A Question of Conscience
by Kathy Whelton
(c) 1999 (print), 2000 (web)



Tracy Vetter's eyes flew open, the piercing blare from
a car horn shoving her into consciousness. "Damn!" she 
managed as she swerved her car to the right and stomped on the
brake. Her car lurched abruptly as the brakes caught and held
firm. Tracy allowed herself an uneasy sigh of relief--another
second or two and she would have plowed right into the vehicle
in front of her.
 
Carefully, she weaved her way through the traffic of the morning
rush and pulled her car over to the curb. "That," she muttered,
her heart still pounding in her chest, "was too close."
Tracy glanced around the empty interior of her car. "And now I'm
talking to myself too. Great, Vetter, get a grip."

It seemed this night shift thing would be the death of her
yet--it was the third time this week she had fallen asleep at
the wheel. Even a mocha blast on her way out of the precinct had
done little to keep her awake once the car started rolling. When
she had first come to nights, she laughed at the guys who napped
in their cars before leaving for home. Now it didn't seem quite
so amusing anymore. She gingerly rubbed her eyes--already the
temptation to close them again was overwhelming. A nap, that's
exactly what she needed. She looked out of the window at the
surrounding neighborhood and smiled. Fortunately, she knew
precisely where she could catch one. Tracy shifted her car into
Drive and maneuvered her way into the flow traffic.

~~~~~~~~~~


Javier Vachon pressed his eyes closed as he slid his lips across
the line of her jaw and onto the smooth skin of her neck. She was
so beautiful, her luscious blonde hair spilling through his
fingers like silk, creating a golden halo on the rug beneath her.
"Tu eres tan bonita," he murmured.

He must have her--of that there was no doubt. He shifted his
weight until he was on top of her, pressing her body into the
cool floor beneath her. The thin scatter rug was little
protection from the hard surface, but she didn't seem to mind.
She was as lost to the moment as he was, if not more so. He could
feel his burgeoning erection beneath his tight black jeans.  No
matter that--there would be time enough for that later. Nothing
mattered now except his need to feel her blood flowing through
him, filling him as nothing else could.  His lips captured her
own, the rough edge of his fangs slicing into her lip. The barest
taste of her burst within him, fueling his appetite for more. 

A low growl rose in the back of his throat as Vachon slid a hand
beneath her shoulders and roughly pulled her towards him,
exposing her vulnerable throat. That beautiful pale throat. The 
thinnest slip of his tongue escaped, tracing a thin trail down
the curve of her neck. Forcefully, he struck, his fangs impaling
themselves in the delicate skin of her neck. He shuddered as she
exploded within him, every nerve of his being on fire. He needed
this--he needed her. 

He drank deeply, unmindful of the consequences, for, in truth,
there were no consequences. That was the beauty of it. He could
feel her life force begin to ebb, the weight of her suddenly
heavy against his arm. "Mi querida," he whispered into 
her ear. Tenderly, he slid his arms around her and stood, placing
her the carefully on the bed. 

~~~~~~~~

Tracy tiptoed carefully through darkened maze of the abandoned
church, a smug gleam of self-satisfaction on her lips. The
candles on the main level were extinguished and Vachon was
nowhere in sight. She knew that he took endless delight in
startling her--maybe this time she could finally turn the tables
on him. The sun was well up in the sky at this point and he had
to sleep sometime--at least she assumed he did. Maybe she could
actually surprise him for once and squeeze a bit of fun out of an
otherwise dismal morning.

She ascended the final step and rounded the corner of the room he
generally slept in. Apparently, this was just not her lucky day.
Her intended victim was kneeling on the ground, seemingly fully
engrossed in something. 

"Va~" Tracy's voice shut off mid-syllable, her mouth still 
open. It was Vachon all right, even with his back to her she
recognized his black jeans and faded Henley--not to mention the
hair, but he wasn't alone. Her eyes strained against dim light,
trying to focus on the figure beneath him. A shock of blonde
hair framed a terrifyingly pale face, but it was the thin trail
of blood across the woman's throat that riveted her attention.
Tracy felt her heart leap as Vachon stirred, then moved to stand
with the young woman still in his arms. She quickly eased her way
back around the corner, praying to God that he hadn't heard her. 

<No!> She silently mouthed the word. There must be some mistake,
some trick her tired eyes were playing on her. Cautiously, she
peered around the corner. Vachon was on his feet now, the young
blonde woman still in his arms. The woman's eyes were closed,
her head and limbs lolling helplessly. The puncture marks on her
throat were clearly visible as Vachon deposited the body on to
his bed.

She was dead. Tracy had seen enough bodies in her short career to
know that. No one could be that pale, that motionless, and still
be alive. Tracy moved quietly to the stairway and started down,
her knuckles white as she tightly gripped the railing. She needed
to think. For once in her life, she needed to sit down and think
something through without blundering in as she always did.

Her pace quickened as she neared the bottom of the stairs and by
the time she reached the door she was practically running.
Running from what, though? She glanced furtively over her
shoulder as she burst through the doors and into the bright light
of the day. Was she hoping he'd be behind her, or praying that he
wasn't? He'd never hurt her, she knew that--or did she?

Tracy yanked her car door open and slid gratefully into the seat.
What the hell was she going to do? She was a homicide detective,
for God's sake, and she'd just come as close to witnessing a
homicide as you could get. So why was she sitting out here
instead marching in there and doing her job? "Yeah, right,
Vetter. And just precisely what are you going to do with Mr.
Javier Vachon once you arrest him?" Somehow, she didn't think
there was anything in the police manual that covered this sort
of thing. A bitter laugh erupted unexpectedly from her lips. She
glanced into the rear view mirror and ran her fingers lightly
through her hair--her blonde hair. "Oh, my God...," she gasped
as the likeness suddenly struck her. 



~~~~~~~~~~


Urs' eyes fluttered slightly--the tiniest golden glow emerging
from beneath her dark lashes. She was floating--effortlessly,
aimlessly through time and space. She had forgotten how wonderful
it felt to simply not be for a while. A glimmer of a smile pulled
at her lips, tugging her back to earth. Javier. Of course. Who
else would she entrust her very soul to?

"Welcome back, mi amor." Vachon slid next to her on
the bed. He had never encountered another vampire who enjoyed
the sensation of being drained quite so much as Urs did. He
supposed that in some way it was the death she never had, the 
one he had taken from her. Still, it sometimes terrified him,
this little game they played. What if one of these times she
never did return? 

Vachon bit deeply into his wrist and brought it to her lips.
"Your turn," he murmured, softly kissing her hair. He felt a
surge of electricity flood through him as she began to drink.
The hardness in his groin returned, this time with a vengeance.



end section

Nick Knight glanced up at the clock as he entered the bullpen.
It was only nine p.m. and already he could see his partner
leaning over her desk, hard at work. It had taken him the better
part of a year to get used to working with anyone except Schanke,
but Tracy's industriousness was one thing that hadn't been hard
to adjust to. She was intent on making her mark here in homicide,
but he sometimes wondered if she weren't driving herself a bit
too hard in the process. There were other things to life besides
work--at least there should be when you're twenty-five years old.

"Hey, Trace." Nick pulled off his overcoat and then slid into his
seat. "You're here early tonight."

"Uh?" Tracy responded vaguely without lifting her eyes
from the computer screen in front of her.

"I said, you're here earlier than usual," he stated a little
more forcefully. 

Tracy continued to scan the reports as they scrolled in front
of her. Nothing. There was nothing that she could find
anyway--not a homicide, not a Jane Doe, not even a missing
person's report that in any way resembled the young woman she had
seen this morning. Nothing. She nibbled lightly on her lower lip
as she ran through the day shift log one more time. Of course,
all that meant was that the victim had yet to be discovered--or
reported missing. It didn't change what had happened this
morning. It didn't change a damn thing.

"Tracy!" 

"What?" Tracy looked up abruptly, suddenly aware of her partner's
concerned stare. Half the squadroom seemed to be watching her as
well, although why she couldn't imagine. "Oh, Nick,...hi." How
long had he been sitting there? She glanced up at the clock. How
long had she been sitting there? It seemed like only a few
minutes, but apparently she'd been logged on for the better part
of two hours.

Nick gave her a wry smile. "Do you mind telling me what's so
fascinating? I didn't know we had any open cases at the
moment."

Tracy quickly exited the program. "We don't," she said
decisively. The last thing she needed was to attract any undue
attention to this--at least until she had a chance to decide
how she was going to handle it. "It was just a little something I
was working on myself."  She hastily shuffled the papers on her
desk. "So," she posed, "do you want to go over the statements
from the Robinson case, or would you rather do the wrap-up on the
Haggerty investigation?"

"Now, there's an exciting choice for you," Nick mused. Natalie 
kept telling him that the tedium of everyday life was something
he just had to get used to. Lately though, he'd really begun to
wonder if he really was doing any good here any more.

"Knight, Vetter." Captain Reese stepped to the door of his office
and called to the pair. At least they were in the same place for
once, he supposed he could be grateful for that. "Could you both
step in here for a minute?"

"Saved by the bell," Tracy commented, forcing a smile in the
direction of her partner. The scene she had witnessed this
morning flashed before her eyes. Please, she begged silently, let
it be anything but the young blonde. 




"What's up, Cap?" Nick asked as the pair entered Reese's office.

Captain Reese groaned as he lowered his considerably bulk back
behind his desk. Denise was right--he really needed to start
doing more with that Stairmaster than using it as a clothes rack.

He peered carefully at the two detectives in front of him. Vetter
looked like hell. Her eyes were puffy, and unless he was
mistaken, she was wearing the same clothes as she'd had on the
night before. She would never adjust to graveyard--no matter
how much coffee she drank. Some people just weren't cut out for
nights, plain and simple. It didn't really matter though, Tracy
was destined for bigger and better things--whether she wanted
them or not.

Knight was tougher. Knight was probably the best detective he'd
ever worked with, but there was something there--something he'd
never quite been able to put his finger on. He got the distinct
impression that Knight walked a very fine edge during the best of
times--and this definitely was not he best of times for Detective
Nicholas B. Knight. He had been through one very tough year since
Reese had taken over the 96th, beginning with the deaths of
Schanke and Amanda Cohen. It wouldn't surprise him one bit to
come in some night that Nick had up and gone. 

"First," Reese started, "I have good news on the Robinson case.
It seems the Crown Prosecutor's office is very pleased with the
two of you. They feel they never would have gotten an indictment
without the extra legwork the two of you put in on the case. The 
Prosecutor has asked me to put each of you in for a
commendation." 

"That's great, Captain." Tracy managed a weak smile. At least one
thing had gone right in recent memory. "Thanks. Was there
something else?"

Now he *knew* something was up. Nick always seemed uncomfortable 
when praise was being handed out, but Tracy had worked
her butt off on that case--she should be doing cartwheels about
now. "As a matter of fact, there is," Reese continued, handing
the file to Nick. "We have a report of a death that needs looking
into. It's shaping up like a suicide, but we still need to follow
up."

"That's quite an impressive address," Nick commented. "What
information do we have?" 

"The deceased is Robert Birch, seventy-two years old and in
failing health. He was found with a single gunshot wound to the
head."

"Is that *the* Robert Birch?" Tracy interjected, "of the Ottawa
Birches?"

"One and the same," Reese confirmed. "That's why I'm sending you
two. I'm counting the both of you to be thorough--and discrete.
The maid called it in about an hour ago. Said she went downstairs
to answer the telephone and that's when she heard the shot.
Apparently, it was just the two of them alone in the house...,"

"Therefore the presumption of a suicide," Nick continued. "Has
the M.E.'s office been there yet?"

"Natalie's on her way," Reese responded. "With any luck, you
might just be able to put this thing to bed by morning."

"We'll do our best, Captain," Nick replied as he headed for the
door.

"Ah, Tracy," Reese called to the blonde detective. "Can I
speak to you for a moment?"

Tracy pulled the office door closed, leaving her alone with the
Captain. Little "chats" like this one with the Captain were
rarely good news. Grimly, she wondered what her father had been
up to this time--a transfer to Internal Affairs perhaps, or 
maybe back to Corporate Crime."

"Yes, Captain," Tracy acknowledged, her jaw tight. She slid
her fingers through her rumpled hair, drawing it back behind her
ear.

"Relax." Reese held a hand up in disclaimer. "This doesn't have a
thing to do with your father."

"Sorry." Tracy released the breath she'd been unconsciously
holding.  Although if there was one person who needed no
explanation about her father, it was Captain Joe Reese. "What's
up?"

"I was hoping maybe you could tell me." Reese leaned forward into
his desk, his hands folded before him. "You don't look so good,
Tracy. Is everything all right?"

"Gee, thanks," Tracy returned with a hint of sarcasm in her
voice. "I'll try and work on it." 

"You know what I mean." Reese replied kindly. "You look like you
haven't slept in a week."

Tracy's shoulders sagged. What she would give to be able to crawl 
into bed right now and drift off into oblivion. The few snatches
of sleep she did get today were punctuated with dreams--dreams
too horrible to even think about. "I have been having some
trouble," she admitted. "But nothing I can't handle."

"Just don't let it get out of hand," Reese said firmly. "Take it
from me--you make mistakes when you're tired, ones you'd never
make otherwise. A cop can't afford that--you're a danger to
yourself and to your partner if you aren't one hundred percent
out there." He paused. "I don't want to be the one to explain to
Commissioner Vetter that something's happened to his little girl.

Tracy clenched her jaw. His little girl. Fabulous. She was so
glad this had nothing to do with her father. "Thanks, Captain,"
she managed. Tracy turned and headed for the door. "By the way,"
she forced her voice to sound casual, "have you heard anything
about a homicide by exsanguination? A young blonde woman,
maybe?"

Reese shook his head, his brows knitting together. "No. Nothing
that's come to my attention anyway." It didn't sound like
anything he wanted to hear about either, not in his precinct.
"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just something I thought I heard the day shift mention."
Tracy opened the door and stepped through the threshold. "I guess
I must have heard wrong." 

end section



Nick and Tracy climbed slowly up the ornate staircase to the
second floor. The home was even more elaborate than it appeared
to be from the outside. An impressive collection of
Renaissance art lined the walls of the home's lower level--all
wired with an equally impressive security system. The home seemed
to be a veritable fortress. At least there could be little
question of a forced entry, assuming that the alarm had been
turned on at the time of the shooting.

The pair carefully maneuvered their way through the maze of rooms
toward the far end of the house. A trail of uniformed officers
and forensic's technicians left little doubt as to the
direction of the scene. 

"I guess Reese wasn't kidding when he said we'd need to tread
carefully," Tracy whispered to Nick as they entered the bedroom.
The room was large, almost excessively so, but missing from it
were many of the touches that had been evident throughout the 
rest of the house. The walls of the room were a bleached
antiseptic white and numerous pieces of medical equipment were
stationed at varying intervals throughout the room. "This place
looks more like a hospital than a home."

"Or maybe it was a little of both," Nick replied quietly.
"There's some pretty sophisticated equipment here, not just the
usual sickroom appliances." Maybe Tracy wasn't so far off after
all."

An amused grin spread over his face as he stepped to the center
of the room. The sight of Natalie never failed to brighten his
night, no matter how unfortunate the circumstances.  "Is there
something I can help you with there, Nat?"

Natalie Lambert was on perched one foot--the weight of her body 
precariously balanced over that of her subject. The body of an
elderly man lay sprawled across an enormous King-sized bed, his 
head cradled in a congealing pool of blood. A small caliber
handgun rested lightly in his open hand. Natalie's right arm was
stretched to its absolute limit, her gloved hand desperately
attempting to reach something that seemed to be just out of her
grasp.

Natalie straightened and returned her other foot to the floor.
She glanced enviously at the pair of detectives--the pair of 
*tall* detectives. "Not unless one of you would care to spare
me a few inches."

"Sorry," Tracy chirped. The first genuine smile of the day
crossed her lips. Her height had plagued her most of her life. It
was nice to see it could come in handy once in a while.

Nick pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slid
one on. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for some help. What
is it you're looking for?"

"I dropped a pair of tweezers," Natalie acknowledged. "There,
by the head wound."

Nick stepped closer to the bed and reached carefully into
the field. The entrance wound was apparent on the side of the
man's head--no exit wound was clearly visible. He snatched the
instrument up and handed it to Natalie. "So, what's your take
on this, Nat?"

"The gunshot was definitely a contact wound--you can see the 
starburst pattern there on the skin." Natalie pointed to the
skin surrounding the entrance wound. "That, and the gun in his
hand would seem to indicate a suicide, but I'll still need to
get a better look before I can give you a definite answer."

"Are you with us, Tracy?" Nick asked sharply. Tracy seemed to be
looking everywhere but at the body. Natalie's little forensic's
lecture wasn't for his benefit, and his partner seemed to be
missing most of it.

"Uh...sure," Tracy responded unenthusiastically. She had seen
enough bodies on beds today to last her for quite some time. She
spared a quick glance at the scene, then looked away again. This
wasn't where she needed to be right now. There was another body
out there somewhere--a body that was her responsibility. She
needed to get this wrapped up as quickly as possible and then
figure out what she was going to do about it. "Reese said
something about a maid calling it in?"

Natalie shot Nick a curious look. Tracy certainly had more
than her share of troubles with crime scenes, but a lack of
attentiveness wasn't generally the problem. "Downstairs, in the
study," Natalie informed them. "She looked pretty shaky to me."

"We'll take it easy on her," Nick assured her. "Any hope of
getting the autopsy results tonight?"

Natalie shook her head in feigned annoyance. "You give some
people an inch and they want a mile."

Nick softened his features and looked pleadingly at his favorite
coroner. "But you'll do it for me...right? This case is already
making waves downtown. Everyone will be much happier if it
goes quickly and quietly into the "solved" column."

Natalie sighed in exasperation. Much to her chagrin, she found it
next to impossible to deny Nick Knight anything when he adopted
that innocent look of his. She wondered how many others in
his long life had succumbed to the same charms--and what their 
fate had ultimately been. "Oh, all right," she agreed
reluctantly. Her caseload was fairly light at the moment anyway.
She just hated for him to think he could always manage to get
around her. "I'll head back and get started on the postmortem
now." Natalie raised her index finger to his face. "But you owe
me."

Nick gave her hand a light squeeze. "Thanks, Nat. Consider me in
your debt."

"Yeah," Natalie grumbled under her breath as the pair walked away
from her, "as if you weren't already."


~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Mrs. Maria Alvarez?"  

The woman shifted her gaze towards the detectives as Nick called
her name. She looked older than he had pictured her to be in
his mind--fiftyish, maybe, with more than a sprinkling of gray in
her dark hair. She had been crying--that much was obvious from
the puffy red splotches on her face and the macerated tissue
she held tightly in her hand. Beyond that, her appearance was
fairly unremarkable. Her service uniform was immaculate and had
been recently starched and pressed. 

"I'm Maria Alvarez." The woman attempted to stand as they
approached, but failed miserably, her knees buckling beneath
her.

"Please." Nick signaled her to remain seated. "I'm Detective
Knight, this is my partner, Detective Vetter. I understand that
you're the one that found Mr. Birch tonight. Is that correct?"

Mrs. Alvarez sniffled, bringing her tissue to her damp eyes.
"Yes, that's right. I had just brought him his eight p.m.
medication when I heard the phone ring. I came downstairs to
answer it, and that's when I heard the shot. I ran upstairs, and
saw him there, on the bed." Maria dropped her head into her
hands and began sobbing loudly.

"I'm sorry," Nick said softly. "I know this must be difficult
for you. We have just a few more questions. Was there anyone
else here in the house tonight?"

Mrs. Alvarez shook her head no. "Mr. Birch has two adult children
that live here as well. They're both in New York on business for
a few days, so the rest of the staff was given the night off."

"What about medical personnel?" Tracy questioned. "From the looks
of it, Mr. Birch wasn't a well man."

"No, he wasn't," Mrs. Alvarez acknowledged. "He wasn't well at
all. He usually had a nurse around the clock, but the one who was
here tonight got a phone call. She had some family emergency and
left around seven."

"And left you here alone with him?" Tracy returned. "Isn't that
a little unusual?"

Mrs. Alvarez stiffened. "I've been with Mr. Birch for almost
twenty years. I'm able to do anything he might need me to do."

"And so that's when he killed himself?" Tracy asked sharply. The
coincidence was all just a bit too much for her. Her father
didn't believe in them, and he had taught her never to either.
What amazed her was how easily Nick seemed to be swallowing all
this.

Nick glanced at his partner. He wasn't at all sure where
Tracy was going with this--and even less sure that he liked it.
She had scarcely paid any attention at the scene, now she seemed
to be intent on intimidating their only witness.

"Yes...," Mrs. Alvarez responded slowly. "When I went downstairs
to answer the phone."

"Why downstairs?" Tracy edged closer to Mrs. Alvarez. "I would
think that in a house this size, they'd be plenty of phones all
over the place. Why would you go all the way down that long
flight of stairs just to answer the phone?"

"Excuse me?" 

"Why did you go downstairs to answer the phone? I think the
question is simple enough."

"Tracy...," Nick said with a cautioning tone in his voice.

"No, it's all right," Mrs. Alvarez responded, straightening her
shoulders. "It was the policy of the house for the staff to use
the downstairs phone. Plus, Mr. Birch was planning to rest--
that's why I came down to use the phone down here."

"And that's when the gun went off." Tracy stated bluntly. "What
did you do next?"

Mrs. Alvarez looked confused. "Why, I went upstairs, of course.
When I saw what had happened...what he had done." A single tear
rolled down her cheek and she let it fall unchecked. "Then I
called the police."

"An hour later," Tracy inserted. "You say that you brought him
his eight o'clock medication, then when you went to answer the
phone and heard the shot. According to the station log, the call
didn't come in until 9:02. What were you doing in the meantime?"

"Um...," Mrs. Alvarez scrambled. Her gaze shifted between the two
detectives and her eyes filled with tears.

"Um, what?" Tracy pressed. "It doesn't look like you did a damn
thing to try and help him--there's not a spot of blood on you.
Didn't it even occur to you to call 911? That maybe she wasn't
dead, that maybe somebody could have saved her?"

Nick grabbed Tracy lightly by the arm. "May I speak to you,
Detective Vetter--privately?" he asked sternly. He led Tracy
into a small alcove and closed the door firmly behind them.

Nick turned and faced Tracy. "Do you mind telling me *what*
is going on out there?"

"What do you mean? I'm just asking her a few questions. That is
supposed to be our job, isn't it?" 

"She's a witness, Tracy, not a suspect. Even if she were a
suspect, you're not going to get anything out of her with that
kind of approach."

"The time frame doesn't add up," Tracy insisted vehemently. "And
look at her--there's no blood anywhere on that uniform. What if
she wasn't dead? Did this woman even bother to check?  It sure
doesn't look like it. What if something could have been done to
help her?"

Nick looked curiously at his partner. "What are you talking
about, Tracy? The victim's a man, Robert Birch--that's twice
you've said 'she.'"

"Did I?" Tracy gasped. She really was starting to lose it. She
ran her fingers through her hair. She needed to stay focused
here. "So what if I did? The point is the same--at the very least
she found the body and did nothing about it for close to an
hour."

"So maybe she was late bringing the medication and is afraid
to admit it," Nick postulated, "or maybe she was in shock after
finding the body and that's why it took her a while to call."

Tracy suddenly crossed her arms and glared at Nick. "You're not
even going to consider my ideas, are you?" It was typical of him.
He had never even begun to treat her as an equal partner. Why
should tonight be any different?

"As a matter of fact, I am," Nick replied evenly. "I'm not ruling
anything out--at least until we get an official cause of death
from Natalie. But you're going about this all the wrong way,
Tracy, and I think you need to back off and get some distance
from this."

"Fine," Tracy answered abruptly. "I have something else I need
to be doing anyway. I'm going to take a few personal hours--if
that's all right with you?"

"I think that would be a very good idea. I'll finish up here."
Nick glanced at his watch. "Why don't we plan to meet back at the
morgue in three hours or so?" he suggested.

"Fine," Tracy responded, holding her hand out. "Do you mind?"

Nick reached into his pocket and gently deposited the Caddy keys
in her outstretched hand. "Just be careful--please."

Tracy sighed. Men and their cars--did they ever think about
anything else, or did they just assume that all women couldn't
drive? "I won't get a scratch on it," Tracy replied over her
shoulder.

"I was talking about you," Nick responded in words too soft for
her to hear.



Tracy stepped through the main entrance to the church, slamming 
the door loudly behind her. "Vachon!" she shouted into the
darkness. There'd be no sneaking around this time--the morning's 
events had cured her of ever doing that again. If Vachon was
here, she wanted him to be well aware of her arrival.

It seemed darker than usual to her. She hadn't known the true
meaning of the word dark until she began hanging out with Javier
Vachon. It took her literally walking into a wall one evening to
convince him to keep at least a candle or two going at all times.

Tracy fumbled in the pocket of her jacket until her fingers
came in contact with her key chain flashlight. It wasn't much,
but it sure beat anything she'd been able to find in Nick's car.
She could swear that the Caddy had the emptiest trunk she'd ever
seen--not surprising given Nick's penchant for neatness, but
still, everyone needs a flashlight once in a while.

She aimed the beam of light into the darkened recesses of the
church. A shiver ran down her spine and she pulled her jacket
even more tightly around her. It was funny, this place had never
seemed creepy to her before--not even that very first night she
had come looking for JD Valdez. Maybe it was the fact that, in
the end, it was still a church. As old fashioned as it sounded,
she somehow always equated a church with safety. This morning had
changed all that. This morning had changed a lot of things.

"Vachon!" She called again, not quite so loudly this time. If he
was here, he'd certainly have heard her by now. In all likelihood
he was out, God only knew where. Of course, if he was here, he
would have no trouble concealing himself from her. It was an
unsettling idea, and one she would have considered unthinkable
just twenty-four hours ago. 

Tracy crossed the main floor and made her way slowly down the
stone steps into the basement. She cast the light randomly around
the lower level, letting it rest on the assorted crates and boxes
that always seemed in residence down there. In spite of the more
spacious surroundings above, this was the place Vachon had always
seemed to gravitate to, the place he seemed the most comfortable
in.  She had asked him once, in all seriousness, if that was
due to a vampire's natural desire to be underground.
Unfortunately, he had a mouthful of blood at the time. Tracy
smiled grimly--she never did get the fine spray of blood out of
her sweater.  After that, she left the vampire books right where
they belonged--on the shelf. 

"Where are you, Vachon?" she whispered.  And how could all of
this gone so wrong so fast?  Tracy closed her eyes against the
tears she felt welling up. This was not the time to get all
emotional again. She brusquely wiped the back of her
hand against her eyes. She had no right to cry, at least she was
alive and well. Out there, somewhere, a family was waiting for
another young woman who would never return.

Tracy squared her shoulders as she headed decisively up to the
second floor of the church. She had prayed this wouldn't be
necessary when she came here tonight--she never wanted to set
foot in that bedroom again. What was it, though, that they said
about returning to the scene of the crime? Was this the scene of
her crime? She had seen him kill her, for God's sake. What made
her turn and run down those stairs instead of doing what her
training and her conscience dictated? Sure, she could probably
lay it off on her fatigue, or maybe shock--Nick would like that
one, but, in her heart, she knew that neither one of those
reasons would really be true.

Tracy stepped carefully into the room, shining the light ahead of
her. The room was in perfect order. If anything, it almost too
clean for Vachon. The bed was neatly made and there were none of
his usual belongings scattered about. Even his guitar was
missing. She ran her fingers lightly across the top of a chest of
drawers--if she didn't know better, she would have sworn that
someone had actually dusted it.

Tracy dug in her pocket for a pack of matches and lit a few
scattered candles. The bed was draped in light muslin, the warm
candlelight playing softly against the folds of the fabric. How
many times had she fantasized about being here with him, wrapped
in Vachon's strong arms? How many times had she wondered what it 
would be like to be taken by him? Despite their many
conversations, they had never really talked about it--unless you 
counted his vague warnings that it would be hazardous to her
health. Would it really be so different than making love to a
mortal man?

She quickly shook the thoughts off--this wasn't the time, or the
place, to wonder about what was never to be. She was here to
solve a mystery, and that's what she fully intended to do. Tracy
moved to the bed. The spread was neatly arranged, the pillows all
in order. It would be so easy to believe that nothing at all had
taken place here this morning.

Stepping closer, Tracy noted a thin trail of a dark brown
substance. Her heart sank in her chest--she'd seen enough old
blood to recognize it when she saw it. Was she really hoping that
this was somehow all just a really bad dream? Tracy felt her
knees go weak and she sank onto the bed. Nightmare was probably
a better description. She glanced quickly at her watch. She had
better get up and get going--Nick was expecting her at the morgue
in a little over two hours and she had a lot of ground to cover
before then.


Tracy pulled the Caddy as closely as possible to the curb in
front of the Coroner's office before killing the engine. How in
the world Nick managed to maneuver the damn thing through the
congested traffic of downtown Toronto was beyond her. It had
taken every last ounce of energy she possessed to get the car
across town in one piece.  Unfortunately, she had come up with
a big fat goose egg for all her trouble. She had hit every
hangout of Vachon's in town--at least all the ones *she* knew
about. No one had seen him, or if they had, they certainly
weren't telling her.

Tracy eased herself back against the soft leather seat of the
Caddy and closed her eyes--apparently, there were some advantages
to owning a classic. She could spend the rest of the night
here--and quite comfortably as well. She'd only be a third wheel
in the morgue anyway--at least that's how she often felt when she
was in the same room with Nick and Natalie. It was almost as if
they had their own little world sometimes, and she was definitely
not invited.

A sharp rap on the window caused her to sit bolt upright, her
heart in her throat. Tracy glanced to the passenger side window,
only to see the face of her partner staring back at her. "You
scared the life out of me, Nick!" she exclaimed as she rolled
down the window.

"Sorry," he responded--and and he almost looked it too. Almost,
but not quite. "I didn't want anyone mistaking you for a
customer."

"Very funny." Tracy eased her way out of the car and handed the
car keys back to Nick. One night of driving the old boat was one
night too many for her. "Have you talked to Natalie yet?"

"No, I was just getting here myself when I spotted the Caddy. I
am sorry I startled you, I just couldn't resist." Nick stepped to
the entrance and pulled the door open. "Shall we?"

Tracy forced the corners of her mouth into a thin smile. What was
it about her that made men want to scare her? Whatever it was,
she needed to change it, and fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Natalie reached back and piled her long auburn hair onto the
top of her head. There was nothing messier than getting into 
someone's cranium. She couldn't wait for the shift to be over
and so she could go home and soak in a hot tub. Nick had just
better appreciate all the work she'd put into this. No one else
in the department could have finished the postmortem as quickly
as she had. "Just call me Natalie Lambert, fastest coroner in the
north," she mumbled.

"What was that, Nat?" Nick asked, stepping into the autopsy room.

The grin plastered all over his face told her that he'd heard
exactly what she'd said. Tracy filed into the room a step behind
her partner. At least she'd been out of earshot--mortal earshot
anyway.

"Never you mind what I said." Natalie returned the smile in spite
of herself.  "You owe me one, detectives. This was not pretty."

Nick stepped to her side, making an effort to contain his
amusement. "So, what do we have on Mr. Birch here?" 

"I'm afraid things turned out not to be quite as clear cut as
they first seemed," Natalie informed the pair. In fact, she still
was quite sure exactly what to make of her findings.

"You mean he didn't commit suicide?" Tracy interjected.

"I didn't say that," Natalie responded. Natalie began flipping
through the papers on her clipboard. "What I did find was that
Mr. Robert Birch had ingested a fairly large dose of barbiturates
at some point today--I'd say, oh, six to eight hours before his
death."

"So he did kill himself," Nick reasoned. It wasn't uncommon for
someone who was genuinely suicidal to use more than one method to
assure success.

"I didn't say that either. The dose of barbiturates that he took
was well above what you would normally prescribe for sleep, but
it wasn't big enough to kill him. Now, as to the gunshot wound,
I'm afraid that's not so straightforward either."

Nick sighed in exasperation. He could swear she was actually
enjoying this. "You're talking in riddles here, Nat. Do you
mind?"

Natalie glanced at the two detectives in front of her. They did 
seem even more out of sync than usual. "Sorry," she muttered.
"What I can tell you is that Robert Birch was suffering from a
degenerative neurological condition. I'm not sure which one,
though--scrambled brain can be a little bit tough to decipher.
I'll have to wait for the morning and get in touch with his
private physician for his medical records." 

Natalie moved to the autopsy table and pulled back the sheet
covering the corpse. "In the mean time, take a look at this."
Natalie indicated the man's right arm which had been carefully
dissected. "Complete wasting of the musculature of the arms and
hands--apparently due to the neurological process. He must have
been almost totally incapacitated. It's no wonder there was so
much medical equipment in his room. From the scaring on his
trachea, I'd say that he'd spent at least some portion of the
last few months on a respirator. Frankly, I don't see how he
would have had the strength to hold the gun to his head, let
alone pull the trigger."

"But the starburst pattern on the skin indicates that it was
a contact wound, correct?" Tracy questioned.

"Oh, it was a contact wound all right--that was confirmed by the
trajectory of the bullet inside his head as well," Natalie
replied. "What we don't know is how the gun got to his head. I do
need to talk to his physician," Natalie shrugged, "maybe Birch
was more capable than my examination would indicate, but right
now I have to tell you guys that I'm leaning towards ruling it a
homicide."

"Which leaves us with Maria Alvarez--assuming the story about
them being alone in the house is true." Nick shook his head
slowly. Something wasn't adding up here--she seemed to be
genuinely distraught over Birch's death. "I have a hard time with
her as a killer."

"Why?" Tracy challenged. "Because she shed a few tears? Really,
Nick--I'm afraid things aren't always what they appear to be,
partner." She had certainly learned that lesson the hard way. It
was almost too bad that she couldn't share the source of her new
found wisdom with Nick--he could stand to have his reality shaken
up a bit.

"Far be it from me to argue with the voice of experience," Nick
returned sarcastically. 

"Whoa, there." Natalie held her hands up and slid her body
between the two. "I want each of you to step to a neutral corner
and don't come out until you hear the sound of the bell."

Nick stepped back from the women, a cautious expression of
resignation on his face. "All right, I'll concede that we need
to take a much closer look at Maria Alvarez. But I do think we
should wait to hear what Nat learns from Birch's doctor."

"Agreed," Tracy stated firmly. She glanced quickly at her watch.
Their shift was almost over anyway. Maria Alvarez could wait
until tonight. "I want to swing back over to the station, anyway.
I'll tell Reese that we plan to bring her in for questioning
tonight."

"Fine," Nick replied in a clipped tone.

Tracy turned and headed towards the door. "Oh, Natalie," she
said casually--at least she hoped it sounded casual. "I almost
forgot. I was supposed to ask if you'd had any unusual cases turn
up over the last day or so."

Natalie's eyes narrowed. "Unusual covers a lot of ground in this
business, Tracy. What are we talking about here?"

"Oh, maybe a death which involved a large blood loss, say in the
last twenty-four hours or so?"

Natalie resisted the urge to glance over at Nick. Apparently 
something was up which she was unaware of. "That's still a little
vague, Trace," she prompted. "Any 'someone' in particular?"

Tracy swallowed hard. "A young blonde woman maybe? A Jane Doe
perhaps?" she offered hesitantly. She really didn't want to bring
this up in front of Nick, but she'd bet her bottom dollar that
he'd be hanging around the morgue until the end of the shift.
This may well be her only chance to get any information from
Natalie. "Captain Reese thought he'd caught wind of something. He
asked me to pass it on."

"I can't say that it rings a bell, Tracy," Natalie commented
easily. "But if I hear of anything, I'll be sure and let you 
know."

"Thanks." Tracy offered the pair a thin smile before heading for
the door. She paused, her hand just inches from the door. What if
she were to tell them everything? After all, she was supposed to
be able to trust her partner with her life--and who else did she
have to turn to? What were a few vampires between friends? An
incoherent sound forced its way out of her mouth.

"Was there something else?" Natalie queried. 

Tracy shook her head quickly. "No." She hesitated. "No, there's
nothing else." Nothing she could possibly share with the two of
them. "I guess I'll see you tonight, then."  

"Sleep well," Natalie called after her as the younger woman
passed through the double doors. She sure looked like she could
use it--rarely had she seen Tracy looking quite so strained. 

Natalie shot a curious glance at Nick. He had remained oddly
silent during the exchange and seemed to be in no particular
hurry to bring her up to date either. "Well?" she finally
prodded, her hand on her hip. "What was *that* all about?"

Nick shook his head slowly. "I wish I knew. She seemed fine this
morning when we left the precinct." 

"She's certainly not fine now," Natalie commented. "Come on,
Nick, she looking for a body that's been drained of blood.
*Something* happened today--something that's upset her pretty
badly."

"Vachon." Nick set his jaw firmly. He had long wondered if 
keeping the young Spaniard in Toronto had done Tracy far more
harm than good. Her emotional attachment to him was obvious.
What wasn't quite so apparent was Vachon's intentions towards
his partner. 

"You don't know that for sure," Natalie noted cautiously. She
had been touched by Vachon's seemingly unconditional attachment
to his friend Screed as he lay dying. Nick would probably claim
that vampires didn't have the capacity to care for others, but
she knew differently. 

"Even if he's not directly responsible for whatever it is that's
happened, somehow it all leads back to him." Nick looked at
Natalie and his features softened. She was always looking to see
the good in everyone, even when they didn't deserve it. He
stepped closer to her and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She
didn't deserve to have her life so consumed by the darkness. "At
least it will give me a place to start."

Natalie's shoulders sagged in resignation. "And I'll ask around
too--I have access to information that Tracy doesn't. The
last thing we need is a body surfacing with fang marks on it."

"Nat...," He could feel the tension growing within her. Hiding
a vampire kill was an ugly necessity, and it was one task he had
called upon her far too often to perform.

"I know, Nick." He was always sorry, but unfortunately, being
sorry didn't change anything. She slid her arms from his grasp.
"I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight," he echoed softly--and then he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~



"Sleep well." The words echoed in Tracy's ears as she traveled
down the hallway and out the door into the night. The way she was
feeling, it would be a miracle if she ever slept well again. She
glanced up at the sky. Despite the skyscrapers and the harsh
lights of the city, she could still catch a glimpse of the
occasional star. 

How different the world looked these days. She was beginning to
realize that life would never look quite the same way it did
before the plane crash, before she met Javier Vachon and reality
took a big shift sideways. 

What she couldn't believe was how close she had come to spilling
the whole thing to Nick and Natalie. What did she seriously think
she was going to tell them? That her "snitch" was a vampire, of
all things, and that he'd betrayed her? That she'd seen him kill
a young woman right before her very eyes? No. As much as she'd
like to believe that at this point in their relationship, Nick
would grant her some credibility, she knew in her heart that it
wasn't true. After nearly a year together, he still treated her
as an interloper--as if Donald Schanke's death was somehow her
fault. Oh, he was polite, and professional. She knew she'd never
have to worry about her back while he was around, or that she'd
be on the receiving end of an unwanted pass, but that was about
as far as it went. They'd never be friends. They'd never do the
sort of partner things she always heard about in her Dad's
stories. She'd never be able to tell him about Javier Vachon, or
the murder she witnessed this morning.

Tracy pulled her coat more tightly around her as she walked
through the deserted streets. It was probably just as well.
Twenty-four hours ago she thought she knew the most wondrous
secret in the world, now she knew better. Nick and Natalie would
both be better off with their innocence still intact. She had to
face this one alone and God only knew how it would end.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even in this last hour before dawn, the club was still seething
with activity. Nick carefully scanned the crowd--it seemed to be
an equal portion of mortal and vampire, one virtually
indistinguishable from the other--at least to human perception. 

Unfortunately, the vampire he was looking for didn't seem to be
among the gyrating masses. Nick made a quick pass by the booths
in the rear of the room before sliding onto a stool at the
bar. With the slightest gesture towards the bartender, a goblet
was produced and placed carefully in front of him. It was cow,
Nick observed with a tight grin. Apparently, he was still in
Lacroix's good graces--at least for the moment.

Nick reached out and lightly touched the bartender's sleeve. "I'm
looking for Javier Vachon," he stated in a voice loud enough to 
penetrate the pounding beat of the music. "Has he been in
tonight?" 

The bartender shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and walked
towards the far end of the bar. It wasn't surprising. One didn't
stay a bartender at an establishment where privacy was paramount 
by giving eveyone's business away. Regardless, he needed to talk
to Vachon, and he needed to do it soon.

"Hey, stranger," a lilting voice called Nick from behind. He felt
an arm snake around his waist and come to rest there.

Nick swiveled in his chair, a warm smile crossing his lips.
"Urs!" He quickly returned the embrace. "You're looking well."
This past year in Toronto seemed to have done the young vampiress
a world of good. She had a quiet air of self-confidence now that
had definitely been lacking when he first made her acquaintance. 

Urs stepped back, allowing him a better look at her new outfit.
It was black, with a sharp cut that outlined her curvaceous
figure. Still, it was far more conservative that what he had seen
her wear in the past.

"Thank-you," she replied, bowing slightly. "Lucien helped me
pick it out. I've been helping him out around the club--doing the
ordering and such. He said I needed something a little more--
businesslike."

"Lucien?" Nick returned incredulously. He had been aware of a
growing closeness between Urs and his master--apparently it
had gone even further than he had realized.

"Lucien," Urs affirmed, smiling sweetly. "Look, Nick, I know you
two have had your differences, but he's been very good to me.
He's opened my eyes to a lot of things I never even knew
existed--art, theater, classical music. I know he genuinely cares
about me, and that's something I haven't had enough of in my
life."

Nick shook his head slowly. No one knew the dangers of Lacroix's
"caring" better than he did. "Urs...," 

Urs rested her hand lightly on Nick's arm. "I know what you're
going to say--you think I'm playing with fire, and maybe you're 
right. But for now, I'm happy and he's happy. Can't we just
leave it at that? Please?"

Nick exhaled slowly. "All right," he acquiesced. Maybe the two
would even do one another some good. Stranger things had
happened. "Just watch your step, okay? And don't come crying to
me when he tries to make you memorize the Aeneid."

"It's a deal." Urs smiled brightly. Her burgeoning friendship
with Nick was one of the things she treasured about her new life
here in Toronto. She liked to think he saw her as something of a
kindred spirit as well. She'd hate to see that friendship come to
an end over her relationship with Lacroix. "Thanks, Nick. Now,
what brings you in here? We haven't seen much of you lately."

"You may be just the person who can help me. I came in
here looking for Vachon--I already went by the church, but he
wasn't there."

Urs swallowed deeply from the glass in front of her. "He's out of
town. He left this evening--his band has a gig in Buffalo for a
couple of nights. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Nick rolled the wineglass lightly in his hands. "I doubt it." He
shot her a careful glance. "It has to do with Tracy."

"Tracy? You mean your partner? I've seen her in here a few times
looking for Vachon. What's up?"

"That's just it," Nick responded. "I'm not sure if there's
anything to be concerned about or not. That's what I wanted to
talk to Vachon about. Something seems to have set her off.
Suddenly she's asking all the wrong questions. If you get my
drift."

"You mean about...?" Urs edged closer and dropped her voice.
Even in the Raven you couldn't afford to be too nonchalant.
"Us...our kind?"

"Exactly," he confirmed. "And one drained body in particular."
He looked at Urs carefully. "You wouldn't know anything about
that, now would you?"

"A body?" she whispered with some concern. Bodies were something
no member of the Community took lightly. An unexplained body
could endanger them all--in one way or another. "You can't think
that Vachon had anything to do with that, Nick. Not here, not
now--Toronto means too much to him. I can't remember him ever
putting down roots like he has here." She shook her head. "I just
can't believe he'd risk all that."

Nick brought the glass to his lips and sipped cautiously at 
the red liquid. Lacroix seemed to have gone out of his way to
secure the vilest tasting cow in existence. "Maybe not," he
ventured. "But I'm convinced that *something* Tracy witnessed
today affected her profoundly. I need to find out what that
something is--before this thing gets out of hand. Tracy knows far
too much about the Community as it is."

"Today?" Urs brightened considerably at his words. "Well, that
lets Vachon off the hook. I spent the day at the church--he was 
with me the whole time." 

Urs' pale face became even more drawn. "Oh, my...," she uttered,
bringing a hand to her lips. "Today."

Nick pressed even more closely to her. "What about today, Urs?"
he asked evenly.

Urs shifted uncomfortably in her seat. No, it wasn't possible.
Surely, one of them would have sensed something, or at least had
some inkling that there was someone else in the church. "What is
it that Tracy said--exactly?"

"She's looking for a body." He paused, his eyes roaming over his
companion. "A young blonde woman to be precise. Now, why do I get
the feeling that you know more than your telling me, Urs?"

"I'm not sure." She searched her memory, trying to put the
pieces together. It could be, she supposed. There were pieces
missing, fragments that didn't quite meld together. She cleared
her throat sharply. "Vachon and I were...um...*together* today at
the church. You don't suppose...?"

Vachon and Urs together--so that was it. It would be easy for
a mortal to mistake the erotic act of bloodsharing for something
far more permanent, and lethal. "Sure she would," he snapped.
"How would Tracy know any different? She's not one of us. To
them, what we do is...," He scrambled to describe the violent
animalistic coupling of their kind. "Abhorrent."

"You don't have to make it sound like that," Urs countered
sharply. "Because it wasn't like that. Vachon needed me. He's
been down since Screed's death and frustrated with this
relationship with Tracy. He needed someone to turn to."
Urs' tone softened as she spoke. "What's so wrong with that?"

"And what about you, Urs?" he queried. She was a beautiful woman
with a heart as warm as any he'd ever found among their kind.
"It's easy enough to see what his attraction is, but what's in it
for you?"

Urs slid her hand over Nick's, covering it lightly. She knew
better than anyone what it was like to despise what you are.
Still, it saddened her that he obviously took so little
pleasure in one of the few true gifts their kind had been given.
To get a glimpse into another's heart, their very soul even,
was a experience beyond compare.

"Does there have to be something in it for me?" Urs shrugged. "He
created me--he completes me when we're together."

"As simple as that, is it?" 

"It's never that simple." Urs gave Nick's hand a light squeeze.
If anyone knew that, it was Nick. She couldn't even begin to
unravel the relationship he had with Lacroix, and she suspected
that they couldn't either. "I am sorry, though--for Tracy, I
mean. I...we...certainly didn't mean to cause her any pain. Is
there something I can do? Do you want me to talk to her?"

"I don't think so."  Nick intertwined his fingers with hers. She
really had an amazingly kind heart--it was a wonder she had
survived as long as she had. "But thanks anyway. I think this is
something Tracy and Vachon need to work out for themselves." Nick
rose from the stool. "But, if you see Vachon before I do."

"I'll let him know you're looking for him." Urs stood and
embraced him tightly. "Just try not to worry. I'm sure Javier
will be able to straighten this whole thing out when he gets
back."

"I hope you're right." Nick gave her a tight squeeze. "I
certainly hope you're right."





Nick paused at the autopsy room doors. She was there, inside.
He could hear the soft rustle as she moved around the room,
humming lightly to herself as she went about her work. Nick 
pressed open the door, grateful to see her welcoming look
as he moved into the room. 

Natalie glanced quickly at the clock, then back to Nick as
he entered the morgue. The sun had barely been down twenty
minutes. Whatever it was he had to say, it must be important.
"You're cutting it close this evening." Natalie moved to the
filing cabinet and stuffed an unruly handful of papers into
their rightful place.

"I was worried. I tried to call you--the line was busy all
day."

"Sydney decided not to take any incoming calls." Natalie grinned
at the confused look on Nick's face. "He knocked the phone off
the receiver," she explained.

"Ah, so that was it." Nick relaxed visibly at her words. "I
thought maybe you were avoiding me."

Natalie's smile broadened. "No such luck--I'm afraid you're stuck
with me. But I am sorry to say that I haven't had any luck with
Tracy's mystery corpse." Natalie slid the filing cabinet drawer
closed and looked evenly at Nick. "The Provincial office had
nothing. I even called over to the New York State Medical
Examiner's office in case the body had washed up across the
lake--nothing there either, I'm afraid."

"That's what I was trying to call you about." Nick stepped to
Natalie's side and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "You can
stop looking--there is no body."

A sigh of relief escaped Natalie's lips. "You talked to Vachon."

"Not quite," Nick admitted. "He's out of town, but I talked to
the next best thing--the young blonde woman in question." He
smiled. It wasn't often that their troubles with the Community
were so easily solved. They were both still reeling from the
Frank LoPietro-Francesca debacle and the implications that the
incident had raised. "It was Urs. I'm sure once Vachon gets back
to town, he'll be able to clear the whole thing up with Tracy."

She had met Urs only once--and briefly at that. Urs came across
as an amazingly innocent, sweet girl. Natalie would never have
pegged her as a vampire, not unless it had been pointed out to
her. The description was certainly an apt one--Urs' blonde hair
was her most defining feature. "Okay, back up here a bit, Nick.
We *think* that the young blonde woman is Urs, but do we really
know that for sure? I'd hate to walk away from this, only to find
out later that there really is a body out there somewhere."

"Urs was with Vachon all day yesterday--the day the trouble seems
to have started." He paused, choosing his words carefully. He
wandered to the counter and picked up a piece of glassware. He
turned it over in his hands--the liquid inside really was an
amazing color. "I think it's a reasonable assumption that the
woman was Urs."

"A reasonable assumption based on what?" Natalie pressed. She
could always tell when he was avoiding something--he suddenly 
developed an overwhelming interest in the morgue equipment. "And
put that thing down!"

"Sorry." Nick returned the beaker to its stand. Apparently, he
wasn't going to get out of this as easily as he had hoped.
"Vachon and Urs were--how shall I put this? In flagrante, shall
we say?" Nick took a deep breath. "I think *that's* what Tracy
saw."

"Oh." Natalie felt her face flush. It was hardly the answer she
was expecting. "Well, I guess that explains it then...I
guess."

"Unfortunate for Tracy," Nick conceded, "but certainly better
than the alternative."

Natalie nodded in agreement, then stopped and turned to face
Nick. Maybe that explained it, and maybe it didn't. "Now wait
just a minute here," she cautioned. "I had a roommate in college
who was determined to go through the whole football team--one
player at a time--if you get my meaning." Natalie could feel the
line of crimson on her face creep towards her hairline--just
thinking about it was embarrassing. It had been the longest
academic year of her life. "Never once did I walk in and think
she was being murdered. I guess I think of Tracy as naive too,
but come on, Nick. She's a big girl--and a homicide detective. I
think she knows the difference between two people having sex and
someone committing murder--and it *is* a body she's looking for."

Nick shifted his weight uneasily. They had spent an amazing
amount of time *not* talking about precisely this subject.
Natalie certainly understood that blood sharing was an important
part of a vampire's sexuality, but there was no way any mortal
could understand just how all encompassing it was for them. Nick
reached over and lifted the beaker from its stand once again,
examining it closely.  "So, I'm guessing that your roommate
wasn't a vampire, then?"

"Very funny," Natalie returned. "Although, now that I think about
it...," she quipped. Did she *ever* see that girl by the light of
day? She shook her head quickly. "I think I'm missing your point
here, Nick. I mean, sex is _sex_ right? You know--the birds,
the bees." Natalie forced a nervous laugh. She couldn't believe
they were standing here actually having this conversation--here
in the morgue of all places. Nick's eyes remained fixed on the
item in his hands. "Nick?"

"It's different for us, Nat." He finally looked up and met her
gaze. "I've told you that."

"Well...I...you," she scrambled. "You've always led me to believe
that the blood, the biting, were important. I just thought...,"

"It's not just that it's important--it's *everything* to us," he
stated flatly.  

Natalie grimaced involuntarily. The idea had never seriously
crossed her mind--she had always assumed that biting occurred
in addition to conventional "human" intercourse. Apparently, she
had assumed wrong--and Nick had never sought to enlighten her.
"What are you trying to say, Nick?" 

Nick put down the beaker and buried his hands deep in his
pockets. He'd give anything not to have to admit this to
her--he'd spent the last six years not admitting this to her.
"It's the way we make love, Nat." He said it gently, dropping his
eyes to the floor. "The exchange of blood is the single most
erotic thing you can possibly experience. It takes over your
senses completely, fulfilling you in a way that a mortal just
can't possibly imagine." 

Nick felt a rush of heat come to his face. The simple act of
talking about it with her was enough to stir his own desire. He
could hear the soft echo of her heartbeat and feel the dull ache
as his canines fought to descend. Nick angled his head away from
her, hoping to hide his arousal like a twelve-year-old boy
seeking to disguise an erection. "Everything else pales in
comparison and is soon forgotten. Oh, there are some who still
enjoy the physical act, the closeness of it, but it's just not
what we do."

"I see." Natalie cleared her throat. This certainly put a whole
new twist on Tracy's body--and a lot of other things as well. She
turned her attention quickly back to the filing cabinet and
pulled the draw open.

"Do you?" Nick asked carefully, his voice rough. 

"Of course," she answered abruptly. "Your theory about Urs being
the body makes a lot more sense now." She slammed the drawer shut
with a resounding crash. "Case closed."

Nick stepped behind her and slid his arms gently around her
waist. "Nat," he said softly. He felt her tense in his arms. Had
he been wrong in telling her, or wrong in keeping it from her
for so long? He rested his head on her shoulder, kissing her
softly and pressing the edge of his fangs lightly into the nape
of her neck. The scent of her was so sweet, so warm--he wanted
nothing more than to take her where she stood.

"Nick?" Her voice was thin, but free of fear.

"It's what makes this--you and I," he corrected carefully,
"so difficult. It's too wrapped up in the blood--your blood--for
me to be able to separate it."

"Oh, Nick." Natalie turned slowly, his arms still wrapped around
her. His eyes were heavily laced with gold, his face soft and
gentle. No wonder he felt the need to keep her at arms length.
"I'm so sorry."

"No, Nat," he returned. A slight lisp was noticeable as he
struggled to speak around his descended fangs. "I'm the one who's
sorry--sorry that I ever dragged you into this mess that we're
in."

"You didn't drag me. I came willing, and I stayed willingly." She
felt her own eyes well with unshed tears, but she forced a tight
smile. "I told you you couldn't get rid of me that easily."

"Nat...," Nick rested his forehead lightly on her own. Walking
away from here tonight would be the kindest thing he could ever
do for her.

"Nat, nothing," she responded decisively. "Now, no more of this."
She gently disengaged herself from his arms. Prolonging this
would do neither of them any good. "We have a case to finish up,
if I remember correctly."

"All right," Nick answered reluctantly, slowly letting his arms
drop, "you win." He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. She
deserved so much more than anything he could ever give to her.
When he looked at her again, his eyes were the clear blue she had
come to know and love. He cleared his throat lightly, chasing
away the last remnants of the vampire. "What about Mr. Robert
Birch?"

"I was able to get a hold of his physician this morning. Birch
was diagnosed almost five years ago with ALS--amyotropic lateral
sclerosis."

"That's quite a long time to survive with that particular
disease, isn't it?" Nick questioned.

"Indeed it is," she confirmed. "Many people live no more than a
year or two after diagnosis. Apparently, Birch had the
best medical and nursing care that money could buy. And I'm
afraid my assessment of his abilities was right on the mark.
There's no way he could have brought that gun to his head and
fired it. Birch's doctor was even skeptical that he could have
taken those barbiturates without a lot of assistance."

"Which brings us right back to Maria Alvarez," Nick concluded.
"It looks like Tracy was right on this one."

"And what about Tracy?" Natalie asked carefully. 

Nick frowned. Right now Tracy was a loose cannon. There was no
telling what she might do until Vachon got a chance to talk to
her. "I guess I better keep a close eye on her."

"Or you could just be honest with her," she posed. "Tell her
what she needs to know, Nick."

Nick sighed in exasperation. "You can't be serious, Nat."

"I am serious, Nick. I think it's time--past time, really, that
you were honest with Tracy." Natalie reached out and touched his
arm. Schanke's unquestioning acceptance of him as a partner, as
a *man*, had probably brought Nick closer to his dream of
humanity than anything she had managed to concoct in the last six
years. Was he so desperate to hang on to a partner's acceptance,
*any* partner's acceptance, that he would perpetuate this
illusion past all reason? 

"She has proven time and again that she can be trusted, Nick. Has
she ever so much as implied to you that vampires might actually
exist? And you're her partner--if there was anyone she were
likely to confide in, it would be you."

Nick covered her hand lightly with his own. "It's not a matter of
trust, Nat. It's a matter of safety--her safety. Every additional
connection she has with the Community puts her in danger of being
found out--and of being eliminated." 

At times she wondered just how real this vague threat from the
Community really was. "No one's eliminated me," she replied. "And
I certainly know more than my share of vampires." Including at
least one she could live very happily without knowing.

"You serve a purpose," Nick stated bluntly. "Your position here
makes you a calculated risk for the Community--not to mention
what you did for us during the fever. I'm afraid Tracy serves no
such purpose. She *will* be killed if she puts the safety of the
Community at risk." Nick glanced quickly up at the clock. He
had spent far too much time debating this already. "I better go.
Tracy was supposed to pick up Maria Alvarez and bring her in for
questioning. There's no telling how she might react if she really
is guilty."

Natalie shook her head slowly. He wasn't about to see reason on
this one--at least not anytime soon. "But...," 

"But, nothing." He rested a forefinger across her lips. "Not now.
I have to go." Nick looked her closely in the eye. "Will I see
you later--after work?"

Natalie nodded reluctantly. She suspected that she'd want nothing
more than a hot tub and a good cry by the time her shift was
over, but Nick seemed to be drifting ever further away from her
lately. Maybe his wanting to see her was a good sign. "I'll come
by when I'm done here."

Nick kissed her lightly on the forehead before retreating through 
the double doors. 





Tracy looked at the slip of paper in her hand, then back up
at the building in front of her. This was the place all right.
She pulled the car up to the curb and turned off the engine. The
brick facade was crumbling and a few scattered windows were
missing panes of glass. She had seen worse looking apartment
buildings in her life--just not recently. Not quite what she
expected after the splendor of the Birch estate. Apparently, the
Birches didn't get where they were by overpaying their staff. 

And she wasn't going to get the job done standing out here. Reese
had promised her backup--insisted even, despite her reassurances
that the woman was only being brought in for routine questioning.
Tracy glanced down the nearly empty street. Either the patrol car
had been sent to the wrong address, or it had gotten diverted to
a more urgent call. Just her luck. She supposed the right thing
to do would be to call in and wait for her partner. Her partner,
who didn't buy her theory of Birch's death, who wasn't even
interested in what she had to say about it. 

Tracy glanced up at the building again and then at her watch. If
she was lucky, she could bring the Alvarez woman in for
questioning and still have time to try and track Vachon down
before morning. This building she could face, it was the church
that she hoped never to set foot in again. Tracy took a deep
breath and stepped towards the main entrance to the building.

Entering the foyer, Tracy looked carefully through the row of
mailboxes. The address she had gotten from dispatch had specified
a street and number, but no apartment was designated. It figures.
If you want a job done right... Tracy sighed--at least that's
what her father always said. There it was--Maria Alvarez, written
neatly in block letters, which was far more than you could say
for the rest of the boxes. Apartment 7F. Tracy looked
suspiciously at the cluttered stairwell in front of her. At least
she'd be getting her workout in tonight.

Tracy's chest heaved as mounted the final step to the seventh
floor landing. Why was it that elevators never seemed to work in
any building over five floors? She had to hand it to the Alvarez
woman--she was in a lot better shape than she looked if she made
that trip on anything like a regular basis. 

"Let's see," she murmured to herself. The darkened hallway, not
to mention the grime, made it difficult to see the numbers on the
apartment doors. She traveled along the corridor, following the
doors to their logical destination. "7F," she mumbled to herself.
"This must be the place." Heavy strains of classical music
drifted out from under the door of the apartment. Was it
Beethoven, or Wagner maybe? She never did care much that
longhaired stuff.

"Maria Alvarez?" Tracy knocked sharply on the thin paneling of
the door. "Mrs. Alvarez--it's Detective Vetter, Metro Police.
Please open the door." She paused a few moments before knocking
once again, even more loudly this time. A muffled sound reached
her from beyond the door--then nothing. Tracy frowned--she hadn't
really considered her options if there was no response. 

She rested her hand lightly on the doorknob to the apartment, the 
other hand snaking back to reassure her that her gun was loosely
holstered with the safety off. It was possible, she reasoned,
that Mrs. Alvarez was simply unable to hear her knock over the
music. It was hardly an illegal entry if the door was unlocked.
The knob turned easily to the pressure of her fingers--maybe
she'd be lucky tonight after all.

"Mrs. Alvarez?" Tracy called loudly, easing the door open and
stepping across the threshold. "Mrs. Alvarez--it's Detective
Vetter." Once into the room, she coughed explosively--the air of
the apartment was thick with the distinctive smell of gas. Tracy
wrapped the edge of her jacket across her nose and mouth and
proceeded into the apartment, weaving her way quickly through the
tiny rooms. She'd better make this fast--she didn't have much
time to make a search of the apartment before she'd have to get
out herself. Already, she could feel her head begin to swim with
the lack of oxygen.

A single window graced the small living area. Tracy dropped her
jacket from her face and attempted to pull the window open. In
spite of her best efforts, the warped wood yielded only a
few centimeters. She reached around to her holster and freed her
gun from it's position, and then, without hesitation, shattered
the window with a single blow. A torrent of outside air came
rushing in at her--who knew that city air could smell so sweet.

Tracy inhaled deeply, then turned to continue her search of the
apartment. It was possible, she supposed, that the place could be
empty. The best thing might be to find a phone and call it in as
quickly as possible--still, something nagged at her--an
underlying certainty that she was not alone, and that this was no
accident. 

An abrupt right turn brought her into the apartment's diminutive
kitchen. The door to the oven stood open--its mouth gaping like
a hungry animal. Maria Alvarez lay on the floor, her hands
crossed and a carefully embroidered cushion resting beneath her
head.

"Damn!" Tracy's vision dimmed briefly. The smell of the gas was
overpowering in the small, enclosed space of the kitchen. She
slammed the door to the oven shut and quickly twisted the knobs
to the off position. "Mrs. Alvarez!" she called sharply. Tracy
sank to her knees and pressed the fingers of her right hand into
the woman's neck. She still had a pulse, at least that was
something. Tracy slid her hands beneath the woman's shoulders and
staggered towards the hallway. 

A small crowd had gathered by the time she reached the hallway
with the inert body of Maria Alvarez. "Call 911," Tracy flung the 
command out to no one in particular, "and tell them we need
an ambulance right away!" She turned her attention back to the
woman on the floor. Tracy eased Alvarez's head back, making sure
her airway was unobstructed--she was breathing on her own, if a
bit raggedly. "Come on, Maria," Tracy begged, "don't die on me
now."





"Are you sure this is all right?" Joe Reese scowled, looking
closely at the blond detective. "The last thing we need is to get
this case thrown out of court for conducting an interview with an
incompetent suspect.

Nick shrugged. It probably wasn't the best procedure, but it was
hard to argue with a suspect who was begging to make a statement.
"She was cleared medically," he countered. "And even her own
attorney couldn't talk her out of making a statement. Why don't
we hear what she has to say at least? Maybe we can finally make
some sense out of this whole thing."

"And you think Tracy is any kind of shape for this?" Reese peered
through the one-way glass into the interrogation room. Vetter
looked like hell--no wonder after all she had been through
already this evening, but still--she had thrown the book out the
window yet again. He couldn't afford to let it slide this time.

"I think Tracy's okay for this," Nick replied. "She's the one who
had problems with the suicide theory to begin with. I think she
should get a chance to see how it plays out."

"All right," Reese agreed, frowning. "But you get in there and
make sure things stay on track. I don't want this case to get 
any shakier than it already is."



The two women looked up briefly as Nick entered the interrogation
room. Inwardly, Tracy gave a sigh of relief. Her head was still
spinning from the events of the evening--not to mention spending
half the night in the ER. She didn't want this to go wrong on
account of her. Nick always had a way with interviews--it was
almost like he could get people to say things they never planned
on admitting. She only hoped that someday she'd develop the same
knack.

"So," Tracy said, turning her attention back to Maria Alvarez.
"You say that Mr. Birch took the barbiturates shortly after
breakfast--is that correct?"

Mrs. Alvarez nodded tightly. "That's right. He--we--had been
saving them up, waiting for a chance for him to take them."

"And that chance came yesterday morning?" 

"Yes, both Robert's children were out of town. That's why we
had to do it yesterday morning." Maria Alvarez shook her head
sadly. "He was never supposed to wake up...but something went
wrong. I guess the dosage wasn't big enough to kill him"

"So that's when you decided to shoot him in the head?" Tracy
questioned sharply.

Maria Alvarez shook her head. In her hand were the remnants of
a mutilated tissue, but her eyes were dry. She had no more tears
left to shed. "You still don't understand, do you, Detective?
Robert didn't want to live anymore. He was trapped in a body
that was no longer of any use to him." Her eyes narrowed. "It
was *them*, his children, who kept him alive, tormenting him,
always hoping he'd change his will to favor one over the other.
He *begged* them, and his doctors, to let him go, but they
wouldn't hear of it. Every time he slipped a little further away,
there they were with some other treatment to keep him going
just a little while longer."

Nick moved to the interview table and rested his hands lightly
on the surface. "Tell us what happened when he woke up," he 
prompted gently.

"I couldn't believe it, and neither could he. We had already said
our good-byes." Maria dabbed the tissue lightly at the corner of
her eye. "I could see the fear in his eyes--the dread that it
wasn't really over after all. Both of us knew we probably
wouldn't get another chance. It was pure luck that his nurse
had been called away when Robert Jr. and Christina were out
of town."

Tracy straightened in her chair. "Then what?"

"He asked me--he begged me--to get his gun from the desk drawer
downstairs." She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "It wasn't
in me to refuse--to watch him struggle day after day, knowing
that I could have helped him get the only thing he wanted
anymore."

"But he didn't have the strength to pull the trigger, did he,
Mrs. Alvarez?" Tracy pressed.

"No, he didn't," she agreed sadly. "He tried, he really tried. He
didn't want me any more involved than I already was. In the
end, I had to do it for him." Maria dropped her head into her
hands. "God help me, I did it."

"And what made him turn to you in the first place?" Tracy looked
closely at the woman seated across from her. She did seem truly
remorseful--she had to give her that, but the facts still weren't
adding up the way they should. "You are the housekeeper, are you
not, Mrs. Alvarez?"

"That's right--at least that's what the paperwork says." She
nodded tightly. "I've been with the Birch family for over twenty
years now."

"But there was more to it than that, wasn't there, Mrs. Alvarez?"
Tracy shuffled through a pile of papers in front of her. Money
didn't seem to be the motive. Birch's will had left Maria Alvarez
only a token sum--the same amount that had been left to the rest
of the household staff. That was providing, of course, that no
other more clandestine arrangements had been made. 

Maria looked up, confused. "I'm not sure what you're looking
for, Detective. I've admitted to pulling the trigger, what more
do you want from me?"

"I want to know why." Tracy leaned into the table. What made this
woman risk everything to help her employer commit suicide? She
was obviously intelligent--she had to have known her actions
would be discovered. And why try to kill herself later? There had
to be something she was missing. "Were the two of you lovers at
some point, Mrs. Alvarez? Is that what you're trying so hard not
to say?"

"Lovers?" Maria smiled for the first time. The lines around her
eyes were far more visible now--she looked like she'd aged ten
years since they'd first interviewed her. "No, Detective Vetter,
Robert and I were much more that than." She leaned in towards
Tracy and lowered her voice. "We were friends."

Tracy sat back against her chair, dumfounded. "Friends?" That 
couldn't possibly be all there was to it.

"I know." Maria waved her hand dismissively. "You're wondering
how a man like Robert Birch could find a friend in someone like
me, but you'd be surprised at how lonely that kind of life can
be. You're constantly being hounded by people who only want the 
*things* the you can give them, even Robert's own children
treated him that way. It's a shame, really. He was such a good
man in his heart." She looked carefully at the blonde detective,
disbelief was written all over her. "You're young yet, Ms.
Vetter, give yourself some time. You'll soon find that lovers
come and go, but a true friend, now that's something you want to
hold on to with both hands."

Tracy folded her arms in front of her and leaned forward into
the desk. "And was your own death a part of it from the start--
together forever, or something like that?"

"No, no." Maria rung the tissue between her hands. "That was
never a part of it. Robert would never agree to anything like
that. He only wanted me to be happy."

"Why then?" Tracy prodded. 

The tears began to flow freely down Maria Alvarez's face. "I just
couldn't live with myself, with what I'd done. I mean I took his
*life*. I thought I was prepared--I knew I was doing exactly what
he wanted me to do, but when it was over..." She looked up at
Tracy. "Have you ever taken a human life, Detective--in the line
of duty I mean?" She glanced helplessly at her own hands. "I
couldn't live with his death on my conscience for the rest of my
life. I guess now I don't have a choice, do I?" 

Nick stepped towards the table. "I think that will do for now,
Mrs. Alavarez, thank you." He turned and beckoned to the female
uniformed officer standing by the door. "Officer?"

Tracy's shoulders crumbled as Maria Alvarez was lead out of
the room. "Well, that was a real victory for justice, wasn't it?
Another vicious killer off the streets." She shook her head in
disgust. "And all because of me."

"You were doing your job, Trace. And it was the right thing to
do. The bottom line is that she took a human life. She had no
right to do that--no one does, no matter how justifiable it might
seem at the time. It's never the right choice."

"She was only doing what he asked, what he would have wanted her
to do." Tracy covered her face with her hands. "I used to think I
knew what the 'right thing' was, now I just don't know any more." 
Tracy sighed and glanced at her watch. It would be dawn soon.
Even if she had the energy to go looking for Vachon, the only
likely spot he'd be now would be the church--and she wasn't going
back there--not today anyway. "I guess I'd better get this typed
up and then call it a night." Tracy stood and headed slowly for
the interrogation room door. "Good-night, Nick."

"Trace, wait," Nick called. He hated to see her suffer like this.
"Are you sure you're all right?" He paused, not eager to start
something he knew he couldn't finish. "You've seemed...troubled
the last few days. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Tracy managed a thin smile. Nick did seem so kind at times. How 
wonderful it would be if she could just tell him and unburden
herself. He always seemed so sure of himself, so confident in
his abilities. What she would give to feel that way--even for a
moment. 

Nick closed the gap between them and touched her lightly on the
arm. "It will be all right, Tracy--whatever it is. Things have
a way of working out, sometimes when we least expect it."

Tracy looked closely at her partner. It was almost as if... No,
it couldn't be. She shook off the thought. He was merely being
the concerned senior partner. "Thanks, Nick." She eased away from
his touch. "I'm sure you're right. Good-night, now."

"Good-night, Tracy. Take care."



Nick stepped out of the back door of the precinct and walked
slowly across the empty parking lot. He wished he could do
something, anything to ease the pain that Tracy was feeling.
Schanke had been easy--when he needed something, you knew it.
And it usually had to do with food. Nick smiled at the
memory. "Ah, Schank," he sighed, shaking his head. Here's to
hoping that heaven is littered with souvlaki stands.

The sensation caught him almost totally by surprise and
Nick slowed his stride accordingly. It wasn't often that another
of his kind could be found lurking outside a police precinct--at
least not with dawn so close at hand. Lacroix? No--it was
definitely not his master. Whether that particular bit of news
was good or bad had yet to be seen. Nick weaved his way carefully
through the parked cars towards the Caddy. Whoever it was
certainly wasn't shy, or particularly cautious.

Nick stared into the back seat of his car, a thin line
of disapproval crossing his brow. Vachon, of course. There
weren't many other vampires, at least in Toronto, who 
would take the liberty of falling asleep in the back seat
of the Caddy. He quickly unlocked the door and yanked it
open unceremoniously. "I do hope I'm not disturbing you," he said
sharply.

A single brown eye peeled open. "As a matter of fact,"
Vachon reached his arms over his head and stretched dramatically,
"I was enjoying the nap." He struggled to pull himself to a
seated position. "That fleabag of a motel I slept in yesterday
didn't even have curtains on the windows. I had to spend the
whole day moving around the room to avoid the sun." He bounced
gingerly on the seat cushions. "And *this* is far more
comfortable than it looks."

"I wouldn't know," Nick commented dryly.

"Oh, that's right," Vachon returned lightly. "You only sleep in
the trunk." 

The silence was deafening--not even a smile. Apparently, Knight
was not in one of his more jovial moods. Tracy said he could run
hot and cold sometimes--not that he could blame Knight after
hanging around with Lacroix for eight-hundred years. "Urs said
you wanted to see me."

Nick slid into the driver's seat of the car. "And did she tell
you what I wanted to see you about?"

"Yeah," he responded. "She said you were worried about
Tracy--that maybe she had seen me and Urs at the church the other
morning."

"And...?" Nick prodded. 

"And...," Vachon sighed deeply. Knight was not going to like
this--not one little bit. "I'd say it's likely." He shook his
head. "I did think I heard something that day."

"But you didn't do anything about it?" Nick asked abruptly. "You
just went on your merry way--not a care in the world."

"So, I was distracted." He shrugged. "Maybe I could have been
more careful. Look, Knight, there's no need to blow this thing
out of proportion. I'll take care of it."

"No need to blow it out of proportion?" Nick echoed harshly. "Do
you have any idea what Tracy has been through? She thinks you
killed someone, Vachon. She's been asking questions--the wrong
kind of questions, and in too many places." The younger vampire's
casual attitude towards his mortal contacts never ceased
to amaze him. "Of all the careless, irresponsible...," 

"Whoa! Wait just a minute there." Vachon straightened in his
seat. Enough was enough. He had let Knight call the shots so far
when it came to Tracy, and he had gotten nothing but grief for it
in return. Knight could be so damn self-righteous, especially
when it came to other vampires. "I've admitted I could have been
more careful, and I said I'd talk to Tracy. What else do you want
me to do?"

"How about taking a little responsibility for your actions?" Nick
fired back. "I told you to look out for Tracy, and this is how
you do it? What was she doing at the church anyway?"

"Looking for me--if that's any business of yours." Vachon
leaned towards the front seat of the Caddy, pressing himself
closer to Nick. "If I recall, you were the one who insisted I
stay in Toronto and look out for her. I don't need you telling me
how to go about it."

"Oh, really?" Nick swiveled and met Vachon eyes. "It seems to
me that your relationship with Tracy has gone far beyond looking
out for her."

"*My* relationship with Tracy? What about *your* relationship
with Tracy?"

Nick shot him a curious look. "I don't know what you mean. My
relationship with Tracy is on a totally professional basis.

"A little too professional, if you ask me. She needs a friend
right now, Knight. You could be that friend if you weren't so 
damn wrapped up in yourself all the time. All she wants to be is
a good cop--and apparently, you are one." At least Tracy seemed
to think he was. It was all she could talk about half the
time--Nick this and Nick that. "You could cut her some slack, you
know, show her the ropes."

"Well, I didn't ask you." Nick's jaw tightened. "And you know how
dangerous it is for her to know any more about us than she
already does. There's no way I can get any closer to Tracy
without her figuring it out."

Vachon snorted. "Come on, Knight, or should I call you 'Nicholas
Chevalier'? It's a miracle she didn't catch on then. She's
going to find out--sooner or later she's going to figure it out.
I just happen to think that sooner would be better--for the both
of you."

Nick turned and faced forward once again. "I'll be sure and give
your advice the consideration it deserves," he said coldly.

"You do that." Vachon stood and began to make his way out of the 
Caddy. "I'm outta here."

"Wait." Nick swiveled to face Vachon once again. "What are you
going to say to her?"

"The truth." Vachon shrugged. "What else is there?"

Nick's eyes narrowed with concern. Tracy cared about Vachon--a
lot. Even with her relief over the fact that no one was dead, it
would be a hard truth for her to hear. "She's been through a lot
this week, Vachon. Just go easy on her, okay?"

Vachon felt the tension drain from his shoulders. So Knight did
give a damn about his partner after all--he just had no idea how
to go about showing it. "I'll be as gentle as I can be." He
offered Nick a thin smile. "Don't worry, Knight, she's a big
girl, she can take it." Vachon cast his eyes upward and was gone.

"I certainly hope you're right," Nick mumbled as he watch the 
figure disappear into the predawn light.




Tracy slammed the door to her apartment shut with her foot, then
rushed towards the kitchen counter with her arms full of
groceries. Why did they even ask people if they wanted paper or
plastic if they didn't *have* any paper bags, dammit? Well, she
was going to put away the perishables and go to bed. Screw the
rest. Screw everything. 

At least she had made her mind up while she was shopping. There
was nothing like a rote, mindless task to help you think. She was
going to confront Vachon about what she saw, and then make a
clean break with him. It was ridiculous to think she could make
him accept any lasting consequence for what he had done, and he
was surely out of the reach of the law, but she still had to be
able to live with herself as well. It was a question of
conscience, as Maria Alvarez had so clearly pointed out.

"Tracy?"

A carton of milk slid from Tracy's hand and landed squarely in
the middle of the kitchen floor, sending a fine spray of the
white liquid in all directions. An inarticulate gasp of surprise
and anger tore from her throat and she spun to face the familiar
voice. Vachon. That was just great--now he was scaring her out of
her wits in her own home too. "Vachon!" 

"Sorry." He hurried into the kitchen area. "I didn't mean to
startle you. Really, I didn't." So far, this was off to a great
start. He grabbed at a roll of paper towels and began to unravel
it. "Here, let me." 

"No," Tracy commanded, lifting her hand for emphasis. "Leave it.
I'll get it myself."

Vachon let the paper drift from his hands. "I really didn't mean
to scare you, Trace, honest."

Tracy met his eyes evenly. "How did you get in here?" She held
her hand up. "No--nevermind that." There were some things she
would really prefer not to know. "*Why* are you here?" 

Vachon rested against the frame of the door. Knight was
right--she did look like she'd been through the ringer since he'd
seen her last. "I heard you were looking for me."

"Oh you did, did you?" Tracy advanced towards him, carefully
skirting the pool of milk on the floor. "And just where did you
hear that?"

Vachon shrugged. Yet another question he couldn't answer, not
truthfully anyway. He had come to clear the air between them, not
to create even more problems. "I have my sources."

"I just bet you do."

"Trace," he started softly. "I didn't come for a fight. I heard
you were looking for me, so I came." He let the unasked question
drop. She needed to do this in her own time and in her own way.
"Are you sure I can't...?" He glanced down at the mess on the
floor.

Tracy's face softened. "No, it'll keep. And I did have something
I wanted to talk to you about."

"Shoot." Vachon smiled. "Or is that a poor choice of words?"

Tracy inhaled deeply. Now that she actually had him here in front
of her, it was tough to know where to start. He had the same warm 
brown eyes and playful smile he always did. Nothing about him had
changed--nothing at all. All the changes had happened to her. She 
closed her eyes and saw the young blonde woman again--her face
impossibly pale, the thin line of red across her throat.

Tracy's eyes flew open. "I saw you, Vachon, at the church, the
morning before last." Vachon was impassive, her words not yet
registering fully. Tracy rushed on, afraid that if she stopped,
the temptation to remain silent would become too strong. "I saw
you kill someone--a girl."

Vachon's shoulder's slumped. No wonder Knight had been concerned.
She was carrying the weight of the world on those thin shoulders.
She really was convinced that Urs was dead at his hands.
"Trace..."

Tracy turned, breaking off eye contact with him. "What I need to
know is what you did with her. Her family...," Tracy's voice
wavered, "her family deserves to know that she's gone. It's
simple decency to give them that."

Vachon moved towards her, taking her lightly by the shoulders and
once again meeting her eyes. "No one is dead, Tracy. I can
promise you that."

"But the girl...I saw." Did she really think he'd just admit to
it? He hadn't lived four-hundred years by owning up to his
actions. Somehow, though, she hoped that she was different. That
he'd at least respect her enough to be honest with her.

"I know what you saw, or rather what you think you saw," he said
gently. "But I can promise you that she's not dead. In fact,
she's absolutely fine."

Tracy's eyes narrowed. He did seem genuinely sincere, and she
doubted he was that good of an actor. "But...then what?"

Vachon let his hands drop from Tracy's shoulders. How could he
make this as easy as possible on her? He didn't owe her fidelity,
so why did it suddenly feel like he did? "The woman you saw me
with is a vampire, Tracy. And what you saw," he paused, "was an
act of mutual affection."

"Mutual affection?" Tracy's brows knitted in concentration.
"Oh...you mean?" She could feel the heat creep into her cheeks.
Sex--that's what he was trying to say--but without actually
having to say it. 

"Her name is Urs," he hurried on, "and I can assure you that
she's just fine. You can meet her if you don't believe me."
Vachon smiled. "I think the two of you would hit it off, as a
matter of fact."

"Thanks," she responded tightly. "But I think I'll pass." Tracy
eased around him and into the living room. The woman she saw
wasn't dead. An immense sense of relief washed over her. It was
hard to believe it was true, but she did believe it. She could
tell he wasn't lying. Unfortunately, the larger problem was still
there--in reality, nothing had really changed at all.

"Tracy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

And she didn't want to admit she was hurt, but there it was--that
sinking feeling in her chest that was like no other. She
certainly had no business expecting him to be faithful to her.
They didn't even have a relationship, not a real one anyway. "Are
you...*involved* with this Urs?"

Vachon sighed deeply. He had hurt her. "Urs and I--well, we have
a lot of history together. I'm the one who brought her across,
but it's not what you think."

How could he have any idea what she was thinking? "I suppose you
can explain that?" 

"I don't know if I can or not." He offered her a crooked smile.
Either way, he'd look like a heel in her eyes. "Vampires approach
these things a little more casually than you might be used to."
He shrugged. "I suppose it has to do with the amount of time that
we have--no one can stay committed forever."

Tracy took several steps away from him. "All this is sort of
beside the point anyway, Vachon. I've done a lot of thinking in
the past few days."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?"

Tracy turned and faced Vachon once again. "I'm glad she's not
dead, Vachon, really I am--even if I'm not wild about the reason.
But, in a way, I'm grateful this whole thing happened. It finally
opened my eyes."

"Which means?"

"Ever since I met you, Vachon, I've been all caught up in
this--in you. I let myself get wrapped up in the mystery, the
excitement of it all. I thought I knew the neatest secret in the
world." Tracy could feel the tears begin to well in her eyes and
she forced them away. She wasn't going to lose herself in this
again. "But all this finally made me realize something--you are
a killer, Vachon, and there's just no way around that."

Vachon's jaw tightened. "I never led you to believe anything
else."

"I know you didn't. Heck, you killed Vudu right in front of me
and I didn't bat an eye. At the time I thought that was okay--it
was great even, to be judge and jury all wrapped up into one."

"But now you don't think so," he ventured. 

Tracy looked him squarely in the eye. "Let's make this simple--we
don't even need to go into the past. Can you honestly tell me
that Vudu the only person you've killed since you've been in
Toronto?"

Vachon dropped his gaze to the floor. He could lie to her, but
what would be the point? He made no excuses for what he was, and
he never had. He wasn't about to start now. She was right, there
was a part of him that was a killer and always would be--there
was a part of him that still reveled in the hunt, in the taking.
"You can't understand what it's like."

Tracy closed her eyes briefly. "No, I can't." The one occasion in
which she had taken a life sickened her to the core--despite her
protestations to Reese and Nick and everyone else. Protecting the
innocent--it was the very thing that had led her into public
service in the first place. 

"I tried to look at this differently, Vachon. That somehow what
you were gave you some sort of permission to kill." She paused.
And what if it were someone she loved that had been drained?
Would she feel he had permission then? She cleared her throat
sharply. "I just don't think that way anymore--those people have
lives, and they have a right to live those lives."

"It's not like it's an everyday thing, Trace. Almost all the
blood we drink now is donated." It was weak, he knew. It didn't
excuse the killing he had done in the past or might do in the
future. 

"I know," she said. The reality was that she couldn't begin
to understand what it was like. Humans were their food. Did
vampires have any less right to exist than people did? She shook
her head. It was all so confusing. "I just can't condone the
taking of a life. Can you understand that?"

"I think so," he responded. Her horror over the loss of life in
the plane crash was one of the things that had drawn him to her.
That, and her determination to catch those responsible. How could
he expect any less of her now? "So what does that mean for us,
Trace?"

"I don't know." She sighed loudly. "I wish that I did." It was
all clear enough in her mind before she had seen him again, now
it wasn't nearly so obvious. "I had every intention of telling
you that I never wanted to see you again."

"And is that what you're telling me?" Vachon asked impassively.
As much as he wanted to dissuade her, it did have to be her
choice. Otherwise she would never be really sure.

Tracy paused. "No." The only thing she knew now was that she
didn't want this to be the end. "I guess I just need some time
to think things over."

At least she wasn't closing the door completely, but how long
would it be before she realized that was her only real option?
He reached out and brushed her hair lightly. Not only was she
one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, she was one 
of the most courageous. He sighed deeply. And he would have to
be strong enough to let her go. "I can understand that. I'll tell
you what, Trace, when you've made up your mind about this, you
let me know." Vachon stepped towards her and kissed her lightly
on the cheek. "You know where to find me." 

"Vachon...," she called as he walked slowly towards the door. She
wanted nothing less than to run to him, wrap her arms around him
and beg him to stay the day. It would be so easy to lose herself
to him, to his existence. If she left Toronto tomorrow with him,
would she ever really look back?

He turned at the door and looked at her, his face impassive,
unreadable even to her eyes. Was he hoping that she'd changed her
mind, or was he secretly relieved that it was over?

"Never mind." Tracy bit deeply into her lower lip and closed her
eyes. "Sorry." She heard the dull click as the door closed softly
behind him. It was only then that she let the tears fall.



Epilogue



The sound of the elevator never failed to catch his heart. With 
Schanke gone, there was only one person in Toronto that it could
be. All of his other guests these days seemed to favor the
skylight. Nick headed towards the door and slid it open as the
elevator came to a halt. Natalie's hair was astray and she looked
absolutely exhausted. Still, she was beautiful to his eyes. How
had he ever managed to get through the day without her?

"I wasn't sure you'd come." 

"I wasn't sure either," Natalie responded. "We got busy after you
left. There was a multiple homicide in the 16th precinct--a man
decided to take a machete to his wife and children." She
grimaced. "It was pretty gruesome."

"So I heard."

If she'd had any time to think today, she probably wouldn't have
come. What was there left to say, really? She had begun to feel
that if there was a scientific cure for vampirism, she wasn't
likely to find it--not in this lifetime anyway. That left exactly
two options for them as she saw it: Nick could bring her across
and together they could continue searching for a cure, or they
could at least try and have some semblance of a life together as
they were. Nick had made it pretty clear that he did *not*
consider the first choice to be a viable option. Now, apparently,
there was little hope of the second option either.

Nick rested his hands gently on her shoulders and began rubbing
them lightly. Her shoulders were incredibly tight--any wonder
with what she had been through today between his revelations and
the multiple homicide. "You must be exhausted," he offered, "why
don't you come and sit down."

She could feel the tension drain from her as his cool hands began
to work their magic. Damn! Where did he learn these things? Nat
shrugged his hands off. Maybe he could deal with the frustration
of it all, but she was no longer sure that she wanted to. "No, I
shouldn't," she countered. "I really have to get going. I still
have some errands to run, and I do have to work tonight."

"But you just got here." Nick slid his hand into hers and led
her towards the couch. "Besides, we should talk."

Natalie sighed. "Nick, I don't think this is such a good idea."
Already she could feel her emotions dangerously close to the
surface, threatening to spill over. The fact that she had her
period--of which Nick, no doubt, was well aware--wasn't making it
any easier. She was a walking hormonal mess and *now* he
wanted to talk. She sighed--timing never had been his forte.

"Please." Nick sat on the couch, gently pulling her down beside
him.

Natalie sank into the cushions, her body still tensing away from
Nick. "I really just came to see if you had any news from
Vachon."

"I talked to him this morning," Nick responded, "he was waiting
for me when I left the station."

"And?" Natalie turned her to face Nick.

"And...it looks like Urs was right--it was the two of them that
Tracy saw." Nick shrugged. It was an unfortunate incident all
around. "He said he'd talk to her."

"I'd like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation," Natalie
paused, considering, "or maybe not."

Nick nodded in agreement. "I'm planning to go check on her
tonight before work." However things unfolded, it was not
likely to be pleasant. Tracy had troubles enough as it was,
Vachon's news probably was not going to make her feel any better.
It was a difficult situation for the both of them. Nick stole a
sidelong glance towards Natalie. Had he unwittingly done the same
thing to the woman beside him? He had never intended to hurt
her--that was the last thing he had ever wanted. How often,
though, over the years, had he seen his good intentions gone
astray? 

In the past few years, Natalie had come to mean everything to
him. He knew that the kindest thing he could ever do would be
to leave her, and Toronto, without so much as a backward glance.
The problem was, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't
bring himself to do it. She had brought a light into his life
that hadn't been there for nearly eight-hundred years. It was
incredibly selfish of him to stay, he knew, but his heart just
would not allow him to leave. 

Nick shifted more closely towards Natalie on the seat and then
eased himself against her. He inhaled deeply--she always wore
more perfume during her time of the month, as if she could
somehow hide it from him. Her musky, womanly scent stirred the
desire within him. He wanted her, and badly, but in a way that he
could never allow himself to have her. He rested the side of his
head lightly against hers, basking in her warmth, her life. Nick
ran his hand easily across her body, gently following its curves.
A low rumble started deep in his throat and and he allowed it to
issue forth unchecked.

Natalie's heart quickened as she heard the soft growl emanating
from Nick. There was nothing menacing in the sound--it was quiet,
comforting almost. "Nick?" she questioned tentatively.

"I'm sorry," he said abruptly, struggling to pull away from her.
What was he thinking? This was something they were seeking to
suppress, to cure. She had no interest in seeing this side of
him. The day he could express himself to her as a normal human
male was the day his advances would be welcome to her--and not
a minute sooner.

"No!" she exclaimed hastily. "Don't be." Natalie scooted back
into his arms and then turned to face him. She rested her hand
against the smooth soft side of his face. "Please don't be
sorry." 

"I really didn't mean to..."

"Didn't mean to what?" Natalie asked. "Finally show me that
there's something more between us than friendship, something more
than doctor and patient?"

"I never meant to show you what that inevitably means for me."
Nick's eyes remained heavily laced with gold and he pressed them
closed, willing the vampire to be gone. He wanted so much more
for her, for both of them. "I've wanted to make love to you as a
mortal man for a very long time," he said sadly. "I think we need
to face the fact that that's not likely to happen any time soon."

Natalie couldn't decide whether to laugh or to cry.  She had
begun to wonder recently whether she was deluding herself into
believing that he felt the same way she did. How ironic that 
he should choose to reveal his feelings to her just when she had
finally begun to grasp how wide the chasm between them truly was.

"It doesn't matter, Nick." Nothing mattered now except the fact
that he loved her. That alone would carry her through whatever
the future might bring for them. 

"But it does matter," he returned softly, lightly stroking her
hair. She was so beautiful, and with a nobility of spirit that
put him to shame. "It may not matter now, today, but someday it
will. You deserve so much more than I can give you."

"What I want is *you*, Nick. Why can't you understand that?" She
looked at him carefully. She couldn't begin to comprehend what it
was like for him, struggling so desperately to reconcile the
physical needs of the vampire with the emotional desires of the
man she had come to know and love. Add eight hundred years worth
of self-loathing on to that and it was no wonder he had kept her
at arms length for so long. "And we *can* make this work. I know
we can."

Nick managed a thin smile. She was so determined, but would she
feel the same way five years from now--or ten? A life together,
*any* life together would be extraordinarily difficult for both
of them. She probably couldn't begin to imagine the problems they
would encounter, and that wasn't even taking Lacroix and his
reaction into account. "You're so sure?" he asked earnestly. "How
can you be?" 

Natalie smiled broadly, the warmth radiating from her very soul.
"I'm sure," she replied, "because of you, and the things I feel
when I'm with you."

If only he could be as certain. Nick slid his arms around Natalie
and pulled her towards him. For today, though, her certainty
would be enough for them both. Tomorrow would be time enough to
consider the road ahead.






Tracy hurried to the door, banging her shin into the corner of
the sofa as she rushed by. "Damn," she uttered, pulling her leg
up and hopping the remainder of the way. If this were those
religious nuts again, she'd be hauling them downtown for the
evening. Let them see how many people they could convert in
lock-up. 

She pulled the door open, a harsh rebuke poised on her lips.
"Nick!" He was probably the last person she expected to find in
her doorway this evening.

"I'm sorry. Were you expecting someone else?"

"No," Tracy returned, shaking off the surprise. She opened the
door widely and stood to the side. "Please, come in."

Nick stepped over the threshold, glancing at the tastefully
decorated room. She had rearranged things a bit since his last
surreptitious visit. "Nice place," he commented.

"Thanks, I like it," Tracy responded, her eyes narrowing. "Did
Reese send you here?"

"No, as a matter a fact, he didn't." Nick smiled. He couldn't
blame her for being suspicious. He'd never appeared to have any
interest in her or her life outside of the precinct. "Although
I do have it on good authority that he wasn't particularly
pleased with your little stunt going into the Alvarez apartment
alone yesterday."

"Great, so you are here to lecture me." Tracy tucked her hair
behind her ear and turned away from him. A lecture from her
partner--just what she needed after another miserable sleepless
day.

"No, no lectures--at least not from me," he said gently. "You
looked a little rough when you left this morning. I was
concerned." Dark circles were etched deeply against the pale
skin beneath her eyes. Apparently, things not gone well this
morning with Vachon--not surprising, given everything that had
transpired. "Anything I can do to help?"

Tracy struggled to hide a smile. It might be worth telling Nick
everything just to see the look on his face. But he was here, and 
he did look genuinely concerned. It was a lot further than their
relationship had ever gone before--at least it was a start. "I
don't know," she groaned in frustration. "I'm trying to do the
best that I can to do the right thing, but somehow nothing ever
seems to work out the way I plan."

"Becoming a detective is a tough job, Tracy. It takes years of
experience and you'll still see something new everyday." Nick
rested against the frame of the doorway. "Don't be so hard on
yourself. And don't forget, you were the one who pushed for the
case to be treated as a homicide, and you were the one who
suspected Maria Alvarez."

"It's not just work." Although work was certainly part of it.
Transitioning to detective was a lot tougher than she thought it
would be. She was even beginning to wonder if she was up to it.
Her relationship with Vachon was now technically a disaster--and
she still wasn't sure if she had done the right thing there.
Tracy threw her hands up. "It's *everything*!" She turned to look
sheepishly at Nick. "Sorry, I've been having some personal
problems as well--as if you couldn't tell." She sniffed lightly
as the tears threatened to start flowing again. She wasn't going
to go there again, at least not in front of Nick.

"You'd be surprised at how long it takes some of us to get that
stuff worked out as well."

"Not you," Tracy challenged. "Everything seems to come so easily
for you."

"Especially me, Trace," he said gently. "Especially for me. Don't
ever think that because it looks easy, it is easy. I have a
newsflash for you--appearances can be deceiving."

Tracy chuckled. "Tell me about it." At least she could laugh.
That was more than she could do this morning. Maybe things were
going to look up after all. Maybe.

"It's good to see you smile." Nick reached out and touched her
lightly on the arm. "Now, I better get going. I know it's early,
but I can give you a lift into work if you like."

Tracy paused. A ride into work and shoulder to lean on. Both were
sounding mighty tempting about now. Still, she wanted to face the
shift with a clear head on her shoulders and she still had some
thinking to do. "Thanks, Nick, but no. I promised myself a good
long run before work tonight, and I think I'm going to stick to
it."

Nick looked at Tracy hopefully. "It sounds to me like things are
beginning to work out already?"

Tracy straightened her shoulders and met his eyes. "Yeah, Nick,
maybe they are, maybe they are."


The End