jardine woman. Jim ran his hands over Simon, looking for other
injuries.

Then Simon opened his eyes. He swatted away Jim's hands.

"That woman hit me over the head with a keyboard."

"The woman who kidnapped you did this?"

"No!" he winced. "Jardine did it. We heard a little commotion
outside. Then Manning came running in the door. She was waving this
sword around saying that the Highlander was here, and she had
better…then Jardine came up behind me and hit me on the head with the
keyboard. Twice in one day. Do I have a sign on my head that says
'hit me'?"

Jim couldn't find any other injuries, so he helped Simon to his
feet. The captain swayed, but with Jim on one side and Blair on the
other, they were able to help him out of the room. Cautiously, they
made their way to the stairs. 

"Did you get the impression that Jardine was in cahoots with this
Manning woman?" Jim asked.

"No," Simon replied. "Claudia was positive that Manning intended to
kill her. She was defeated from the start."

"So why did she clonk you on the head?" asked Blair.

Simon shook his head, then went pale. "I need to sit." He slumped
down on the steps. Jim kept going over the scenario in his mind. It
didn't make sense. If Jardine knew she was going to die, why did she
knock Simon out? Why didn't she think that maybe, help was on its way
in a rescue attempt and that Simon would help her overpower Manning
so they could all escape?

"Need some help?" Rafe called up from the second floor landing. 

Simon and Blair were sitting on the top step. Jim went halfway down
the staircase. "Everything taken care of down there?" 

"We've got one man handcuffed to Henri's car, one man is dead in the
hall here." Rafe nodded towards the body. "I assume you took care of
that. There's another unconscious by the front door, he's cuffed,
too. No sign of anyone else."

"What about MacLeod, Jardine and the Manning woman?"

"Didn't see 'em."

They managed to get Simon down to the second floor. "Rafe, take care
of Simon. Sandburg and I are going to take another look around."

Jim hurried down the stairs with Blair close behind.

"Where do you think they are? We've got three missing people. Since
I didn't hear a car leave; they must be here somewhere." Jim was
puzzled.

"What about a hidden room? A secret tunnel? This *is* an old house,"
Blair reminded him.

Jim focused once more with his hearing. He filtered out his own and
Blair's heartbeats. Next he filtered out the other three. Faintly, he
heard three more. But they were far away… and down. A basement? Then
the sound was accompanied by a different, much louder noise. It was a
clanking he couldn't identify. Carefully, he concentrated harder. He
knew that this noise was a key to the puzzle.

Suddenly a large explosion rocked the house. Wave upon wave of noise
reverberated in his eardrums. Control, he had lost control. The world
around him was lost and only the pain remained. The pressure inside
the house seemed to drop, causing the inside of his head to throb. He
fought, and the more he fought, the harder it became to concentrate.

Comfort. A hand was running up and down his arm. He could feel that.
Centering his mind on the feeling, the noise quieted and Blair's
voice came through. The words had no meaning, but the timber and
rhythmic nature of them captured his mind. Turning the invisible
dials down, the pain receded. He sneezed. Plaster was falling from
the walls.

"Jim, we need a hand here!"

Rafe was calling from above. They still needed to get Simon down the
last flight of stairs. The house seemed to be falling down around
them. Jim, still a little shaky, but doing better, ran back up the
stairs and the three of them helped Simon down. It was hard to
believe that only moments had passed since they'd found Simon. Jim
took one side and Rafe the other, and they practically carried their
captain down the stairs and out the front door. Outside, Jim could
make out what looked like lightning arcing from inside the house to
the outside. It came from the back of the house and the front. Then
the windows imploded, sending flying shards of glass into the house.
Henri was busy dragging the unconscious man from the doorstep towards
the road.

"What do you think that is?" Blair asked in bewilderment. "A bomb?"

"I don't think so," Jim answered. "A bomb never would've cause a
pressure gradient that would make the windows blow like that."

They all stood gazing at the destruction. "Do you think Claudia,
Duncan and the other woman are stuck in there?" Blair asked, clearly
worried.

"We can't do anything now. After things settle down we'll get a team
to go through the rubble," Jim answered, trying to figure out the
best way to handle it.

"Can you hear any heartbeats?"

"No, the house settling is making too much noise."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Henri and Rafe were questioning the
suspect that they did have in custody, but he didn't appear to be
cooperating. Jim continued to look at the house, waiting for the
commotion to die down. 

As soon as he thought it was safe, Jim turned to his captain. "Sir,
I want to go back in there and look around." 

Simon opened his mouth, "Ellison, I …" and then he keeled over.

Henri had already called in for a medic, and as Simon collapsed, the
ambulance arrived. 

"Over here!" Jim barked at the paramedics. "We've got a man down."

With Simon in capable hands, Jim's attention returned to the house.
"Come on, Chief. Let's take a look around."

Henri stayed with Simon, while Rafe joined Jim and Blair for their
return trip into the house. The bomb squad had arrived, including
Taggart. Whatever had happened inside the house, had finished. A SWAT
team swarmed all the entrances, with the bomb squad close behind. Jim
and his friends went in the front door and began their own search.

"I don't believe that whatever happened here, happened upstairs."
Jim said, thinking aloud. 

Rafe added, "We were up there, and didn't see Miss Jardine, her
friend, or anyone else."

For the next hour Jim and the rest of the team scoured the building.
The upstairs contained some clothing and personal items, but nothing
that could identify the squatters. The basement held the most damage.
It was here that Jim could detect the origins of the electrical
discharge. But, how it had originated, he hadn't a clue. The walls
had been reduced to rubble and buried underneath, was a faint odor of
blood. 

"Find something?" Blair asked, looking over his shoulder.

He picked up a piece of drywall that contained the scent, and took a
deep whiff. "It's blood and one of the odors is identical to a
component in the blood that I removed from Miss Jardine's hotel room.
Except it's stronger here. It reminds me of a thunderstorm."

"Remember the lightning we saw come out of the house?" Blair
responded. "I bet that's what made the blood smell like that."

"Chief, there wasn't any lightning in the hotel room," Jim pointed
out. "I'll have forensics compare them."

Disappointed at the lack of clues inside the house, Jim decided to
call it a day. Duncan MacLeod, Claudia Jardine, and Alicia Manning
had disappeared. Simon had been taken to the hospital and he wanted
to see how his captain was doing. Then he'd go back to the department
and see if anything else had turned up. 

At nine o'clock that night, Simon was given a clean bill of health.
He had a minor concussion, no swelling or permanent damage. He was
told to take it easy, but he demanded that Jim take him to the
station first. Jim could tell that Simon needed to gather the ropes
of command. He had been cut off for too long. In the back of his
mind, Jim was hoping that Fielding would be there. He really wanted
to figure out what was going on with the whole Watcher thing and find
out who the hell Joe Dawson was.

After arriving, Simon walked directly to his office and closed the
door. Rafe was the only other detective in the bullpen. The three men
stood talking about the ordeal.

"Ellison?! What the hell is this?" Simon stood in his office
doorway, flashing a piece of paper.

Jim sighed and went to see what Simon was angry about now.

Simon started reading, "'I regret to inform you that due to
unforeseen family difficulties, I will not be able to continue as a
detective in your department. Please accept my resignation, effective
immediately, knowing that this will,' bla, bla, bla. Signed Hank
Fielding. What family difficulties? You know anything about this?"

Jim filled with anger. So, he flew the coop rather than make
explanations. Another loose end, never to be tied up. "He knew
something, Simon."

"What!?" Simon pushed him into the office and closed the door. "What
did he know?"

"I think he was the one who gave us the clue about your whereabouts.
We came in and Sandburg found a card on my desk with ReMax Realty on
it. MacLeod was positive that you were being held there. As we were
leaving, I happened to notice that Fielding's heartbeat was rapid and
he wouldn't look at me. I glanced at his wrist and he had a tattoo,
just like the dead woman we found."

"So, Fielding was a Watcher."

"Pardon me, Captain, but Fielding was not a historian, he was a
detective. How did *you* find out about them?"

"Manning mentioned them. Thought *I* was one because I knew her name."

"Now he's gone and we'll never know."

Simon nodded absently. Rafe and Blair joined them.

"Chief, I think it's time for us to go home. We'll handle the rest
of this mess tomorrow. Simon, you need me to drive you home?"

"I have my car in the garage," the captain replied.

"But are you okay enough to drive?"

Rafe chimed in. "I'll take him. You two can head out." 

Jim thanked him.

When they arrived at the loft, Jim immediately turned on the
television. He was curious to see if anything was mentioned about
Jardine's concert. The news concluded with the reporter standing
outside the Cascade Auditorium Theater. With a resigned shrug, he
waited to see how it was going to be covered. Would they mention the
kidnapping? It almost felt like a personal defeat that everything had
gotten so far out of hand. The news anchor began talking and the
camera panned to the inside of the Theater. People were filing out.

"Hey, man, turn it up!" Blair was sitting on the edge of the seat. 

"This is Nancy Halsted with KLX-TV at the Cascade Auditorium Theater
where Claudia Jardine has just wowed her audience with the most
spectacular show she's ever given. She came on stage despite rumors
that she had been kidnapped and even killed, and gave a performance
that was sensational. This reporter quoted her as saying that it was
a celebration of life. Her life. She started out playing…"

Jim shook his head in amazement. She was alive. They both had to be
alive or else she never would have gone up on stage. She would have
been hounding the police to find MacLeod, to do something. Then she
gave a concert just hours after being held hostage. A grim
determination replaced his tiredness. He needed to question her. 

"…she boarded a plane right after the concert and is headed for her
next concert dates in London. We all feel privileged to have
witnessed such a remarkable performance and hope her genius continues
and she will grace us with future concerts…"

"They've already left?! Can they do that, Jim? Don't they need to
give a statement or something?"

"Yes, they do."

The phone rang. Jim answered.

Simon barked on the phone. "I just got a call from the mayor
congratulating me on solving the case in such a timely fashion. I did
*not* like saying that I had no idea what he was talking about."

"It was just on the news," Jim responded.

"Miss Jardine called her manager at the mayor's, saying that the
concert was on and that the Cascade Police had done a wonderful job
protecting her. What the hell was I to say to that?"

"I don't know." Jim shook his head in disgust.

"Now, they're gone. Both boarded a plane for London right after the
concert. The case is over. Our job was to protect her so she could
perform. We did that and now she's safely on her way to London."

"Gocha, Captain."

Jim hung up the phone furious that they had slipped through his
fingers, not once, but now twice. First at the house, and now after
the concert. He repeated the conversation for Blair.

"Wish I knew what happened at the house," Blair thought out loud. "I
mean, Duncan goes in to try and rescue Claudia. We go in and find
Simon unconscious, but no Claudia inside that room. Who let her out?
Had to be Manning. Duncan would have rescued Simon too, if he'd seen
him. So, Manning makes Claudia go somewhere and Duncan meets up with
them and somehow saves her."

Jim gave an exaggerated yawn. "I don't want to think about it now.
I'm going to head up to bed. Night, Chief."

"Good-night Jim."

Several minutes later, Blair whispered, "You just don't like to
think that Duncan out-smarted you."

Upstairs, Jim clenched his teeth in frustration.

The next morning when Jim walked into the bullpen, he could see
Cassie hanging around. Fighting the temptation to turn around and
leave, he closed the door behind him and walked to his desk. Slinging
his coat over the back of his chair, he then looked at Cassie. She
was holding a file, which she placed in front of him. Her heart was
beating fast, and Jim could practically smell her nervousness.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone broke into forensics last night."

Jim gave a mocking laugh. "In a police station? Someone off the
streets just waltzed in and…" he left the sentence unfinished.

"They took the two blood samples you had requested analyses on and
almost all the documentation on what had been done."

He couldn't believe it. The only piece of evidence they had was now
missing. He shook his head in disgust. Then he remembered the word
'almost'. He picked up the file she had put on his desk and opened
it. Inside was spectral analysis of sample one. 

"I have this friend in the chemistry department at Stanford and
asked him to run it for me. As for the second sample that was brought
in last night, I ran some preliminary tests last night and then went
home."

"What did you find?"

"The blood from last night was 'O' negative, like the first, but
this time I found traces of red blood cells which had been damaged by
burning, or something like that. I don't know if the two samples were
from the same person or not." She looked at him sheepishly.

"They took the paperwork too?"

"All my files were gone. I had three folders on my desk with data,
and they were all missing. I sent a small sample down to my friend,
which he used in his test. When I got into work this morning, his
results were in the mail, so the thief didn't know about them."

"Thank you, Cassie," he dismissed her tiredly. Nothing had gone
right in this case. Now, any evidence he had that proved that
something else was going on behind the scenes with Duncan MacLeod,
Claudia Jardine, and Alicia Manning, had disappeared. As he thought
about it, Jim became convinced that Hank Fielding was the one
responsible for the theft. It had to be an inside job, and he was the
only one who had a suspicious tie-in with the case.

"Ellison! My office!" Simon Banks yelled. 

Jim shoved the spectral analysis and all his other unanswered
questions about Claudia Jardine and her friend Duncan MacLeod aside.
He'd have to get back to them another day. Simon had another case for
him.

The End