"Blood Seduction"

Still looking a bit distracted, Ian moved to the computer where Gabriel was working. He scanned the screen, hit a few keys, and dropped into the chair where Gabe had been sitting. “Connecticut,” he observed, “The offsite lab is in Connecticut.” Gabriel stopped boogying to study the large man now sitting in his chair. “Yeah,” Gabe agreed, “Is that a problem?” Ian shrugged. “It’s not great,” he replied, “It means that we have to leave the city to grab him.” Gabriel dropped into the chair next to him, deflated. “We’ve been trying to find this little fuck for so long,” he mumbled, “I thought you guys would be doing the happy dance now that we’ve finally nailed him.” Ian leaned forward to clap Gabe on the shoulder. “You’ve done very well. Believe me, I don’t think anyone but you could have unearthed Immo from beneath the firewalls and other levels of security where Kendall has secreted him.” Gabriel frowned. “But…?” he supplied. Ian grimaced. “But I’m concerned about Devian,” he admitted, “When I went to pick up the animals, I felt eyes. I couldn’t find anyone and I took every precaution; still, my skin was crawling. I’ve learned to trust my instincts even when my other senses are telling me something different. He couldn’t have taken off like this at a worse time.” Gabriel stood. “Then we should go look for him,” he immediately decided. Ian shook his head. “Nobody else leaves this house until we have a plan and we know what we’re doing,” he ordered, “I want to know exactly what precipitated this – from all the parties involved. Where’s Vicki?”

Gabriel shrugged. “When Sara and I went to see whether Dev had flown the coop, we left her sitting in your bedroom” he explained, adding, “She hasn’t come down.” The worried look on Ian’s face intensified. Why hadn’t she responded to all the noise downstairs? It wasn’t like her. “Could you go upstairs and get her?” he asked Gabriel, already suspecting what the young man would find. Gabe immediately headed toward the stairs, throwing a casual, “Sure,” over his shoulder. When they were alone, Ian studied his lover. She was sitting quietly on the sofa, apparently engrossed in scratching every inch of Hannibal’s shaggy coat. The Rottie was leaning against her legs ecstatically, transported to doggy heaven. Ian knew the look on Sara’s face. Feeling miserably guilty now about how she had treated the clone and the result she had precipitated, she was trying to disappear by keeping her errant mouth shut. It was too little, too late. “What exactly did you say to him?” Ian asked. Sara sighed. Even in her head it sounded bad, she hated having to say it again out loud. “I didn’t say it to him,” she hedged, “I said it to Vicki. We were fighting – like I told you.” He waved an impatient hand. They didn’t have time for this. “Whatever,” he replied, voice tight and hard. Sara’s eyes widened and her bottom lip quivered just a little. “What did you say?” Ian repeated. She dropped her head and mumbled, “I said that Vicki was welcome to him. I said that I had never wanted him in the first place; that it was all the Witchblade and that he was nothing to me.” Ian shut his eyes and shook his head, really annoyed with her for the first time that he could remember. “Jesus, Sara,” he hissed.

Sara put her head in her hands and moaned, “I know, I know. I screwed up big time. I’m sorry.” Hannibal whined softly, sensing the human tension in the room. Ian stood and started to pace. “I’m not the one that you need to say that to,” he observed, “I sincerely hope that you get the chance to apologize to Dev.” She lifted her head. “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, “What’s going on?” At that moment, Gabe came hurtling back down the stairs. “Vicki’s gone too. I looked everywhere upstairs,” he called, as he shot past them to check the lab. He came out of the lab, shaking his head. “Do you think she went after Dev?” he asked. Ian sighed, falling into one of the easy chairs while Gabe perched on the edge of the other. Ian tiredly scrubbed his face with his hands while the other two watched him. “That would be my guess,” Ian agreed, “I have a very bad feeling about this. Neither one of them are probably paying much attention to their surroundings; Dev because he’s torn up emotionally and Vicki because she only has eyes for Devian. That means that they’re in danger. Add to that the possibility that I was followed and we’re all in deep shit.” Gabe and Sara looked at each other, distressed. “What are we going to do?” Sara asked him. She was in over her head and she knew it. Ian began ticking points off on his long fingers. “First, we’re going to move to another safe house. I want you both ready to leave within the hour. Next, I’m going to get some people out on the street looking for Dev and Vicki,” he paused, took a long breath, and added to Sara, “Then, once we get settled, if they haven’t been found, you and I are going to see how useful this connection we share with Devian can be.”

Sara nodded. She was uncharacteristically subdued, mired in guilt because she had precipitated this crisis. “Do you think we can contact him mentally, figure out where he is?” Ian nodded. “I certainly hope so,” he replied, “If we can’t…” He shrugged and added, “It’s a very big city and, if Dev doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be almost impossible to find him.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Could he block us?” she asked, “Keep us from making the connection?” Ian thought about that. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, “Our best bet might be to just catch him off guard. To try to figure out where he is before he can throw up the walls and just hope that we can get to him before he bolts again.” Gabe had been listening, taking it all in. Now, he joined the conversation. “What about Vicki?” he asked, “If she followed him, maybe she’ll call us; maybe she’ll let us know where he is?” Sara grunted and both men turned to look at her. “And maybe she’ll keep it to herself; the way that she wants to keep Dev to herself,” she said, then clarified, “Vicki may have followed him so that she could be alone with him. She may be hoping that he’d turn to her for comfort.” Ian looked troubled. “If that’s the case,” he reasoned, “Then we can’t count on her for help. She’s playing her own game and they could both walk blindly into the enemy’s hands.” Sara dropped her head. “I’m so sorry, Ian,” she murmured. He looked at her lowered head for a moment before he replied, “I believe that your regret is genuine, Sara. Unfortunately, it comes too late. Someday, you must learn that your words have the power to cut as sharply as a katana when you use them against someone who loves you. I tell you that from experience.”

Sara felt the tears that had been stinging her eyes spill over to roll down her cheeks. She lifted a hand to brush them hurriedly away. There was no time for this now. Ian glanced at his watch and stood. “We have to move,” he said, then turned to Sara to direct, “Gather up your albums and pictures. Other than that, pack one suitcase; no more. Double-check when you’re finished. We can leave nothing by which they can trace us. Call me when you’re done and I’ll carry everything to the elevator. We’ll take the big van.” Sara hurried toward the stairs. Ian turned to Gabriel. “I need you to take care of the computers,” he explained, “Everything has to be backed up to disk. Then, the hard drives need to be scrubbed and fried.” He checked his watch again and asked, “Can you do that in 45 minutes?” Gabe grinned and said, “Are you kidding? I’ve been keeping current backups as I was told. As for the rest of it, watch me. What are you going to be doing?”

Ian frowned. “I need to shut down Vicki’s lab. We can’t leave any results or samples for anyone to find but I also want to preserve all the research that she’s done since we came here. I’m going to have my hands full.” Gabe nodded. “Then we better get to it,” he suggested, “Right? What about the rest of this stuff?” Ian frowned. “I’m going to make some calls. I’ll get a backup team to come in here and salvage as much as possible. Then, there’s going to be an explosion.” Gabe’s eyes widened. “You don’t mess around, do you?” he asked. Ian shook his head. “We can’t afford to get sloppy,” he said, smiling wryly and adding, “Sloppier, that is. We better get to it.” Giving a quick nod of assent, Gabriel headed toward the long table full of computers.

Exactly an hour later, the big van pulled out into heavy traffic. Almost immediately, a smaller van containing Ian’s backup team pulled into the underground garage to salvage as much as possible of the priority items he had identified in the thirty minutes that he had allotted them. When that time was up, the building would be destroyed. The official explanation would be a faulty hot water heater. Rather than trying to change to a variety of other vehicles to avoid pursuit, Ian used the obvious camouflage of having several vehicles of the same kind and color constantly shifting and overlapping in the crowded late afternoon traffic to confound any pursuers. After almost an hour of using this intricate deception, his finely-tuned spidey sense quieted and he was finally sure that they weren’t being followed. They drove around for another half hour and were just pulling into the parking garage in an alley behind a refurbished three-story brownstone when the cell in Ian’s pocket began to ring. Ian had the only telephone among the group of fugitives and they had all had to memorize its number. As soon as he used the cell phone – even if it was only once – he would get rid of it and they would all have to memorize a new number. For all those reasons, it was only to be used in an emergency. Because of this, everyone in the van tensed when it rang. Ian quickly pulled into the garage and parked one-handed, simultaneously drawing the ringing phone from his pocket.

Ian flipped open the cell phone and asked, “Yes?” He listened for a moment before he responded, “Calm down, Vicki, and speak more slowly. It’s hard to understand you. Where are you calling from? Is it a secure line?” He listened another couple of seconds, then replied, “Good. Go ahead. Tell me what happened.” There was a long pause while he listened. Finally, he asked, “Did he go in under his own steam?” He listened again; then, answered, “Okay. Stay there and, please, keep out of sight. Get far away from the phone that you’re now using. That’s one of the first places they’ll be watching. There’s a small coffee shop three blocks down at the end of that block called “The Koffee Klatch.” Go have some coffee. Wait there for me. I’ll come and get you. Give me an hour.” He listened again. Vicki was obviously making some kind of argument because the molded contours of Ian’s face went tight. “Now, you listen to me, doctor,” he hissed, voice deadly soft, “And listen well because I do know what I’m doing. We do not do anything on impulse, without a plan, because that’s how people get killed. Do you understand me?” She must have been quiet because he repeated, “I asked if you understood me, Dr. Po. I require an answer.” This time, the pause was brief before he replied, “Good. One hour. If I don’t find you there, I’m going to be very, very pissed. You don’t want to make me angry.”

Ian sat still for a moment after disconnecting Vicki. He could feel their eyes watching him avidly; could sense their need to know what had happened. He dropped the phone on the dashboard and said quietly, “Kendall has Devian.” Sara released a soft moan and sighed, “Oh, no.” Beside her, Gabriel cursed out a low, “Shit!” that was fraught with feeling. “Has he changed sides?” she asked, “Did he go to them of his own accord?” From both sides of her, Sara felt waves of indignation. She shrunk lower in her seat when Gabriel hissed, “Holy shit, Chief, what is your problem with Dev? Hasn’t he fucking proved himself to you yet? What does it take? We’ve been friends a long time but this block you’ve got about Devian is starting to wear a little thin on me. Is it because he’s a clone? Are you under the impression that that’s something he can change? Get over it!” While Sara hunched over to make herself a smaller target, Ian answered her question as if Gabe hadn’t spoken. “No,” he replied, “He was carried in unconscious. Vicki saw them tranq him. She had no way to stop it and, fortunately, kept her head. She followed and watched them take Dev into the mansion; that’s when she called us.” Gabe opened the door of the van and jumped down to the garage floor. “So, is this our new home?” he asked. Ian did the same, taking the cell phone from the dash and dropping it to the cement floor where he ground it to pieces under his booted heel. “For the time being,” he replied, “Don’t get too comfortable though. We may have to move again quickly. I’m going to get you two settled here and then I’m going to go get Vicki.”

Ian reached up to help Sara down from the high seat of the van. His touch held none of its usual reverence and a savage twist of insecurity curled open inside her. Ian opened the back of the van to free Hannibal, and he again picked up the cat carrier with the still bound and very unhappy Clarice inside it. He left everything else to be unpacked later. They went up a flight of brightly-lit, cement steps from the garage and the door through which they passed led directly into a large, well-appointed kitchen. This place was much fancier than the converted warehouse they had just vacated. Hannibal gamboled about barking and sniffing everything. The kitchen led into a formal dining room and, through that, into an almost luxurious living room that sported a wide-screen television. Gabriel found himself thinking that Dev would flip over the T.V. when he remembered where his friend was now. His dark brows knitting with anxiety, Gabe dropped into a black, leather club chair, flinging one long leg over its broad arm. “What are we going to do?” he asked Ian. Watching his dog rambunctiously explore their new digs, Ian called, “Hannibal, heel!” The big Rottie trotted to his master’s side instantly, where he sat looking up with adoring eyes and lolling tongue.

Ian watched Sara perch quietly in a corner of the big sofa that matched the club chair. She had been holding her tongue, keeping a low profile, since Gabriel had gone off on her in the van. He turned to face Gabe and responded, “We’re not going to do anything until we have a better understanding of the whole situation. If we go barreling in there on a rescue mission without a coherent plan, I guarantee you that someone is going to get hurt.” Gabe bounced up off the chair and started to roam around the room. It was obvious that he was filled with nervous energy and good intentions. Ian was a great believer in the adage that good intentions paved the way to hell. “Gabe,” he called. He had to call his name once more before the young man turned his way. “What?” he asked a little belligerently. Ian paused to let him settle down a bit. “We’ll get Dev out. I promise you that,” he said calmly, “But let’s be sure that we have a good chance to succeed. The office is through that door to the right. Can you set up our computer network while I go get Vicki? As soon as I come back, we’ll start to plan how to get him back. Okay?” Gabe took a deep breath, visibly settling himself down. “Okay,” he agreed. With that, he turned and disappeared through the office door.

Sara still hadn’t spoken. “You’re awfully quiet,” he observed, studying her through narrowed, golden eyes. She shrugged, face lowered. “Every time I opened my mouth, I was putting my foot in it,” she whispered, “I figured that I better shut up for a while.” She looked up at him, eyes bleak. “Will he be alright?” she asked, “What do you think they’ll do to him?” Ian turned his head, not able to meet her eyes. “I don’t know,” he replied, “Kendall is an unknown. He could be better or worse than my mast…Mr. Irons. I just don’t know. I imagine that we’ll find out soon enough.” She squinted up at him. “What do you mean?” she asked. He shrugged, aimlessly wandering around the room, Hannibal trailing him as if glued to his heels. “If they harm Dev, really hurt him, I think one or both of us will feel it,” he said. Sara studied his face, eyes huge. “I thought that link was just activated by sex,” she murmured, “You think our connection is also tapped through pain.” Ian spread his hands. “It’s just speculation on my part, Sara,” he pointed out, “We haven’t really experimented with any of this yet; but sex and violence are both strong stimuli. It’s possible.” She looked glum. “Swell,” she growled. He smiled dryly and suggested, “Maybe we can get him out of there before any of us have to find out. I have to go get Vicki. Are you going to be alright?” She nodded and called, “Hannibal. Come here.” The big dog trotted over to her and she held on to his collar so that Ian could leave unmolested. “I’m fine,” she assured him, “Go. Get Vick.” Ian nodded, gave her a quick wave, and left.

Left alone, she sat quietly thinking with the only counterpoint Gabriel’s fingers beginning to familiarly click over computer keys in the room next door. For the first time since the clone had come into their lives, she allowed herself to seriously and honestly examine how she felt about him. Was she, as Gabe had suggested, blaming Dev for his origin; something over which he had had no control whatsoever. Was she making assumptions about his character that were based on the fact that he had sprung full blown from a stasis tank rather than being raised and taught by a mother and father? Sara hoped that she wasn’t that narrow-minded but she suddenly wasn’t so sure. Or, was it something else entirely? Was her appalling treatment a defense mechanism because her fear of Devian was in equal proportion to how much she wanted him and cared for him? She could admit now that she had been drawn to him, attracted by him, since the beginning. But admitting that her feelings for the clone went beyond a strong sexual yen into deeper emotions was still a chasm she could not cross. It made what was between them too real, too dangerous. She had waged that battle with Ian for years before she succumbed to the unyielding pull of her love for him. Now, she was fighting the same war all over again with his mirror image. And how many past lifetimes had she struggled with this same umbilical that tied her to a Nottingham, sometimes resisting, sometimes accepting their fate?

When she shot her mouth off earlier, Sara had also intimated to Vicki that Devian didn’t have the ability to understand what love was; that his newness robbed him of the discernment necessary to distinguish genuine love from puppy love. She had devalued the depth of his feeling for her, diminishing it to little more than a schoolboy crush on the teacher. That, too, had been a lie. During their Iunctura and in fleeting moments when they had joined since then, Sara had felt the intensity and solidity of Devian’s love for her. But, as with her feeling for him, if she admitted it to herself, accepted the reality of it, it made it that much harder to dismiss. Sara pulled her legs up on the sofa and wrapped her arms around them. Alright, she told herself, time for the truth; time to stop being such a sniveling coward. What would you feel if Kendall hurt Dev? What would you feel if you lost him? The sob that was yanked from deep in her gut caught Sara completely by surprise. She tried to stifle it, pressing her hands to her mouth to hold it in but the emotion behind it was too strong to be repressed. It bubbled up like a wellspring from the parched, arid earth surrounding it. She supposed that it might have been raging hormones; but, then again, it also might just be love. Gabriel appeared in the office doorway, dark eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” he asked, watching uncomfortably as she sobbed raggedly on the sofa.

Gabe came over and sat beside Sara, patting her shoulder awkwardly. “Did Ian call?” he asked, dreading her answer, “Did something happen to Dev?” She shook her head, grabbing a tissue from the box on the end table and loudly blowing her nose. “Not yet,” she wailed, “But if it does, it will be my fault. I could never forgive myself. Oh, Gabe, please…I can’t lose him. He’s my baby. He’s like a bad, little boy that’s so sweet and so dear and so funny.” She lost it completely, falling into his arms. Gabriel held her like she was made of glass, stiffly rubbing her back and making soothing, unintelligible sounds. Settling down enough to process her reaction, he struggled with mingled elation and apprehension. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered into her hair, “You love him, don’t you? You do love Dev after all.” Sara blew her nose loudly again, pulling back to look at him out of red, weepy eyes. “Oh, god, Gabe, I don’t know,” she sighed, winding down, “I don’t want to lose him. Okay? Can’t we just leave it at that?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I can leave it at that,” he agreed, “But you’re doing Dev a real disservice if you keep jerking him around. If you do love him, then have the stones to admit it to the guy instead of hurting him the way you have been, Sara. I would have never thought you were gutless but you sure seem to be wimping out where your feelings for him are concerned.” She pushed a hand roughly through her hair and hissed, “Give it a rest, Gabriel. I get your point.” He stood and looked down at her for a moment or two. Then, turning back toward the other room, he said, “Sure. I have work to do.” She could see the sudden stiffness in his manner and all the fight went out of her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She was apologizing left and right tonight. Gabe shrugged again and told her, “Like the man said, I’m not the one you should say that to.” Sara watched him as he headed back into the office whistling some vaguely familiar tune. “Need to get the music system set up next. Have to have the tunes ready for when Dev comes back to us. Right, Chief?” he called back over his shoulder. “Right,” she affirmed automatically.

By the time Ian came back with Vicki, Sara had unpacked most of the lighter stuff from the van. She had also, finally, let Clarice out of the carrier in their bedroom; she decided to keep the Siamese confined to their room until they all got more familiar with their new surroundings so she also spent some time setting up water and food dishes, and a litter box in there. In her new bedroom, she sat on yet another huge bed for a while almost forgetting her misery as Hannibal and Clarice had an endearing reunion. She watched them amused, shaking her head as she murmured aloud, “You too are as mismatched as Devian and I, aren’t you? But you seem to make it work somehow. Maybe it comes from not thinking about it too much and just doing it, huh?” Then, she heard noise downstairs and new that her other lover was back with her friend. That was another issue, she suddenly thought, were she and Vicki still friends or was that relationship going to unravel too over Devian? Sighing, she stood and headed for the door, Hannibal following her. The big dog loved Clarice but all bets were off when Daddy came home. One of her questions was immediately answered when she reached the foot of the stairs and entered the living room. Vicki rushed to her and pulled her slightly unyielding body into her arms. “I’m sorry, Pez,” her friend whispered against her ear, “We’ll get through this. We all need to think about Dev now and how to get him back in one piece.”

Sara pulled back slowly, still a little wary of her friend. She looked into Vicki’s eyes and saw her own misery mirrored there. She sighed and said, “Come on. Let’s make some coffee and talk. I want to know what happened.” Vicki nodded and they walked to the kitchen. Gabe was already sitting at the big, butcher block table in the center of the room. Ian was bustling around making a big pot of decaf coffee, Hannibal shadowing his steps. The women sat down at the table. To give Ian some relief, Sara called the dog to her side. They made small talk until the coffee was ready. When everyone had their mug in front of them with their coffee fixed the way they liked it, Vicki looked at Ian. He nodded and she repeated what she had already told him in the car on the way back. “When Dev ran out,” she began hesitantly, “I followed him out the back way, using the freight elevator. I figured that he might need a shoulder to cry on.” She was carefully avoiding looking directly at Sara. Instead, she seemed to be telling her story to the table top. “When I got outside,” she continued, “I saw that he was just standing against the side of the building, sort of hugging the shadows. The set of his body was different, like something had caught his attention. Then, I noticed that Ian was just getting back. I saw Hannibal beside him on the front seat of the car when he passed us. You didn’t notice either of us, I think, did you?” Ian shook his head. “I had my eyes on the rear view mirror,” he added, “Because I sensed that I was being followed – even though I couldn’t find anyone.”

Vicki nodded. “You were being followed,” she confirmed, “I didn’t pick her up at first either – but Dev did. That’s what he was watching so intently.” She took a couple of sips of coffee before she murmured, “Good.” Sara suddenly thought of the clone running all over the neighborhood that morning to find her Starbucks’ decaf French Roast. Her eyes filled with tears again and she dropped her head. She heard Vicki continue, “The woman had already parked and gotten out of her car. She was heading toward the building, pulling out a cell phone, when Dev suddenly moved. He stepped out of the shadows, being very obvious about it, and headed off on foot down the street. I wondered what the hell he was doing until I saw the woman start like she’d been hit with a cattle prod. She didn’t have time to make the call. She took off after Dev instead. And I followed her.” Ian nodded. “He was drawing her away from us,” he observed, “Giving us time to get away.” Vicki smiled wryly. “Yeah,” she agreed, “I got that after a while but at first I wondered what the hell he was doing. It wasn’t like him to be that obvious.” Vicki drank some more coffee and then picked up her narrative again. “He led us both on a merry chase,” she said, “We walked for a couple of miles, I think. Then, he flagged a cab.”

Vicki’s eyes shifted to Gabriel. “It must have looked like one of those slapstick comedies that you two are so fond of,” she told him, “You know, sort of ‘follow that cab’ like it was ‘It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,’ or something.” Gabe loosed a brief snort of laughter in acknowledgement. “I was really taken aback when I realized that we were almost at Irons’ mansion,” she went on, “Ian had taken me there to visit Dev when he was living in the Observatory and I recognized it almost immediately. The woman shadowing him must have been startled too. I could see that she was talking on the phone as we pulled up. I had my cab hang back, letting me out a block behind them. I don’t think anyone saw me. Their attention was pretty much focused on Devian. He was the threat, after all.” She paused to drink some more coffee and Sara asked Ian to pass her the Saltines that she had grabbed when they left the other safe house. Her stomach was roiling. As she began to crunch a cracker, Vicki again picked up her tale. “As soon as he got out of the cab, they were on him like frogs on a June bug,” she continued, “I guess they weren’t taking any chances with him after what happened at Wolfram & Hart. I think I saw three guys with guns but there might have been more. I thought at first they were going to kill him and I almost died myself.” She stopped to take a long breath, cheeks flushed, reliving that awful moment. “But then I saw a dart in his neck,” she added, “And I knew that they were shooting him with tranquilizers. They must have hit him with two or three before he finally went down.”

Vicki looked at Ian, repeating what she had already told him earlier. “He fought like hell,” she whispered, a single stray tear rolling down her cheek, “You would have been proud. Even sedated, he had four of them out, unmoving, on the sidewalk before he finally passed out. He just seemed to go limp all of a sudden and it was over. One huge guy flung Dev over his shoulder and carried him into that place.” She stopped, gulped coffee, then put down her mug and shrugged. “That was it,” she said, “I watched for a while longer but nothing else happened. He was gone. I walked a block or so until I found a phone booth and I called you. What are we going to do? Will they kill him?” Ian reached across the table to squeeze her hand briefly. He shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he replied, “At least, not right away. Dev and I both represented a substantial investment to Kenneth Irons. I imagine that Kendall will want to gain whatever advantage he can from that as well. Certainly, Dr. Immo will remind him of that.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Ah, yes,” he inserted, “Dr. Immo. Will Kendall send for him, do you think? Will he bring Immo to the mansion?” Ian’s eyes seemed to glow. “If he does,” he mused, “We’d have all our eggs in one basket, wouldn’t we?” Gabriel grinned, then observed, “Still, that’s not such an easy ‘basket’ to breach, is it?” Ian shook his head. “No,” he agreed, “It isn’t. But it is a familiar one. I know the schematics of the mansion intimately and I designed most of its security systems myself.”

At that moment, Sara screamed shrilly, her body arching in her chair. Across from her, Ian too had gone rigid, his eyes squeezed shut. Gabriel dropped to his knee beside Sara, knocking over his chair. He braced her taut body in his arms so that she wouldn’t tumble to the floor. Vicki’s head swiveled to look from one of them to the other, wide-eyed. “What is it?” she yelped, “What’s going on?” Ian opened glazed eyes, his forehead beading with sweat. “Dev,” he rasped, “It’s Dev. They’ve started to torture him.”

The great mythologist Joseph Campbell said that to be happy in this life, you had to “follow your bliss.” You had to find your true life’s work and then pursue it wholeheartedly. Colin Silk was a happy man. He had found his bliss at a rather young age and had been following it with great vigor ever since. He was a master torturer and he was very good at his work. Since Colin was an albino with extremely sensitive eyes, the darkness usually relegated to places where the human animal systematically destroyed his fellow creatures suited him well. He found darkness soothing and natural. Being used to performing his art in less sterile environments than Kendall Irons’ high-tech complex beneath the mansion, Colin had had to dim the fluorescent lights that bounced their glare off the too-white walls. The impromptu torture chamber had been much too bright for his taste. He sighed softly as he unpacked his wide variety of whips. He hadn’t really had time to properly set things up before they had delivered his subject to him. Apparently, the clone’s sudden appearance at Irons’ stronghold had been quite unexpected. His employer wanted to know why, among other things, – what was his name? Devian? – had suddenly shown up unannounced and where his companions were. That, of course, was where he came in. Colin spread the whips across a laboratory table with loving care. Studying them with a critical eye, he finally stretched forth one dead-white, long-fingered hand to tenderly caress the long bullwhip. His thin lips twisted into the parody of a smile.

“Pity,” Colin thought, studying the naked man hanging limply from manacles newly bolted to the ceiling. There were so many more creative techniques of torture than the whip. Still, it was the choice of his employer and he was being well paid to follow orders. Colin supposed that, for Irons, it involved putting his mark on the clone; leaving a permanent reminder of his dominance carved into the smooth, perfect golden skin of that magnificent body. The torturer understood that. From the moment Devian had been delivered into his hands and he had seen that arresting face and flawless body, Colin had wanted to mar its beauty and mangle its muscular perfection. He again smiled his death’s head grin and thought, more accurately, that what he had really wanted was to ensnare it and make it his own. That, of course, was impossible; so he would settle for destroying it instead. Moving like a wraith, the tall, slender man seemed to glide across the floor until he was standing before the still insensible clone. Fingers like slender, white worms pushed through the Dev’s silky locks and clutched tight, lifting his head up from where it rested on his chest. Squinting even in the dim light, the albino’s hot pink eyes studied the lush lashes, high cheekbones, straight nose, and sensuous lips of the subject. The clone was, perhaps, the most beautiful man that he had ever seen. Colin came to a decision. He would leave the face for last – it would be the coup de grace in the work of art that he would create. He would disfigure the face slowly, right after he destroyed the clone’s impressive manhood.

Still, there were hours and hours of pleasure to be had before they reached that point. Colin had watched the replay of Irons’ thugs taking Devian down in front of the mansion. The man was strong and quick. At that thought, the albino quickly dropped his eyes to the shackles securing the clone’s feet to the cement floor. It wouldn’t do to get careless, after all. If he handled it carefully, Devian would last a long, long time; perhaps providing even days of delight. The torturer’s long, shockingly red tongue snaked out of his mouth to lick his narrow lower lip, leaving it glistening. Stretching out those thin, white fingers, he grazed the silken skin of Dev’s slender hip and drew them slowly down his muscular thigh. There was a low, feral growl and the albino stepped back startled, his pink eyes lifting to the face hanging above him. Fierce, golden eyes challenged, judged, and then dismissed him all in the space of a few seconds. Colin was mesmerized by the tawny glory of those eyes. They were incredible, of course, like the rest of the man. He would take them last of all and keep them preserved in a jar of formaldehyde, he decided, as a trophy of this encounter.

“Good evening,” the torturer said, “I believe that your name is Devian. Yes?” The clone narrowed his eyes. The man was English. His accent wasn’t quite Cockney but it certainly wasn’t well born either. Ian would know, Dev thought; his brother was better at deciphering obscure origins from accents than he was. “Who are you?” Dev asked rudely. Colin smiled. Even trussed up like a turkey in irons, the man was trying to reclaim his power. “I am pain,” he replied, “You will get to know me quite well.” Devian gave the man his quirky grin. “Not really pleased to meet you,” he offered, “And I’d rather not get to know you at all, if it’s all the same to you.” Colin lifted a colorless brow. The clone did indeed have spirit. This job promised to be…interesting, he thought. Colin’s lipless smile got broader. “You are hardly in a position to bargain, my friend,” he observed. Dev’s eyes narrowed to golden slits. “I choose my friends more carefully than that,” he sneered. The torturer laughed. It was a chilling sound. “You cannot insult me, Devian,” he said, amused, “Because I do not care what you think. To me, you are the material of my art; you are a canvas, a piece of clay, a block of marble – nothing more. Why should I care for the opinion of a slab of marble?” Devian studied the pale man curiously. His skin was the color of a dead fish’s belly. “What do you want?” he asked. Colin cocked his head and turned, beginning not to pace, but more to glide in tight circles in front of the hanging clone.

“Why thank you for asking,” Colin responded politely, “I want to watch that flawless skin of yours break and bleed. I want to hear your lovely deep voice go hoarse with screaming. I want you to cling to life while you pray for death a thousand times over.” In spite of himself, Dev felt a tiny quiver of dread low in his belly. “Oh,” he said; his snappy comebacks suddenly drying up. “Well,” he managed lamely, “You do seem to have a good handle on your priorities.” Colin nodded. “Experience is an admirable teacher,” he pointed out, “I have had a great deal of experience. Shall we get started?” Devian tried to think of a way to keep the man talking; anything to keep him from using the wide range of horrific devices that he had just noticed spread across the tables on the other side of the room. “Where’s the old man’s clone?” Dev asked, “Isn’t he going to come and watch how his money is being spent?” The cold smile flashed again, like moonlight over snow. “I know what you’re doing, Devian,” Colin responded, “There is no trick that you can use that someone somewhere has not already tried. I have seen them all. You cannot delay the inevitable. Ready?” Dev pulled in a shaky breath. “Not really,” he admitted, “If you’re for hire, I could pay you too you know. Maybe I could even outbid Irons for my skin?” Colin had crossed the room and picked up the evil-looking bullwhip. Now, he glided back to the clone, holding the whip in one hand while he stroked it sensually with the other. “Sorry,” the albino replied, “I have a reputation for reliability that must be maintained. Nothing personal.” The clone’s mind raced, seeking another way to stall. While he was still trying to find an out, the first whiplash cracked across his back.

Colin stopped when Dev passed out. The clone’s back was torn to ribbons. The torturer had only taken it so far because he had been told that Devian had been bred with special coagulation features in his blood. It was a genetic enhancement that he had inherited from Ian. The albino was actually surprised that Devian had not held out longer; he was rather disgruntled that he had misjudged the clone’s stamina. Although Devian had endured the torture silently right up to the end, he had given in far sooner than the master torturer had expected. There was, however, something that Colin did not know. Midway through the ordeal, Dev had felt the connection with Sara break open like one of the fresh wounds on his back; perhaps as a result of the physical stress that he was under. Before he could stop it, his pain was screaming through their link and she was sharing it with him. Marshalling his few remaining resources, Dev had struggled to build a mental wall to block his misery from escaping; to keep his love and his child from sharing in his pain. He had succeeded in toning down the transmission between them until Sara was only receiving a muted hint of the agony that he was experiencing.

Dev was vaguely aware that the connection between he and Ian had also been breached, but the link between the two men had always been weaker than the connection between he and Sara. And, besides, Ian had his own formidable resources. The clone would have to trust his brother to block their connection on his own. Unfortunately, the effort that it took to protect Sara from sharing his pain had weakened him considerably, affecting his ability to withstand the beating being inflicted upon him. Safely locked alone in his vacuum of agony, Dev gave up the battle sooner than he might have otherwise. His spirit faltering, he surrendered to blessed oblivion and gave himself over to the beckoning darkness. All of that had, of course, occurred without any outward indication. The torturer knew only that his victim had lacked the endurance with which he had credited the clone. Foolishly, Colin dismissed Devian as all talk with very little to back it up; he began to view the clone as a lightweight. The albino would pay for that error in judgment if Dev was afforded even the slightest chance.

The former laboratory that Kendall Irons had converted into his spanking new torture chamber was, of course, liberally covered with cameras. Exactly two minutes after Dev’s head had dropped to his chest and his long limbs had gone limp, the phone connecting Irons to his torture master rang shrilly. Colin Silk sighed. Laying the bloody bullwhip carefully across one of the long tables, he picked up the ringing telephone. “What happened?” Kendall Irons asked coolly, “He is stronger than this. What did you do to him? How did you lose him so soon?” The albino was secure enough in his craft to tell the truth. “He surprised me,” Colin admitted, “He should have held out longer. There is something here that we are missing. Before this is over, I will find out everything that he is hiding. We have just begun.” There was a long pause before the deep, cultured voice reminded Colin, “There are things that I must know.” The torturer also allowed the pause to linger. “You will know all of his secrets before the end,” he assured Irons confidently. An indecipherable sound came through the phone line. “I hope so,” Kendall replied, “Keep in mind that there are others that ply your art. I don’t think you would like to be on the receiving end of someone with your own talent.”

Colin’s hot pink eyes narrowed. He did not like to be threatened; however, he knew well how to bide his time. Although his response was mild, the albino never forgot a slight. He filed Kendall’s threat away for later perusal. “I understand,” was the torturer’s only reply. “Leave him for the night. Immo is on his way and will tend to him,” Irons ordered, “We will start fresh in the morning.” The line went dead. The albino stared at the receiver he now held at arm’s length. His eyes had darkened to a vivid, fiery red. “As you wish,” he said softly to no one, adding, “Sir.” The final word had all the inflection of an insult though anyone listening would be hard put to prove it. Before he went to the utilitarian room that he had been assigned in the mansion above, Colin walked over to a switch by the door and flicked it. With a mechanical whir, the chains holding the manacles binding Devian’s wrists began to lower from the ceiling. As they did, the clone’s long, limp body slid down to settle in a boneless heap on the cement floor. Bright blood began to pool beneath his ravaged back. The albino studied his victim critically, trying to determine whether Dev would bleed to death before Immo could arrive to drug him and staunch his wounds. The practiced carmine eyes judged that the clone would survive untended for a short while. Without a second thought, Colin headed to his room for a peaceful night’s slumber.

At the safe house, Sara had finally cried herself to sleep in Ian’s arms. When the pain had suddenly stopped, Ian had figured out what Dev had done. His explanation of the clone’s attempt to protect her had started the crying jag that had finally ended in exhausted slumber. As Devian had surmised, Ian was able to construct his own mental blocks to screen out most of the unpleasantness that was leaking through their open connection. With his walls erected, the vicarious agony that Ian had been sharing with Dev became manageable. While he was still uncomfortable, Ian was hardly debilitated by the torture that Devian was experiencing first hand. The miserable situation had everyone in the house on edge. Vicki had retreated into herself, finally going off to one of the bedrooms; though not to sleep, Ian was sure. Gabriel, on the other hand, was bouncing off the walls. He had paced until he had started to push even Ian’s nerves of steel to their limit. Realizing that his frenetic energy was wearing thin on the large, dark man sitting so quietly on the sofa, Gabe had finally disappeared into the office to commune with his computers before he precipitated his own demise.

It was Sara, however, who was most affected by the clone’s ordeal. Her guilt over what Dev was experiencing was lacerating her spirit almost as much as the whiplashes were mutilating the clone’s back. As Ian had pointed out, her words had become a weapon that put Devian’s very existence in jeopardy. If they lost him over this latest fiasco of evaded emotion and miscommunication, Sara would probably never forgive herself. Even now, although she had finally succumbed to sheer exhaustion, her rest was uneasy. The body that Ian cradled in his strong arms twitched and shook subtly as though nightmares plagued her sleep. Ian stroked her soothingly and faced his own waking horrors. The tasks before him were daunting. He had to devise a plan to rescue Devian and kidnap Dr. Immo with an unlikely band of three amateurs and the limited aid of assorted Notties. His molded lips twitched when he thought how indignant Sara would be if she realized that he ranked her as an amateur with Vicki and Gabe. Amusement soon drained from his chiseled features as he turned his mind back to the problem at hand. It was not going to be easy – even with the added advantages of Excalibur and the Witchblade.

Ian had already set things in motion. He had sent a trusted Nottie to do reconnaissance of the mansion. It was almost certain that Irons’ clone had hired additional protection and enhanced the security systems that he had established for Kenneth Irons. Before they infiltrated the mansion to snatch the clone from Satan’s jaws, they had to know where his fangs were so that they didn’t offer themselves up to be free lunch. He had to have a plan; a good plan that would get them in and out without losing any more of their own. Moreover, they had to escape cleanly and then remain hidden long enough to heal Dev and woo Immo over to their camp. It was a tall order and, at the moment, Ian was at a loss. In all truth, feeling what was happening to Dev had rattled him more than he had admitted to himself. Like the rest of them, he wanted to storm the mansion immediately to get his little brother back before he was hurt any more. Still, his tactical training was as ingrained in him as was his sense of duty. He knew that acting on impulse was a recipe for disaster. They needed a plan; a good one that accounted for all the possibilities and offered contingencies. Before he could develop that plan, he needed the intel that was even now being gathered. He had done all he could for tonight. It was time for bed now and a fresh start in the morning.

When Dr. Immo walked back through the front door of the Irons mansion, it was a bittersweet homecoming for him. Accustomed now to living and working at the offsite lab in Connecticut, he hadn’t been back to the imposing structure since shortly before the reading of the will. It was with mixed feelings that he made his way back to the underground laboratory where he had spent such a significant portion of his existence. The old man missed Kenneth; he missed Kenneth a great deal. Although his former employer had had his faults, his blind spots, he had also had fleeting moments of humanity. In his way, Kenneth Irons had cared for Ian and had been Immo’s friend. Kendall Irons possessed neither of those redeeming qualities. Irons’ clone cared for one thing and one thing only: power. In the time since Kendall had taken over the reins of Irons’ empire, he had been busy on two fronts. Publicly, he had become a force at Vorschlag, learning the ropes and determining how to master the multibillion dollar conglomerate. Privately, he had been studying the accumulated lore of the Witchblade to learn more about the Object of Power that his predecessor had coveted for most of his life. Kendall also had another interest that Kenneth had left largely untapped: Ian’s ring, Excalibur, and the powers that it afforded its wearer.

Among other things, it was information about both of those Objects of Power that Kendall wanted from the captured clone, Devian. He was particularly interested in how Dev had pierced the defenses of Wolfram & Hart and had apparently prowled its corridors cloaked in invisibility. Since Devian had managed to snatch the Wielder and Protector from his clutches, Kendall had become obsessed with the mechanics of how it had been accomplished. In fact, Irons’ newest employee, Colin Silk, had been imported with the hope that Irons would have the opportunity to ask those very questions to which he so wanted answers. When the clone had unexpectedly turned up on his doorstep, Kendall had been thrilled with the possibilities that Devian represented. Immo, having had more extensive personal experience with Ian’s clone, was less optimistic when he heard that Devian had been taken; however, he had not told Irons that. Until he reached the mansion and determined how Kendall had decided to handle the “gift” that had dropped into his lap, the doctor was keeping his own counsel. That said, there was no love lost between Immo and Dev. Although Dr. Immo had always had a soft spot for Ian, having watched the boy grow to manhood, he felt no such affinity for Devian even though he had created the clone and his five deceased replicas. He blamed Devian for Kenneth Irons demise, a sin for which there was no forgiveness.

In spite of the ill feelings that Dr. Immo harbored for the clone, he was appalled when he found Devian chained and bleeding on the stone floor of his former laboratory. It wasn’t as if he had never cleaned up after such carnage before. He had, after all, ministered to Ian after Kenneth had beaten him with whip, cane, and other assorted devices; but there was a difference in the degree and quality of the beating that the clone had been given. It was that that brought Immo to his present state of disquiet and dismay. In spite of his antagonistic feelings toward Devian, the doctor found himself overwhelmed with sympathy for the ravaged boy who had been left to lie like a pile of garbage in the middle of the cold, bare floor. Seeing the quantity of blood, the old man at first thought that they had gone too far and killed the clone; that would have been both a waste and a pity. When he gingerly touched the carotid artery in Devian’s neck, however, the doctor found a faint pulse. Assured that he was not dealing with a corpse, Immo went to work. First, he sedated the clone. Better than most, he knew Devian’s physical abilities and he was not about to take chances. Dev might look half dead, still both he and his brothers had been crafted to be genetic marvels with amazing strength and recuperative powers. No, it did not pay to take any chances with a Nottingham. That done, Immo went to work on staunching the blood loss and stabilizing Devian’s vital signs. Both tasks were soon accomplished. Irons’ pet physician had had a great deal of practice in putting Ian back together whenever he had been ripped apart. That training now came in useful for his clone.

When he was done, Immo stood slowly from where he had been crouching to tend to Devian. His knees cracked loudly. Rubbing a tired hand across his eyes, the doctor fleetingly thought that he was getting too old to deal with this kind of thing. He didn’t like Kendall; didn’t enjoy working for him regardless of the generous research budget and the experimental quality of the work. The man was cold, brutal, and calculating, without a touch of humor or humanity to soften the chill. More and more lately, Immo had found himself thinking of retirement. The problem was that he wasn’t sure what form that retirement would take – would he be put out to pasture to enjoy his golden years or would Kendall simply bury him beneath the pasture because he knew too much? As he repacked his medical bag, Immo picked up the phone and pressed the button marked “1.” The phone rang twice before it was answered. “Well?” the cultured tones of Kendall Irons asked, “Will he live?” Immo cleared his throat. Even though he had essentially created both clones, this creature, like Devian, made him nervous. Physically, they were virtual doubles for the originals, but psychologically… “Yes,” the doctor replied, “He will live; but it was a near thing. He’s lost a great deal of blood.” Immo could hear the frown in Irons’ voice. “I understood that his blood had special properties,” he replied, annoyed, “Isn’t it supposed to coagulate rapidly?” Immo shook his head. “That is true,” he explained patiently, “But it is a matter of degree. The whip all but tore his back apart. He lost too much blood too quickly.”

“But he will live,” Irons persisted. Immo sighed. What was the point? He was looking for compassion from a block of ice. The doctor tried another tack. “If you are hoping to question him tomorrow,” he said, “You need to send someone down here to get him out of these irons and into a proper bed. If you leave him lying on this cold stone all night in his condition, he will be dead by morning.” He was stretching the truth somewhat, but it was worth a try. “Very well,” Irons responded, “I’ll send some men to you. Show them what to do. Make sure that the clone is secured. I don’t want him getting loose, weak or not.” Immo smiled as the phone went dead in his hand. He had bought Devian some comfort and some peace for a little while. He was not sure just why he had done it except that, at the moment, Devian seemed to be the lesser of two evils. When two large men appeared at the door of the torture chamber, Immo put them to work. In less than half an hour, the doctor had Dev out of the manacles and ankle cuffs, and stretched face down on a narrow cot in a corner of the room.

In deference to his employer, the doctor had ensured that Devian was strapped securely to the frame of the bed. Along with the sedatives, Immo had pumped the clone full of antibiotics and painkillers. It was probably an exercise in futility. What was the point of trying to heal Devian when Irons surely intended to kill him as soon as his usefulness had been exhausted? Still, the doctor felt compelled to try to do the little he could to make this horrendous situation easier for Ian’s clone. Again, he was not sure why he felt that compulsion; he just did. Almost as an afterthought, for his own scientific curiosity and in the interest of his copious records, Immo took samples from Devian. Running the tests and comparing the results with his last readings would give him something to do during the long night. Since Kenneth had died and he had gone to work for his heir, Immo had fallen prey to insomnia. Before he left the room for the laboratory next door, the doctor covered Dev carefully, avoiding the worst of his torn back – the cover would only stick to the wounds and rip them open again when it was removed in the morning. Although the light in the room was already low, Immo lowered it even further before quietly closing the door. Alone in the silent laboratory next door, the doctor then went to work analyzing his new samples. He would compare them with the last tests he had done with the clone to see whether anything had changed. If he was very lucky, perhaps the familiar work would lull his frayed nerves and he too could get a few hours of sleep in the tiny room just off the lab that held another rumpled cot.

Ian didn’t sleep well. He had too much on his mind and his bedmate was restless. He had carried Sara upstairs and put her to bed. Although she never woke during that short journey, once in bed she tossed and turned. In the wee hours of the morning, she woke and dashed to the bathroom where she was violently ill. He woke with her and, as he had before, Ian did what he could for her. He wiped her face with a cool cloth and held her hair back while she got sick. He cleaned her up and carried her back to bed when she was empty. Completely worn out both physically and emotionally, Sara finally fell into a deep, exhausted slumber. Ian, however, found that he couldn’t go back to sleep. He dozed for a while until he eventually just gave it up and eased gently out of the bed. Donning a black silk robe over his matching pajama pants, Ian went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Whatever had been done to Dev, he was quiet now and he was still alive. Ian was sure that he would know if his little brother had been killed. From the way that it felt when he “touched” the clone, Ian suspected that Devian had been drugged. He would most likely be safe until morning, at which point they could begin to once again encourage him to talk. Although Ian didn’t think that his brother would break under torture, Dev knew things that could harm them, things that Kendall could turn against them – chief among them, was Sara’s pregnancy.

And, of course, they needed to get Devian back for his own sake. He was one of them now: Ian’s brother, Sara’s lover, Gabriel’s friend, and Vicki’s…whatever. They had to bring him home before he was irrevocably damaged. Kendall had already whipped him. It was a sensation that Ian recognized, having suffered similar treatment at his master’s hands. Before he had thrown up his mental shields against the pain, he had known that Dev was being lashed and that it was being done by an expert. The only positive element in that scenario was that an expert would be unlikely to accidentally take the interrogation too far, killing the clone in the process. He sighed and pushed tense fingers through his tangled curls. They couldn’t move on the mansion until they once again had the cover of darkness; that meant that Devian would have to survive through one more day of hell. The joint rescue mission and kidnapping had to happen that evening. No matter how strong he was, they couldn’t expect Dev to last any longer than that. And Immo was back at the mansion now. Ian had gotten that call early this morning from the Nottie he had doing surveillance at Irons’ residence. Kendall had probably brought him back from the offsite lab to keep the clone alive between beatings. As he sat at the kitchen table in the morning darkness sipping his tea, the first stirrings of a plan began to take shape.

By the time that Vicki came wandering into the kitchen around seven rubbing tear-reddened eyes, Ian had filled several sheets of notepaper. Since his head was down and he was writing furiously, she didn’t interrupt him. She moved about the room quietly making both regular and decaf coffee. Noticing that his cup was empty, she also put on more water for tea. When the water boiled, she fixed him a fresh cup of tea and put it down in front of him. Ian finally lifted his head, gracing her with a tired smile. “Thanks,” he said, then noticing her swollen eyes, asked, “Are you okay?” She shrugged listlessly. “I’m sick with worry over Dev,” she replied. When he just stared at her over the top of his cup, Vicki finally asked, “What?” Ian shrugged. He was tired and, at the moment, was not inclined to soft peddle what either woman had done to create the mess in which they found themselves. Although their bickering hadn’t led Irons’ people to their door, it was because of them that Devian had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The clone’s motivations had been honorable in leading Kendall’s minion away from their safe house before she could report, buying them time to get away; but, ultimately, it may have been unnecessary and it had delivered Dev into their enemies’ hands. Ian always had a backup plan. His Notties were watching the movements of Irons’ people. Ian believed that he would have been warned in time to get them out without Devian having to sacrifice himself in the process.

There was also the fact that Devian loved Sara. From the beginning, the clone had belonged to the Wielder heart and soul, and he had never wavered in that emotion. Vicki’s obsession with Dev was getting tired and was starting to cause some practical problems. Although it was Sara’s ill-advised words that had driven Devian into his current jeopardy, it was Vicki’s jealousy that had baited Sara into saying the hurtful things the clone had overheard. They were both to blame and it had to stop. Ian decided that it was time for a harsh dose of truth. “If you care for Devian as much as you seem to, Vicki,” he said, voice soft and flat, “You’ll honor his choice and move on. That would be far more useful to him – to all of us, in fact – than your ‘worry.’” She dropped her eyes, cheeks flushing. “I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured, suddenly engrossed in her coffee mug. As he continued to stare at her, the color in her cheeks deepened. “Sure you do,” he contradicted her. Deciding to brazen it out, Vicki lifted her eyes to look at Ian directly. “This isn’t really any of your business, is it?” she asked belligerently. His pleasant smile sent a tiny chill down to the pit of her belly, where it curled up and settled. “It became my business when your desire for Dev prompted the confrontation that sent him into Irons’ hands,” he replied smoothly, “That little stunt has put us all in danger.” She lowered her eyes again and wrung her hands. “That wasn’t my intention,” she murmured. He shrugged, not about to let her off the hook that easily. “Whether it was your intention or not,” he responded, “That was the result. It can’t continue once we get Devian back. It’s making us all uncomfortable and now it’s become a problem.”

Vicki fought to blink back tears. “What do you expect me to do?” she asked, obviously appealing to Ian for sympathy. She was attempting to sway the wrong person. He sipped his tea, studying her dispassionately. “Deal with it,” he finally replied tersely. Done with the conversation, he dropped his head and began filling another sheet of paper with notes. She sat, clutching her mug in both hands, shoulders hunched over like a chastised child. After a couple of minutes, unable to stand Ian’s obvious disregard any longer, Vicki got up and slunk into the living room. She wedged herself into a corner of the sofa, head down, drinking her coffee and thinking about what he had said. That’s where Gabriel still found her when he came downstairs an hour later with sleep-swollen eyes and tousled hair. He was clad only in a pair of old, navy sweatpants with one of the knees torn out of them. His chest and his feet were bare. Vicki was so quiet that he was almost past the sofa, headed toward the office, when he noticed her curled up in the corner. Gabe started violently and stopped, staring down at her. “Whoa,” he gasped, trying to lighten her obviously heavy mood, “You want to cough or something, maybe move a muscle or two. Scare me like that again and you’re liable to stunt my growth.”

Neither looking up nor smiling, Vicki responded, “Sorry.” Gabriel sighed and moved back to the sofa. He sat down next to the obviously distraught woman. Punching her bent knee gently, he said, “Don’t worry, doc. We’ll get him back safe and sound. Dev is a fighter. You’ve watched him work out with Ian same as me. You know how strong he is; the kind of punishment that he can withstand. He’ll make it through until we can bring him home again.” She raised her head and looked at him directly, her dark eyes troubled. “Ian blames me for helping to get him captured,” she explained, “He says that it’s my fault as much as Sara’s.” Gabriel shrugged. “He has a point,” he replied. It was not what she had expected or wanted to hear. “You too?” she wailed accusingly. He shrugged again, looking her in the eye. “You need to face the facts,” he pointed out, “Dev loves Sara. I mean he LOVES Sara. He was absolutely crazy about her even before he found out about the baby. Now, there’s nothing in heaven or hell that would make him leave her side. Given that scenario, what can you possibly think he would ever share with you?” Vicki’s eyes filled with tears again and she dropped her head. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it soothingly. “Life isn’t fair, doc,” Gabe observed, “And sometimes it downright sucks. You need to let go of this thing you have for Dev and move on.” She dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment. “That’s what Ian said,” she murmured. Gabriel grinned. “And again I say,” he replied, “The man has a point.”

Ian stuck his head out of the kitchen and said to Gabe, “I thought I heard your voice. We need to talk. There’s a lot to get done and we better get started.” Gabriel’s dark eyes sharpened, glowing with interest. He was glad that someone was finally doing something constructive. He had been itching for some action ever since Dev had been taken. “Come on out here and sit with me for a while,” Ian continued. Gabe stood, nodding eagerly, and headed toward the kitchen. “What about me?” Vicki asked in a small voice from her perch on the sofa. Gabriel had passed Ian and disappeared into the kitchen. Now, Ian turned back to look at the small, unhappy woman. “Why don’t you go upstairs and see if Sara is awake yet?” he suggested, “If you don’t mind, you could take her some of that decaf you made. You’ll both be needed if we’re to bring Dev safely home and snatch Immo. I need you both at 100% to pull this off. I think maybe the two of you need to clear the air between you. What do you think?” Vicki swallowed hard. It had already been a rough morning. The last thing that she wanted to do at the moment was have a heart-to-heart with Sara. She did, however, see the wisdom in Ian’s reasoning. They could not afford any excess baggage at the moment; too much was at stake. She gave a quick nod. It elicited a dazzling smile from Ian Nottingham that, in spite of herself, caused her own lips to twitch in response. Vicki stood and headed toward the kitchen to prepare a decaf peace offering for her best friend.