"Blood Seduction"

After a single transfusion of Sara’s blood, the changes in Kenneth Irons were still relatively subtle but they were there. His eyes seemed sharper, less rheumy. His bones seemed less visible under his skin. He had become less of a skeleton and more the living, vibrant man that he had been. His focus seemed to be sharper too, his mind clearer, less rambling. He was altogether more “there” than he had been prior to the infusion of blood from the Wielder. It was not a surprise. It was actually what Ian had expected to find when he reported to the mansion that morning.

Ian was standing at parade rest by the fireplace in the Great Room when alarms began to scream in the small anteroom that housed the surveillance equipment. He had been enduring his master’s lengthy cross examination about his activities the previous day and had been responding sparingly with his prepared prevarications when the first of five high-pitched beeps erupted. Irons, in turn, had been silently studying his servant, long fingers steepled before his face and a skeptical brow raised, obviously suspicious. The effect of the first shrill warning on his master, however, was electrifying. Kenneth’s ice-blue eyes widened and he launched his wheelchair into motion with surprising speed. Ian, with an academy award-worthy performance, managed just the right level of surprise, followed by concern. “What is it, sir?” he asked, following his master into the small room filled with television monitors. “It’s the lab,” Irons replied, voice tight, “Something’s happening with the replicas.” He swung the wheelchair around and charged at Ian, bellowing, “Where the hell is Immo?” Ian pulled back slightly to let his master roll past him and out of the room like a juggernaut. “I do not know, master,” Ian murmured behind him. Irons swung the chair around again, eyes flashing blue fire. “Well, find him, you idiot!” Irons screamed at Ian.

Ian moved to the phone on the table next to Irons throne-like chair. He dialed the communications room of the mansion. After a muted conversation, Ian hung up the phone and turned back toward Irons. “Dr. Immo had car trouble this morning. He called in from his cell phone. His sedan broke down several miles from home and he is waiting for the tow truck.” Irons steely gaze narrowed as he studied Ian for several silent minutes. Finally, he hissed, “How convenient.” Ian had reassumed his parade rest stance. “Is there something that I can do, sir?” he asked politely. There was a long pause before his master replied, “Yes, Ian, there is something that you can do. Take me down to the lab.” Ian nodded and took a position behind his master’s chair. Although it was fully automated, Irons sometimes liked the personal touch. It was another way to reinforce the power structure that guided their lives. Kenneth flipped a switch, shifting the sophisticated conveyance into its manual mode. Ian pushed his master along the circuitous path, past all of the sophisticated security equipment, until they were before the massive steel door of the lab that housed the six clones in stasis. Irons tapped that day’s code into the keypad by the door and leaned forward to allow the scanner to verify his cornea.

With a dry, metallic hiss, the door slid open. The overpowering stench of burnt flesh immediately rolled over them and Ian had to force himself to stifle the gag reflex that pushed at the back of his throat. After several moments during which they both seemed frozen in place, Irons stretched forward a trembling hand to convert his chair back to automatic. Ian bent forward to see whether his master needed any assistance. Kenneth turned toward his servant, livid face pale, and growled, “Get away from me.” Ian wisely backed up to stand silent and still against the wall by the door. Irons rolled forward – click whir, click whir – to examine the still-smoking stasis chambers. There had obviously been some major electrical failure in the entire life-support system that maintained Ian’s replicas, frying them all to a crisp as they drowsed somewhere between inception and activation. They were lost, annihilated, dead. Seething, Irons rolled from one damaged chamber to the next. Ian watched his progress with hooded eyes. When he reached the final chamber, Irons lifted his head and swung his chair around to gaze back at Ian. However, Ian was not looking back at him. He was looking at the sixth chamber, his eyes wide with shock; the sixth chamber that had already been empty when the support system failed.

“Yesssss,” Irons said, drawing out the sibilant sound with a small moue of pleasure, enjoying the distress now edging into his servant’s eyes, “All is not lost, my boy. You see I had the foresight to wake up and move one of your brothers the night you first took blood from our lovely Wielder. That was the night she got sick and you couldn’t make love to her. Remember?” Ian shut his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He had failed her. After all his careful planning, he had failed her and now they were both going to pay for his carelessness. “I don’t know why I did it really,” Irons mused to himself, although it was most certainly for Ian’s benefit, “Something just didn’t feel right. Something was off in the way that both of you were acting – almost as if our Sara knew that she was being watched.” Ian clamped down on his nerves and fought to salvage what he could from the situation. “May I speak, sir?” he asked softly. Irons smiled. Although he was royally pissed that he had lost a fortune in cutting-edge scientific subjects, he was still on top in the subtle power game that he waged with his too clever boy. “Yes,” Kenneth agreed, “You may speak, Ian.” Ian nodded in thanks, giving respect when all else was lost. “You are wrong, sir,” he said, again under control, “Sara suspects nothing. I was nervous about taking blood from her that night and communicated it to her somehow. That is why we both seemed to be ‘off’ to you. That is all it was.”

Kenneth watched Ian with glittering, predatory eyes, actually admiring his elegant recovery. “He is good,” Irons thought, “He is very, very good.” Irons shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps,” he conceded, “Perhaps you were simply ‘nervous,’ Ian, and I was being an old woman in my dotage.” Irons laughed. His laugh too had mutated as new life had begun to warm him from within like fire. It was no longer the dry, brittle cackle that Ian had grown used to. It was rich, sly, and just a touch slithery and it prefaced many unpleasant memories for the man that stood before him. “And, then again,” Kenneth mused with great, good humor, “Perhaps not.” Ian’s eyes flicked over the empty stasis chamber before he asked, “Where is it?” Irons laughed again, a full-throated chortle. He was really beginning to enjoy himself. “Please, Nottingham,” he replied, “Show a bit of familial care. This is your little brother. He will be looking to you as a role model of sorts. You can at least refer to the boy as ‘him,’ not ‘it.’” A searing, laser-sharp shaft of pure hatred lanced through Ian. It was the first time that he had ever allowed himself to feel this intensity of that emotion for his master. It was surprisingly liberating. It turned Ian to pure ice and made him infinitely more dangerous. “Where is ‘he’?” Ian corrected. Kenneth inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Somewhere safe,” he said, “Independent of life support and no longer vulnerable. Soon, he will be confident enough to venture forth into the world. At the moment, we are keeping him entertained with tapes from the loft. Before long, he will know you as well as you know yourself, my boy, as he will also know the Wielder.”

“I will kill you both before I allow harm to come to Sara,” Ian said calmly. There was no longer any point in subterfuge. They both knew where they stood. “I could kill you now,” Ian added. Irons studied his faithful servant, a small frisson of disquiet running through him despite his placid demeanor. It was not apparent in his voice either. “In cold blood with your bare hands, Ian?” he asked, “I think not. We have not quite reached that degree of separation yet.” Irons waited tensely to see whether he was wrong. He was not. Ian’s shoulders slumped slightly. “If he comes near her, I will kill him without hesitation,” Ian warned. Kenneth nodded. “You will try,” he accepted, “His abilities match, perhaps even exceed, your own.” For a short while, they remained quiet, each couched in their own thoughts. Ian turned toward the door. His master’s voice stopped him. “Will you be back?” he asked. Ian did not turn to look at Irons again. “No,” he said softly, “I will not be back. You no longer need me, do you? You have a new toy to play with.” Irons smiled. “Don’t be jealous, Ian,” he purred, “Daddy will always like you best. You were, after all, my first born. We could all become one big, happy family – my boys, me, and the Wielder. You do know, of course, that I have no intention of relinquishing my quest for fair Sara’s blood. What do you say?” Now, Ian did turn back. The wide golden eyes were as hard as shiny coins. “You will fail and you will die,” Ian replied coldly, “And I will mourn for a little while but then I will move on.” He turned and left the room that reeked of his roasted replicas. For a long while, Kenneth Irons stared at the empty spot where Ian had been, unmoving.

Sara sighed, frowning, and ran her hand roughly through her tangled hair. For the third time in the last half hour, she picked up the phone on her desk and started to dial a number, only to return the receiver to its cradle before the call could connect. She sighed again. Danny slammed his open palm on the top of his desk. The explosive sound make Sara jump a foot off her chair. “What?” she yelped, looking around wildly. “Just make the damn call, will you?” he railed, “Watching you waffle around like this is driving me crazy.” She made a face at him. “Then, don’t watch,” she reasonably replied. “In an office this size, with desks facing each other, that’s easier said than done,” Danny said, “Go ahead and call him.” Making a show of being unconcerned, Sara gathered up all the pens on her desk and neatly organized them in an empty coffee mug. “Who?” she asked, not looking at him. He gave her the patented Woo smirk. “Who,” he repeated, “Nottingham. Who else?” She shook her head slightly. “He said that he would call me as soon as he could,” she said, “I should just wait to hear from him.” Her eyes strayed to the phone again and, now, Danny sighed. “Yeah, right,” he sneered, knowing his partner, “When pigs fly. You can call him now and get it over with or you can go through this stupid pantomime for the next couple of hours until you finally break. Which is it going to be? If it’s the latter, I need to make myself scarce before I’m forced to strangle you.” Sara pouted. “Hey, hey, a little sympathy here, partner,” she whined, “Getting over being sick. Remember? Go easy on me. So, okay. Just to make you happy, I’ll give him a call.” His smirk widened into a grin. “You’re much too good to me,” he responded dryly.

As Sara was reaching for her phone, it rang. She drew back her hand as if the instrument had bitten her. On the third ring, she made a dive for it, gasping out, “Pezzini. Go.” There was a lengthy silence on the other end. Finally, Sara asked, “Hello? Ian? Is that you? Are you alright?” He cleared his throat and said, “Yes. I’m fine. We need to talk. Can you get away for an hour or so?” She turned her hand to glance at her watch. “Yeah,” she replied, “I guess so. It’s been kind of dead around here today. I haven’t gone to lunch yet so I could probably get away for a little while. Meet you downstairs in fifteen?” There was another pause before Ian said, “Make it half an hour.” He sounded funny, she thought. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked worriedly. He made a soft sound that might have indicated impatience. “I’m alright,” he repeated, “Watch your back until I can do it for you. Okay?” She frowned. “Why?” she wanted to know, “What’s going on? What happened with the…?” She managed to stop herself just before she said, “clones,” feeling Danny’s avid eyes on her. “Problem?” she inserted, finishing her question. “Not over the phone,” Ian said, “We’ll talk when I see you. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.” Sara stroked the receiver as if it was his bearded cheek. “I’ll be waiting,” she said, “Bye.” She heard the dial tone and realized that he had already hung up the phone.

They went back to the deli that Sara was beginning to think of as “their place.” Of course, the last time that they had been there, they had created a scene. Sara had slapped Ian across the face, knocked over her chair, and left the place at a brisk clip, Ian hot on her heels. Then again, the chances that anyone would remember that were small. Right. When the same older, worn-looking waitress came over to their table, she was carrying Ian’s sunglasses and gloves. She dropped them in front of him, saying, “You left these on the table last time you were here.” Ian slipped off the pair of sunglasses he was now wearing and looked up at the waitress, wide-eyed. He was surprised, both that she remembered him and that she had saved his apparel in case he made a return visit. Sara smiled, crossing her arms across her chest. She wasn’t surprised at all. In fact, she was beginning to get used to the effect that Ian seemed to have on most females, young and old. He smiled and years dropped from the waitress as she smiled back. “Thank you,” he said. Her smile broadened. “Pleasure,” she replied, “Glad you two worked it out. What can I get you?” After their orders had been taken and the waitress had left, Sara reached across the table to link her fingers with his. “What went wrong?” she asked. In spite of everything, the corners of his lips twitched in response. “Why do you think that something went wrong?” he countered. Sara shrugged. “Your face. The way I sense that you’re feeling,” she replied, “Stop stalling. Tell me.”

Ian dropped his head and sighed. “Five of the clones are dead,” he said, “And I’ve left the mansion for good.” He lifted his head back up and looked into her emerald green eyes. “That’s the good news,” he added. She studied his face before she asked, “Weren’t there six of them?” He squeezed her fingers and said, “Yes. That’s the bad news.” She glanced around the restaurant as if expecting the evil clone to pounce on them from the shadows. “Where is he?” she asked. Ian shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied, “Irons took it out of the stasis chamber the night before last. He has the clone stashed away somewhere he believes I won’t find it. In any case, getting back into the mansion would be difficult for me now. I have burnt my bridges.” She brought his fingers to her lips for a quick kiss. “It’s okay, baby,” she told him, “It doesn’t matter. I’d rather have you out of there. I’m glad that you left. What happens now?” Ian was given a reprieve when the waitress brought them their lunch. The conversation lagged as they dug in until Sara repeated, “And now?” Ian put down his turkey sandwich and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Mr. Irons will not stop,” he said, “He will not simply give up. You must understand that, Sara. I believe that we will have a little time. He won’t need more blood for a week or so but, when he does, he will send the clone to get it.”

Sara could feel the intensity of his concern for her safety. “It’s okay, Ian. I get it,” she responded, “You’re telling me that I have to be careful. Yes?” His eyes darkened to warm amber honey as he regarded her. “Yes,” he agreed, “I want you to move in with me.” Sara choked on her coffee, spraying a mouthful across the table. She started to cough and Ian handed her his water. She took a quick sip and sputtered a little more while she caught her breath. “What?” she asked. Color rose in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to spring that on you but I think you’ll be safer if we’re actually living together – not just in the same building, in the same home.” Sara was still flustered. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this. “I need to think about it, ace,” she said, “Give me a minute or two to digest the concept and adjust. Okay?” He nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, “I think we also need to have a password.” She looked at him like the stress might have driven him around the bend. “A password?” she echoed. He nodded. “I want you to have a way to confirm that it’s really me,” he said. A chill traveled down her spine. “You’re scaring me, Ian,” she said softly. He reached across the table to stroke her hand. “Good,” he responded, “That was my intention.”

“Tell me something that no one else could know,” he continued, “Give me the answer to a question that Irons could never learn.” She thought for a few minutes before she said, “When I was a little girl, my favorite stuffed animal was this really dear, grungy bunny. His name was Mr. Snuggles.” Ian’s face lit in a gorgeous smile. “I love you,” he whispered, “Mr. Snuggles it is. Are you going to move in with me? Hannibal would be thrilled.” She smiled back at him and asked, “What about his master? Would he be thrilled too?” He brought her hand to his mouth and licked the inside of her wrist. “Yes,” he purred, “His master would be thrilled too; especially if the move were permanent.” Another shock wave went through her. “Whoa,” she said, “Take it easy. One step at a time. Yes, I will move in with you.” Ian gave her another killer smile. It stopped the waitress, who was coming to see whether they wanted dessert, dead in her tracks. She stood there, pad in hand, admiring the sheer beauty of him. Sara knew how she felt. “We’ll move you up to my place when you get home tonight,” Ian said, “You need to be more careful at work, as well. Promise me.” She nodded and said, “I will.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “Speaking of which, I have to get back.” He looked distracted. “Perhaps I should talk to Detective Woo,” he murmured, lost in thought. Sara made a face. “That would be over my dead body,” she hissed, catching his attention with the phrase. “Do not even say such a thing in jest,” he responded as the waitress stopped at their table.

They opted to skip dessert. As they were driving back to the precinct, Sara ran a hand through her hair and glanced sidelong at her lover. “You do remember that we have dinner at the Woos this Friday, don’t you?” she asked. Now, he made a face, eyes on the road. “Yes, I do,” he replied softly, “Although I have been trying my best to forget it gracefully.” Sara snorted. “You forget it gracefully or otherwise, sport,” she told him, “And I’ll get you by the short hairs. You were the one that got us into this social event. Remember?” He cleared his throat. “I do. Yes,” he said, “To my everlasting regret. I will not fail you.” The words, which were uttered facetiously, resonated in his head. “I will not fail you again,” he thought, the promise having little to do with dinner at the Woos. Ian felt her warm hand cover his on the gear shaft. “It’s not your fault, Ian,” she said softly, “If anyone is to blame, it’s probably me. Although it galls me to say it, you were probably right not to tell me about the surveillance for so long. It was probably my inability to fake it with you the night you took my blood that alerted him and caused him to activate one of the clones.” He pulled the car to the curb in front of the precinct. Leaving it idle, he leaned across the seat to slip a warm hand on the back of her neck and pull her toward him. Ian pressed his open mouth softly against hers, his tongue darting past her lips to tease hers. Sara dug her fingers into his silky hair, holding him close. When she pulled back, casting a wary eye at the smokers ranged against the front of the building, he murmured, “You are not to blame either, love. It is the fates. Their humor is perverse.” She smiled at him as she got out of the car. “And very inconvenient,” she added, “I’ll see you tonight, roomie.” Sara saw his quick grin flash just before she shut the car door.

In the underground laboratory at the mansion, Dr. Immo sat, head in hands, despairing over the loss of his boys. Irons watched him with narrowed steel-blue eyes, his patience nearly at its end. Kenneth swung his chair around and made another circuit of the still-smoking remains – click whir, click whir. Immo lifted his shaggy, grey head and sniffed loudly. Irons brought the chair to a halt, facing him, and grated, “Get a grip, doctor. Their loss is regrettable but not total. It is time to move on.” Immo perked up a bit. “Yes, yes,” he agreed, “Thank god for your instincts. Where is Devian?” Irons chuckled. “God had nothing to do with it,” he responded, “The boy is safely ensconced in the Observatory, pouring over tapes of the Wielder and his brother fucking like rabid bunnies. He’s becoming quite the voyeur.” Immo made a soft, strangled sound and colored. He had never grown used to Kenneth’s provocative language. “There are some more tests that I would like to run,” Immo began. Irons snorted. “Leave the boy in peace for a while,” he interrupted, “He’s fine as he is for the moment. I want him to know his targets as well as he knows himself.” Immo shrugged. “As you wish,” he conceded.

As Kenneth began to move the chair toward the door, the doctor loosed another muted cough. They had been together a long, long time and knew each other’s signals very well. Irons stopped in the doorway and asked, “What is it?” Immo hesitated. He had broached this subject when they first revived Devian and Irons had been less than receptive. Still, it was important. Kenneth had not listened to his warnings regarding Ian, after all, and look where that had led them. “About Devian,” he nudged. Irons swung the chair around and frowned at his employee. “Yes,” Kenneth replied, icy impatience rimming his voice, “What about him?” Immo’s mouth thinned into a stubborn line as he nervously wrung his hands. “You must remember, Kenneth, that he is what his name implies,” the doctor counseled, “He is the devil in Ian. You must not expect him to react as Ian would. Devian is an entirely different animal. You must be careful with him. He may chafe against control. He will not respond well to punishment. You must have a care.” Irons studied the doctor imperiously. The thought flitted through Immo’s brain that Irons still managed to look down on one even when he was looking up at one from his chair. “The boy will do as I tell him to do or I will make him sorry,” Kenneth said dismissively, swinging his chair around and sending it whirring through the doorway. Alone in the room now with the burnt husks of his work for the last ten years, Immo shrugged fatalistically. As always, he had tried. His conscience was clear. He had simply done as he was told.

The Observatory was situated at the pinnacle of the mansion. The only access was a special elevator that required a key. The large two-room suite with bath had originally been designed for star-gazing but, at some point, had mutated into a private office for Irons. The master of the mansion thought of it privately as his “Wizard’s Den.” Now, it was home to the wizard’s most recent conjuration. At the moment, the bedroom was dark and empty, as was the small bath with shower that abutted it. The adjoining sitting room was lit only by the light of the blaze roaring in the fireplace. The only sound in the room came from the tape that was playing on the monitor centered on the desk. A casual observer might have thought that the man at the desk was watching a pornographic film because the sounds filling the room were obviously the result of passion. The reality was, of course, far more bizarre. Irons intended the tape to be a training film of sorts. The effect on the clone, however, was more concupiscent than instructional.

Devian sat tilted back in the desk chair, his long legs lifted to rest on the top of the desk, ankles crossed. At first glance, he was identical to his brother, Ian Nottingham. When he was unguarded, a closer examination revealed subtle differences. “Dev,” as he thought of himself, was more comfortable in his skin than Ian probably would ever be. Though gifted with the same impressive brain power that Ian possessed, Dev was a much more sensual creature. He reveled in what his lithe, muscled body was able to do and he wasn’t the least bit shy about using it to do all manner of things, whether or not they were acceptable in polite society. The greatest difference between the two men, however, was in their eyes. Although Dev’s eyes were as expressive as Ian’s and able to shift through the same mesmerizing color spectrum from warm honey to rich, dark amber, the emotions that they conveyed were something else entirely. Ian’s eyes could burn with his love for Sara, soften with his affection for his animals, cloud with the conflict of his feelings for his master, or melt the strongest resistance with his pleading “puppy dog” look. Dev, on the other hand, found the concept of love for another impenetrable, affection struck him as a waste of time, and the “puppy dog” look was not part of his repertoire.

As far as Kenneth Irons, Devian’s feelings were not conflicted in the least. He didn’t give a flying fuck for the old man. He felt no loyalty, no gratitude, no compulsion to accede to his orders whatever. Of course, Dev had not revealed any of this incipient insurrection to either Irons or his weird toady, Immo. Until he got the lay of the land, until he knew the full scope of the situation in which he found himself, Dev would play along. Why not? He was warm, dry, and well fed, and he had these great tapes of his brother and the Wielder to watch. This was definitely an area that he intended to explore further. Sex was an occupation in which Dev was sure he could excel. Every movement pure grace, the man in the tight jeans and clinging black sweater languidly stretched forward to roll back the tape. As he pushed careless fingers through his loose curls waiting for the film to rewind, Dev unconsciously oozed raw sexuality. He hit the play button and watched as Ian posed in the door of the bathroom, getting ready to perform his little self-gratification ritual for Sara. “Yes,” Dev thought, licking his lips. Here was a primer on how to get off when you didn’t have the benefit of a partner. He watched the screen as Ian began to stroke his own nipples. Dev grinned, the sensual lips curving wickedly. He shifted on the chair to spread his long legs and to pull the sweater over his head.

By Friday, Sara had moved in with Ian and their building had turned deaf and blind. Thanks to Ian’s ability with not only enabling but disabling surveillance equipment, Kenneth Irons was no longer able to either see or hear them as they lived their lives. Ian had planned to put a rental notice in the weekend papers for Sara’s now-empty loft. It turned out to be unnecessary. At lunch with Vicki on Thursday, Sara let it slip that she was moving in with Ian. Frustrated by noisy neighbors and escalating rent, Vicki had fruitlessly been looking for a new place for the last month. She vividly remembered Sara’s description of the loft when Ian first offered it to her after the fire. It sounded like heaven to the frantic Po who was running out of time before she would be forced to renew her present lease. Vicki asked Sara to find out whether she could just take over the lease for the vacant loft. Although Sara was frankly conflicted at the thought of Vicki living in the same building, she asked Ian whether her friend could move into the empty loft. Predictably, it was the least of Ian’s worries at the moment. With her new landlord’s blessing, Vicki Po would be moving into the second floor loft over the coming weekend. Heaving a resigned sigh, Sara saw this latest development as one more strand of potential chaos in the unraveling tapestry that her life had become.

Ian had quietly increased the security of the entire building and had turned their loft into a fortress; preemptive measures against the incursion of the clone. The whole situation with Vicki had turned a spotlight on yet another area of vulnerability. Might Irons try to blackmail Sara by going at her through her friends? This possibility worried her more than her own safety and she had asked Ian to turn his impressive capabilities toward finding some solution to that problem. So far, he was at a loss. Vicki would now be close, living in a nest as secure as he could make it. He could and would set someone he trusted to keep an eye on Gabriel who, fortunately, tended to hibernate within the already secure Talismaniac. But, Detectives Woo and McCartey, because of their chosen livelihood, posed a troubling dilemma. The very nature of their work constantly thrust them into situations already fraught with danger. Again, Ian could and would assign trusted watchers until he could find some way to neutralize the remaining clone; however, the effectiveness of such an exercise, given the normal workday of Danny and Jake, seemed largely futile. Sara was frankly worried and had been unable to think of any way to warn her partners of the lurking danger without putting herself in the impossible position of having to try to explain the unexplainable. She knew her partners. They would never just accept her admonition to be extra careful for a while; they would have to know why it was necessary. And, how could she fault them for that? If the shoe were on the other foot, she would do precisely the same thing.

Given all that was going on, a time that should have marked an exciting new step in their lives – a new level of commitment even – became little more than a tense blur of movement. They had fallen into bed together the past two nights, on edge and exhausted. They had not made love, even though they no longer had an audience. In fact, the very lack of that audience freed them from having to play the role of oblivious lovers. It seemed as if their future together were holding its breath, waiting for the other clone to drop. Ian, in particular, found himself tense and cranky from the recent haphazard estrangement in his relationship with Sara and he intended to end the present dry spell by jumping her bones as soon as they got home from their dinner with the Woos. At the moment, however, they were in the black jag on their way to the suburbs. Sara had been surprised to discover that the flashy car was actually in Ian’s name. The jag; a dark green jeep; and the utilitarian pick-up truck had now taken up permanent residence in the garage of their building, where they kept her Buell company.

As they stopped at a traffic light, Sara glanced to her left to covertly observe Ian as he fidgeted behind the wheel. It was obvious that he was both nervous and wired. “Hey there, sport,” she said, stifling a smile as he started at the sound of her voice. Quickly getting himself back under control, Ian glanced at her with a strained smile. She reached out to cover his hand where it rested on the gear shaft. “Settle down,” she soothed, “This is dinner, not an execution.” Ian snorted. “Easy for you to say,” he mumbled, holding up his hand as she opened her mouth and adding, “I know, I know. I brought this on myself.” A self-satisfied smile tugged at her lips. He was learning. She watched as he frowned when the light turned green. “What was the name of Detective Woo’s niece?” he asked for the second time, going a bit heavy on the accelerator. Sara sighed. He was a wreck. “Mija,” she repeated, unusually patient. He nodded. “That’s right,” he murmured to himself. She couldn’t help herself. “Same as it was last time you asked,” she pointed out. He dug his long fingers into his hair, dislodging the leather band holding it back. The loosened tie fell to the floor somewhere and Ian’s shining waves tumbled around his face. It was the second time that he had done that too. “Shit,” he grumbled.

Sara sighed. It was going to be a long evening. Ian stretched out a hand to blindly search the floor of the jag, looking for his lost band. Sara caught the appendage snaking around her ankles and brought it to her lips for a quick kiss. Wide, golden eyes shifted away from the road ahead for a moment and studied her questioningly. “Leave it,” she commanded, “It looks better down anyway.” He made an impatient sound, eyes back on traffic. “And I’ll spend all night pushing my hair out of my face,” he protested. Knowing her man, she released his hand and suggested, “You can also hide behind it.” He considered that for a moment and finally managed a grin. “Down, it is,” he agreed. She shook her head. It was like she was taking him home for the inspection dinner with Mom and Dad. Ian was steeling himself for part two of the Woo inquisition that had begun when they went to pick up the mattress and box spring. Torquemada could have learned a trick or two from Danny and Lee. She glanced out the window and said, “Next left, baby.” Ian nodded and she watched muscles all down the side of his body nearest her tense and bunch. She leaned closer to run her index finger slowly from his high cheekbone down to his bearded jaw line. “Relax,” she whispered. He pulled into the Woo driveway and parked. Then, he turned his head and lightly bit the finger that was still stroking his chin. “Hey,” she protested. He turned to grin at her manically. “Just releasing some aggression,” he explained. She leaned across the stick, intending to give him a quick, supportive kiss, saying, “Careful, buster. I bite back.”

Passion he had pent up over the last two days exploded and Ian snaked out a hand to pull Sara closer, capturing her mouth with his in a bruising, open-mouthed kiss. The kiss deepened and, lost in the heightened sensation, their hands began to explore each other. When they finally came up for air, the first four buttons on her blouse were open, exposing a lacy green bra. His belt was undone and his zipper was halfway down. They were both gasping and painfully aroused. Sara pushed back from Ian using both hands. “Stop!” she moaned. He was beyond speech. All of his energy was focused on not losing control of himself and coming right there in the Woo’s driveway. When he was able to form words, Ian gasped, “We should just skip dinner and go back to that hotel room. How about it?” Sara had settled down enough to begin breathing somewhat normally again. She smiled, amused, “Not a chance, ace,” she replied, “Now pull yourself together so that we can go ring the bell. If anyone looks out, they’ll wonder what the hell we’re doing sitting in their driveway all this time.” He grinned back at her recklessly, still trying to calm down, “Having an appetizer?” he suggested. She snorted. “Good try,” she said, eyes sliding downward, “Close your fly.” Ian sighed and zipped up.

Gritting his teeth, Ian got out of the car and went around to open Sara’s door. She, of course, was already out and waiting for him when he arrived. She started to move toward the house but Ian caught her hand, stopping her. She stopped and turned back to him. “What now?” she asked. He dropped his head a little, regarding her through those lush lashes. “Am I okay?” he countered. She couldn’t stop the snicker. “Now there’s a leading question,” she replied. He made a frustrated sound deep in his throat. “Come on,” he growled, “I’m serious.” She sighed and stepped back, studying him critically. He wore a custom-made black suit that draped elegantly on his long, lean body. Just the tips of sleek, black boots were visible beneath the exact fall of his trousers. His shirt was cream silk. His black, silk tie was perfectly knotted and covered with tiny golden fleur de lis. A long, black cashmere trenchcoat topped the ensemble. His hair framed his beautiful face in shining waves. He was devastatingly gorgeous. “Yeah. You’re okay,” she replied. Sara started toward the house again but he tightened his grip on her hand. She sighed loudly and turned back. “Better be good,” she hissed, irritated now.

“You look exquisite,” Ian said softly, “Heart-stoppingly beautiful.” When Sara had moved into his loft, she found that Ian had cleared fully half of his wall-long closet for her. It looked pitiful when she hung up her small cache of clothing. Since then, Sara had been finding “gifts” in her closet and in the bureau drawers that he had also cleared for her. This evening, she had found a long, dark brown suede skirt, duster, and matching boots. Hanging with these items was a moss green, silk blouse. In the bureau, she discovered the matching set of lacy, green underwear that she was wearing. When she shrugged on the duster, her fingers closed around a small jewelry box in one of the pockets. Inside were stunning gold and tigers-eye earrings. She gave in and smiled. “All the credit goes to my fashion consultant,” she said. Ian shook his head. “The clothes are only the frame on the masterpiece,” he replied. They both turned sharply as the front door opened. Lee stood framed in light. “What on earth are you two doing out here?” she asked, “Are you planning to come in sometime tonight and join us?” Sara squeezed his hand and began pulling him toward the open door. “It’s all his fault,” she explained. She heard a soft sound at her back. “Thanks a lot,” Ian mumbled.

After giving Sara a quick hug and kissing her cheek, Lee gave Ian the same treatment, whispering in his ear, “That’s alright, Ian. I don’t believe her for a minute.” Ian blinked, responding a bit stiffly. He was unused to such casual affection and unsure how to respond. Lee released him, reaching out her arms. Ian looked at her wide-eyed, taking a step back. Lee smiled. “Let me have your coats,” she said. He released a breath and turned to help Sara with her coat. Sara, of course, had already yanked her coat off and was handing it to Lee. Ian felt his cheeks flame at his awkwardness, even as he gracefully shrugged off his overcoat. He desperately wished that the evening were over and he were back home with only the deranged clone to contend with. “Where’s the man?” Sara asked. Lee smiled. “In the kitchen opening some wine. Why don’t you go give him a hand, Ian,” she suggested. He turned to Sara. If a bunny could have golden cat eyes, this one looked like a semi was headed straight for him and he was frozen, waiting to get squished. Sara nudged him when he didn’t move. “Go on,” she said, nodding in the direction of the Woo kitchen, “Put those feet in gear, ace.” He gave her the look. She ignored it.

Moving like a condemned man on his way to the electric chair, Ian shuffled reluctantly to the kitchen. He halted in the doorway and Danny looked up. He was having a battle with the corkscrew. “Need help?” Ian asked. Danny raised shrewd dark eyes to study the tall man lounging in his kitchen doorway and looking like he wished he was anywhere but there. Danny had a sudden, vivid memory of when he and Lee were first dating and she had dragged him around for her friends to look over. With a flash of sympathy, Danny said, “Yeah. Here. Why don’t you open this red and I’ll take a stab at the white.” Ian nodded, grateful to have something useful to do. He handled the antiquated corkscrew with ease. “You’re good at that,” Danny observed enviably. Ian shrugged, allowing the opened wine to breathe. “Jack of all trades,” he replied, dismissing the skill. Danny cocked his head. “Master of none?” he finished, “I doubt that. From what I’ve heard, you’re a master of martial arts.” Now, Ian cocked his head. “Where did you hear that?” he asked. Danny finally managed to open the bottle of white wine, pushing some of the cork inside. “Oh, here and there,” he evaded, adding, “Red or white?” Ian picked up two empty wine glasses. “Red,” he said, “And for Sara too.” Danny’s eyes narrowed at Ian’s casual knowledge of his partner’s preferences as he poured the wine. “And Lee?” Ian asked, “I can take them both some wine.” Danny poured two more glasses. “Lee drinks white,” he said, handing Ian a glass to take to his wife.

When Ian carried the wine into the living room, the two women were sitting on the sofa with their heads close together. He knew by the way they sprang guiltily apart when he entered the room that they had been talking about him. Lee lifted clever dark eyes to frankly study him and Ian felt himself blush. Then, he was embarrassed by being embarrassed. He handed the ladies their wine, accepted their thanks, and hastily retreated back to the kitchen where it was marginally safer. When he was gone again, Lee let out a low chuckle. “Ian knows that we were talking about him,” she told Sara. Her friend nodded. “He sometimes seems to just grab stuff out of thin air; picks things up quickly,” Sara confirmed, adding wryly, “He’s no dummy.” Lee smiled teasingly. “That’s a nice change for you,” she needled. Sara punched her lightly in her upper arm. “Hey,” she protested, “Not all of the guys that I’ve been with have been Neanderthals, you know.” Lee’s smile got broader. “No,” she agreed, “That’s true. Only about three-quarters of them, I’d guess.” Sara sighed and ran her fingers roughly through her hair, messing it. “Yeah,” she said, “My taste hasn’t always been very selective. But Ian is different, special. He’s the real deal.” Lee’s eyes warmed. She was very glad to hear it. She very much wanted her friend to be happy and the last year had seemed particularly difficult for her.

Changing the subject, Lee ran an appreciative hand over the fine silk of Sara’s sleeve. “This is lovely,” she said of the moss green blouse, “It’s new, isn’t it?” Sara nodded. “A gift from Mr. Nottingham,” she said. Lee’s eyes widened. “The rest of it too?” she asked, “The skirt and coat, the boots, the earrings?” Sara nodded again. “Right down to the matching underwear,” she confirmed. Lee’s lips twisted. “That’s actually more than I wanted to know,” she pointed out. Sara laughed. “Since I moved in with him, I keep finding these goodies everywhere,” she murmured, “It’s not just the clothes and jewelry. I’ll go in the bathroom and find these fancy new toiletries. It’s often something that I’d never think to buy for myself but that I immediately love the moment I try it. I go into the kitchen and there’s an enormous new coffee mug with my name painted on it. The last couple of days have been sort of like a continuous Christmas.” She realized that Lee was staring at her wide-eyed. “What?” Sara asked. Lee reached out to grab Sara’s upper arms, giving her a quick, rough shake. “You moved in with Ian and you’re just getting around to telling me now?” she asked, annoyed. Sara dropped her eyes. “Oh,” she mumbled, “Yeah. Sorry, Lee. There’s just been a lot going on.”

Lee waved away her apology, now focused on getting all the grisly details. “So this is really serious then?” she asked. Sara suddenly thought back to groping Ian in the jag earlier. She vividly felt his hot mouth and silken tongue against hers. She could feel his rock-hard abs under her fingers as she searched for the belt on his trousers and undid it, gripping the zipper and starting to ease it down over the full erection pushing against her hand. Lee’s raucous laugh abruptly brought Sara back to the present. “Whoa,” Lee said, still laughing, “Where did you just go, girlfriend?” Sara’s cheeks colored. She cleared her throat, embarrassed. Trying to change the subject, Sara glanced around. “Where are Mija and Ti?” she asked. “Sleepovers,” Lee replied, “And there’s no way I’m going to let that go. What were you thinking about just then?” Sara shrugged. “More stuff that you’d probably rather not know,” Sara waffled, intently checking her nonexistent manicure. Lee tilted her head and eyed Sara appraisingly. “He looks like he would be good,” she said, both of them understanding what she was referring to, “But he must be incredible to get this kind of reaction from you.” Sara raised her head and looked back at her friend, unguarded. For a moment, she seemed a touch confused, a little lost. “He’s un-fucking-believable, Lee,” she replied, “So good that sometimes I just seem to lose myself in him completely. That scares me.” Lee nodded, remembering how it had been with Danny when they were brand new. On rare occasions, they could still sometimes hit those peaks but with one child here and another well on the way, their lives had settled into something else. It was no less valuable, no less exciting in its own way, but it was different.

Lee studied Sara with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare let this go now that you’ve found it just because you’re spooked over wanting him too much,” she advised. Sara sighed, dropping her eyes. Lee knew her very well. “What about Ian?” Lee asked, “Has he told you he loves you? Has he made any kind of commitment to you?” Sara smiled. Ian told her he loved her all the time, usually several times a day. And, basically, every touch, every look, every word that he directed at Sara was full of his love for her, his devotion to her, his fealty to her as the Wielder. “That’s the least of my problems,” she replied, “I know that Ian loves me.” Lee nodded and asked, “Enough to make a commitment?” Sex was lovely, especially with someone built like Ian, but Sara deserved a man who would be there for her when they finally got out of bed. She deserved a partner in her life as worthy as the partner she had at work. With the single-minded devotion of a good friend, Lee was determined to see that Sara got what she needed. Sara shook her head. “We haven’t really discussed where our relationship is going,” she responded, then held up a hand to forestall Lee, whose mouth was already open, “And that’s fine with me. I’m not ready for any kind of formal commitment at the moment. More important things are going on in our lives right now. When the time comes, Ian will be there for me if that’s what I want. I have no doubts about that at all.” Caught by the look on Sara’s face, Lee asked, “What’s going on that is more important than the engagement party that I’ve been waiting forever to throw for you?” Sara sighed. She didn’t want to lie to her friend. What could she safely tell Lee?

In the kitchen, the men were having a similar conversation. Ian had been wracking his brain for a way to warn Danny about the clone without opening Pandora’s box. Inspiration came to him when Danny asked him if he had any family. Ian nodded. Jumping in, he replied, “I have a twin brother.” Danny’s eyes went wide, his surprise evident. He didn’t remember there being anything in the Black Dragon file about a twin. Recovering adroitly, he asked, “What’s his name?” Ian dropped his eyes. He had learned that they often gave away too much information when he lied. “He just uses our surname, ‘Nottingham,’” Ian prevaricated, “That’s a good way to tell us apart because we are identical. You can always address me as ‘Ian’ and I will respond. If you address me as ‘Nottingham’ and you get a response, you will know that you are dealing with my brother. If that is the case, you need to be wary.” Now, Danny’s eyes narrowed. “And why is that?” he wanted to know. Ian lifted his head, assuming his best hang-dog expression. Danny felt a strong tug of sympathy without fully understanding why. Seeing the change in the detective’s demeanor, Ian was reminded that “the look” was a formidable weapon indeed. He tucked that thought away for further reflection later.

“Unfortunately, there’s bad blood between my brother and I,” Ian said, secretly amused by the turn of that phrase, “He has always resented that Mr. Irons brought me into his home and raised me while leaving my brother behind.” Danny frowned. “Why couldn’t he take both of you?” he asked, “It certainly wasn’t an issue of money.” Ian shook his head, taking the pain in his expressive, golden eyes up a notch. “He has…problems,” Ian explained, with just enough of a pause to allow Danny to fill in the blanks. But, being the detective that he was, Danny couldn’t let it go at that. “What kind of problems?” he asked. Ian’s sigh stopped just short of being dramatic. “He has stalked me on and off for years,” Ian explained regretfully, “Now, he has begun to stalk Sara. She is aware of this, of course, and is taking precautions. Both of us are afraid that he may also begin to stalk her friends. That is why I ask you to be wary.” Danny cocked his head, sensing that something was not quite right in Ian’s story, but unable to figure out what it was. “Why don’t you get him some help?” he asked. Ian nodded. He had been expecting that question. “He is seeing a doctor,” Ian replied, no longer lying – after all, Immo was certainly a doctor and, if his own experience were any barometer, the clone was seeing far more of him than it ever wished to. “Regrettably,” Ian continued, “His progress has been slow and there have been major setbacks along the way.” Danny had the odd sensation that Ian was leading him around by the nose. He shook it off to ask, “How dangerous is he?”

Danny had to know whether his family was in any serious danger here. If they were, he would personally see to it that Nottingham’s nutcase twin was locked safely away – whether Ian and Sara liked it or not. “At the moment, he only may be a danger to me,” Ian said, adding, “And I can handle myself. If that changes in any way, Sara or I would, of course, let you know immediately.” Danny nodded, accepting the assurance but not thrilled with the whole situation. “Is that why she moved in with you?” Danny wanted to know. Ian’s mouth went hard. He was not happy with Sara’s partner probing into their private life. He thought about the gist of the conversation that he had initiated, however, and saw that he had opened that door himself. He could not fault the detective for walking through it. Ian took a healthy swallow of wine before he murmured, “Among other reasons.” Danny grinned, sensing that Ian was pissed. Danny loved to push. Lee could testify to that. “Like?” he asked. The golden eyes sparked but the temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop. “Like things that are none of your concern, Detective Woo,” Ian replied in an icy tone. Danny’s grin widened. “Call me ‘Danny,’” he said. He and Ian stared at each other for another moment or two, the visual equivalent of determining who could spray further. With admirable timing, they backed off simultaneously. Ian drained his glass and sucked in a deep breath. Still grinning, Danny asked, “More wine, Ian?” The corners of Ian’s lips twitched as he held out his glass and said, “Thanks…Danny.”

Danny decided to go for broke. “Sit down, Ian,” he offered, now the magnanimous host as he indicated a kitchen chair. Ian sat in the proffered chair. Taking the chair opposite, Danny continued, “Sara told me that you have left Kenneth Irons’ employ.” Ian studied the man across from him carefully. “Yes,” he replied. Danny waited a moment for some details. Ian waited with him. None were forthcoming. Danny smiled, enjoying himself. “This guy is good,” he thought. “So,” he said, aloud, “What are you planning to do with yourself now?” Ian lifted a negligent shoulder. “I haven’t really taken much time to think about that yet,” he said. Danny nodded. Of course. The evil twin had been keeping them hopping. Eyes bright, Danny said, “There’s an opening for a teacher at the place where I train. The pay is shit, but I don’t suppose you need the money anyway. Do you?” Ian shook his head. “No. I don’t need the money,” he confirmed. Danny grinned, eying his apparel. “Didn’t think so,” he murmured. There was a long pause while they both sipped wine. Finally, Danny asked, “So. What do you think?” Ian studied him with steady eyes. “Adults?” he asked. Danny nodded, adding, “And kids. I think you would probably teach both. Are you that good?” Ian smiled slowly. “Yes,” he replied, “I’m that good.” Danny just thought that he would ask, but he had not doubted it for a minute. He could tell by the way that Ian moved.

Danny waited. Finally, Ian said, “I’d want to check it out before making any kind of commitment.” Danny nodded. “Sure,” he replied, “Why don’t you meet me there for my usual session? Tuesday night at seven. You can even bring Pez if you want. Though, knowing her, she’ll be bored to tears.” Ian came to a quick decision. “Alright,” he agreed. And he would bring Sara – bored or not. He didn’t want her sitting at home alone without him there to protect her. They could go out to dinner afterwards, make it an evening. At that moment, Lee called from the living room, “Woo, are you keeping an eye on that pot roast like you promised you would?” Danny shot up out of his chair, whispering, “Shit!” He hurried to the stove, grabbing a pot holder from the counter on the way. Opening the oven, he checked on something in a large, roasting pan. The meat was edging toward well done but had not yet tipped over to burnt. Danny breathed a noisy sigh of relief before he called back, “Dinner’s ready.” Lee stood in the kitchen doorway, eyes narrowed and arms crossed on her chest. “I thought it might be,” she said. Danny cleared his throat, smiling sheepishly. “We got to talking,” he explained. Lee’s foot was tapping. “Uh huh,” she said, “Is my roast burnt?” Danny spread his hands and said, “No. It’s fine. Isn’t it, Ian?” Caught by surprise, Ian looked from Danny to Lee to Sara, who had come up to stand behind Lee in the kitchen doorway. “Ummm,” he stalled, before lamely concluding, “It smelled wonderful.”

Lee frowned at Danny. “That’s alright, Ian,” she said, “He’s just trying to deflect my attention to someone else. It’s an old trick. It won’t work.” Danny looked glum. “She’s on to me,” he admitted. Sara laughed, putting her hand on Lee’s shoulder. “Let’s just get the food on the table and eat,” she said, “What can I do to help?” As Lee went into high gear to get dinner set out, Danny shot his partner a grateful glance for pulling his nuts out of the fire. When she bustled past him carrying rolls, Sara whispered in Danny’s ear, “You owe me one, partner.” He snorted and poured more wine in everyone’s glasses. The meal was long, relaxed, and very good. The roast turned out to be perfect. After a second helping of everything, Sara leaned back from the table and heaved a deep, fulfilled sigh. “God, I’m so, so full,” she groaned, “That was phenomenal. Please tell me that you don’t have dessert.” Lee smiled, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Home-made cherry pie,” she replied. Ian made a soft, strangled sound and everyone looked at him. “I’m very full, but home-made cherry pie,” he murmured reverently. Lee laughed, delighted with him. Even Danny had to smile. Ian was sitting beside Sara. She reached for his hand where it rested on the table and linked her fingers through his, squeezing gently.

“You like cherry pie, huh?” Sara asked Ian. He looked at her askance. “How could I not?” he responded. Her eyes softened and she disengaged her fingers so that she could lift her hand to push back a stray curl that had fallen across his forehead. Lee and Danny looked at each other. There were unsaid volumes spoken in that look. Danny cleared his throat and Sara swung her head around almost as if she were surprised to find them there. She quickly pulled back her hand and dropped her eyes. ‘So,” Danny started, “Ian told me about this twin brother of his and I…” Sara’s mouth dropped open. Before Danny could continue, she interrupted, “Whoa, twin?” she asked, baffled, “You mean the evil clone?” Now, Danny’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he sputtered, “Did you say clone?” Realizing what she had let slip, Sara began desperately trying to recover. “Ummm,” she hedged, “That’s just what I call him. It’s sort of a nickname. Shit. Ian?” Beside her, Ian’s head was down. He briefly lifted his head and their eyes met. He was fighting so hard to stifle laughter that his eyes had filled with tears. He dropped his head again before he lost it. “You’re a big help,” she mumbled, starting to laugh now too. That look in his eyes had been infectious. A strangled snort came from the vicinity of his lowered face. “Cut it out, Nottingham,” she hissed between chuckles, punching him in the arm. His head was still down, his shoulders shaking.

“Am I missing something?” Danny asked, confused. Lee had watched the interlude between Ian and Sara, smiling. “Usually,” she said, standing and rubbing her husband’s shoulder, “I’m going to get the pie, Woo. Why don’t you help me?” Danny shrugged, completely lost. “Okay,” he agreed. He stood and followed his wife to the kitchen. Ian raised his head to look at Sara and barely managed, “Evil clone?” She looked back at him, eyes sparkling with equal humor. “Twin brother?” she countered. He glanced quickly to the kitchen before turning back to her. Ian stretched out one long finger to touch the point of her chin. He slowly slid the tip of his finger down her neck and across her chest to rest at a point between her breasts. “When we get home tonight,” he whispered, “I’m going to make love to you until your bones melt.” Sara sucked in a slow breath and smiled seductively. “My bones don’t melt easy, champ,” she whispered back, “You better have a couple pieces of pie to build up your strength.” At that moment, Lee and Danny returned from the kitchen carrying a large pie, plates, and dessert forks. “Now,” Lee said, “Who wants pie?”