Title: Unseen
Rating: R
Legal: I don't own Witchblade or claim to. Witchblade and all related characters are the property of Top Cow Productions Inc., Warner Bros. & TNT. I do not intend to infringe on any applicable copyrights. Please let me know if you think that I am, and I will attempt to remedy it.

Thanks for beta-reading and cheerleading from Wormie.  She makes my work better, and I thank her greatly for it. nks

Come here directly without going to my main Witchblade fanfic page?

"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
             Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep."
                                    -- John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IV.

*****

Sara Pezzini, New York City homicide detective, opened her eyes as wide as she could, as if by stretching them, she’d have better luck keeping them open. The middle-of-the-night calls to murder scenes were probably her least favorite part of the job … after telling the bad news to victims’ family members.

Her partner Jake came back from where he’d been chatting with his new girlfriend, Vicky Po, who was also the coroner called out for this case. By the look of it, they’d been out together somewhere: under her white lab coat, Vicky was wearing a slinky black dress, and Jake was looking unusually spiffy.

"You awake?" he asked Sara, looking at her intently.

"Yeah, sure," she said, forcing her eyes to focus on his face. "What have we got?"

She’d taken a quick look at the body, but her brain just wasn’t processing anything. Sara had been sleeping incredibly deeply, and she still couldn’t get the cobwebs out of her brain. She felt … heavy, like she weighed twice what she should. She stifled a yawn as Jake reported.

"Black male, about 30 to 35," he said, looking down at the little notebook in his hand. "Brad Armour, according to his driver’s license, and I already ran him: no priors. Vicky says he hasn’t been dead long, maybe a half hour and that he probably bled to death." He looked up at Sara, his face a grimace. "You saw those cuts - whoever did this to him was pissed."

"Weapon?" she asked.

"’Something sharp,’ according to Vik," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, that’s helpful," Sara said.

"Sara! Jake!" Vicky’s voice suddenly called. "Come here!"

They went to stand next to the black-haired coroner, who was crouched over the body. With the end of her pen, she pointed to one bloody gash on the chest of the former Mr. Armour.

"Look," she said.

Sara and Jake leaned over. After a few seconds, Sara looked at Jake and he looked at her. They shrugged.

"What?" Jake asked.

"Right there," Vicky said, exasperation in her voice. "That’s fur. In the wound."

"So?" Sara asked, standing up. "So the guy’s got his cat’s hair all over his clothes and in the struggle, some of it gets spread around."

"No," Vicky said, in a voice that indicated Sara’s flippancy was trying her patience. "That’s a chunk of fur with a bit of skin attached."

"Are you saying an animal did this?" Jake asked disbelievingly, crouching down to take a closer look.

"Not all of it, no, some of those are definitely made with a blade of some sort." Vicky sighed and stood up slowly. "But maybe the attacker had a dog with him. Something big - Rottweiller or German Shepherd or something like that. I don’t know. You’re the detectives. Detect."

With a gentle kick to Jake’s behind, Vicky headed over to a group of forensic technicians. Jake stood up with a frown on his face.

"You know," Sara said, "I really wanted to get home and get back to sleep. Why can things never be simple?"

*****

Jake watched as his partner again wandered away from the body. Usually, Sara was focused and determined, not this sleepwalking zombie he was seeing tonight. Sure, she’d been asleep when the call came in, but even so, usually after she had been at a scene for a few minutes, she was so busy asking questions that she was wide awake. Something was off about her tonight.

He shrugged to himself. Everyone was allowed to have bad days - or nights, as the case may be. Calling together the officers on the scene, Jake briefed them about the possibility of a dog’s involvement and to be on the lookout. Normally his partner would be the one to do that, but she was slouched against the brick wall of a nearby building, blinking slowly and generally looking about ready to fall asleep on her feet.

Jake grinned. Maybe it was just that Sara hadn’t been to sleep yet tonight. He and Vicky had just been about to get down to a little late night fun when they’d gotten this call. Maybe Sara and Ian had just started a little earlier. Sara waved for him to come over, and Jake quickly wiped the smile off his face. He didn’t feel like her asking what he’d been thinking - she was awfully touchy about her relationship with Ian.

Walking over to her, he tried to come up with a way to tell her to go home that wouldn’t get his head chewed off. Whenever he even vaguely implied that she might not be at her best, she got angry, and he didn’t feel like dealing with her bitchiness right now.

He leaned on the wall next to her.

"You know, I can take care of the paperwork on this," he said, trying to appeal to her hatred of the stuff. "Why don’t you just go home and get to sleep? You can finish what I don’t get done by the time you come in."

"OK," Sara answered through a yawn.

Jake stared at her. That had been waaaay too easy. Maybe she was sick. Before he could say anything else to her, though, he heard a yell from the back of the alley.

"Dog!" a man’s voice called out. "It’s covered in blood!"

They both pushed away from the wall and unholstered their guns. Sara shook her head quickly, as if to clear it, then started toward the other end of the alley. Jake followed her, his gun carefully pointed out the ground.

*****

Sara forced herself to concentrate. There were at least five cops with their guns drawn and she didn’t want to put anyone in any danger or stumble into someone’s line of fire.

"Vicky, get in the car," she heard Jake call out behind her.

Despite herself, she had to smile at that. It had been a month now that those two had been seeing each other and Sara hadn’t expected it to last even a week. But what the hell did she know about relationships? She lived with a reformed assassin clone.

Pulling her mind back to the task at hand, Sara pushed past the uniformed cops and into the labyrinth of Dumpsters, discarded crates, and trash that clogged the narrow space. It was a dead end, she was pretty sure of that, so she waved the others back, quickly making eye contact with Jake to let him know he should come with her.

Stopping to listen, Sara tried to see through the Witchblade’s vision, but her mystical weapon was quiet. Maybe it was safe then. Maybe the dog had gone. Maybe she was just too tired. And she really wasn’t feeling good now; her head was buzzing like a bunch of flies had taken up residence. She really was going to take Jake’s suggestion and go right home as soon as they were done with this.

Even though she and Jake advanced slowly, they were soon surrounded by the debris and out of sight of the other cops. It was darker back here, with the light from the street and the big spotlights blocked. Even the sounds of the streets were muffled. Jake came even with her and they made their way further into the narrow space.

There was sudden movement toward her, coupled with a growl. A flash from the Witchblade gave her a quick vision of a huge, bloody dog and, as she shoved Jake behind her, she brought her gun up and fired three times. The dog dropped. She stumbled over Jake behind her and fell to the ground, smacking her hands out to absorb to force of the fall.

Letting the burst of adrenaline drain away, she laid there as Jake struggled to his feet. He took a few steps forward, then whirled around.

"Call a paramedic!" he yelled.

"Jake, I’m fine," she said, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "I just fell …"

She trailed off.

Lying on the ground in front of her was a naked woman, bleeding to death from three gunshot wounds to her chest.

*****

Ian Nottingham wasn’t worried when he woke up and Sara still wasn’t home. This was her fourth middle-of-the-night call this month, and he knew now not to expect her until tonight. She would be irritable, grumpy, and inclined to snap at him when she did get home, but after a full night’s sleep she would be better.

Before he left the loft apartment he shared with Sara, Ian snagged three lists from the kitchen table where he had left them the night before. One was the grocery list, a short one, since he’d just gone three days ago, but Sara had already finished all the milk and cereal.

One of the other lists was for the hardware store. He had surprised himself by proving to be good at basic household repairs, a talent he’d had ample chance to demonstrate while trying to put their apartment back together after Conchobar had trashed it. When the landlord had seen his work, he’d offered Ian the job of superintendent for the building. Again, he’d surprised himself by accepting. Since he and Sara, in the end, had chosen to tear up the check his former master, Kenneth Irons, had given them, Ian had known that he had to quit just draining their resources. He hadn’t, however, expected to find employment as a handyman; somehow, he’d always expected to be doing something a little more … glamorous. There was no one else living in the building but them, so the job was pretty easy, but … boring.

The last list was for the library. He’d forgotten it when he’d returned books yesterday, so he had to make another trip today. Not that he minded - the library was small, but the librarians liked him and were always happy to special order books for him and make recommendations. He still wasn’t used to the friendliness of the staff; in his past life with Irons, he had rarely been a welcome sight for anyone. Now, though, the staff smiled at him, seemingly genuinely happy to see him, and the head librarian never failed to ask after Sara.

As if thinking about her triggered the link between them, he caught a wisp of Sara’s thoughts:

No, no, no, no, no…

He paused for a moment and took out his cell phone, but when he felt nothing else, he put it away. He wasn’t going to be yelled at again for being over-protective. He would just track Sara down at lunchtime and find out what was up then. But right now, he had errands to run.

By the time he made it back to the apartment, it was almost dark. His arms were full of books and the thin plastic of one of the grocery bags was cutting off the circulation to his left hand. Fumbling for his keys in the dark hallway outside the door, he nearly dropped everything when he heard a growl behind him.

Turning quickly, he spied a thin white dog huddled in the corner of the landing. Moving slowly, Ian put down the books and the groceries, then crouched down.

"How did you get in here?" he asked softly, moving forward carefully. "Did I forget to shut the outside door again?" He held out his and, but the dog - no, puppy - wouldn’t make eye contact. "It’s OK," he told it. "Do you want some turkey?"

He reached behind him and rummaged in one of the bags until he came up with the turkey breast he’d bought. Opening the package, he pulled out a slice and held it out in front of him. The puppy eyed him warily, but, after a long moment, began to slink forward.

It was a puppy, but a big one - maybe six months old - Ian could see once it came out into the light. It was long and thin, and fairly tall at the shoulder, with a long muzzle and cautiously forward-pointed ears. Its tail, currently between its hind legs, was long and thin, too, but it was thin all over.

Finally, the puppy was close enough to take the food, and Ian let it snatch the turkey from him. There would be plenty of time for manners later.

*****

Sara could feel Ian outside the door, but she didn’t want to see what he was doing out there. She had her mind firmly closed off from his, something they’d been practicing. She was glad she’d worked so hard at it; she didn’t want Ian knowing what she was feeling right now. She didn’t want to know what she was feeling right now. Her head was even starting to hurt again - that same buzzing dizziness as earlier.

She still hadn’t moved from the couch when Ian finally opened the door a half an hour later. He backed into the room, half-crouched over, his voice low and encouraging. Sara couldn’t muster up the energy to try to hear what he was saying, though. It was like her brain was surrounded by cotton balls, closing her off from the outside world.

Slowly reaching out, Ian closed the door, then stood up and turned around. He froze momentarily when he saw her, then picked up a bag he had set on the floor.

"You’re home early," he said, putting the bag on a small table by the door.

She was considering telling him what had happened when a canine head poked around his leg.

"What is that?" she asked.

"It’s a puppy, Sara," he said, as if that was the answer she really wanted.

"I can see that," she said sharply. "What is it doing here?"

Slowly, Ian crouched down again, and skritched under the puppy’s chin. Sara could see a long tail tentatively waving back and forth at the end of the skinny body. Sara frowned and rubbed at her temples; she was not in the mood for this right now.

"I don’t think she has a home," Ian said softly, dropping his head down. "And you said we could get a puppy." His head still down, he looked up at her though his eyelashes. "I could put her back outside…"

Sara wasn’t fooled; she was being manipulated. Ian had quickly learned that she found it very hard to resist when he actually asked for something, especially when he added his little sad eyes routine to that soft, hesitant tone of voice. She knew she should resist, just on principle, but she had said that they could get a puppy.

Sara sighed. The last thing she needed right now was one more complication in her life, and she had no doubt a puppy would be an incredible complication. And cost. Watching Ian pet the puppy, though, she knew she was going to give in. Besides, she was too tired and her head ached too much to fight. What did it matter, really, if she took in another stray?

"All right." Sara shook her head. "Take it to the vet tomorrow and then put an ad in the paper. We don’t want to accidentally steal someone’s pet."

A small smile brushed across his lips as he nodded and stood. Reaching behind him, he pulled a holstered gun from his trousers and opened the drawer of the table beside him to put it away. Since that was usually where she kept hers, too, Sara was unsurprised when he turned to look at her quizzically.

"Where’s your gun and badge?" Ian asked.

Sara let out a deep breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

"On Dante’s desk."

*****

"Oh," Ian said, and put his gun in the drawer.

Crouching down to stroke the dog’s head, he tentatively touched at Sara’s mind, but it was walled off, not even a shred of a hint of what she was thinking slipping through. She glared at him from the couch.

"’Oh’?" Sara said, her voice harsh. "That’s all you have to say?"

"Did you quit?" he asked, keeping his voice calm so as not to alarm the puppy. "Or were you …"

"Suspended?" Her eyes slid away from his, a rare occurrence. "Yeah."

"What happened?" he asked.

"I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet," she said, still not looking him in the eyes. "I … I made a mistake. A bad one." She looked up at him, and the anguish in her eyes was matched by a quick flash of it along their link, before the wall slammed down again. "But I’m not ready to talk about it yet."

"OK," he said. "When you’re ready."

Sara nodded, then let out a deep sigh, rubbing her hands across her forehead. With an obviously forced smile, she looked at him again.

"So, what are you going to name it?" she asked.

"Her," he corrected, "And I don’t know yet. We don’t know anything about her yet." He looked down at the dust that clung to his coat where the puppy had leaned. "Except that she needs a bath," he said. "Want to help?"

"Uh, no," Sara said, pushing herself off the couch and stretching. "I’m going to try to take a nap."

She turned and headed to the bedroom. Ian frowned as soon as her door closed. He couldn’t imagine what would make Sara close herself off so completely from him. Though their relationship was hardly an easy one, the bond between them was one of their greatest strengths, and for Sara to sever it like that … it left them both vulnerable … and alone.

The puppy nosed at his hand, which had stopped stroking her. Ian ran his hand along her back and her tail again began to wag.

Well, maybe not totally alone.

*****

Jake anxiously peered over Vicky’s shoulder as she bent over her microscope. After a minute, she sat up straight and sighed.

"Jake, honey, I can’t work with you hovering," she said, her voice unsuccessfully hiding her exasperation. "Go sit down or get the hell out of my lab. Please."

She sneezed loudly, only barely getting her hands up in time to protect her slide.

"Bless you." Jake moved back as Vicky sneezed yet again. "I’m sorry, Vik, but I just can’t believe what happened. I mean, Sara, she … she’s suspended." He sat down heavily. "It was an accident!" He shook his head. "We need to find out what happened."

Vicky went back to looking through the microscope. He was grasping at straws, he had to admit, but he couldn’t let anything go that might get Sara off the hook. She’d been tired and stressed - shooting the woman had been an honest mistake. Sara’s reactions were fast - maybe too fast in this case. She had honestly been trying to protect him, and he wasn’t going to let her lose her job for that.

"Well, I can tell you for sure that this is dog fur," Vicky said and stopped to blow her nose.

"Just by looking at it?" he asked.

"No, because I’m allergic to dogs," she said. "I’ll send this off to UC Davis. They might be able to tell us what breed. They do DNA testing on animals." She shoved the slide she had been looking at in a plastic bag, then sealed it with a relieved sigh. "I’m not going to be able to do the autopsy on either of the bodies. I’ll have to put them on someone else’s schedule."

"Either of them?" Jake looked through the office’s big window to the sheeted corpses beyond. "How come?"

"Because they’re both covered with dog fur, and if I get near them, all I do is sneeze all over and ruin any samples we get." And, as if to illustrate her point, she sneezed again.

"On both of them? You didn’t tell me that," Jake said, and frowned.

"Trust me: both of them," she said, from behind a tissue. "When I get an I.D. on the woman, I’ll let you know, OK? Go home and get some sleep."

*****

Sara stared at the ceiling as she had done for almost the entire night. She’d only slept a little bit, and when she had, she’d been plagued by nightmares that she couldn’t remember. Her head still hurt this morning - actually, it hurt more than it had when she had gone to bed. And she felt kind of dizzy. Had she hit her head when she had fallen yesterday?

She could hear movement outside her door, and though he was trying to keep quiet, she could hear Ian gently scolding their new dog for something or another. Ian knew she was awake; she had felt his mind reach out toward her, then retreat quickly when he realized she had noticed.

He was being his usual patient self with her, and she had to admit that she found it both endearing and frustrating at the same time. Endearing because he was, well, being himself, and they’d grown a lot closer this last month - maybe not as close as he would have liked, but closer. Frustrating, too, though, because she almost wanted him to make her tell him what had happened. She wanted to have a fight. Yelling would make her feel better, at least for a little bit.

And that - and her head - was why she was still in her room. It was totally unfair to put Ian on the receiving end of her temper just because it would make her feel better. He still didn’t know how to react to her when she yelled at him, and she always ended up feeling like she’d done something horrible to him. She sighed and rolled over to stare at the wall.

She just wished … she didn’t know … Maybe that last night just hadn’t happened. No, there was no "maybe" about it: she wished last night hadn’t happened. She had killed a woman and she had to face that. She pulled her pillow over her head. Just not quite yet.

There was a tentative knock on the door.

"What?" she called out, knowing that Ian’s enhanced hearing would be able to pick out her muffled voice.

"I’m going out and taking Kali with me," he said loudly, not opening the door. "Do you want … anything?"

"No," she called back and pulled the pillow harder around her head.

So he’d named the puppy. She hoped he didn’t get too attached. If she lost her job, she had no idea how the two of them were going to eat, let alone the three of them. Sometimes she wished they’d kept that half a million dollars.

*****

"Suspended?" Kenneth Irons asked. "How very interesting."

"Yeah, she shot some woman," Bruno Dante, his pet police captain said. "I’m pretty sure I can get her fired for this, if not prosecuted."

"Fascinating plan, Bruno, but may I make a suggestion?" Irons didn’t wait for the answer. "First insist on a full mental and physical exam. Perhaps there are some mitigating circumstances you don’t yet know about. You wouldn’t want to be unfair now, would you?"

"I wanna be more than unfair, Mr. Irons," Dante said with a laugh. "I want that woman out on her ass. But the exams - those are a good idea. There’s no way she’d pass a psych."

As he hung up, Irons had to admit that Dante was probably right. If Sara were honest, she’d be labeled nuttier than a fruitcake in a minute. He’d love to be there for that interview:

"Yes, Doctor, I have a mystical bracelet that turns into a weapon, I see visions, my lover’s an assassin and I’m being persecuted by my boss and one of the wealthiest men in the world. You don’t think that’s normal?"

Irons laughed. Yes, that would be entertaining.

*****

Kali pulled at her new leash, reinforcing Ian and the vet’s opinions that she had been on the streets for a while. After a clean bill of health and a bunch of shots that the pup had stoically endured, they had headed over to the pet store to get supplies. Ian was trying to move the bags to more comfortable positions when Kali stopped in front of him and began to growl.

Looking up, Ian saw an unfortunately familiar face. Dropping the bags onto the crowded sidewalk, he pulled his gun out, but kept it close to his side, pointed at the ground. Benjamin Wolf, professional assassin, raised his hands and smiled.

"I come in peace," he said, then laughed. "Tell that to the dog, will ya’?"

"She’s an excellent judge of character," Ian said, but gently jerked on Kali’s leash. "Enough," he said firmly. With a final snarl, she was silent, though she didn’t move from between the men. "What do you want, Wolf?"

"I heard you’re a free agent now," he said, lowering his hands, but carefully keeping them where Ian could see them. "I’ve got a proposition for you."

*****

Jake knocked on the door again, louder this time. Sara probably didn’t feel like having company, but that was exactly why she should have it. And anyway, he had some info to share with her, even if he really wasn’t supposed to be talking about the investigation with her. Finally, he heard noise from behind the door.

"Who is it?" Sara’s grumpy voice asked.

"Jake," he said. "I brought coffee." There was no response. "From my own private stash - not that Starbucks crap."

He heard locks being opened. There were times when his partner was completely predictable.

The door opened to reveal Sara, hair unbrushed, dressed in baggy sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt. By the circles under her eyes, she had gotten little, if any, sleep last night. He’d never seen her look so awful.

She motioned him in, and Jake followed her into the loft. He handed Sara her coffee and they sat at the kitchen table.

"How you feeling?" he asked, looking more closely at her slumped posture.

"Lousy," she admitted. "I had this headache all night. It finally went away, but I still feel like crap."

Jake frowned - for Sara not to put up a front was totally unlike her.

"Yesterday … it was an accident," he assured her. "You thought we were in danger."

"Jake, I shot a woman. In cold blood." She put her head in her hands and rubbed her face. When she looked up again, he eyes were redder than they should have been from that brief rub. "I killed her. Her family and friends will never see her alive again and that’s all my fault." She looked down at the bracelet she always wore, then put her hands down in her lap with a frown. "I don’t know what to think, what to believe, anymore."

"Believe me," Jake said, then took a deep breath. "I know I’ve done some stupid things, Sara, but you’re my friend and my partner. Believe me when I say that this was an accident."

Sara looked up at him, then dropped her head down again.

"You shouldn’t be here," she said. "What’s the captain going to think?"

"I don’t care what he thinks!" Jake snapped. "I’m here because you obviously need some help!"

"You need to care," Sara snapped back. "You’re jeopardizing your real role here if you don’t. Do you remember what you’re really doing here? Now? In this police department? Do you remember who you really are?"

Jake frowned. Of course he did. There was no need for Sara to remind him of his federal corruption investigation. He was just taking things slowly. He wasn’t ignoring his duty, just … taking it one careful step at a time. Sure, he’d gotten a little distracted lately, what with getting involved with Vicky, but…

He stood up, suddenly angry.

"Fine," he said, and tossed down a pile of papers he had brought with him. "Not that you care, but here’s what I’ve got on the two cases so far. Don’t tell anyone I gave it to you."

*****

Ian sipped at the tea the waiter had brought to the outdoor table. Wolf hadn’t objected to the location, even though the winter air was only just above freezing. Kali sat attentively beside Ian, her head on his knee, never taking her startling blue eyes off Wolf.

Ian still wasn’t sure why he had agreed to talk to the assassin. Ian didn’t trust him, and besides, the odds of him actually taking the job were slim. But, in a way, he did miss the chance to utilize the training he had. Sometimes, he tired of the normal life he led. Being a glorified janitor was not how he had pictured his life once he was free of Irons. He had hoped for excitement, glamour, and maybe even a little danger, with him preferably being the cause of it. Maybe he was here just to pretend that’s how it really could be.

"I have been contacted about a job that requires special skills," Wolf said, once the waiter left. "I had someone else lined up, but there was an accident and he is no longer available. I thought you might be interested."

"Why not do it yourself?" Ian asked, putting down the delicate china cup.

"I am currently on retainer to Mr. Parsegian, and unable to practice on a private basis," Wolf said, then leaned forward to place his elbows on the table.

Ian felt Kali stiffen against him, then relax when Wolf didn’t come any closer. Ian was surprised at her protectiveness after being with him for less than a day. He would have to be sure that her watchfullness didn’t turn into aggression. He knew how easy it was for that to happen - with dogs as well as humans.

"When I heard that you had left your position with Kenneth Irons, I knew I had my man," Wolf continued.

"How did you hear that?" Ian asked, wondering how far out into the underground the word had gotten. Pretty far if Wolf knew.

"Word travels," was all the other man said, and, really, that was all Ian had expected. "The word also is that you’ve taken up with a cop. A homicide detective, no less." A smirk played across Wolf’s mouth. "I hope you haven’t given up your work; it would truly be a shame for talent like yours to go unused."

"Tell me about the job," Ian said.

Couched in the euphemisms of the assassin business, Wolf outlined it: a woman, heavily guarded, with a varied schedule, to be killed by the end of next week - all of which meant the pay would be substantial. The woman was of the criminal element, that much Ian got, but Wolf didn’t supply any identifying details, or even say anything that could be deemed incriminating if repeated.

"Are you interested?" Wolf asked finally.

"I’ll need to think about it," Ian said, and was surprised to find that it was true.

"Of course," the other man said, and pulled a card out of his pocket.

He slid it across the table, and Ian slapped his hand down to stop it. The white business card was printed with only a phone number. Wolf stood and tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table.

"I’ll hear from you soon, right?" he asked.

"Soon," Ian agreed.

*****

Sara half-heartedly flipped through the folder Jake had left for her. She wasn’t really sure why she had snapped at her partner, but she just wasn’t feeling … right. Everything felt … unreal. It was beginning to get creepy. She felt kind of better now, but Sara was beginning to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with her.

Tossing the folder on the coffee table, she was about to head for the bedroom to try to get some sleep when the phone rang. She answered it.

"Hello?"

"Pezzini," Bruno Dante’s voice said, with his usual mispronunciation.

"Captain," Sara said, trying to keep a sneer out of her voice. "What can I do for you?" she asked, though she could have come up with a few ideas on her own.

"You can take yourself to a doctor or doctors of your choice for a full mental and physical evaluation," he said, sounding as if he were reading it. "When a full medical work-up has been completed, as well as an internal investigation, your suspension will be considered for review."

"What?" she asked, stunned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Let’s get this straight, Pezzini," he said, and Sara could tell he was smiling. "I don’t think you could pass a psych evaluation with Cliff Notes. You are going to be out of here." His voice resumed its official tone. "You will release your medical records of the exams to the department for review by our doctor. You have one week to comply or you will be dismissed." When Sara didn’t say anything, Dante continued, his voice cheerful. "Have a good day!"

The line went dead. Sara stared blankly at the phone for a long moment before she pushed the off button and set it carefully on the couch beside her. As soon as she did so, the front door opened, and Ian came in, towing Kali along behind him. He put down his bags and put away his gun before he noticed her on the couch. Once he did, he frowned.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, bending down to unclip the leash from the dog’s collar. "Are you sick?"

Sara shook her head, then nodded. As a matter of fact, she did feel sick. But numb. Like she was watching someone else sit there on the couch, nodding stupidly.

"Sara?" Ian came over to the couch and crouched beside her. "Look at me."

Sara looked at him, but didn’t really feel like she was seeing him. She could see his concern, though. A hand reached out to pat his arm, and it took her a moment to realize it was hers.

"I’m fine," she said, her voice sounding hollow in her ears, then she pitched forward and the world went black.

*****

Sara tumbled straight into Ian, knocking him back onto the floor. After a stunned second, he rolled Sara’s dead weight off of his chest and sat up.

Sara’s skin was white, and her eyes were partly open, but obviously unseeing. Reaching out with his mind, all he could find was … noise, like static.

Then, suddenly, the static went away and was replaced by confusion. Sara’s eyes popped open all the way. Her eyes darted around like she had no idea where she was.

"What the hell happened?" she asked, trying to sit up.

Ian pushed her gently back down, and to his surprise, she didn’t resist.

"You passed out," he said. "What happened?"

"I … I don’t really remember," she said, her voice shaky and her eyes wide. "I got up, Jake stopped by, then the captain called, then … it’s all fuzzy."

"Do you remember me coming home?" Ian asked, then frowned when Sara shook her head no, then nodded yes. "Maybe you’re just tired," he said. "You didn’t sleep last night, I know."

He moved to a crouch, then picked her up easily. Again to his surprise, she didn’t resist, just stayed all but limp in his arms. Now, he was worried. Sara was never this passive.

He carried her to the bedroom and put her on her bed. When he moved to leave, she grabbed his wrist.

"Stay," she said. "Please?"

"I’m going to get you something to eat," he said, but didn’t pull away. "I bet you haven’t eaten today."

"I’m not hungry," she said almost petulantly. "Stay."

"I’ll be right back," he said, peeling her suddenly tightened fingers from his arm. "Hold on." He poked his head out the door, and found Kali sitting calmly where he had left her by the front door. "Come here, Kali," he called and, after a long moment, the puppy got up and trotted over. He ushered her to Sara’s bedside. "She’ll stay with you," he told Sara.

*****

As soon as Ian left, Sara felt the room begin to spin. She closed her eyes tightly, but the feeling persisted - got worse, even. Clutching at the bed, feeling like she was going to get flung off any second, she tried to take deep breaths and convince herself it was all in her head.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the room slowed down, then stopped moving. She opened her eyes, and Sara had the distinct impression that if dogs could glare, this one would be. She didn’t know why; she’d barely seen the puppy since Ian had brought her home. When Sara reached out a hand to pet her, the dog moved her head away, but didn’t break eye contact.

With a sigh, Sara dropped her hand to the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Great. Her life was just going wonderfully. It wasn’t enough that she felt like hell and was about to get kicked off the force, but even their new dog didn’t like her. Sara felt her throat tighten up and her eyes get hot. She closed her eyes tightly; she would not cry.

She only opened them again when Ian finally came back with a bowl in his hands. As she sat up slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bed and Kali put her head on his knee, looking up at him with big, round eyes. When she got herself propped up against the pillows, Ian handed Sara a bowl of what turned out to be soup. She leaned forward to inhale the steam, and her stomach suddenly churned, bile rising up in her throat.

Putting one hand over her mouth, she shoved the bowl back toward Ian. She shook her head at him, afraid to open her mouth. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply through her nose until her stomach didn’t feel so shaky. When she opened her eyes again, the bowl of soup was gone, and Ian’s brow was creased in concern.

"You’re sick," he said. "You have to go to a doctor."

"No," she said, and she cringed the whiny tone of her voice. "I can’t. They’ll do bloodwork and …"

Irons’ cocky voice, "The Witchblade bonded with you on a cellular level, making your body a veritable fountain of new genetic material."

"They’ll see it’s different," Ian finished. He dropped his eyes to his lap. "There is one doctor who wouldn’t be shocked."

Sara stared at him blankly for a moment before she understood.

"Irons’ doctor? No," she said, trying to make her voice firm. "I don’t think so."

Ian reached down and came up with the bowl again. He held it out to her. She leaned back as far as she could, her stomach lurching. With a small smile, he put the bowl back on the floor.

"Point taken," she said shakily, once she felt it was safe for her to speak. "But still no." She suddenly remembered the phone call. "Oh, god, I’m going to have to quit," she said, and she felt tears come to her eyes again.

"What?" Ian asked.

Taking a deep breath, Sara explained what Dante had told her, but Ian just shrugged.

"I can take care of that. The physical tests we can replace or bribe the technician; the psych tests I can show you how to fake. I did it for years." He frowned. "But you still need to see a doctor. And I don’t like them either, but you still need to."

"If I still feel sick tomorrow I will." She smiled what she hoped was a winning smile. "I promise."

After a long moment that he spent staring searchingly at her face, he nodded.

"Tomorrow," he said, then stood. "Get some sleep."

*****

Jake snatched up the phone before it reached the end of the first ring. He and Vicky had been playing phone tag for two hours now, and her messages for him were becoming both increasingly more urgent and more vague.

"McCartey, Homicide," he said.

"Finally!" Vicky exclaimed. "You have to get down here. Now."

"Why didn’t you just tell me that on one of the messages?" Jake asked as he grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. "Why be so cryptic?"

"The walls have ears," she said. "And it wasn’t so urgent ‘til now. I can’t hold them off for much longer, so get your butt over here."

The phone slammed down, and Jake dropped his back into the cradle. Running out to his car, he slid in and put the siren on the dash. Maybe he didn’t need it, but he’d never heard his normally calm girlfriend so worked up.

He got there in five minutes, about half the time it normally took, and he almost flipped the car only once. He ran through the building to Vicky’s office, sliding to a stop outside her door. He straightened his jacket and ran his hand through his hair, then knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Vicky’s voice called out.

Jake pushed open the door to find Vicky sitting behind her desk, her head in her hands.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"You’re too late, she’s gone," Vicky said, her voice dispirited.

"Who’s gone?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"The woman Sara shot," she said, and put her head down on the desk.

"What, did she just get up and walk out?" he snapped.

Vicky looked up at him with angry eyes.

"Don’t be stupid, Jake," she said. "Two big thug-types came down with Captain Dante and took the body. We hadn’t even started the autopsy."

Jake collapsed in the chair next to him and put his head in his hands. It had been a slim hope that anything could be found to help Sara, but it had been the only hope he had. With Dante against her, Sara stood almost no chance of keeping her job.

"Did you at least get an I.D.?" Jake asked, not lifting his head.

"No, and Dante cancelled the search for it," she said with a sigh. "Sara’s screwed."

*****

Ian checked on Sara one more time. He didn’t want to leave the apartment while she was asleep, but she’d been out cold for almost twelve hours now and he couldn’t stay any longer. She’d had dozed fitfully all yesterday afternoon, but then finally fell into deep sleep around ten o’clock. He’d dragged his futon across the loft and slept with one ear open, checking on her every couple hours.

Sitting on the couch in a patch of morning sun, he pulled out the card Wolf had given him. When he had told Sara that he would take care of the medical exam, he had meant it, but that meant he needed money. If the test results had to be faked, then he needed to pay someone to make them up. If someone had to be bribed, he needed money to do it. And, as it stood, he didn’t have the amount it would take to ensure that the fake tests were believable or that someone stayed bought.

But he had a way to make the money. One that Sara wouldn’t approve of, but there was no reason to tell her.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.

"Wolf," said the voice on the other end.

"I’ll do it," Ian said.

*****

Sara sat up with a gasp, the remnants of her dream sliding away. Whatever she had been dreaming about had been horrifying, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Shaking her head, she looked around.

The room was pitch black, and the digital clock-radio on her bedside table read "10:01." With no windows in the room, she had no way to tell if it was AM or PM, since she could never remember what the little dot in the corner of the display indicated. It was a good thing that Ian always woke her for work, since she’d never gotten the hang of successfully setting the alarm.

Thinking about work, she frowned, then shoved the thought out of her mind. Pushing off the covers, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Dizziness buzzed in her head, but it faded to a manageable level after a minute. She didn’t remember eating anything in the last twenty-four hours, so that was understandable. Standing up, she was a little shaky, but not too bad. She was hungry, though, and padded across the room and opened the door.

Sunlight flooded the apartment. Morning then. A quick glance didn’t show Ian, and when she reached out with her mind, she found him about a mile away. She pulled back, leaving him be. Whatever it was he was doing, he deserved some time away from her capricious temper.

Making her way across the room, she spotted Kali curled up on a corner of the couch. Stopping next to her, Sara put her hands on her hips, then had to reach for the arm of the couch as a fresh round of wooziness assaulted her.

"I’ll bet you’re not allowed on the furniture," she said, once she was steady on her feet again. Kali opened one eye and looked at her for a moment, then closed it again. "Get off," Sara told the dog, making her voice as firm as possible. "Off."

With a deep sigh, the dog opened her eyes and stared up at Sara. Then, slowly and deliberately, Kali stood up and stepped down to the floor. With a final look at Sara, the puppy trotted over to lie in a patch of sunlight on the floor.

Sara frowned. She knew she was anthropomorphizing, but again, she could have sworn that the dog glared at her. And that sigh was just a little too well-timed and long-suffering.

Shaking her head, Sara walked over to the fridge and pulled it open. She was just being silly, she told herself as she perused the contents. The dog was not glaring at her. Whatever was going on with her was just causing her to misjudge everything. Maybe she really did need that psychological evaluation.

Finding nothing that appealed to her, she shut the door and grabbed the bag of bread from the top of the fridge. Toast would be good. Plain, boring, and totally non-exciting. Exactly what she needed now.

She was sitting on the couch, eating the dry toast when Ian came home. Taking off his coat, he fended off the exuberant greeting of the dog and looked carefully at Sara.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, coming over to sit next to her on the couch, the dog following close behind. "When did you get up?"

"Fine and just a few minutes ago," she said, then cocked her head at him. "Why doesn’t the dog like me?"

Ian gave her a strange look, then put his hand on her forehead.

"You’re not feverish. Are you sure you’re feeling OK?"

"I’m fine." She smacked his hand away. "And I’m serious. She doesn’t like me."

"She just doesn’t know you," he said. "Do you, Kali?" he asked the dog.

At the mention of her name, her tail began to wag and in a shower of papers, swept clean the coffee table.

*****

Ian laughed and bent down to pick up the papers that were now strewn across the floor. Stuffing them back into the folder they’d come from, he was about to toss them back on the table when a police report caught his eye.

"What’s this?" he asked, flipping through the papers.

"Uh … Jake brought it by yesterday," she said.

That was about as useful an answer as he would have given if he didn’t want to tell the truth. Sara was learning a few of his own tricks. He stopped flipping at a photograph of a dead woman.

"Who’s this?" he asked, holding up the photo.

"I … I don’t know," she said, quickly looking away from the picture. "I don’t know her name. I … I killed her."

"That’s why you’re suspended?" Ian asked, and found that his throat was suddenly dry.

Sara nodded.

Ian knew the woman’s name: Marina Dragash. He’d spent the morning tailing her, in preparation for assassinating her. She was most definitely still alive.

*****

Kenneth Irons pushed himself up out of his chair with some difficulty. Taking a firm hold of the cane propped next to him, he moved to stand in front of the fire.

"The lovely Marina’s body was returned to her people?" he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah," Dante said from behind him. "You feeling OK, Mr. Irons?"

"Thank you for your concern," Irons said, staring into the flames. "I am fine."

He wasn’t. The weight of his true years was quickly coming down upon him. He needed Sara’s blood, or, better yet, the blood of a child of her and Ian’s getting. With the power inherent in both of them, a child of theirs would undoubtedly be stronger than Sara alone.

"Without that body, we’ll have a harder time making a case against Sara Pezzini," Dante said.

"Ah, but you have the Dragash family in your debt," Irons said, turning to face the corrupt police captain. "Marina is a powerful woman."

"Was, you mean," Dante said with a laugh.

"Is," Irons repeated with a slight smile. "She is."

*****

"What?" Sara asked suspiciously.

Ian was staring at the picture of the dead woman, his brows drawn together and his lips pursed. At her question, he tossed down the photo and leaned back on the couch.

"Why didn’t you tell me before?" he asked her.

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. He was hiding something. He was up to something.

"Don’t change the subject," she said.

"I thought the subject was your suspension," Ian said, his face full of innocence.

Sara didn’t buy it for a second. Granted, maybe she was over-reacting so that she didn’t have to talk about the shooting, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t right.

"You know something," Sara said. "Spill it."

"I know many things, Sara," he said, a smile playing at his lips.

"You are a pain in the ass, you know that?" She stood up.

Her vision darkened at the edges and she began to stumble. She felt Ian’s hands grab her and guide her to the couch. Her head spun for a few long seconds before her vision cleared up. Her head still felt fuzzy, but at least she could see.

"You’re still sick," Ian said.

"I’m fine," she said, with a little laugh. "I just stood up too quickly."

"No," he said. "You’re going to a doctor."

"You can’t make me," she said, not caring how childish she sounded.

Ian didn’t say anything, just picked up the phone from the table.

*****

Ian opened the door before Dr. Immo even knocked. Ian knew he couldn’t count on the doctor’s complete discretion, but Ian had no one else he came even close to trusting. He hoped that Immo’s at least slight affection for him would keep him from telling Irons everything right away.

"How have you been, Ian?" Immo asked as Ian took the other man’s coat. "I have been worried about you."

"I’m fine, sir," Ian said. "Happy, even."

The doctor looked searchingly at his face, then, seemingly satisfied, smiled.

"You said your Sara was ill," Immo said. "I’m not a general practitioner, Ian, so I’m not sure I can help."

"But you came," Ian said. "Why?"

"Because you asked for help, and you’ve never done that before," Immo said, then hefted his bag. "Where’s the patient?"

Ian led the doctor to Sara’s room and knocked on the door.

"Sara? Dr. Immo is here," he called.

"Go away," she yelled.

Ian sighed. When the doctor was actually here, he had hoped that she would give in. However, that didn’t appear to be the case. Ian tried the knob. Locked. He turned the knob hard and heard the satisfying sound of metal snapping.

He pushed open the door to find Sara sitting straight up in bed, her eyes blazing with fury. As he came in, she jumped up and stood, visibly shaking, by the side of the bed.

"How dare you?!" she yelled.

With a move that was too fast for Ian to react to, the Witchblade flowed up her arm, and she backhanded him across the room. He smacked against the wall hard, then crumpled to the floor, his head smacking the edge of a dresser as he went down.

The last thing he heard before he passed out was Kali’s angry barking.

*****

Dr. Immo ran to Ian’s side as the dog darted past him to stand barking at Sara Pezzini, the Wielder of the Witchblade. When Ian had said he was happy, Immo had been glad. While Ian’s relationship with Irons had quite understandably confused him about the nature of affection, he found it hard to believe that Ian would actually claim to be happy with this.

There was a slice on Ian’s forehead, but a quick examination revealed it to be a superficial, if bloody, cut. Pulling a gauze pad from his bag, he held it to the wound.

"Quiet that dog," he snapped over his shoulder.

Immo heard her shooing the dog out of the room and closing the door. He glanced back again, and Sara was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands balled into fists and pressed against her mouth. The Witchblade was again an innocuous bracelet on her wrist.

"I’m so sorry," she said, her voice ragged. "I’m so sorry. What can I do?"

"I think you’ve done enough, young lady." He replaced the soaked gauze pad with a fresh one. "If you’ve hurt him…"

Immo knew it was a hollow threat, but he couldn’t help it. Ian, for all that he was a designed killer, was an innocent. For this woman to be abusing him infuriated Immo. Ian might be able to handle himself in a fight, but he would never defend himself against someone that he was devoted to … or Kenneth Irons would have been dead years ago.

"I’ve never hit him before, ever," she insisted. "I don’t know why I did it. I didn’t mean to. I was angry and the next thing I knew he was flying across the room."

"I told you she was sick," Ian said, then opened his eyes.

Immo helped him to sit up, then pulled out a penlight and checked his eyes. The pupils reacted normally and were the same size. He probably didn’t have a concussion, but Immo had always been overly careful of Ian’s health when the younger man was in his charge, and there was no reason to stop now.

"Are you able to stand?" Immo asked.

"I’m fine, Doctor." Ian pulled himself to his feet. Some of Immo’s anger must have shown in his face, because Ian said, "She really has never injured me before."

The younger man moved past Immo to crouch down in front of Sara, his hands on her knees. Hesitantly, she reached out one of her hands to Ian’s forehead, but drew back before she touched.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, dropping her head down in a move Immo had seen from Ian a thousand times.

"Apology accepted," Ian said, his voice gentler than Immo had ever heard it. "Will you talk to Dr. Immo now and tell him what’s been happening?"

Sara nodded, and Ian, seemingly satisfied, stood up.

"She’s all yours, Doctor."

*****

Sara glanced up at the doctor as Ian shut the door behind him. Immo was frowning at her, and, frankly, she didn’t blame him. She couldn’t believe she had hit Ian. She didn’t even really remember doing it. She remembered jumping up, yelling at him, and then … she lost a few seconds. What was wrong with her?

"I don’t know what’s going on, Doctor," she said. "I just haven’t … been myself."

With a sigh, Immo came over and sat next to her on the bed. Somewhat awkwardly, he patted her on the knee.

"We’ll figure it out," he said gently, then his voice took on a professional tone. "Describe your symptoms, please."

Sara told him about the fainting, the dizziness, the nightmares, the nausea, everything. He nodded sagely as she talked, but didn’t comment. After her recital, he proceeded with the basic check-up stuff: blood pressure, temperature, even a quick vision test. Then onto the questions.

"Do you smoke?"

"No?"

"How many drinks do you average in a week?"

"Two or three."

"Do you have any drug allergies?"

"No."

"Are you sexually active?"

"What?" Sara yelped. "That’s none of your damned business!"

"Sara, I’m a doctor. I’m not asking because of prurient interest, but because it may indicate your general level of health," he explained.

"It’s still none of your damned business."

She could tell she was blushing. How on earth could she admit that, though she was living with Ian, they maintained separate bedrooms and had never even hugged, let alone done anything more. They presented themselves to the world as a couple, but in actuality, neither of them really knew what was going on or how to handle this relationship that the Witchblade had thrust upon them. Granted, since this doctor knew Ian and what his life had been like, he probably wouldn’t have been surprised, but still … If nothing else, the man worked for Irons, and she and Ian wanted Irons to believe that they were … seriously involved.

Immo must have taken her outburst and blush for a positive, because she saw him write a "Y" next to the question he’d scribbled on his notepad. She was content to let him think that, for now. Besides, she really doubted that her lack of sex for the last few months was making her crazy. Frustrated, maybe, but not crazy.

"Are you on birth control pills?" he asked.

"Uh, no." Sara had forgotten to get a new prescription and, well, the need for them really hadn’t come up lately.

"You use an alternate, reliable method of birth control, I trust?"

"That’s none of your business, either, Doctor." Sara smiled tightly until he shrugged.

"I’d like to take some blood," Immo said. "Just a small amount."

Ian, quietly desperate, "My master needs you … I'm sworn to serve him and he needs you to live."

The pain as the scalpel sliced open her palm, Ian pressing a cloth to it to collect the blood.

Irons, old and tired, but still demanding, "I'm dying, Sara. Help me. I can help you."

"Will you give it to Mr. Irons?" Sara asked. "I’m not helping that bastard after what he’s done to us."

"I won’t. For Ian’s sake," Immo said. "He’s a good boy."

The doctor really seemed to care for Ian. He was probably the only one in Irons’ household who ever had. And Sara didn’t want to risk hurting Ian again. She needed to find out what was wrong with her. With a sigh, Sara pushed up her sleeve.

"Go ahead."

*****

Jake poked his head into Vicky’s office.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

Vicky waved at him vaguely, frowning as she read a piece of paper in front of her. She turned it over, looked at the blank back, then put it down on her desk. She looked up at Jake.

"Huh!" she said.

"What?" he asked and walked over to pick up the paper.

He could feel his jaw drop as he read. Brad Armour, the name in their first victim’s wallet, didn’t match up to his fingerprints. The fingerprints identified him as John Walters, hit man.

"Huh!" Jake exclaimed.

"That’s what I said." Vicky smiled. "Curiouser and curiouser."

"I wonder if …" Jake trailed off. "Want to stop by Sara’s place before we get dinner?"

"Sure."

Jake had never been able to prove it, but he highly suspected that Ian Nottingham, Sara’s boyfriend, had been trained as an assassin. He’d read the little info the FBI had on him, once he’d been able to find where they were hiding it, and had been disgusted by the military training the guy had been put through. Drugs, indoctrination, way too realistic war games … it was no wonder the guy was weird. Then, going to work for Kenneth Irons, who was, Jake had no doubt, an arms dealer in addition to seeming a legitimate businessman. With a highly trained killer as his bodyguard, why not use the guy to take out a few rivals?

When they got to the apartment, Vicky bounded up the steps and pounded on the door. She had a little bit of a crush on Ian, but Jake wasn’t worried. Anyone but the completely stupid could see that Ian only had eyes for Sara. Well, maybe not just the stupid. He wasn’t entirely sure Sara realized how much in love Ian was. Ian would do anything for Sara. Anything.

Ian opened the door and let them in, Vicky smiling broadly as Ian took her coat. Sara sat on the couch frowning as she watched her friend.

"She’s never that happy when I do that," he said, sitting down next to Sara. On the inside of her elbow, he noticed a bandage over a cotton ball. He nodded to it. "You OK?"

"What?" She looked down at her elbow, then crossed her arms. "Yeah, fine."

Jake didn’t believe her. She’d had some blood drawn; he recognized that type of bandage from giving blood over the years.

"What happened to your head?" Jake heard Vicky ask.

Sara flinched and looked down, and if Jake hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was about to cry. Jake turned to see Vicky looking closely at a gash high on Ian’s forehead. The cut was relatively small, but the bruise surrounding it looked nasty.

"I fell," Ian said, and smiling winningly at Vicky, shook out his hair to cover the bruise.

Vicky made some sympathetic noises and Jake just shook his head. It was a good thing that Jake knew that Vicky’s flirting was harmless, or he might get jealous. While Vicky’s antics didn’t normally bother Sara, she seemed uncomfortable with it today. Maybe she and Ian had gotten in a fight or something. Jake grinned to himself; maybe Sara had smacked Ian around.

Vicky sneezed suddenly, then frowned.

"Did you guys get a dog?"

*****

"Yes." Ian pulled a tissue from the box on the table and handed it to Vicky. "She’s under there."

He pointed to the coffee table, where Kali had been ever since Sara had come out of her bedroom a few hours ago. The dog’s eyes never left Sara, and Ian now didn’t discount Sara’s assertion that Kali didn’t like her. After all, there was no way to make Kali understand that Sara hadn’t meant to hurt him, really. Sara wasn’t feeling well, but there was no way to explain that to a puppy.

"Allergies?" Sara asked.

Vicky nodded as she blew her nose.

"And it’s been really bad lately," she said. "Ever since the crime scene the other night. I don’t know why."

"That’s why I wanted to come over," Jake said suddenly. "About the other night."

"I don’t really want to talk about it, Jake…" Sara trailed off, shaking her head.

"That’s OK," he said, "I actually wanted to talk to Ian."

Ian raised his eyebrows. He didn’t particularly trust or like Jake, but he had saved Sara from having to kill Conchobar, so Ian was willing to at least be pleasant to the guy. But Ian couldn’t imagine what Jake could want from him. After all, Ian hadn’t killed anyone in a while.

Jake pulled a photo out of his pocket and held it out toward Ian. Carefully schooling his features into neutrality, Ian took it and instantly recognized the man; he was a freelance hit man who only rarely worked in New York. His name was John Walters. It was this man who was in the other crime scene photo that had been swept of the table by Kali’s wagging tail, though Ian hadn’t realized it until now, due to the nature of his wounds.

"Don’t recognize him." Ian handed the photo back.

"Who is it, Jake?" Sara asked.

Jake handed the photo to Sara, but didn’t take his eyes off of Ian. Ian didn’t flinch from the surfer boy’s stare.

"The first victim from the other night," Jake said. "Turns out he’s a hit man."

"So why do you want to talk to Ian about him?" Sara asked.

She probably just sounded curious to Jake, but Ian recognized that slightly too reasonable tone as an indication of an impending explosion - he’d been in the blast zone often enough to recognize it by now. In her current state of mind, though, Ian had no idea what she might do. Reluctantly breaking eye contact with Jake, Ian went to sit on the arm of the couch by Sara, trying to make the hand he clamped on her shoulder appear casual.

"I thought he might have some idea what the guy was doing in town," Jake said, and Ian felt anger flare along his connection to Sara. Jake continued, unaware, "I thought, that, knowing his … history … Ian might know who Walters," Jake nodded toward the photo in her hand, "was working for."

Ian felt Sara begin to rise, but he pressed her down hard. Kali growled from the floor.

"Enough," he commanded, not sure if it was directed at Sara or Kali.

In any case, they both obeyed. Kali pulled her nose back under the table, and Sara relaxed under his hand. He didn’t let go, but he did loosen his grip.

"Why would Ian know?" Vicky asked, her voice confused, then sneezed again. "If he says he doesn’t know him, he doesn’t know him."

"Ian’s … not in that line of work anymore, Jake," Sara said, and Ian tried not to flinch at her unknowing lie. "I think you’d better get going." Vicky sneezed again. "Before Vik sneezes to death."

After Sara shut the door behind them, she turned to where Ian was still sitting on the edge of the couch.

"Sorry he was being such a jerk," she said. "I don’t know what got into him; why he thought you would know. You don’t do that anymore."

Ian had to fight to keep looking her in the eyes.

"No," he said, "I don’t."

*****

"How did they seem?" Irons asked Immo as the doctor took his blood pressure.

"Well. They seemed well," the other man said, sounding a bit surprised. "I never knew Ian could be so-"

Immo cut himself off with a guilty look. Irons smiled. He had known for many years of Immo’s affection for Ian, and it had been one more thing that Irons could use to control the good doctor. When Immo had nervously reported Ian’s phone call, Irons had encouraged the man to go. Since he had not seen or spoken to the pair in a month, Irons needed all the intelligence he could get.

"So … what?" Irons asked.

Immo released the pressure cuff and made a note on a page in his notebook.

"So gentle … kind," he answered, almost defiantly. "He truly cares for her."

"And Sara?" Irons asked.

He had never had any doubts as to Ian’s affections; it was Sara’s he suspected. Now, more than ever, he desired proof that his goal was to be achieved, and soon.

"She is unwell," Immo said, frowning. "I will need to do some reading before I can help her."

"Might she be pregnant?" Irons asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"She was unwilling to answer questions about her sexual activity," Immo said, with a small smile. "But I would count that as a possibility, at least for some of her symptoms."

"Ah, wonderful," Irons said, and leaned back in his chair. "I do so tire of these aches and pains. I’m sure you will do the right thing, Doctor."

*****

Ian sat quietly in the middle of the floor. He had told Sara that he was meditating, but in fact he was attempting to catalog all he knew about Marina Dragash.

It wasn’t much.

His former master had occasionally had dealings with the Dragash clan. Ian had never been privy to any of the business meetings; they were the only partners that Irons insisted on meeting with in total privacy. Marina Dragash, the woman Ian was supposed to kill, was the head of this branch of her family, and even Ian trod carefully around her. The woman, while looking the epitome of delicate feminine beauty, radiated a power and menace that frightened even him. Her bodyguards, he was sure, were for show; she was a woman who could take care of herself.

She and Irons were occasional lovers, and had been for a long time, longer than he’d been alive. He had very faint memories of her from the previous Ians, but there was nothing specific that he could really remember - just that the relationship was a tempestuous one, and that didn’t surprise Ian a bit.

But Marina Dragash had a secret. Ian didn’t know what it was, but he knew there was something that Irons had hidden from him, some reason that he hadn’t been allowed to observe, even covertly, the meetings between them. Whatever it was, it must be the explanation for why the woman was still walking around alive after Sara had killed her.

Ian was pulled suddenly from his ruminations.

The cold, wet sensation on the sole of his foot was not one that should have been there. The feeble heat of the winter sun coming through the window, yes. The tension in his quadriceps from sitting cross-legged, yes. A dog nose on his bare right foot, no.

"Sara," he said calmly, not opening his eyes.

He had asked only one thing from Sara this morning - that she attempt to make friends with Kali while he was "meditating" so that he could do so undisturbed.

"Huh?" she said, her voice distracted.

"Dog," he said, as a more prolonged sensation of sliding wetness indicated a tentative tasting of his bare foot.

"What?" she asked, then he heard the couch springs squeak. "Kali! Leave him alone!"

The tongue and nose immediately were gone from his foot, but the damage had been done. There was nothing quite like an inquisitive puppy’s nose to break one’s chain of thought. There was a reason he’d named her after a goddess of destruction.

*****

Sara cringed as she heard Ian’s sigh from behind her. He had only asked one thing of her: to keep an eye on Kali and try to befriend the big puppy. Instead, she had gotten distracted … but for a very good reason.

The Witchblade didn’t seem to be working.

At first she thought it was because she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night and was just really tired. She’d been plagued by nightmares that she couldn’t remember when she woke up. When she’d asked Ian if he’d had them, too - because sometimes they seemed to share dreams somehow - he had said no. In fact, he had said that he’d slept better than he had in weeks.

But she was wide awake now. Usually, she didn’t have to really think about using Witchblade - it just happened. This morning, though, even with constant urging, the mystical bracelet remained inert.

And now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard a peep from it in a couple days, with the one exception of smacking Ian across the room with it, and she didn’t even really remember doing that. She’d been so wrapped up in how crappy she was feeling that she hadn’t even noticed the absence of the Witchblade.

This really was something she should tell Ian, she realized, but he was worried about her enough right now. If the Blade didn’t start responding to her by the end of the day, she’d tell him. But not until then.

*****

Ian had been lying, Jake was sure of it.

It wasn’t that the other man had given any physical indications - Jake would never want to play poker with the man, he was so straight-faced - but it was just a feeling that he had. Add in Sara’s a little too vehement protest, and Jake was convinced that Ian knew something.

"Whatcha’ thinking about?" Vicky asked from beside him.

Jake rolled over to face her, snugging the pillow a little more comfortably under his head.

"Ian Nottingham," he said.

"While you’re in bed with me?!" Vicky said in mock-indignation. "Jake McCartey, I never knew!"

Jake felt his face go hot and he swatted Vicky on the hip. He was about to snap at her, but thought better of it. He didn’t want Vicky to think poorly of him, not in any way, and she would if he got upset over an innocent joke. He decided to play along.

"Now you do," he said. "I think about him all the time. Never about you. Sorry."

He grinned as she rolled over on top of him.

"Never?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "I’ll make you think about me."

Her hand slid down his thigh, and Jake hid a smile. He was positive she could make him forget.

*****

Irons held out his hand to the woman in the foyer.

"Marina, it is good to see you." She took his hand and squeezed it. "Allow me to express my concern over your missing daughter. My best wishes for her quick retrieval."

She let go of his hand and dismissively waved her fingers at him. Irons had expected such a reaction; Marina Dragash was not known as the most doting of mothers, but that was the way of her family.

"It is only because of your interest in this woman that I have agreed to meet with you," she said, ignoring his comment. "I know how you feel about that little talisman."

Irons smiled and ushered her into the study. "I appreciate your time."

"Where is that striking young man of yours?" She made a show of looking around the room, then returned her eyes to his face with a little smirk. "Without him as your shadow I hardly recognize you."

Irons continue to smile. He realized he was aging visibly now, but to be reminded of it wasn’t pleasant. Add to it the comment on Ian’s defection and his temper was beginning to fray. However, there was no need to let Marina know that; they had known each other too long and too well for them not to know exactly how to push the other’s buttons.

"Ian has decided to stretch his wings a bit," Irons said, sitting down gratefully in the soft leather chair. "It is also because of him that I wished to speak to you."

Marina sat in the other chair and held her perfectly manicured hands out toward the fire.

"He has taken up with this Witchblade Wielder, no?" she asked derisively.

"He has." Irons resented that the city’s entire underworld seemed to know of Ian’s abandonment of him. "And I would not like to see him harmed. My affection for him is great."

"Ah yes. I know your … affections … well." She licked her lips and smiled at him. "I’m sure Ian appreciated them as much as I did."

"If you harm Sara Pezzini, you will harm him, and if he finds out that it was you that did it …" Irons decided to bite the bullet and admitted, "I no longer hold his leash, Marina. He would come after you."

She waved her hand dismissively.

"To please you, I will not harm him, so long as he and his Sara do not bother me any more."

"Your tolerance is appreciated," Irons said. "Ian can be such an impulsive boy."

"Hmmm … yes." Marina reached out one hand to brush Irons’ knee and smiled sensuously. "I’m sure he learned from the best."

When Marina left several hours later, Irons knew that Marina would not bother Ian or Sara. While he was starting to look his age, Marina had admitted that he certainly didn’t act it.

It hadn’t been in his original plans, but an afternoon romp was always good for one’s mood.

*****

Ian ducked as one of Sara’s shoes flew past his head. Kali started barking and he had to grab her collar to keep her from going after Sara.

"I wasn’t-" He failed to dodge the next item because of his hold on Kali. The book hit him squarely in the chest. "Ow! I wasn’t prying."

He edged his way into the room, and with a quick push, shoved Kali outside and slammed the door shut. A rush of air made him drop to the floor and something smacked against the door. Kali stopped barking, but she began to scratch and bump at the door. Springing up before Sara had a chance to re-arm herself, he jumped over the bed and managed to grab her arms. Spinning her around and bringing her arms up behind her back, he shoved her face down on the bed, pinning her as gently as he could under the circumstances.

"I was not prying." He pulled her arms higher as she struggled against him. "You’re overreacting, Sara. I didn’t do anything I haven’t done a hundred times before. Just calm down."

"Let go of me," she demanded, her voice muffled.

"Are you going to keep throwing things at me?" Ian reconsidered his question. "Are you going to do anything that will injure, harass, or annoy me?" There was no answer, but Sara slowly stopped struggling. "I’m sorry you thought I was trying to snoop around in your head, but I was just seeing how you felt. I didn’t do anything more than brush the surface. Like I’ve always done."

"You could have just asked me," she said petulantly. "I feel fine."

"No, you don’t." He loosened his grip slightly, but tightened it again as she made a sudden move to get away. "You are not acting like yourself at all. Can’t you see that?"

After a moment, all of her muscles went slack. She turned her head to the side, and Ian could see tears leaking from under one closed eyelid. He let her hands go, but she didn’t move, just lay on the bed as her breathing became more and more ragged. Not knowing what to do, he sat down on the bed beside her and tentatively laid his hand on her back.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," she whispered, her voice rough. "I feel like I’m going nuts."

"You’re not. We’ll figure it out."

He patted her back awkwardly as her breathing slowly calmed down and she was no longer crying. Ian would do anything to help her, he realized, as she slipped into sleep. Anything. Even something as foolhardy as trying to kill Marina Dragash. At this rate, there was no way Sara was going to get back on the force, and they were going to need money. He would have to earn it.

Once he was finally assured that she was deeply asleep and a quick peek at her mind revealed no nightmares, he quietly left the room. Kali hopped up as the door opened and sniffed at his legs as he made his way across the big room. Reaching under his futon, he pulled out a large square black case. Kali whined at him and stuck her nose in front of him, getting in his way, but he gently pushed her away.

Opening the case to quickly check the contents, he snapped it shut and locked it securely. Kali continued to whine at him, threading in and out of his legs like a cat as he walked to the door. With a quick pat on her head and an instruction to be good, Ian managed to leave without her coming along. He could hear her barking as he went down the stairs, but he had more important things to do right now.

He made his way to the Dragash house, an imposing brownstone in a pricey neighborhood, then up the fire escape of the commercial building across the street. From his position on the roof, he had a good view of the front entrance, the one he had determined that his target always used. The house appeared to be less busy than when he had watched it earlier - likely his target wasn’t yet home. Quickly assembling his rifle, he settled down to wait for as long as necessary.

*****

Sara woke with a start, with no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. Only after a long minute did she recognize her darkened bedroom and remember Ian pinning her down, pressing her to the bed.

She rolled over and stared toward the ceiling. She had thrown things at him. Again, she had tried to hurt him when she had never done that before. She didn’t want to hurt him, yet she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself.

In her head, Sara carefully played back what had happened earlier. She had been staring at the Witchblade on her wrist, sitting on the couch when Ian had come up behind her. She thought he had said something to her, then he had reached out to her mind, startling her into standing up. She had been annoyed, then suddenly, without warning, she was furious. Everything was kind of fuzzy after that until Ian had grabbed her, when things started to come into focus again.

Ian was right. She wasn’t acting like herself. Besides the fact that she would never purposely try to injure him, it wasn’t like her to sit around feeling sorry for herself for being suspended. She should be out there fighting Dante instead of sitting in the house crying and whining.

Filled with determination, she sat up and the world spun. Taking deep breaths, she waited until everything was still, then stood up.

Then ran for the bathroom.

A few minutes later, she rinsed her mouth out and avoided looking at her face in the mirror. She knew she looked like crap and didn’t need to be reminded of it. At least she felt better … physically, anyway. Her head still felt fuzzy, but at least she didn’t feel like throwing up any more.

She came out of the bathroom and was stumbling toward the couch when Kali slunk in front of her, whining. The puppy took a few steps toward the door, then turned and whined at Sara again. She might never have had a dog before, but Sara wasn’t stupid. She knew what that meant.

"Do you need to go outside?" she asked and before she had even finished the question, Kali sprinted for the door and waited attentively, tongue lolling and tail quivering.

A quick visual and mental scan of the apartment revealed no Ian, so Sara would have to take Kali out herself, even though she wasn’t sure she ought to be navigating the stairs in her current state. Sara followed the dog to the door, and clipped the leash to the puppy’s collar. She grabbed her keys, then let them out of the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind her. Stretching to the end of her leash, Kali pulled her down the stairs and nosed open the front door. Sara’s head spun as she followed the dog, but she managed to keep upright.

Once outside, Sara leaned against the building wall and shivered in the cold while Kali sniffed first one direction down the sidewalk, then the other. She came back to sniff at Sara once before finally picking a direction and sniffing as far away as her leash would allow.

"Come on, hurry it up," Sara said, wrapping her arms around herself. "It’s freezing out here."

Kali headed back toward her, then, with a sudden lunge, darted away, ripping the leash from Sara’s hands. Almost before Sara could even realize what had happened, the dog was down the block and out of sight.

Ian was going to kill her.

*****

A long low black car drove up to the front of the house and Ian pulled the rifle to his shoulder. The deepening twilight posed no difficulties to Ian’s superior vision, and he aimed the rifle over the roof of the car toward the front door. His target then surprised him by getting out of the side of the car closest to him. He was even more surprised when she looked straight at him.

With a speed almost as fast as Ian’s, Marina Dragash jumped back in the car, while two bodyguards ran toward the building he was on. Dropping the rifle, Ian sprinted to the fire escape, only to find a thug already climbing it. Spinning, he found another standing nonchalantly at the door leading down the stairs.

Edging backward, Ian calculated the jump to the ground. It was about eight stories, one floor higher than he’d tried before. However, with the alternative being taken by the Dragash men and probably never living to see Sara again, it was a risk he was willing to take.

Ian’s heels bumped against the low wall that marked the edge of the roof. The second man was on the roof now, and both of them were advancing toward him. They didn’t have their guns out, but Ian knew they would be armed. Ian had stupidly only brought the rifle, no handgun. He was getting careless.

He stepped up on the wall behind him and was preparing to spin and jump when his name was called out.

"Ian Nottingham!" His intended target stepped from the stairwell and walked unconcernedly toward him. "Get down from there before you hurt yourself." She stepped in between her enforcers, and jerked her head toward the stairwell. They backed off. "If you come down from there, I promise not to kill you, though I have every right."

"If I jump, you won’t even have the opportunity," Ian pointed out.

"Look down."

Ian glanced over his shoulder. Four men stood beneath him, waiting. When he looked back to the roof, Marina stood only inches from him, her hand out.

"Come," she said.

Ignoring her hand, Ian stepped down. He was surrounded.

*****

Sara pounded back up the stairs. She needed to find her set of van keys so she could find the dog. She could take the Buell, but she didn’t think Kali would be willing to ride it. If she didn’t get that puppy back, she was going to end up hurting Ian more than physically this time.

As she rummaged through the drawer by the door, her cell phone rang in the pocket of her jacket on the hook. Snagging it, she flipped it open and held it to her ear as she continued looking for the keys.

"Yeah," she said.

"Hey, Sara, what’s up?" Jake’s voice asked.

"I lost Ian’s dog, that’s what’s up." She found the keys. Grabbing her jacket, she swung it over her shoulder.

"Do you need some help finding it?"

"Her, and no, I’ve got it covered." Sara barreled down the back stairs and into the alley. She looked around and found the van missing. "Damn it!"

"What?! What’s wrong?" Jake demanded.

"Nothing. Nothing you can help with." Sara sat down on the back stoop and put her head in her hands. "What did you call about, Jake?"

"Well, I meant to tell you yesterday, when Vik and I stopped by …" His voice trailed off uncertainly. "That, uh, the woman you … shot. Some guys came down with Captain Dante and took the body."

"What?! You didn’t tell me this?" Sara snapped. "Did Vicky get an I.D. at least?"

"No. And they didn’t do the autopsy, either."

"Wait a minute." Sara lifted her head up. "You mean there’s no body, no identification, no cause of death?"

"Yeah," Jake said, sounding confused.

Sara laughed.

"And Dante thinks his charges can still stick?" Sara stood up with a smile. "Thanks. Look, I’ve got to go find Kali before Ian gets home. I’ll call you later, OK?"

Sara snapped the phone shut without waiting for a goodbye, then headed down the street in the direction Kali had run. As she did, she opened the phone again and dialed the precinct. When she got through, she was sent straight to Dante’s line.

"Hey, Captain, what’s up?" she asked when he answered.

"Detective Pezzini." Sara rolled her eyes as he deliberately mangled her name, as usual. "Did you call to tender your resignation? Please say yes."

"Actually, Captain, I called to tell you that you’re screwed. You have no case with that body gone." She smiled grimly. "I hope whoever it was gave you a lot, because you lost the perfect chance to get me fired."

There was silence. Sara stopped at a street and looked both ways before deciding that, at the speed Kali had been running, she had intended on going in a straight line. It wasn’t until Sara crossed the street that Dante spoke again.

"You better watch your back, Pezzini," he said, his voice low. "The woman you shot was very powerful. I’ll reinstate you, but I don’t think you’re going to last very long."

There was a click and Sara snapped her phone shut. Tossing it up in the air and catching it, she laughed.

She finally felt good. Her head was clear, and she was actually a little hungry. Maybe whatever had been wrong with her was just stress. She still felt guilty over killing an innocent woman, but she could work through that. Guilt was an unfortunate part of the job as a homicide detective, and she would just have to handle it. She couldn’t wait to tell Ian that she was in the clear.

Ian.

Kali.

He was still going to be upset if she didn’t find the dog. Looking down at the Witchblade on her wrist, she urged it to work.

"Come on, just help me find the dog," she pleaded. "I’ll polish you up really nice, I swear."

Sara gasped as the Witchblade flared to life.

Ian, his eyes wide, the tip of a knife pressed against his throat.

Sara grabbed a pole next to her for support as her knees buckled.

"That’s not the dog," she gasped.

*****

Ian tried not to move. Every muscle in his body screamed out for him to attack, but he stood perfectly still, his eyes focused on a point in the air two feet past Marina’s shoulder. He would have dropped his eyes to the floor but unexpected pride - and the stiletto at his neck - prevented that. At a slight pressure against his jugular, he felt his eyes widen, but he remained still.

Coming down from the roof, she had linked her arm though his, chatting all the while about nothing in particular: the weather, a new restaurant, a shopping trip she had been on. Ian hadn’t been fooled; her men surrounded them, and Marina herself radiated power and strength of a type he’d never encountered before. The danger she represented was considerable, and Ian didn’t trust her promise not to kill him.

The sumptuous room they’d ended up in was one that his former master would have appreciated, all dark wood and burgundy brocade; a hot huge fire burning in a grated fireplace provided the only light in the room. Her men had left them alone, and Marina had closed the door with a predatory smile.

The thin knife had appeared in her hand from seemingly nowhere, though Ian suspected an arm sheath. She had silently circled him several times before stopping in front of him and running the point of the knife up his chest to his throat.

"Take off your coat," Marina finally said.

Still without making eye contact, Ian shrugged out of his coat and let it drop to the floor. He’d seen Irons in moods like this before and knew better than to argue. He didn’t like it, but he knew that his only chance of making it through this was quiescence. Though he was out of practice and his newly-developed pride smarted at it, he had more important things to consider: getting back to Sara, for one.

"I was just talking to Kenneth about you today, Ian." Marina’s conversational tone was belied by the knife still at his throat. "He professed affection toward you." She walked around him, kicking his coat out of the way, the knife point never straying from a potentially lethal spot. "I’m not sure I believed him."

Ian didn’t believe him either, but he wasn’t going to volunteer that. He had little doubt that it was only Irons’ influence that was keeping him alive at the moment. Marina Dragash would have instantly disposed of anyone else attempting to assassinate her.

"I think, though," she said, moving back to stand in front of him, "That there’s indeed something special about you that he wants. What is that? I know what he wants from that Witchblade Wielder, but what from you?" When Ian didn’t answer, Marina dragged the point of the knife down his chest, splitting open the thin t-shirt he wore. "Maybe I’ll just have to find out."

*****

Sara threw open her mind and scanned her mental map of the city for Ian. When a quick search revealed him nowhere, she closed off her mind again. Panicking was not going to help. Ian had badgered her into learning how to focus her mind, and she needed to do that now.

Consciously slowing her breathing and closing her eyes, Sara slowly relaxed her mental walls. Ian’s mind, which seemed to her like a bright point of light in all-encompassing blackness, hovered about a mile away. Turning to face that direction, she held onto the feeling of Ian’s location and opened her eyes. The light faded in her mind, but she knew without a doubt, exactly where he was.

It was getting darker and she really didn’t relish the walk in the cold to wherever it was a mile away. She still was a little shaky on her feet from not eating for a couple days, and she probably was going to need whatever energy she had for when she got wherever she was going. She could head back home and get the bike, but that was two blocks in the opposite direction. She needed to get there now.

Scanning the street around her, her eyes fell on an old Chevy Nova parked in an alley. Walking over, she discovered the car to be empty. Checking that she was unobserved, she urged the Witchblade to life, picturing in her mind the thin knife form that she wanted.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," she muttered to herself as she slipped the Blade down the window and into the door.

With a quiet click, the lock popped open. Yanking open the car door, she hopped in and shut it behind her. The interior reeked of marijuana smoke, but she didn’t really care at the moment. Sara snapped off the cover of the steering column and retracted the Blade before she pawed through the mass of wires. It had been a long time, but it only took her a few seconds to find the right ones and spark the car to life. She put the car into reverse and backed out of the alley.

Driving slowly, she followed her memory of Ian’s location. Several times she had to back out of blind alleys or go the long way around, and, after ten minutes, she was only about halfway to her goal. She would have been better off walking after all. As she sat at yet another stoplight, her eyes drifted to the side of the road.

A white dog - Kali - trotted down the sidewalk, the end of her leash in her mouth. Suddenly, she stopped, looked around, then darted to a nearby fire hydrant. She dropped the loop of the leash over the top knob of the hydrant, sat down, wagged her tail, and looked expectantly toward the door of a nearby convenience store. A police car rounded the corner, and, as it passed, Kali tracked it down the street. When it was out of sight, the dog plucked the leash from the hydrant and continued on her way.

Sara stared after her. She hadn’t just seen that. It was impossible.

*****

Jake drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. That had not been Sara’s car that he had just seen her driving. He had been on his way over to help her look for the dog when he had spotted the Chevy at an intersection, being honked at by a long line of irate New York drivers. The car had started with a lurch and, as it passed him, he’d recognized Sara’s frowning face.

Making a decision, he swung his car around in the middle of the street, gaining his own herd of honking cars. Jake swerved around cars until there was only one between him and Sara. Grabbing his cell phone, he swung wide to catch a look at her license plate.

*****

Ian didn’t flinch, even as he felt the knife break the skin. He’d endured far worse over the last ten years; Marina would have to have a pretty good imagination to top Irons’. As she reached his waistband, she stopped, only then reaching up to snag the shirt’s uncut collar. She pulled down, and Ian let his face be drawn toward hers. In spite of himself, he closed his eyes.

Her breath was hot on his cheek as she dragged the knife back up his torso, adding another thin line of pain to the first. With a jerk, he felt the collar part, leaving his chest exposed to hot air of the room. He was glad his training had worn off, that he was no longer horrified by the idea of anyone seeing his body; that would have made this excruciating rather than just uncomfortable and intimidating.

She released him, and he stood up straight, but not too quickly. He didn’t want her to know how unnerved he was by her. He opened his eyes again, resuming his focus past her.

"Hm …" She tapped his pectoral muscles with the point of the stiletto. "I’m surprised that woman of yours lets you out of the house." She leaned close to him and breathed in deeply. "Or maybe she doesn’t know what she’s missing, yes?" She took a step closer to him, the silk of her blouse brushing against his bare chest. "I think that’s it. Mmmm, yes." She laid her hands against his abdomen, and his muscles involuntarily tightened at her touch. "What a waste." She leaned even closer to him, her lips nearly brushing his shoulder. "Whatever shall I do about that?"

Ian was about to respond - say something, anything, to distract this woman - when he felt the feather light touch that was Sara’s mind searching for his. She was gone too quickly for him to divine any intention, but he dared not risk the diversion of his attention by reaching out to her. He wanted to warn her not to come. Not to risk herself by walking into a danger he hadn’t warned her against. She was in no state to stand up to anyone, let alone Marina Dragash. Sara would come to harm, and it would be his fault.

Ian wasn’t stupid. He knew what Marina wanted from him. He didn’t desire this woman, beautiful though she was, but that didn’t matter. His body reacted to her, wanted her, if not his mind, and he had spent his entire life lying - that would be enough. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Once his head was empty, he opened his eyes and looked down at Marina.

"Whatever you want," he said.

*****

With a snarl, Sara pulled the car over to the side of the street and slammed it into park. Traffic was insane and she felt like she was driving around in circles. In her head, she could see the straight line of where she needed to go, but none of the street signs to get there. She was wasting time and would be better off on foot.

Since it seemed to be working again, Sara rubbed the always warm stone of the Witchblade and urged it to show her Ian.

Kali hesitated at the corner of the brick wall, pulling back suddenly when a shadow passed behind one of the curtained windows.

First it showed her Ian when she was looking for the dog, then it showed her the dog when she was looking for Ian. Did this stupid thing have its wires crossed or something? Sara frowned and the Witchblade showed her again.

Kali hesitated at the corner of the brick wall, pulling back suddenly when a shadow passed behind one of the curtained windows.

The Witchblade had never repeated a vision to her. What was so important about this? She paused, replaying the feel of it, rather than the actual image in her head.

Kali was where Ian was.

She had already guessed that the big white puppy wasn’t exactly what she seemed - maybe she was a super-smart experimental dog like in that Dean Koontz book - but it seemed a little far-fetched that Kali was headed after Ian. Or was it? That dog loved Ian, Sara had to admit that, and the pup had not liked Sara hurting him. Did she know that Ian was in danger, too?

"What’s that, Kali? Ian fell down the well?" she muttered to herself.

Whatever it was, she could figure it out later. If to find Ian she had to find Kali, then that was what she would do.

She shoved open the car door and stood up. Her way was blocked by a familiar denim jacket.

"Did you know that car was just reported stolen?" Jake asked her.

Sara frowned. That was quick; she’d only stolen it twenty minutes ago. Someone must have seen her.

"Look, Jake, I don’t have time right now." She tried to step past him, but he blocked her way. "Really. Jake. Now is not a good time."

"You stole a car to look for a dog?" he asked, his disbelief evident.

Sara tried to count to ten. She made it as far as three.

"Should I be investigating you?" Jake’s tone was as nasty as she’d ever heard it.

The Witchblade hissed at her.

Ian’s familiar mind: Fear. No. No. No.

"Jake McCartey, if you don’t get out of my way right now, you’re going to regret it," she growled, and she shoved the arm with the Witchblade behind her. "I don’t have the time or the patience right now."

"You can’t keep hiding stuff from me, Sara." Jake grabbed her shoulders. "We’re partners and we need to act like it."

Sara resisted the urge to rip Jake’s hands off at the wrists. He was just worried about her and wanted to help. Fine. Then he could help.

"Come with me," she said, and carefully ducked out from under his hands.

"Where?"

She closed her eyes for a second to regain her sense of direction, then pointed down the street.

"That way."

*****

"You don’t really mean that." Marina ran her hands up his chest. "I can tell."

Ian reached up and pressed her hands to him, and tried to look as sincere as possible as his heart pounded wildly. He had no idea how to seduce this woman, and he was unaccountably afraid.

"Whatever you want," he repeated.

Marina stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his ear as she spoke. "I can smell the fear on you … I like it."

This was going to hurt, Ian realized. He recognized the predatory tone in her voice, but it was mixed with a playful one that frightened him more. This was a woman who would hurt him just for entertainment. He clamped down on his emotions, unwilling to give her that sort of satisfaction.

"I think this is going to be fun," she whispered.

*****

Jake followed Sara as she backtracked out of a dead-end alley. She acted like she knew where she was going, but had no idea how to get there. This was the third time that they’d had to find an alternate route. He had been patient up until now, but he wasn’t going to be anymore. Besides, he was really beginning to worry about Sara’s state of mind.

He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.

"Sara, will you please tell me what’s going on?"

She tried half-heartedly to pull out of his grip, then shrugged her shoulders at him. She frowned, then appeared to come to a decision.

"Ian’s in trouble. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but I know that something is," she said.

Jake let go of her arm, and Sara immediately started walking again. He caught up to her.

"Why don’t you just call it in?" Jake asked. "Sara, get help here!"

"I don’t know exactly where he is," she said, and turned a corner. "I mean, I know, but I don’t know the address." She stopped for a moment, closed her eyes, then opened them and continued walking. "I know that sounds weird, but … it’s true."

She was right, it sounded weird. Also a little crazy.

"How do you know where he is? Did he call you? Give you a description of the place?"

"Uh … no. I just know where he is, OK?" Stopping at an intersection, she turned to him. "If I try to explain it, I’m going to sound nuts, so just take my word for it."

"No." Jake said firmly. "Not anymore. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on. You can trust me, Sara. I trust you."

He did. She knew his biggest secret and had never told anyone, not even when he had betrayed her. Jake was trusting her with his very life, and the least she could do was be honest with him here.

Sara shook her head and crossed the street as soon as the traffic let up. He jogged after her.

"Please, Sara."

She sighed and kept walking. After nearly a minute of silence, she spoke.

"Ian and I have this … connection - I don’t know exactly how it works - that lets us know where the other one is, and sometimes what the other one’s thinking and feeling." She glanced at him, then looked quickly away. "Hell, I may as well tell you everything, since you’re not going to believe me anyway." She held up her arm. "This bracelet? It’s a magical weapon called the Witchblade. It changes shapes, gives me visions, that sort of stuff."

Jake’s mouth fell open. She really was crazy.

*****

Sara felt surprisingly relieved to have finally told someone about the Witchblade. Jake wasn’t going to buy that, of course, but just to have said the words out loud was an amazing weight off of her shoulders.

"Uh … You’re kidding, right?" Jake said from beside her. "Are you feeling OK?"

"I feel better than I have in days." Sara smiled. "And I’m not kidding."

She paused for a second to get her bearings, then turned a corner. She was almost there now, she could feel it. She reached out to Ian, but couldn’t feel him. She tried not to worry; he was probably just keep