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Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter Three
by Lianne Burwell
May 2001
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As soon as the sun was down, they were up and on their way. Mac 
would have liked to laze around in bed for an hour or two, maybe 
indulge in a marathon bout of mind-blowing sex, but he knew 
better. Although she'd appeared calm and cool that morning, the 
Director obviously wanted this killer stopped and fast. Hell, 
after seeing the photos, so did Mac.

Anyway, under the circumstances, putting on a show for the 
inevitable surveillance cameras would just piss her off. He'd 
only seen her pissed off a couple of times before, and on one of 
those occasions she'd actually *shot* at him. He didn't want 
repeat.

So they'd showered together instead. He'd sucked Vic off, 
enjoying the flavor of the man the way he enjoyed nothing else -- 
except, maybe, the taste of blood -- these days. Then Vic had 
jerked him off while whispering dirty tales of what he was going 
to do to Mac when they had the time to do things right. In fact, 
it was the voice more than the hands that had gotten him off. 
Then they'd dressed, downed some 'breakfast' and headed out the 
door.

"So," Mac said as they climbed into Vic's car. "Got any ideas on 
how we should go on this?"

Vic tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, an indication of 
deep though in the man. The voice of a CBC news reporter was 
droning on from the radio in the background. "First we need a 
cover," he said. "The cops are going to be all over this one and 
if they see us popping up, they're going to get suspicious."

"And no chance that they'll miss seeing you, ex-cop and all," Mac 
pointed out.

"Exactly," Vic said. Mac noticed that the man's voice hid none of 
the bitterness it would have just a year ago. In the aftermath of 
the police scandal the year before when a dealer who got religion 
decided to expose his dealings with the Narcotics squad, proof 
had been found that the squad leader, Joe McDowell, had framed 
Vic because he thought the man was going to expose them. Vic's 
conviction had been quietly overturned, clearing his name.

Vic had accepted the very non-public apology -- a public one 
would have just stirred up the press again -- then had gone back 
to work even though the Director's hold over him was gone. When 
Mac had broached the subject Vic had shrugged and said that he 
didn't really have anything else to do.

"So, an ex-cop and an ex-thief working together, showing up at 
scenes related to a series of murders. What possible reason could 
we have?" Mac mused. Then he grinned. "Private eyes!" he crowed.

"Hired by one of the families unsatisfied with the progress of 
the police investigation." Vic chewed on his lower lip for a 
moment. "Corinne Hamilton's father is CEO of a corporation that 
does a lot of business with the Agency."

"Right," Mac said and pulled out his cell-phone. Unfortunately, 
Dobrinsky answered at the other end instead of the Director, but 
he said that he would see to it that James Hamilton backed up 
their cover and that the paperwork proving that they were 
licensed investigators would be taken care of.

Hell, knowing the Agency the paperwork was probably already in 
place, dated years earlier. Still, it meant that all they had to 
do was drop by the Agency at some point to pick up the necessary 
IDs.

Mac was nearly rubbing his hands with glee at the thought. 
Growing up, he'd loved the hard-boiled detective novels and 
movies. He had always wanted to be Sam Spade, cool and debonair, 
a gorgeous blonde on his arm. Okay, the blonde was out, but he 
did have Vic.

"Okay, so now we have our cover. Where do we start?" They all had 
their strengths and Vic's was the investigative side. Mac didn't 
mind admitting that, since his niche was the break and enter 
while LiAnn usually handled the undercover work. Jackie's role on 
the team hadn't been nailed down yet, but while he still wasn't 
too crazy about the blonde, he had to admit that her knowledge of 
the North American crime world beat his own, although he could 
outdo her when it came to Asia and Europe.

"Well, since Hamilton's going to play ball, let's start at his 
daughter's apartment. The deaths were each a week apart, so maybe 
the killer 'courts' his victims first."

"The cops didn't find anything," Mac pointed out.

"Yeah, but she was first, so they probably wouldn't have been 
quite as thorough as at the later sites."

"You hope."

"You got a better idea?"

Mac shook his head, holding up his hands in surrender. "You're 
the boss," he said.

Vic just grinned.

>>>~~~<<<

They decided to go straight to the apartment instead of detouring 
out of their way to the Agency to pick up those IDs and the 
apartment key. Instead, Mac pulled out his lockpick set and 
exercised the skills that *he* brought to the team. It wasn't 
much of a challenge, so it only took him a couple of seconds to 
pop the lock.

Even though Corinne had been dead for about a month now, her 
apartment looked as if she'd just left it. Assuming, of course, 
that you ignored a few smears of fingerprint powder here and 
there. Other than that, it looked as if it had just been cleaned. 
Someone had been here after the police gone through. Vic assumed 
that Daddy Hamilton had arranged that.

Vic started by doing a walk-through the apartment, trying to get 
a feel for it and its former owner. Mac watch from the entryway 
with a slightly bemused expression, but Vic ignored him for the 
moment. This was the sort of thing he'd been working his way up 
to when his brothers in blue had decided to frame him. Patrol, 
Vice, Narcotics. After that it would have been Robbery, probably, 
then either Homicide or Major Crimes, the last being the place he 
wanted to be.

Well, he certainly dealt with major crimes now, just from outside 
official channels.

The expensive computer on the corner desk was his first stop. It 
had a modem, so he dialed up the Agency server and started 
transferring everything on the machine. Computer experts would 
check the files and filter out anything not related to the case.

Next, the bedroom. Corinne had a taste for expensive toiletries 
and clothing that looked like they came from a thrift store, it 
seemed. She also had an interesting selection of sex toys in her 
bedside table, he noted. Either she didn't bring anyone home or 
her partners had... interesting tastes.

The bathroom was pretty much the same, so he moved to join Mac 
who was going through the living room. "Find anything 
interesting?" he asked.

"A lot of junk mail and art supplies," Mac said. He held up a 
watercolor nightscape that matched the view from the balcony. 
"Not bad, but I hope she wasn't planning on a career as an 
artist," he said critically.

Vic shook his head. "Advertising," he said, not bothering to 
point out that the information had been in the folders they were 
given. "She was supposed to graduate next year."

Mac shrugged. "She had a good eye, at least." He put the painting 
down and moved to the kitchen while Vic sorted through the mail 
that had already been opened, then piled on the coffee table. 
Bills, bills and more bills, as well as the junk mail Mac had 
referred to, but nothing personal.

"So, last night..." he called out casually.

"Hmm? Oh right, that." Mac reappeared in the doorway. "There 
isn't really much to tell. Ever since that incident with *her*," 
he didn't need to say who, "I've been trying to learn more about 
Gypsies. *She* implied that my mother was one, and that the 
Ravnos were too, and since the Director hasn't exactly been 
forthcoming, especially about just what a Ravnos is, I figured I 
better find out on my own. And my mother... Anyway, that's what 
I've been doing in my spare time and last night it seemed like 
I'd hit paydirt, but I got beeped before I could learn much. 
Still, it's a start and I plan to go back."

Vic blinked, a little surprised. He hadn't realized that Mac was 
even interested in that sort of thing. He knew the basics about 
the Gangrel himself, mainly about the specialized abilities and 
weaknesses of the clan, but he had no interest in learning more. 
Considering what he'd seen of Moira and her "people," not 
learning more seemed like a good idea.

"Okay, finding more about the Ravnos makes sense," he said 
slowly. "After all, who knows what pitfalls there might be." Like 
the narrow pupils that he now saw whenever he looked in the 
mirror. They'd been like that ever since his fight with Katya; 
the 'she' that Mac refused to name. It was a weird look that 
strangely didn't bother him and which Mac just thought were sexy. 
"But your mother?" All Vic knew about the woman was that she was 
dead.

Mac looked down at his feet and scuffed at the carpet with one of 
them. "How much do you know about your parents?"

"Too much," Vic said with a snort. A controlling father and a 
distant mother, he hadn't seen them since he'd left home to join 
the Police Academy and he liked it that way.

"Yeah, well I can't exactly say the same." Mac sighed softly, 
then grinned wryly. "Okay, maybe about my dad, but hey, I've only 
seen him a handful of times in the last decade, usually when he 
wanted help with some con, but my mom, she died when I was still 
a kid. I don't really remember much about her. I want to know 
something about her. Maybe that will make her feel, I dunno, 
closer?"

Vic moved to stand in front of Mac, pulled by the sadness in the 
young man's voice. He wiped away one pink-tinged tear from Mac's 
cheek. "You've never mentioned this before."

"Usually I try not to think about it," Mac said with a small, 
bitter laugh. "After all, she's dead and I don't even know where 
she's buried."

Vic kissed him softly, responding to the pain in his voice. "If 
you need any help, let me know," he said.

"I will," Mac said, then turned back to his search, his cocky 
mask back in place, and Vic knew that he wouldn't. Despite their 
relationship and the bond that had grown between them over the 
years, Mac was still a very private person. Not to mention 
independent. Asking for help would be a last resort.

He should have seen it coming, he realized. If there was one 
driving force behind Mac his entire life it was family, probably 
because of how many families he'd lost. LiAnn had pointed it out 
to him more than once. Mac's dad pops up with a crazy scheme and 
nearly sucks Mac in. Mac turning frantic when the man disappears 
and he thinks he's dying. Mac risking his life to reconcile with 
Old Man Tang. Mac's failed attempt to get married. Everything in 
an attempt to recover a family.

And was it really any different from Vic's need to feel part of a 
team? He'd risked death and worse himself for that.

Vic returned to his own search, determined that he would support 
Mac in this, even if he could only do so by being there for the 
younger man.

"Hey! Vic!"

"Yeah?" Vic called back from the bookcase where he was checking 
titles and flipping through volumes looking for notes. Like the 
sex toys in the bedroom, the books indicated that Corinne's good-
girl appearance was only skin deep, if that.

"Take a look at *this*."

Vic moved into the kitchen. Mac had found a tall, thin drawer 
that filled the space between the stove and main cabinet. In a 
lot of space-conscious homes and apartments, that space was used 
for holding cookie sheets and the like. Corinne, it seemed, used 
it for something else.

Mac was pulling out boards, the type used by artists for pencil 
and pastel drawings. He felt around inside to make sure that he'd 
found everything, then slid the drawer shut. It had been cleverly 
designed so that it was nearly invisible when closed.

They set the drawings out on the counter and kitchen table. Mac 
whistled softly. "She drew people better than she did 
landscapes," he said, and Vic had to agree.

Of course, the subject matter was... interesting. Some people 
kept photos of their conquests. Corinne, it seemed, drew them. 
There was a baker's dozen of portraits. Very *intimate* 
portraits. Each of a different person; nine men and four women. 
They ranged from the discrete -- a young man sleeping angelically 
on what was recognizably Corinne's bed, the tangled sheet doing 
little to disguise his nudity -- to the outré -- another man, 
pierced in ways that made Vic wince, tied up so tightly that you 
could almost see the bruises forming, with a trickle of blood 
starting at the corner of his mouth and a wild grin on his face 
as he stared intently off the page.

Mac was checking the dates and names on the back of each board. 
"This one was done three days before her death," he said. "No 
name, though." He turned it over and gasped.

Vic's eyes widened too at the almost familiar features. At first 
glance he could have sworn that he was looking at a picture of 
their absent partner, the woman both he and Mac had been in love 
with.

LiAnn Tsei.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac stared at the portrait, fascinated in spite of himself. He 
reached out to touch the familiar features in front of him, then 
stopped himself before he could smudge the delicate pencil 
markings on the smooth board. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Weird," Vic said, echoing Mac's thoughts. The skin between his 
eyebrows was wrinkled in a most appealing way as he started at 
the portrait. It made Mac want to reach over and smooth it out.

"You don't think it *is* her, do you?" he asked a little 
uncertainly.

Vic shook his head. "You've known her longer than I have. Have 
you ever seen LiAnn looking like *that*?"

"Point taken. But, it sure *looks* like her, doesn't it?"

The only reply was a soft grunt. It *was* uncanny, though. Like 
the others, the portrait was almost photographic in quality. It 
was the image of a woman who could have been LiAnn's identical 
twin. She was sitting cross-legged on a bed, completely 
unconcerned by her nudity. That was the first clue that it 
couldn't be LiAnn, since the woman he knew was far too demure to 
display herself so unashamedly.

The next clue was the large tattoo that stretched across her 
chest; the image of a Chinese dragon, depicted in great detail, 
with the head falling on one bicep, the tail curling around the 
other arm all the way down to her wrist and the main body 
covering her upper chest with the claws of two feet clutched 
around her nipples. It was an incredible piece of work, assuming 
that it hadn't been added to the picture out of the artist's 
fevered imagination.

The final clue was the hungry expression in her eyes, so 
completely unlike LiAnn. They seemed to glow on the page, ready 
to devour the viewer. It wasn't just uncanny, it was disturbing.

"I wonder who she is," Mac said softly, turning the board over to 
look at the back again. Every other portrait had both a name and 
a date on it. This one only had a date.

"I don't know, but I plan on finding out," Vic said. "And it that 
doesn't look like Corinne's bedroom either, so where might be a 
good question too." He started piling the portraits up, 
organizing them in chronological order. Then he went looking for 
something to put them in.

Mac stayed in the kitchen, considering the new puzzle they'd been 
presented with. The resemblance to their absent partner was 
probably pure coincidence, but deep down, he had the feeling that 
there was more to it than that.

Much more.

>>>~~~<<<

Life was good, as far as Khalil was concerned. He'd been living 
in Toronto for three months now and he was enjoying himself 
immensely. He'd been looking forward to this for years, dreaming 
of it, planning what he would do.

His parents had wanted him to go to a school closer to home, but 
he'd convinced them that the University of Toronto was the best 
school for him. As their first-born son, how could they deny him 
the best? And so, his parents had reluctantly agreed.

And it *was* an excellent school. But the best thing about it was 
the fact that it was far enough from home that he could only be 
expected to return for the Christmas holidays and the summer. As 
well, his parents were unlikely to appear for an unannounced 
visit. He'd even convinced them to let him come for the summer 
term, although he would be expected to go home next summer. 
Getting a head start on his degree work being the reason he had 
given them.

So he was finally free! Free of the demands of his family, the 
expectations of his community, the rules of his heritage. Free to 
experience all that life had to offer and which had been 
forbidden before.

Experience number one had been alcohol, and he had discovered 
that he could live without it. Not because of religion or 
anything: He just didn't like it. The euphoria wasn't worth the 
taste of the beer before and the pain of the hangover after. No, 
the interdiction against alcohol he could accept.

But that left plenty of vices to indulge in. Dancing was 
forbidden by his parents, so here he was at a dance club, on a 
school night, no less. His first trip, he'd just watched. Then 
he'd gone back to the tiny apartment he would be sharing once the 
fall term started, locked the doors and practiced what he'd seen. 
The next night, he had danced the night away. He loved it.

Sex was turning out to be a little trickier. Being a nineteen 
year old virgin might be fine and dandy back in the old country, 
but as far as Khalil was concerned, it was a brand of shame. A 
stigma that he wanted to get rid of as quickly as possible.

But he couldn't exactly go up to a girl and ask her to sleep with 
him without being slapped or worse, laughed at, so he still 
hadn't come up with a way of losing his shameful virginity. He 
could always go out and find a prostitute, but it was a 
distasteful thought, even without the threat of disease.

Khalil danced his way across the floor, enjoying the way that the 
music's beat made his bones vibrate. He let it drive his 
movements while he scanned the crowd. He saw some familiar faces 
among the unfamiliar. A few classmates, here and there. Some 
others that he saw only at the clubs. Familiar faces for which he 
knew very few names.

Then a new face caught his attention, making his breath catch. 
She was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Slim and 
graceful as she danced. She was Chinese or something, although he 
couldn't really be sure. Oriental, certainly. Her perfectly 
curved body was tightly hugged by red leather and black silk. She 
was the perfect example of the bad girl he'd always been warned 
about.

He started to drift towards her, completely hypnotized by the way 
she moved. Amazingly, she seemed to be alone, no one else paying 
any attention to her. How could someone so incredible be ignored 
completely?

Then she turned and their eyes met. Khalil stopped dead in his 
tracks, stunned by the promise in those dark, almond-shaped eyes. 
Her lips, painted a dark red to match the leather, curved into a 
cool smile. She continued to dance, but she never broke eye 
contact. To Khalil, it seemed like she was dancing just for him.

His cock was painfully hard in his jeans, making a bulge that 
would be obvious to anyone who cared to look. No one did. He 
might as well have been invisible to everyone except the 
mysterious beauty.

Gradually, her eyes warmed until he felt as if he was going to 
melt. She started to move away, the crowd parting easily before 
her, but her eyes never left him. She quirked a finger and he 
followed. It was like he was on a leash, incapable of *not* 
following.

He followed her into the back corridor, past the bathrooms and 
the chatting men and women there, down the hall to the emergency 
exit and out into the night.

END CHAPTER THREE