Apparent Impropriety

By Wesa

AU: Immortal Witches' Chronicles

Crossover with Law and Order

Disclaimers: All things Highlander belong to Gregory Widen and Rysher - Panzer/Davis. All things L&O belong to Wolf Films and now I guess to TNT. The idea of a group of Immortal witches belongs to Claudia Aranda. Wesa belongs to me (big surprise).

Category: Adventure/Romance/Angst

Rating: R

Notes: Many thanks to beta-readers Jen and Claudia for their assistance. I don't speak Spanish, and I desperately needed Claudia's help with that. Translations of the Spanish phrases follow the story. Jen's suggestions for improving the storyline were invaluable. Thanks, Sisters!

By Wesa.

Wesa staggered to her feet after the quickening, casting only the most cursory glance around the squalid alleyway where the stranger had challenged her. Serves me right for taking the shortcut home after dark; I should know better, she thought. She hadn't even gotten his name. He'd spoken English with a British inflection, but that meant little. Half the world had learned English from the people who originated the language.

In the near silence after the electrical discharges, a cat gave an anxious yowl. A man's voice demanded to know what was going on. In the distance Wesa heard a siren. Her clothes were filthy and bloodstained. She wouldn't be able to play innocent if she were caught. She looked around for a way to avoid the police.

The quickening had broken most of the streetlamps that gave any light into the alley, and all of the few windows that overlooked it. But there was a fire escape. She slipped her rapier back into her coat, then ran and leaped to catch hold of the ladder.

She was just climbing over onto the roof when the first police car arrived. She didn't pause to eavesdrop, but made her way across the rooftops to the next street, then found another fire escape and dropped down onto it. She made more noise than she would have liked, and a woman called out, "Who's there?" Wesa hurried down the metal staircase as fast as she could, and dropped to the sidewalk below, catching herself on all fours. Then she cut across the street to the next block, made a hard right and headed up the alley. She couldn't help being seen. If she were very lucky no one would remember her, or wouldn't talk to the police, or would at least give a really poor description.

***************

"Anybody see anything?" Detective Lenny Briscoe asked as he got out of his car at the crime scene.

One of the uniformed cops consulted his notebook. "A Mr. Desner heard a lot of noise outside his window. He was unhappy about it because it interfered with 'Seinfeld.' Then he heard a woman scream, and his window exploded."

"'Exploded?'" repeated Rey Curtis, Briscoe's partner.

"And Mrs. Asakowicz in 614b, on the street side of the building, said there was a peeping tom on the fire escape outside her window, but that the sirens must have scared him off."

Briscoe looked around, then yelled and pointed. "Larry! Dust the ladder on the fire escape for prints."

Rey Curtis hunched his lanky frame down close to the corpse, carefully not touching anything, angling to get a better view of the wound. "Look at this, Lenny. How do you suppose the cut was made so clean?"

"Better question, why isn't there more blood around here? That has to have bled like a sonofabitch, but there's only a little, here and there." Lenny Briscoe gestured to the scattered forensic technicians, gathering evidence from the shambles.

"Detectives? Over here!"

"What've you got?" Briscoe asked as he and his partner joined the technician who had called them.

The man gestured to where he had discovered a weapon that could have been responsible for the injury to the corpse.

"A sword!" Curtis exclaimed.

"Guess now we know how he lost his head," Briscoe observed dryly.

"You know, I remember something about some headhunter murders when I was at the academy. Maybe the guy got out on parole."

"Yeah, I remember that. They found a sword next to the body in the parking garage at the Garden, too. It wasn't the murder weapon, though. And they didn't stop with that one. There was a similar murder over in Jersey the week before, and two more here after the one at the Garden. The prime suspect was an antiques dealer named Nash, but nothing was ever concrete enough to arrest him. He left for Scotland a few days after the last body was found."

Curtis turned to his partner. "Maybe he's back."

Briscoe closed his notebook. "Let's go check the antiques store first thing tomorrow. By the time we've done that we should have a match on some prints."

***************

Wesa scowled and kicked her washing machine in frustration. The damn thing picked now to refuse to work? Sure she could destroy her bloodstained clothes as she had the damaged ones, but she hated to waste them, and anyway, she didn't have to; there were laundry facilities in the basement. They were meant for the apartments that didn't have washer/dryer hookups, but Wesa didn't imagine anyone would object to her availing herself of them just this one time. She pulled her clothes out of the washing machine, returned them to the laundry basket, grabbed her keys, and then headed to the basement.

When she arrived, there was only one other person in the laundry room, a man she had seen before, riding his motorcycle into or out of the parking garage. She'd noticed him because she liked his long, lean frame and the way his jeans clung to his ass, especially as he was mounting or dismounting the bike. He was in his fifties, and what had probably once been the chiseled lines of his face now made him look haggard and tired; the nose that had been aquiline in his twenties was now more hawk-shaped. His hair was graying. His lips were thinning. He was showing his age.

Wesa thought he was beautiful.

He looked up from the file he was studying as she entered, nodded to her, and went back to his reading.

Wesa loaded her clothes into a washer, turned it on, and settled back to wait, choosing a chair that gave her a good view of the stranger's profile. Damn, it was as fine as Methos'. She smiled to herself, letting her eyes travel down his body along the lean torso and lingering on the tight ass and strong thighs as he stood up.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

Jolted from her admiration by the light baritone, Wesa looked up and found the sharp blue eyes focused on her. Suddenly she felt like a bird hypnotized by a snake. She couldn't look away, nor did she want to. Stammering, she finally managed, "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to stare."

A slow grin spread across his face. "I have a lot of experience determining when people are being less than truthful, Miss. You did mean to stare. The question is: why?"

Wesa returned his smile, feeling her cheeks - and other parts of her body - grow warm. She shrugged, managing to drop her eyes away from his, but feeling them pulled unaccountably back. "I admit it," she said in a low voice, "I know a nice backside when I see one."

That surprised him. He raised his rather heavy brows, and then looked down over his shoulder as if trying to see his own butt. "Oh."

Wesa giggled. She hadn't been innocent enough to giggle since she was fifteen. She couldn't believe the sound came from her own throat, and clapped one hand over her mouth to stop the embarrassing utterance. When she had regained control, she told him, "I don't think your head will turn that far."

This time the grin that spread across his face was anything but slow. He smiled at her in delight. "Do you live in the building?" he asked. "I don't think I've seen you before."

"I've seen you," she told him. "I don't suppose a blonde in a red convertible is as unusual a sight as an attractively filled pair of jeans astride a motorcycle."

"Depends who's looking, I suppose."

"And who's in the jeans."

He crossed the room and stuck out his hand to her. "I'm Jack McCoy."

"Wesa Hill," she replied, shaking his hand. She recognized her own physical reactions well enough to be prepared for the jolt of touching him, and when it came, she knew there was no question. She had to have him.

She could see there would be problems, age being the most obvious one. He was in his fifties; she looked barely into her twenties. Somewhere a little corner of her mind wondered about that: she had died at nineteen. Had the more difficult conditions of life when she was young aged her more quickly, or did the chemicals, better nutrition, and better conditions of life today keep people young longer? Whatever it was, it worked to her benefit, and she was grateful, as Jack sat down beside her and began to make small talk.

"There's usually no one down here on Friday nights," he said. "I bring a file or two down and study them. It's nice to have someone to talk to for a change."

"What do you do?" Wesa asked.

He shot her a surprised look, as if he thought she should have known, and Wesa wondered if she had made an error already. "I'm the Executive Assistant District Attorney," he said.

"Oh." Oops. This man could be very dangerous to an Immortal. No. She wouldn't let that interfere. "That must be very interesting - but quite frustrating, sometimes," she said. "Do you find it so?"

"Sometimes," he admitted, "but there are moments of great satisfaction as well."

She nodded. "It must make you feel good to take a criminal off the streets."

"What do you do?"

"I'm... between occupations at the moment," Wesa hedged. "I'm thinking of going back to school for a few years, but I haven't decided what field to go into yet. Don't suggest Law," she warned. "I can manage maths and sciences okay - one plus one is always two, and one oxygen atom and two hydrogen atoms are always a water molecule. The law changes, and not just at the rate of new discoveries. It changes daily, and it can change backward, back to what it was before. I couldn't keep up with it. I don't know how you do it."

He smiled again, that wonderful, electric smile. "That's why I bring files to study while I do laundry."

"And what do you do for relaxation?" she asked.

"I ride my motorcycle," he replied.

There was her opening. She barely missed a beat. "Ever take any passengers?"

***************

"Mr. Nash? Yes, he sends me postcards from time to time," replied the woman who ran the store in its owner's absence. Her name was Rachel, and she kept looking at Briscoe, smiling, and nervously pushing her blonde hair behind her right ear. "The last time I heard from him, he was in China. He thought he had a line on a 9^th century Imperial map."

"Worth a lot of money, I suppose."

"If he should actually find it, and verify its authenticity, it would be almost priceless. But it's probably a copy, worth maybe $5000."

Curtis turned from his casual perusal of the goods offered for sale. "I expected to see some medieval stuff - shields and armor. Don't you sell any of that?"

"No, Mr. Nash doesn't deal in weapons."

"No muskets or swords or anything?"

Rachel cocked her head to one side, frowning suspiciously. "What's all this about? Are you people still trying to arrest him for those murders in the eighties? They couldn't frame him then. Why are you even still trying?" Her voice rose angrily.

"Whoa, whoa, Rachel," Briscoe tried to calm her. "Easy. Nobody's trying to frame anyone. We don't want him if he's not responsible for the murder we're investigating. The murders were similar, and he was a suspect before. It was a place to start. That's all."

"If he's in China, he couldn't very well have killed a man here in New York last night anyway," Curtis added. "So we're back to square one."

They thanked Rachel for her help and left the shop, pausing just outside the door. "So much for leaps of intuition," Briscoe said. "All right, we do it by the numbers. Let's find out who the victim was."

***************

Wesa clung close to the lean, strong back in front of her. Even through the leather jacket, despite the wind ripping through her hair, she could smell him. He smelled of soap and deodorant and understated cologne, but under it all there was a scent that was purely Jack McCoy. She preferred that smell over the others, and wished he wore only his own natural scent. One day soon, she promised herself, she would get him into her shower and get all that artificial stuff off of him. And make him enjoy it.

But that was for later. Today... Wesa tightened her arms around his waist, pressed her feet against the foot pegs and levered herself forward to wrap her thighs closer around his butt and press her breasts into his back. Feeling his muscles harden under her hands, she smiled and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. She knew she wasn't being subtle, but with Jack already in his mid-fifties, she didn't feel she had a lot of time to waste.

He slowed down and exited the interstate. They went through a large suburb, then a smaller one. He slowed further and turned again. Another ten minutes and they were in the trees, then a picnicking area with a campground. Jack pulled into a spot behind a pizza delivery truck.

"Mr. McCoy?" the other driver asked.

Jack signed the charge slip and gave the driver an extra five dollars for waiting. He took the pizza box and turned to look at Wesa where she still stood beside the motorcycle, unable to keep a silly grin off her face. "I hope you like pepperoni," he said.

"I love pepperoni," she told him, and followed him to the picnic table.

Twilight was falling as they returned to the city, and they made a side trip to Brooklyn Heights to watch the sunset fade behind the Manhattan skyline while lights began to twinkle in the buildings themselves. As they looked west across the River, Jack stood close behind Wesa's shoulder, not quite touching her, and she was irresistibly reminded again of Methos, and the long nights they'd spent watching the stars while the witches were riding with the Horsemen. Jack didn't say much either, didn't touch her waist, didn't even hold her hand. His restraint only served to make her more aware of him.

"It was fun," she told him when he walked her to her door. "I hope you'll ask me again sometime."

"You can bet on it," he replied as she put her key in the lock and opened her door.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, a little surprised when he took that for an invitation and stepped inside.

He gave a long, low whistle as he looked around. "Nice place. The animal rights people give you a hard time?"

Wesa had intended to redecorate in a more sedate style before he saw her apartment; now she had to go with it. "Not lately. These are all leftovers from my callow youth," she replied, indicating the fur-draped lounging area with its many pillows. That was nearer the truth than she liked, too; she'd been daydreaming about the Horsemen's camp when she decorated her apartment, and it showed in the furs and leathers she'd used with abandon, and in wall draperies reminiscent of the tents they had used. "What does 'callow' mean, anyway?" She went to the bar and got out glasses. "Drink?"

"It means inexperienced," he replied. "Yes, please. Vodka. Are you old enough to drink?"

Wesa gave him a swift glance. "Aren't you sweet! Ice?"

"Please." He watched as she slowly poured his drink. "You didn't answer my question: are you of age?"

"Going to arrest me for having alcohol in my apartment?" she teased, pouring sloe gin over ice for herself. She brought both glasses over to the fur-piled sofa. They both sat down, close, but not quite touching.

"No, I was wondering if the cradle-robbing I was considering would get me in trouble with the law, or just Mrs. Grundy."

His phrasing caught Wesa off-guard, and she swallowed more of her drink than she intended. "Cradle-robbing? You move fast, sir! Who's Mrs. Grundy?"

He smiled in mild confusion at her ignorance. "They're just idioms, Wesa. How does it happen you don't know them?"

She spread her hands, careful not to spill her drink. "I've spoken English for many years, but I'm still finding there are things I don't know about the language."

"It's not your first language?"

"Nor my second," she told him solemnly, her eyes on his over the rim of her glass. "I'm not an American, Jack."

"No? I thought I detected a trace of an accent. Where are you from?"

"Well, I was born in Finland, I assume, but I've lived all over the world."

"You assume?"

"I was a foundling, adopted."

"Oh. Your adoptive parents do a lot of traveling?"

"They're dead."

"I'm very sorry, Wesa."

"It's all right. You didn't know. It was a while ago, anyway." They fell silent for a moment, sipping their drinks. At last Wesa broke the uncomfortable moment. "My aunt looked after me for a few years, but I've been on my own for some time now. What about you? Are your parents still alive?"

He shook his head. "My father died more than ten years ago, my mother a little more than five." He finished his glass of vodka, and declined when Wesa offered him another. "I should go. You're probably tired."

He got to his feet, and Wesa rose beside him, following him to her door. "Jack," she said, catching at his hand. He turned to look down at her. "I refuse to let such a lovely day end on a down note," she told him.

His mouth curved to one side. "What did you have in mind?"

She took his jacket out of his hand and hung it on the doorknob, then reached up to grip his shirt just below the shoulders in both hands and pull him down to her. "You'll probably think I'm fast," she murmured softly, and pressed her lips to his.

Jack hesitated a moment, surprised, then relaxed and kissed back, wrapping his arms around her. Wesa released her grip on his shirt and slid her hands up over his shoulders and around his neck. After a few moments spent exploring each other's mouths, he drew back. "I'd better get home," he murmured uncertainly.

Wesa had issued her invitation. She let him go to consider his answer. "See you around sometime?" she whispered, her tongue flicking lightly over her lips as she savored his kiss.

He nodded. "I'll call you tomorrow," he promised.

***************

"Prints on the sword match the victim's, Ell-Tee," Curtis told Lt. Van Buren. "Nicholas Trevino, supposedly dead since 1990, killed in a mob hit."

"I guess he's dead for real this time. Was he in Witness Protection or something?" Anita Van Buren asked.

"The Feds say no," Briscoe replied.

"What about the prints they found on the fire escape?"

"Nothing in the system, but they're smaller than most adult men's. Probably a teenager or a small man," Curtis guessed.

"Your Mr. Desner said he heard a woman scream," Van Buren mused. "Maybe a witness? See if you can pick up any leads on her. What about the electricity?"

"Con-Ed has no explanation for the electrical discharges. Unless we find that witness, our case is dead in the water."

"Until there's another beheading," Van Buren observed dryly.

***************

Wesa walked the halls of One Hogan Place, feeling incredibly sexy. Her clothes didn't advertise it; she wore dark blue linen slacks and a matching blazer with a white blouse and low pumps. She didn't wear a bra. She could feel her nipples brushing against the silk of her blouse as her breasts jiggled with each step. She was meeting Jack for lunch. She was looking forward to it, and it showed in her bearing and in the gleam in her eyes. She looked like sex on wheels and she knew it.

She opened the door into the District Attorney's offices and strolled confidently toward the Executive ADA's suite. She knew that half of the men in the offices were looking at her, but she didn't care. She reached the door and paused, watching through the glass while Jack conferred with a tall dark-haired woman. He'd rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, and there was a sparkle of intensity in his eyes that Wesa liked. After a moment he looked up and saw her.

She smiled and opened the door. "Am I too early?"

"Not at all," he replied. "Wesa Hill, Jamie Ross."

As the two women greeted each other somewhat cautiously, sizing each other up, another door opened and an older man, balding and hunch-shouldered, entered. "Any progress on the Trevino case?" he asked, glancing at Wesa curiously.

"The police don't even have a suspect yet," Jamie replied.

"Adam, I'm glad you're here. There's someone I want you to meet." Jack put his hand on Wesa's back and guided her over to him. "Wesa Hill, this is Adam Schiff, the District Attorney."

"Hello, Mr. Schiff," Wesa said, shaking his hand. "Jack's told me a lot about you."

Both Schiff and Jamie were looking from Wesa to Jack with questions in their eyes. Wesa smiled mischievously and put her hand on Jack's arm. "Come on, don't torture them," she chuckled.

Jack grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Seems we both have the same late night laundry habits," he said, rolling his sleeves down and reaching for his jacket. "Unless there's something pressing, Wesa's taking me to lunch."

Schiff's eyebrows rose toward his bald head, and it was plain he thought 'lunch' was a euphemism. Though he stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes twinkled as he gave his blessing. "Have a good time."

"Oh, we will. We will," Wesa assured them as Jack escorted her swiftly out the door.

Until they were alone, Wesa contented herself with small talk, but when the elevator doors closed, she told Jack, "Mr. Schiff thinks we're lovers."

"Adam? Adam wouldn't make an assumption like that."

Wesa nearly laughed aloud in her delight. Jack was an amazing man; how could he combine the nasty, suspicious mind necessary to do his job with the wonderful naiveté he managed to express with little more than his eyebrows? "No? Then I wonder what he thought we were going to do. You told them nothing about me except that I do my laundry late at night. And I saw the expression in his eyes. He thinks we're lovers, and he approves."

"You don't seem upset about it."

"Upset?" she repeated as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. "Why would I be upset? The only thing to be upset about is that he isn't right...yet." She left him standing thunderstruck as she exited the elevator car.

Only when the doors started to close did Jack move, twisting sideways to avoid them. He found Wesa standing by the building's front doors, her eyes briefly locked with those of a man passing by on the street. When Jack asked her if she knew him, she shook her head, seeming to shake off a shadow, and then she smiled at him as sunnily as before. "Come on. I know a great little bistro about six blocks from here." She took his arm and drew him outside and down the sidewalk.

***************

When they returned from lunch, Wesa went into Jack's office with him for a few moments, disregarding the half-wall of windows facing onto the corridor and kissing him on the mouth in full view of anyone who might be looking. "Call me when you get home," she suggested. "Or just come up. We'll have a drink...or something."

"Or something?" he repeated, still holding her gently.

She smiled coyly. "Perhaps it's time to make Adam correct, Jack. Think about it. I'll see you tonight." She kissed him again, chastely this time, and left, pausing only a second to look back at him through the glass before she walked down the corridor and out of the building.

Jack had almost caught his breath when Jamie entered. "Did Miss Hill have to get back to school?" she asked.

He wasn't fooled by the sweet tone of her voice. "She's of age, Jamie," he said. "There's no reason to make snide comments."

"Are you sure?"

"I got a look at her driver's license. She's 23."

Jamie sighed impatiently. "Jack, you're old enough to be her father."

He shook his head, smiling in bemusement. "I know. I don't understand it. But she's making all the first moves."

"You met in the laundry room?"

"Her washing machine wasn't working." He took off his jacket and hung it up.

"And?"

He moved over behind his desk, rolling up his sleeves. "We talked. About work, about motorcycles. Next thing I know, I'm asking if she'd like to go for a ride in the country on my bike with me. She said yes."

"And?" She crossed her arms, tapping one toe slowly.

"We went upstate, we had pizza, we came back, we watched the sunset, we went to her apartment and had a drink, and I got up to leave. She kissed me."

"And you didn't leave." Jamie nodded.

"I'm not that easy, Ms. Ross." Jack put on an affronted tone, but he was grinning. "I called her the next day. She's three floors up, and we talked on the phone all that afternoon. Before we said goodnight last night, she asked what time she could pick me up for lunch today." He paused, waiting for her next comment. When it didn't come, he added, "I told Wesa Mrs. Grundy wouldn't approve." He laughed softly. "She hadn't a clue what I meant. She speaks English pretty well, but some idioms throw her for a loop."

"Why?"

"She's not an American. English isn't her native language."

"Jack," Jamie argued, "she's twenty-three. You're thirty years older than she is. Don't tell me she can't find someone her own age to be with. What does she want from you?"

"Maybe she has a thing for older men," he suggested.

"Maybe she needs a way to stay in the country. Maybe she has a boyfriend coming up on trial," Jamie retorted.

****************

Jamie's suspicions notwithstanding, Jack took Wesa to dinner that night. The mood was intimate, the food Italian. The restaurant was dimly lit, even with a candle on each table. Wesa was living, breathing temptation in a dark blue dress that just matched her eyes, right down to the sparkle shot through the fabric with silver thread. He felt himself slipping, but his assistant's words nagged at him just the same, and eventually he asked her about it. "What do you want, Wesa?" Jack asked.

She looked up from her scampi, startled by the question, and put down her fork, spreading her hands on either side of her plate. "Nothing more than what I have," she said. "Do I look especially hungry?"

He laughed shortly and shook his head. "No, I meant from me. What do you want from me?"

She gazed at him across their table, over the red tablecloth and flickering candle. "What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head.

"You're young, beautiful. What do you want from a beat-up old lawyer?"

She chuckled. "A beat-up middle-aged lawyer, Jack," she corrected. She looked back down at her plate, twirling her fork in her pasta as she considered how to answer. One corner of her mouth lifted as she cast a glance around, then she leaned forward, well aware that doing so gave him an unobstructed view down her décolletage. "Sex," she whispered, looking him straight in the eyes. "Lots and lots of sex."

***************

They returned to Wesa's apartment, where she took his hands and drew him back toward her bedroom. He followed cautiously, her assertiveness a new experience for him. He liked it.

Stepping into the bedroom was like stepping into another world. In contrast to the wildness of her living room, her bedroom was serene, feminine without being frilly in white, lavender, and purple. Jack barely noticed, intent on the woman before him. She released his hands and reached to remove his tie. "Take off your jacket," she instructed softly.

He slipped the jacket off quickly. "Now you," he encouraged her.

Wesa grinned. "I'm only wearing three things, Jack. If we take turns, I'll be naked and you'll still be fully dressed." She shook her head. "I want to watch you get hard." She unbuttoned his shirt slowly.

"Too late." He reached around her and unfastened his cuffs himself as she pulled his shirttails from his slacks and pushed the shirt back off of his shoulders.

"Aw, darn," she whispered. She pulled his undershirt out of his slacks and off over his head, sighing and wetting her lips when his chest and abdomen were revealed. "Oh, that's nice." She tossed the undershirt aside.

"Glad you like it." He toed his shoes off as Wesa unfastened his slacks. Pushing them down around his knees, she paused and trailed her tongue along his belly at the upper edge of his boxers. Her hands caressed the backs of his thighs as she nipped along the path her tongue had just traced. He moaned softly in anticipation.

Sometime around midnight, Jack leaned over Wesa, drawing one fingertip from the red scar under her collarbone over the firm swell of flesh to her nipple. She stirred languorously and opened her eyes, looking up at him with a pleased smile. "Careful," she murmured. "You could find yourself with more on your hands than you can handle."

"May I always be in such danger," he replied, "but I should go home."

"Stay," she protested. "You don't have to work early tomorrow."

"It's my turn to be on call for emergencies tonight." He kissed her in apology.

"You have your cell phone, don't you? They'll call you there." She ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and into his hair. "Don't leave me alone after that. Please."

He moistened his lips with his tongue, then turned over and reached for his jacket. He got his cell phone out, then paused and looked at her. "I don't have another condom, Wesa. I really should go home."

"Nightstand drawer," she told him.

He opened the drawer and pulled out a small box. "Girl Scout?"

"Hardly. But I didn't know if you carried any." She smiled. "So...will you stay then?"

***************

"So you've got nothing?" Jamie asked Van Buren, in her office to see how the investigation was progressing after a week.

"We haven't found anyone to identify the woman running from the scene. We assume they were her fingerprints on the fire escape, but they don't match up to anything in the system."

"You think she might be a witness?"

"Or maybe she did it." Van Buren poured Jamie a fresh cup of coffee. "But where are we going to find a blonde woman 20 to 25 years old, 5'6", 120, and carrying a sword?"

Jamie laughed shortly. "Except for the sword, that description even applies to Jack's new girlfriend."

"Jack McCoy?" Van Buren raised her eyebrows. "And a girl that young sees what in him?"

Jamie shrugged. "I wondered that too, but Jack isn't the kind of man who's easily fooled, not for long. And he's happier than I've ever seen him. She comes by the office on days when we're not at trial and takes him to lunch - or brings it in."

"She cooks for him?" Van Buren rolled her eyes. "What, she heard the way to a man's heart is though his stomach?"

Jamie laughed softly. "She brings enough for four, and no, she doesn't cook it herself. She told me she has a kitchen phobia. Said she could cook if she had to, she just didn't have to. Jack not only found himself a young girlfriend, he found himself a rich young girlfriend."

"Rich?"

"I know tailored clothing when I see it. The girl doesn't own anything she bought off a rack."

"But you don't trust her."

"Not entirely, no." Jamie put her cup down, thoughtfully chewing her upper lip. "She's nice enough; in fact she's almost too good to be true, aside from not being an American citizen."

"She's not an American? Where's she from?"

"I'm not sure. Scandinavia somewhere, judging by her skin tone. But I could even forgive her for perfect skin, if she was 35 or 40 years old." Jamie sighed. "I'm being bitchy and I know it. Maybe she just has a thing for older men, like Anna Nicole Smith, only smarter."

"Hey, the woman has 25 million dollars," Van Buren objected. "Let's don't be calling her stupid."

***************

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Wesa thought to herself in disgust, diving past her opponent to get behind him and keep him off-balance. If only she had left the auction on time. If only she hadn't stopped for ice cream. If only she had called a cab instead of walking home in the dark of the summer night. Now here she was again, fighting an inexperienced youngster in a back street, faced with the choice to kill or be killed while a quart of Rocky Road melted on the sidewalk. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? "I don't want to kill you," she told him through clenched teeth.

"Fine, put down your sword. I'll make it quick." He slashed at her viciously.

Wesa twisted aside, getting inside his sword arm and then behind him again, but this time she brought her blade up under his throat. "Drop your sword," she murmured into the sudden stillness. "Walk away."

He nodded and dropped his sword. Wesa lowered hers and gave him a shove down the street. "Go home," she told him. "Live. Grow stronger. Fight another day. We don't always have to kill." She turned away then, aware she had given him the best advice he had heard in all of his short Immortal life, and knowing it was to no avail whatsoever. She heard the scrape as he picked up his sword and knew he was making a rush at her. She turned and slid her sword easily through his belly and out his back. "Why?" she asked. "Just why?"

"Because there can be only one!" he grated out.

Wesa sighed. "If so, that one will not be you," she told him regretfully. She withdrew her sword from his belly. He staggered back, then came at her again, but now he was off-balance. She stepped aside, letting his lunge take him past, and brought down her sword.

The quickening almost wasn't worth it, so young was her challenger. Then as Wesa caught her breath and raised her head, she heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights. She turned and ran, slipping her sword back into her coat even as she wove back and forth through the thin crowd of curious neighbors who had emerged from their houses to see what was going on. Behind her, someone screamed; the body had been found. "She went that way!" yelled someone else.

Oh crap.

***************

When they got the report of a swordfight in progress, Briscoe and Curtis were already just four blocks away, and were on the scene within seconds after the freak electrical display. When a bystander was able to point out the direction the woman went, Curtis headed after her on foot while Briscoe briefly directed an arriving uniformed officer to secure the crime scene. Assured he would be keeping the crowd back, Briscoe climbed back into his car and followed his partner.

When Briscoe caught up, Curtis was showing his badge to a middle aged woman walking her dog. The woman nodded and pointed, and Curtis joined Briscoe in the car. By questioning people out on the street this way, they were able to follow her for nearly ten blocks before they actually saw a woman entering a building ahead of them, her disarrayed blonde hair catching the glow from the lighted vestibule.

Briscoe and Curtis looked at each other and got out of the car together.

***************

The doorman looked at Wesa curiously as she passed, but she ignored him. She took the elevator to her floor and made her way to her apartment, letting herself in quickly.

There were three messages on her answering machine, all from Jack, and she listened to them as she got undressed.

"Wesa, it's me. I'm home. I want to see you tonight. Come down when you get in."

"Wesa? It's getting late. Is everything okay?"

She could imagine him coming to her door and knocking, calling out to her, rattling the doorknob.

"Wesa? Are you mad at me? Pick up if you're there... Okay, well... Call me when you get in, no matter what time it is."

He sounded worried. Wesa glanced at the clock on the mantle; almost an hour since his last call. She reached for the phone, then hesitated. It was late, he might be sleeping. But he'd asked her to call. She made up her mind and dialed his number. "Hi," she said softly when he answered. "Sorry I'm so late. I got hung up."

"Just as long as you're all right. I was about to call the police."

"You don't need to worry about me, lover," she assured him. "Listen, I'd like to see you tonight. Let me run through the shower, and I'll be right down."

He laughed at her phrasing. "I've seen your shower. It's decadent. Enjoy it; I'll come up."

Wesa smiled. "I'll leave the door unlocked. Be ready for me when I get out. I want you."

******************

The detectives flashed their badges at the doorman as they entered. He didn't have a passkey, but he called the building manager, who did.

******************

"Hey," Wesa purred, moving into Jack's arms happily.

He pulled her towel away and tossed it aside, trying to growl sexily. He failed miserably, and they fell onto the bed, laughing and kissing.

Jack nudged Wesa over onto her back, his hand covering the small of her back and pressing her closer to him. Wesa murmured happily and wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders and neck. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Jack, now!"

He liked it when she was so eager for him. He kissed her again while he fished a condom out of the nightstand drawer. He opened the foil packet and rolled the sheath onto his rapidly stiffening flesh, then reached around the curve of her rump and spread her folds. He moaned softly as he pressed into her. "God, you're so hot."

"Burning up." She nibbled at his lips, his chin, his ear. Her arms moved around his back and she put her feet flat on the mattress for leverage. In moments she was whimpering softly, squirming, and trying to pull him closer. "I need you... Please, I want you now..." She jumped and caught her breath sharply as he pulled out and pushed back in, rubbing along the sensitive nub of flesh that strained toward him. She writhed under his slow, gentle assault, moaning happily.

***************

The apartment manager retreated to the elevator and went back downstairs as soon as he had used his passkey to unlock Wesa's apartment door for the detectives. Both men readied themselves, holding their weapons with the barrels pointed straight up. Briscoe reached carefully and twisted the knob, easing the door open a crack. There was no reaction from inside.

Briscoe and Curtis looked at each other, then went into the apartment, quietly, carefully, looking around at the furs on the furniture and the swords displayed on the walls. They exchanged glances again as a long whimpering moan came from a door to their right. They approached it carefully, almost silently.

Another moan, no, two, a man as well as a woman. Curtis kicked the door open. "Police! Stay where you are!"

Two startled faces looked up at the detectives. One was their suspect. The other was the Executive Assistant District Attorney.

***************

The room on the other side of the window was dark, and she couldn't see through it, so Wesa looked at the other women in the lineup. They didn't bear much resemblance to her. All of them were much younger, of course, but four of the five looked older, in their mid to late twenties or even early thirties, instead of their early twenties. The single teenager, who was probably around 18, wore gang tattoos on her bare arms and had one eyebrow pierced three times. Three were probably hookers, judging by the way they dressed. The fifth woman dressed more conservatively, but she was easily three inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier than Wesa.

This was supposed to be a fair lineup? Assuming the witness on the other side of the window had actually seen her, there was no way he could mistake any of the other women for the one who had left the scene of the crime.

After only a few moments, Detective Curtis entered and ushered all the women back out of the little room. While he handcuffed Wesa, other detectives or officers took charge of all but the conservatively dressed woman, who walked away on her own; she must be a cop herself. "I guess he picked me, huh?" she asked.

He snorted, not amused by her flippant attitude, then escorted her to the interrogation room where Briscoe waited, an assortment of swords laid out in front of him. She glanced down at her manacled wrists, then at the blades on the table. "I hope you're taking good care of those," she said. "They're worth a lot of money."

"Our forensics team will take the utmost care with them," Briscoe assured her with a smile. "Are they going to find blood on any of these?"

His smile didn't fool her. "There's probably blood on all of them, detective," she replied. "They're not reproductions. Those swords were used in battle."

"Fresh blood," he amended.

Wesa hesitated, blinking. "They can tell the difference?"

"Which one did you use?" Curtis asked shortly.

She looked at him blankly. "For what?"

The detectives both fell silent for a moment, then Briscoe tried another tack. "The guy had a sword, too, didn't he? You were dueling - what's it called? - fencing, right? Maybe he got carried away, actually tried to hurt you, and you defended yourself."

Wesa rolled her eyes. "Are you crazy? Fight a guy with a sword? Do I look like I have a death wish? And besides, I just met Jack a couple of weeks ago. I don't know yet where the relationship is going, but I want it to last a while. It'll be real short if I go around getting into fights with guys carrying swords."

***************

On the other side of the one-way glass, Jack McCoy stood watching the interview, flanked by Jamie and Van Buren. "Is that necessary?" he asked.

"Jack," Jamie urged him gently, "you shouldn't be here."

"Why is she handcuffed?"

"For the detectives' safety," Van Buren replied.

"She doesn't need to be handcuffed! She's not dangerous."

"We can put her at the scene of two vicious murders, Counselor," she told him.

"There's some mistake. There must be. She's no murderer."

"Her fingerprints match the ones on the fire escape, and she fits the description of the woman seen that night. She was seen running away from the scene of last night's beheading," Van Buren said.

"Short of catching her in the act, how much proof do you want?" Jamie asked. "We've prosecuted - and won - with much less convincing evidence."

He looked at his assistant. "You never liked her," he accused.

Jamie admitted it. "I never trusted her. I thought she was using you."

"You were right," Van Buren said.

Jack shook his head, turning his eyes back to the interrogation room. "She's wrong."

"You said yourself that she was making all the first moves," Jamie argued.

"She never asked me for anything. She just wanted to be with me." He paused, then insisted quietly, "I want to talk to her."

Jamie shook her head. "You're not thinking clearly about this. You shouldn't even be here."

***************

"What was his name, anyway?" Briscoe asked suddenly.

"Whose name?"

"That kid you hacked to pieces tonight." Curtis slapped the table between Wesa and her sword collection. "You thought you could get away with it because you were screwing McCoy?"

"I didn't hack anyone to pieces. And Jack is not to be involved in this."

"You got him involved," Briscoe told her. "You were trying to use him as an alibi, if not as a shield."

Wesa fought her rising temper and managed to remain calm, at least outwardly. "The only thing I was 'using' Jack for, if you insist on calling it that, was for sex. Damn good sex, too."

"I'll bet you were hot, too, all turned on after cutting that guy's head off," Curtis suggested.

Wesa looked at him. "That's sick. What kind of a monster would be turned on by killing someone? Does your wife know you have these kinds of fantasies?" Curtis glared at her and picked up one of the swords. "Don't cut yourself," Wesa warned him. "Sometimes swordsmen used to coat the blades with botanical poisons. It might be difficult to figure out what it was before you died." It would be impossible, she knew. That particular blade was coated with the same poison her teacher had used more than 40 centuries before to confer immunity to witchcraft upon her. It would be fatal to mortals like Briscoe and Curtis.

Rather than pay too much attention to the swords, any of which was sharp enough to free her hands, Wesa turned toward the window beyond which, she knew, people were observing the interview. She got up, ignoring Curtis's orders to sit down, and went to the window. "Who's out there?" she asked.

"What makes you think anyone's out there?" Briscoe asked, coming to stand at her shoulder.

She gave him a long-suffering look. "I do own a television, detective. That's the purpose of the window, to let police officers, probably your Captain or Lieutenant, and possibly a representative from the Prosecutor's office observe the interrogation. You know they're out there, I know they're out there. Is Jack out there?"

"I don't know. He wasn't when I came in."

"Well, find out. And if he is, make him go away. He cannot be involved in this. His name must not be smeared. No hint of impropriety can touch him."

****************

"Ms. Hill, your attorney isn't present for this hearing?" Judge James Walker asked the blonde woman standing unbowed before him.

Wesa started to answer, but was interrupted when Jack stood up behind her. "May it please the Court." Jamie looked just as startled as Wesa felt.

"Mr. McCoy, it's unusual to see you at an arraignment," the judge said. "Is there something here that you feel Ms. Ross is not capable of handling?"

"I'm here to represent Ms. Hill."

"No!" The exclamation passed Wesa's lips before she could stop it. "Your Honor, please. My attorney is on her way; it just takes a while to get here from Paris, even on the Concorde. I'm perfectly capable of entering my own plea."

Judge Walker's eyebrows rose above his glasses frames. "You have to admit, Mr. McCoy, that having the Executive Assistant DA representing the accused would be highly unusual, even more so than the accused representing herself. What say the People, Ms. Ross?"

"The People have no objection, Your Honor."

"Well, I do," Wesa said. "I don't want Mr. McCoy to be tainted by any association with this case, Your Honor. Please don't allow him to do this."

"So ordered." Judge Walker held up his hand when Jack started to object. "The Court cannot force the accused to accept representation she doesn't want, Mr. McCoy. Sit down. Ms. Hill, you're accused of two counts of murder in the first degree. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

"These murders were particularly brutal, involving dismemberment, Your Honor. The People request remand," Jamie said firmly.

"Ms. Hill?"

"I have no doubt the deaths were terrible, sir, but I didn't murder anyone, and I see no reason why I cannot pay a small surety as a pledge to return to court for the trial when it begins," Wesa told him.

"Your Honor, the accused is a foreign national with great financial resources. She poses a flight risk."

Wesa looked at Jamie in surprise. "Leave? And have Jack believe I'm guilty?" She shook her head.

"Then you may use your financial resources to get out of jail, Ms. Hill." Walker banged his gavel on the desk. "Bail is set at two million dollars; next case."

***************

"¡Hermana, bienvenida!" Wesa greeted the green-eyed brunette who arrived at her door, and Jack watched as the two women embraced with the familiarity of family.

"Gracias, Wesa," Rayen replied, eyeing Jack calculatingly.

"¡Hey! Es mío."

"Y es el asistente del Fiscal del Distrito. Como siempre eliges los peligrosos." Rayen smiled. "¿El es la razón por la que no has dejado Nueva York?"

Wesa glanced at her puzzled lover. "Yes. And he doesn't speak Spanish, Rayen. Jack, this is my attorney, Rayen Quitral. She's like a sister to me. Rayen, Jack McCoy."

Rayen held out her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you at last, Jack. Wesa has told me much about you."

***************

"She paid a $2 million bond?" Van Buren asked Jamie.

Jamie spread her hands. "I couldn't have done anything about it even if I had known she had that much available," she said. "Judge Walker set the bail. We knew she had money, but she seemed so unaffected by it, we never suspected it would be that much."

"Just goes to show, you can never know anyone completely," Briscoe observed. "How's McCoy taking it?"

"He even offered to be her defense lawyer. He doesn't believe she can possibly be guilty," Jamie said, "and I'm kind of wondering myself."

"What?" Van Buren was outraged. "She decapitated two men, for God's sake."

"We nearly caught her in the act the second time," Curtis added.

"I know," Jamie agreed. "But you saw how she was at her interrogation: she was more worried about Jack than herself. She was the same way at her arraignment. She refused Jack's assistance, but not because she thought her lawyer was better, or because she didn't understand the seriousness of the charges. She refused to allow him to help her because it might harm his reputation." She shook her head, pacing over to the window that looked out onto the street.

"There goes your gold digger theory," Van Buren said, sitting down behind her desk.

"I know. I've had to come to the conclusion that she really does care about him, and the difference in their ages just doesn't matter to her."

"Have you met with her lawyer yet?"

"Yes. She's a Spanish woman by the name of Rayen Quitral."

Curtis snorted through his coffee, drawing everyone's eyes. When he managed to stop choking, he asked, "You're kidding, right?"

"No, why?"

"It means 'flower of fire.' It's the stage name of a Latin American singer."

"Do you think it might not be her real name?" Briscoe was intrigued.

Curtis shrugged. "I suppose it could be. It's just strange."

"Well, strange or not, it's her legal name, and she's licensed to practice law in the state of New York," Jamie said. "I checked."

***************

The first days of the trial, of course, were dedicated to choosing a jury. Under instructions from Rayen, Wesa sat quietly, trying to appear as innocent and demure as possible - difficult, as she was terribly bored by the whole procedure, and Rayen had made her wear a bra and panties, which Wesa hated, never having gotten used to them. While she fought not to squirm in discomfort, she amused herself by sketching pictures of the judge, Jamie, her assistant, and some of the potential jurors.

Finally the jury was seated and the main part of the trial could begin, Judge Robert O'Connor presiding. Both Jamie and Rayen made their opening statements, and then Jamie began to present her case. She began with the first challenger Wesa had bested after she had moved to New York, with the discovery of the body and the witnesses: Mr. Desner had heard a woman scream, and Mrs. Asakowicz said the prowler she heard had been frightened away by the sirens.

Of course Rayen poked as many holes into Jamie's case as she could, asking Mr. Desner if he had seen the woman he heard scream, and why he thought the woman had been screaming. "Was she screaming for help? Was she angry? Afraid? In pain?"

Desner hesitated. "It might have been pain," he admitted at last. "Or it might have been - you know, sexual."

Rayen raised her brows. "You mean like she was having a good time?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"No further questions." Rayen walked back to her chair.

Wesa leaned over to her. "What are you doing?" she asked in a whisper. "Detective Curtis already thinks I get off on beheading men."

"Casting doubt," Rayen replied. "Try to not to look like a female mantis."

Wesa fought off a chuckle. It wouldn't do to appear amused.

After Mrs. Asakowicz testified under Jamie's direct questioning, Rayen asked, "Didn't you originally tell the police there was a man on the fire escape outside your window?"

"I assumed it was man. Why would a woman be a peeping tom?"

"So you didn't actually see the person on your fire escape?"

"Why, no, I didn't. I never said I did."

"So it might have been a man. You don't know."

"That's right."

"And that would make more sense, wouldn't it? That a man would be on your fire escape, looking in your window? Because why would a woman want to peek at you?"

"Objection," Jamie protested. "Ms. Quitral cannot testify."

"Sustained," ruled Judge O'Connor.

"No further questions." Rayen returned to the table where Wesa sat.

***************

Blood found on the first man's sword had not been ruled out as evidence during the pre-trial fencing between prosecution and defense, but Rayen had successfully managed to keep the State from forcing Wesa to give a blood sample for comparison, so forensics consisted mostly of her fingerprints found on the fire escape. There was little Rayen could do about that, so her only question to the fingerprint expert had to do with time - when had the fingerprints been put there? Was there any way to tell if they had been put there the night Nicholas Trevino had been beheaded, or might they have been there for days or even weeks? Reluctantly the prosecution's expert admitted there was no way to tell for sure.

***************

The next day, Jamie went on to the challenge on the night Wesa was arrested. Her witnesses described the body they had found and identified Wesa as the woman they had seen hurrying away from the scene.

"And you never found the murder weapon?" Rayen cross-examined Detective Curtis, knowing they hadn't. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "How can you even be certain it was a sword?"

"Witnesses identified your client as the woman they saw leaving the scene, putting a sword under her coat," Curtis said.

"In a lineup with a pudgy dishwater blonde policewoman, a tattooed gang member, and three bleached blonde prostitutes dressed for work, isn't that right, Detective?"

"They were the only blondes we could find at that time of night."

"And were you in close pursuit of this mystery woman from the time she left the scene? Did you maintain visual contact with her?"

"We followed a trail of witnesses," Curtis admitted.

"So you don't know that the woman you were following was even the same woman you saw entering the building." Rayen's eyes glowed; she smelled victory.

"We're confident she is."

Rayen paced thoughtfully over to the jury box. "And how do you know my client is the person you saw entering the building?"

"The doorman identified the woman we saw enter as Ms. Hill. The apartment manager accompanied us to the apartment and unlocked the door."

"How much time had elapsed from the time you saw this woman enter the building until you entered the apartment?"

"Maybe ten or twelve minutes."

"You testified that you found these swords inside my client's apartment. What was the rest of the apartment like?"

Curtis hesitated. "I'm not certain I understand your meaning."

"The room where you found the swords - how was it decorated?"

"Objection!" Jamie called out, standing. "I don't see how that's relevant, Your Honor."

Rayen crossed the forecourt, her expensive black boots striking the wooden floor sharply. Jamie joined her at the judge's desk. "My client's sword collection was being displayed in the living room as part of the decoration, Your Honor," Rayen told him.

"I'll allow it, Ms. Quitral. But remember, you can't testify."

Rayen nodded and turned away. She gave Jamie time to get back to her seat, and then re-posed her question. "Detective? What else did you see in my client's living room?"

"Not a lot. It was dark, and we didn't turn on the lights until later."

"Later, then. What did you see after you turned on the lights?"

Curtis repressed a sigh. "Besides the swords, there were shields on the walls, both leather and wooden ones. There was a big bronze urn with three spears in it. There was a wooden trunk half-covered with a tiger skin. There was a bronze tray on it with pottery cups. There were fur rugs on the floor, and fur hangings on the walls. There were furs draped over most of the furniture."

"In other words, the living room was decorated like an ancient warrior's home might have been."

"I guess."

"And did my client's sword collection seem out of place amongst these decorations?"

Curtis hesitated again, just a split second. "No, it didn't," he admitted reluctantly.

"That's what I thought." She paused briefly. "Now, you testified that you found my client in the bedroom."

"Yes," Curtis answered cautiously.

"In bed?"

"Yes." He glanced at Jamie. He didn't particularly like her boss, but he didn't want to hamstring him in his efforts to convict other criminals, either.

"What was her physical condition?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Was she covered with blood? Was she sweaty from running?"

"Oh. No, she appeared to have taken a shower. Her hair was wet."

"And was she alone in bed?"

At the defendant's table, Wesa's attention sharpened. Her eyes hardened as she glared briefly at her lawyer, but then she returned her gaze to the man in the witness stand.

"No," Curtis replied in a low voice.

"Speak up, please, Detective," Rayen requested. "Was my client alone in bed?"

"No."

Rayen glanced at Wesa, who shook her head. "Did you recognize the person with her?"

"Yes."

"Who was it?"

"Jack McCoy."

"And do you know what Mr. McCoy does for a living?"

"He's the Executive Assistant District Attorney for New York County."

"I see. Did they appear to be expecting the police?"

"No. They were... otherwise occupied."

"In fact, they were having sex, isn't that right?"

"Yeah." Curtis looked at his hands. "They didn't hear us coming. They were fully involved."

"So let me get this straight. You entered the building just seconds behind the woman you followed, and when you got upstairs ten or twelve minutes later, you found my client had not only arranged for her lover to come to her apartment, she had also managed to hide the sword somewhere the police department couldn't find it, had taken a shower, and gotten intimate with her lover after he arrived? Is that correct?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, it must be."

"She must be very fast," Rayen commented.

"Objection."

"Withdrawn. Let's move on to your interrogation of my client later that evening. During that interrogation, my client said something unusual, didn't she?"

"I'm not sure what you're driving at."

"Did my client say anything during her interrogation that made you aware of her concern for another person?"

"She did warn us that some of the swords we had confiscated might be poisoned."

"Anything else?"

Curtis suddenly realized what she was referring to. "Oh. Yes. She asked my partner to check to see if Mr. McCoy was on the other side of the window, observing the interrogation, and if he was, to make him go away. She said she didn't want any hint of impropriety to touch him."

"Is it usual for suspects to be concerned about the welfare of others?"

"It's not as uncommon as you might think," Curtis replied.

"Oh? Under what circumstances do you see it?"

He considered. "Well, usually it happens when the defendant cares deeply for the other person." He stopped there. Rayen cocked an eyebrow at him and just waited. "And sometimes... when the suspect turns out to be innocent," he added reluctantly.

Rayen smiled. "Thank you, Detective. No further questions." Rayen smiled to herself as she walked back and sat beside Wesa at the defense table.

Wesa leaned over to her, whispering, "You weren't supposed to bring Jack into this."

"It was his idea," came the soft reply. "And a good one."

Jamie stood up. "The prosecution rests, Your Honor," she said.

"Very well," Judge O'Connor looked at his watch. "It's four-thirty. We'll break for the evening, and you may begin your defense tomorrow at 9 a.m., Ms. Quitral." He banged his gavel on his desk. "Court is in recess."

**************

"How did it go?" Jack asked in greeting.

"You and Rayen have been strategizing behind my back," Wesa accused softly.

He shrugged. "You were in the shower."

"What am I going to do with you?" Wesa put her arms around him and snuggled her face into his shoulder. "I didn't want you to be involved with this."

He chuckled softly, folding his arms around her shoulders. "Then you shouldn't have been staring at my ass that night in the laundry room."

"Now you tell me." Wesa sighed deeply. His embrace was so warm, so inviting. "If only I could stay here forever. Right here, you and me."

"Why can't you?"

"All right, you lovebirds," Rayen called. "Enough snuggling. Jack, you're not asking her about the trial, are you? You know you aren't allowed to do that."

"Only in the most general terms," he admitted.

"Well, stop it. You don't want your assistant to think we'd coached you, do you?"

"She will anyway. She used to be a defense attorney."

"Hey, I have an idea," Wesa said brightly. "Let's all go to Bermuda."

"You can't -" Jack caught her grin. "Not funny," he said. "Besides, it'd cost you your bail money."

Wesa ran her fingertips lightly up his ribs, making him flinch. "Why not?" she asked. "It's only money. I can get some more."

"We have an extradition treaty. They'd send you back."

"Hm. How about Brazil? They don't allow extradition for death penalty cases."

"Brazil!" Rayen objected. "They don't even speak proper Spanish there."

"Of course not, silly. They speak Portuguese."

Rayen wrinkled her nose. "What about Colombia?" she asked, getting into the spirit of Wesa's game. "You could hide out there for a long time."

"Yeah...but I couldn't take Jack," Wesa hedged. "You've seen how he is. He'd get in a fight with some drug runner or something."

Rayen considered, nodding slowly, but Jack objected. "A fight? Me?"

Wesa chuckled softly. "Well, you wouldn't plan on it getting physical. Unfortunately when one of those guys starts losing an argument, he pulls out his trusty machine gun... No, I think Colombia's out. What about Zimbabwe? We could open up the mine again. Nobody'd look for me down there. I could go underground under ground."

"Wesa!" Jack objected.

"Oh, I wouldn't make you work in the mine," she promised, pressing her body to his. "I'd steal away your clothes and keep you in the bedroom." She chuckled softly.

Rayen rolled her eyes and turned away. "God, Wesa."

"I can't help it. You know facing death makes me horny."

"What?" Jack looked at her sharply.

"Apparently it makes you giddy, too. What's for dinner? I'm famished." Rayen reached down and unfastened her boots, slipping out of them and carrying them toward the guest bedroom.

"I'm on trial for my life," Wesa objected. "You expect me to cook at a time like this?"

Jack stared after her as she headed for her own bedroom. "You're not taking this very seriously."

Wesa turned and looked at him, her light attitude evaporating. "I do not want to be put to death," she told him softly, but her tone was no-nonsense. "Worse, I don't want to spend years in prison. And I don't want to leave you. Let me cope with my worries my own way, lover. Please?" She waited until he nodded, then asked, "Now, where shall we find Rayen some food? She's worse than I am about eating; she's serious about being famished."

***************

Rayen couldn't call any witnesses who would be able to provide Wesa with an alibi that would hold up under cross-examination, and she didn't try. Instead, she brought Jack in as a character witness, doing it early the next day so that he would be able to attend the rest of the trial.

"Mr. McCoy, please tell the jury what you do," Rayen said when Jack was seated in the witness chair.

"I'm a lawyer," he replied. "I've been the Executive Assistant District Attorney for New York County for the last two years."

"Do you generally consider yourself a good judge of character?"

"Yes, I do. It's necessary to my line of work. We wouldn't want to prosecute an innocent person."

Rayen smiled. "How did you meet Ms. Hill?"

"We live in the same building. We met in the laundry room."

"And what is your relationship today?"

Jack glanced at Wesa. She smiled and nodded, and he replied to Rayen, "We're lovers."

"Please tell us about the night she was arrested. What time did you meet that evening?"

"It was nearly eleven."

"That's pretty late, isn't it?"

Jack nodded. "I knew Wesa was going to an auction. She warned me she might be late, but when she wasn't home by nine, I started to get worried. By ten-thirty I was considering calling the police. She called me before I did, though, to let me know she was home. She said she was going to take a quick shower, then come down to my apartment. I told her to take her time in the shower, and I'd come up there."

"You have a key?"

"No, I don't. She left the door unlocked for me. I locked it behind me when I came in."

"And how long after that did the police arrive?"

"I'd estimate nine or ten minutes, maybe less." He steeled himself for the next question.

"Relax, Mr. McCoy. We've already heard testimony about what you were doing when the detectives arrived, and that fact is not in dispute." Rayen smiled at his apparent relief. "Are you in love with her?"

Jack hesitated. "I don't know. I care about her."

"Do you believe she could have murdered the victims?"

He shook his head. "No. Wesa isn't violent. She wants to get along with everyone. Usually she does."

After Rayen concluded her direct questioning, Jamie stood up and approached the witness stand where Jack sat. "You said you met Ms. Hill in the laundry room of your apartment building."

He nodded. "Yes."

"Doesn't she have her own laundry facilities in her apartment?"

He nodded again. "She does. She told me later her washing machine had broken down."

"So she availed herself of the commercial facilities in the basement, and you were there already."

"Yes."

"What attracted your attention?"

He smiled at Wesa. "She's beautiful." Wesa smiled back, shaking her head. "And she was staring at me," he added.

"Do you remember what you talked about?"

"Yes. Human anatomy, law, science, and motorcycles."

Jamie pounced on what she thought was a reference to the killings. "Human anatomy?"

Jack nodded. "You can't look at your own backside without a mirror. Your head won't turn far enough."

"And law?"

"When she found out I was with the district attorney's office, she wondered how we keep track of all the changes in the law. She said she didn't think she could do it."

"I see. And you saw her again, when?"

"I took her for a ride on my motorcycle the next day."

"What happened that evening?"

"When we got back, she invited me in for a drink."

"A drink - she doesn't look old enough. Didn't you question that?"

He nodded. "I did. She didn't answer me, but I managed to get a look at her driver's license another time. She's 23."

Wesa suddenly understood what Jamie was doing, and she leaned over to whisper to Rayen, who stood. "Your Honor, I fail to see why the Prosecution is dwelling on the development of this relationship."

"Approach." Judge O'Connor waved the two attorneys to the bench. "I was wondering that myself, Ms. Ross," he said in a low voice.

"Your Honor, the defendant is a ruthless murderer. She attempted to use her relationship with Mr. McCoy to evade prosecution for her crimes."

Rayen looked at her. "The defense stipulates the large age difference between Ms. Hill and Mr. McCoy, and that Ms. Hill was the aggressor in a May-December romance. The state can have no possible evidence that she was using him. As Ms. Ross knows, she tried to keep him out of this to protect his reputation. She didn't even want me to put him on the stand as a character witness!"

"She was very clever about her subterfuge, Your Honor," Jamie admitted, "and the defense can't testify. If she wants to refute the prosecution's position, let her put Ms. Hill on the stand." She looked at Rayen challengingly. Rayen glared back.

"I'll allow it," the judge ruled, "but make your point and move on, Ms. Ross. Ms. Hill is not being tried for seducing the Executive ADA."

Rayen scowled and returned to her seat as Jamie returned to questioning Jack. "Who kissed whom first, and when?"

Whatever question Jack had been expecting, this wasn't it, and it took him a moment to answer. "Wesa kissed me first, that night. We'd been talking about the deaths of our parents, and she said she wasn't going to let the evening end so badly."

"Then she kissed you."

"And I kissed back."

"In fact, she initiated every developmental stage of your relationship, isn't that right?"

Jack frowned. "Yes."

"Didn't you ever wonder why?"

He nodded. "I'm old enough to be her father, but she doesn't seem to care. And I guess I have ego enough to believe she just really wants to be with me." From her seat, Wesa smiled at him, her eyes shining.

After testifying, Jack sat in the gallery while Rayen called only one more witness, the host of the auction she had attended the evening of the second incident, who testified that Wesa had seemed happy that evening, not angry.

While Rayen was questioning him, Briscoe and Curtis came in and leaned over the rail, whispering to Jamie, who seemed disturbed by what she heard. Rayen paused, then concluded her questioning and sat down.

"Ms. Ross," prodded Judge O'Connor, "do you wish to cross-examine the witness?"

Jamie stood, looking at Briscoe and Curtis, who now sat directly behind her chair, then turned back to the Court. "Your Honor, may we approach the bench?"

He agreed, and Rayen joined them, leaving Wesa looking from the small group at the front of the court to Jack, where he sat behind her. He shook his head; he didn't know either.

Jamie was explaining to the judge. "There's been an incident this morning which may tend to exonerate the defendant, Your Honor. The State requests a continuance while we investigate."

"What's happened?" Rayen asked.

"I don't have the details," Jamie replied, "but a woman beheaded a man near the Brooklyn Bridge this morning, then jumped. They're dragging the River for her now, but the reports indicate she fit the description of the woman seen at the other two incidents. We'd like to rule her out as an alternate suspect before we continue with Ms. Hill's trial."

"Move for dismissal, Your Honor," Rayen said. "If even the Prosecution has doubts..."

"Your client doesn't get off that easily, Ms. Quitral," the judge replied. "Ms. Ross, you have three hours." He banged his gavel. "Court is in recess until two pm."

***************

Jack couldn't stop grinning. "I should go back to work. If they find her alive, I'll have to prosecute."

"What's the point?" Wesa asked, clinging to his arm as they moved from the car to the elevator. "It's Friday. It's almost noon. And there's no way she could have survived that fall. They'll find the body soon, and -" She broke off when Jack's cell phone rang, interrupting her.

While he was on the phone, Wesa turned to Rayen. "Who was it?" she asked in a low voice.

Rayen grinned. "How would I know?" she asked reasonably as Jack turned toward her and offered her his phone.

"It's Jamie," he said. "They found the body."

Rayen spoke to Jamie for a few moments, then handed Jack his phone back and turned toward the elevator again. "She's drawing up dismissal orders right now." She grinned as Jack embraced Wesa and lifted her off her feet.

"Put me down!" Wesa protested. "You'll hurt yourself! Jack!"

He set her down, a little confused when she suddenly stiffened and turned around, looking into the dark corners of the garage. Not far away, Rayen was doing the same thing. "If they found the body," Wesa said softly, "then who-?"

Rayen shook her head. "It's not Kasey. She doesn't recover that fast."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked.

"Get him out of here," Rayen hissed at Wesa.

Wesa took hold of Jack's arm and tried to hurry him toward the elevator, but suddenly she grunted and fell backward, the hilt of a knife blossoming from her chest. "Wesa!" he cried out, kneeling to try to help her. His hands hovered over the knife hilt uncertainly.

Rayen stood over them protectively, holding a sword she had produced from somewhere. "Pull it out," she instructed him.

He shook his head, reaching for his phone. "She'll bleed to death," he objected.

He'd started to dial when Rayen snatched the phone from his hand and threw it across the garage. "I'll get you a new one," she said. She bent down again and yanked the knife from Wesa's chest, making her scream.

"Madre de Dios," she muttered, looking at the knife. "Paili Bat-Gedeon!" she yelled. "Show yourself!"

"You cannot interfere," a woman said, stepping out from behind a support pillar in the shadows. Her sword glinted, catching the dim light of the parking garage and reflecting it.

"Not once you issue a challenge," Rayen agreed, "but I'm challenging you." She dropped the knife and stalked away toward the stranger with her sword held menacingly in front of her.

On the floor of the garage, Jack knelt beside his lover. "I'll get help," he said.

"No," she whispered. "Stay with me... I hate this part..." Her last words were nearly inaudible. Her eyes glazed over and she stopped breathing.

"Wesa? Wesa!"

***************

The first gasp always hurt, like surfacing for air after nearly drowning, and Wesa arched up off Jack's knees where he held her shoulders. He gasped and scrambled back, and Wesa turned to meet his eyes worriedly. "Did she hurt you?"

"N-no," he replied uncertainly. "You were dead."

"I'll explain later," she told him, looking around as she got to her feet. She picked up the knife Rayen had pulled from her chest and dropped. "Where is she?"

He shook his head. "Rayen chased her away." He swallowed hard. "She had a sword, Wesa. She must have killed those two men."

She shook her head as Rayen returned, putting her sword back into its hidden scabbard. "There's no indication Paili ever met them, Jack." She looked at her sister/attorney questioningly.

"She got away," Rayen told her.

"You killed them?" Jack asked Rayen.

"She was in Paris," Wesa said. "Let's go upstairs, I get nervous when Paili's around and I'm virtually unarmed."

"You have to leave," Rayen told her, following as Wesa grabbed Jack's hand and drew him with her to the elevator.

"If I was willing to leave Jack, I would have run when I was accused of murder," Wesa replied.

"She won't give up now that she knows where you are, and your presence endangers him. She wants revenge, Wesa."

"I know," she replied softly.

At Rayen's insistence, Jack gave Wesa his coat to cover her bloodstained clothing in case there was anyone in the corridor between the elevator and her apartment. Once there, she stripped off her jacket, blouse, and bra in the living room and tossed them toward the fireplace while Rayen locked the door behind them. Then Wesa headed for her bedroom to put on a fresh blouse, and Rayen went to the laundry alcove and retrieved a small bucket of white powder. She picked up Wesa's discarded clothing and put it into the fireplace, then sprinkled a half-cup of the powder over them, chanting softly as she did so.

When she had changed her clothes Wesa returned, kneeling beside Rayen and joining in her chant as she buttoned her white silk blouse. As one, the two women reached toward the clothing. Sparks flew from their fingertips, and the clothing went up in flame, gone in an instant and leaving no ash behind.

"What -?" Jack couldn't even formulate a question.

"You have to tell him if you're going to stay," Rayen told her in a low voice. "You have to make him understand why he mustn't tell anyone what he's seen today."

Sighing, Wesa got to her feet and turned to Jack. "My clothes were unsalvageable," she told him in a low voice, "and I couldn't chance the police finding them in the trash."

"Why not? You were the victim here."

"You said it yourself. I was dead. How would I explain recovering from such a wound?" she spread her hands. "So Rayen and I destroyed the evidence of Paili's attack."

"They'll find traces in the chimney," he warned. "Of the chemical reaction, if not of the blood."

"I'm going to go grab some takeout from the Chinese place around the corner," Rayen interrupted. "Back in half an hour."

"Take your sword," Wesa warned. "I don't think Paili will attack you, but it's best to be sure."

"Yes, sister," Rayen replied tolerantly, putting her coat back on. Wesa gave her an apologetic smile.

When she had gone, Wesa poured Jack a drink. "You're going to need it," she told him as she handed him the glass of scotch.

He took it but didn't drink any of it. "You said you'd explain."

She nodded and gestured to the fireplace. "We're witches."

"Uh-huh. And that makes you invulnerable to a knife in the chest?"

"No. You'd better sit down." Wesa waited until he was seated. "There's no way to ease into this," she complained. She bit her lip gently. "Jack, there are people in this world who don't age, don't fall ill, don't stay dead. And none of us know why or how we got that way."

She started pacing. "My life was normal, happy, until my father sold me to a man I didn't want to be with -"

"Sold you!" Jack objected.

"It was a long time ago," Wesa soothed him. "Viddogg was a terrible husband. He raped and beat me. He killed the man I loved, and he murdered my mother. I lived with him for four years, until my mother's sister told me about the witch who lived at Folkvang. I ran away, willing to do anything the witch might ask of me if she would only let me stay and learn from her. I almost made it." She sighed.

"What happened?"

"He caught up with me almost at her door ... and he stabbed me. I should have died, but I woke up in the witch's house. I was warm and dry and clean ... and unhurt. Kanetsidohi taught me almost everything: reading, writing, sword fighting, the Rules of the Game. Because that's what they call it, a Game.

"Immortals fight. Some say that in the future, all the Immortals in the world will go to a western city to fight for the Prize. They call it the Gathering, and say there can be only one Immortal left in the end, that that one will have all the power and knowledge of all the Immortals who ever lived."

She sat down beside him. "I think that's silly. First, new Immortals are still being made, wherever we come from. Second, who in their right mind would *want* to rule the world? Me, I just want to stay alive." She looked at him cautiously. "I did behead those two men. If I hadn't, one of them would have beheaded me."

He was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. "And the woman in the garage?"

"Paili Bat-Gedeon. I saved her life and she's been pissed at me ever since."

"What?"

"It's a long story. So ... do you believe me?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't seem to have much choice," he replied. "I saw you come back to life." He drained the entire glass of scotch in one gulp. "So what has this summer been for you? Something like a one-night-stand?"

"Jack, no, don't even think that!" Wesa protested. She touched his cheek, then worked her fingers into his hair. She looked into his eyes as she turned and straddled his legs. "I love you," she whispered, and kissed him.

***************

The private jet waited in the hanger while Wesa and Jack said goodbye. "Come with us," Wesa asked again. "You'd like Paris."

"Why do you have to go?" he asked.

"We've been over this before," Wesa said sadly. "One - Paili blames me for her husband's death, and she might harm you if I stayed. If I could always be with you to protect you, I'd be willing to risk it. Or if I could be sure she wouldn't hurt you and it was only me she was after." She ran her hand though his unruly hair. "Two - Too many people saw how young I look. In five or six years, they'd question why I'm not aging. Three - The beheadings won't stop, not even with me gone. If I stayed, the cops would be constantly at our door. The suspicion would compromise you." She shook her head. "No, I have to go. But you'll meet me for vacations together, won't you? I still want to take you to that new resort in the Bahamas."

He wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly, and Wesa buried her face in his shoulder. "No," he said softly. "I can't be with you all the time, and I can't keep saying goodbye to you. It hurts too much. I need someone I can grow old with, Wesa, someone who can grow old with me."

She looked up into his eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek. She nodded slowly. "I understand." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him tenderly. "I hope you find her soon."

She turned away, but he caught at her arm. "What about you? Who will you go to?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "My sisters for now. You know how to get in touch with Rayen if you need me. I - I can't - do this. I love you."

"Wesa!" Rayen called from the jet's hatchway. "The tower's calling about your flight plan. We're running late."

"I have to go," Wesa whispered. "Be happy, Jack." She turned and ran up the steps, disappearing into the plane.

Rayen appeared in the doorway. "She'll be alright. From the first moment she met you, she always knew this would happen sooner or later. Look after yourself, okay? And call us if you need anything. Anything at all." He nodded, and she closed the door when the engines fired and began to scream as Wesa warmed them up.

Jack backed away to where he had parked his motorcycle and stood beside it, holding his helmet as the plane trundled away from the hanger. He watched in silence as the jet waited at the end of the runway for final permission to leave, then suddenly rushed down the pavement and into the air. It banked to the east and slowly diminished to a mere dot, black against the darkening sky. "Goodbye, Wesa," Jack whispered. "I'll always love you."

Translations: