Raymond Leon slowed his cruiser as he passed through the forbidding entrance to Zone 4, allowing the vehicle's automated toll system to grant him access, and the pleasant female voice greeted him. "Welcome to New Greenwich."

It never got old to him; the thrill of crossing over into Zone 4 free of charge, unimpeded, unquestioned. Even after the passing of the decades, there yet lingered the strangely satisfying feeling that he was getting away with something, and he smirked faintly to himself. The freedom of movement that timekeepers enjoyed was beyond price. And tonight, he would use that freedom - and a little free time - to take a special detour.

The well-landscaped streets were festooned with holiday lighting, a stunning galaxy of opulent cheer in stark contrast to Zone 12, where darkness ruled the night. Leon grunted to himself at the observational reminder - it had been a while since his last visit to New Greenwich, as evidenced by the fact that he'd not yet seen this year's seasonal display. But a visit was long overdue.

In the distance, fireworks suddenly bloomed as a silent and brilliant red flower, and after a few heartbeats, the corresponding boom reached his ears. Then more: a profusion of white explosions and another delayed smattering of staccato popping, so very like gunshots; a sound utterly out of place in New Greenwich.

Midnight.

Happy New Year, Leon cheered himself, and slowed the cruiser… no use reaching his destination too soon.

Finding a decent vantage point on a rolling, picturesque hill, Leon pulled over and threw the cruiser into park. Leaning back indolently in his seat, he lowered his window all the way, slung a careless arm atop the doorframe, and inhaled deeply - even the air was better in Zone 12, cold though it was tonight. He spat his gum into the darkness, then turned his attention to the Zone spread out in twinkling holiday glory below… and the spectacular pyrotechnic display in the sky over Phillippe Weis's home.

Like everything Weis did, the fireworks were meant to impress - they continued for more than forty gaudy minutes, and Leon imagined the spoiled guests becoming bored, as they did with everything, or growing stiff necks as punishment for their extended polite attention. He chuckled wryly to himself, though his own edginess was beginning to prod him. Never a man to remain in one place for long, Leon resented the extensive show taking place. It was holding him back from his objective. He tapped his fingers irritably on the steering wheel and heaved an impatient sigh… and just then, there was an undeniable climax of color and light; a final flurry of thudding booms rolled over the hill and vibrated the car's doorframe under his forearm.

It was over.

A monstrous pall of smoke lingered over the Weis residence in the distance; the new silence was sweet excitement.

At his urging, the cruiser bounded out of its waiting spot and back onto the road, a fleet accomplice every bit as sleek, dark and relentless as its driver. Leon's pulse quickened, his eyes dilated slightly at the thrill of the chase begun.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Any trouble, Mr. Leon?" The security guard leaned out of his booth slightly, looked behind Leon's cruiser, expecting reinforcements. Seeing none, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Not at all," Leon assured him confidently. "Just making a late appearance at the festivities." He smiled easily. It wasn't precisely a lie.

"Well, you just missed the fireworks," the guard informed him. "But please do enjoy yourself," he concluded with a faint disdain that Leon did not miss.

Leon gave a curt nod and accelerated onward, not deigning to reply, but not dismissing the man's snooty rudeness from his mind entirely, either. His history of opting out of social engagements was not serving him well tonight - security was clearly becoming suspicious of his occasional appearances on the premises. Going forward, a different game plan would be necessary… if the game was to continue at all.

The long driveway toward Weis's estate glowed with thousands of lights, but Leon's gaze was fixed on the house itself - his quarry was somewhere within the oversized monument to excess, and her proximity drew him with magnetic power.

At last entering the enormous semicircular drive, Leon prowled the cruiser for a good spot. He circled around once, twice, before finally choosing a prime location - one that was neither too close nor too far from the other cars. And one where she would see him.

He parked… and watched.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

From the upstairs window, Michele Weis parted the curtains a second time in disbelief, after checking over her shoulder to be sure no one witnessed her.

There was a timekeeper cruiser in the drive. And of course, there should not be.

For a moment, she went deaf to the sounds of the party surrounding her, as she grappled with the sudden decision thrust upon her. A sickening thrill shot through her, an adrenaline charged jolt that nearly buckled her knees where she stood at the upstairs window. She let the curtain fall shut, swallowed hard.

Raymond.

Turning slowly away from the window, her hand trembled slightly as it held the delicate champagne glass. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry as cotton, and she hastily drained her flute of the rest of its contents, though it had no effect on the desert of her tongue. Fortunately, none of her guests seemed aware that their hostess had undergone any sort of shock to the system, and she sucked in a breath of relief that only served to increased her light-headedness.

Heart racing, she turned back to the window again…parted the silken curtain a third time.

The cruiser was still there, in the darkness nearly at the end of the drive. She bit her lip in trepidation and watched.

After a moment, the cruiser's white lights in the grille and windshield lit up… then went dark. A silent signal.

Damn you, Ray. You would show up tonight, Michele fumed in desperation. Tonight, when it would be hardest for her to get away. If it were even possible.

A hand caressed her waist, and, startled, she let the curtain fall closed again.

"What's got your attention out there, honey?" Phillippe moved close, and Michele did not miss the glint of suspicion in his eyes, which he attempted to disguise with a genial smile.

"Nothing special," Michele twisted gently out of her husband's grasp and moved away from the window, hoping desperately that her feigned nonchalance was convincing; her heart hammered furiously in her chest.

"Nothing special..?" Phillippe repeated lazily. Leaning over, he pulled back the curtain, took a brief, cursory survey of the view from the window, let it fall again. Studying her, he set his own champagne glass on a nearby table, then came to her again and wrapped an arm about her waist. He kissed her cheek gently. "You're bored, my dear."

Relief flooded Michele. He hadn't seen. Still, her pulse beat quickly, distressingly.

"Are you… all right?" Phillippe queried, his brow furrowing in concern. "You're very flushed."

Michele thought quickly; fanned herself, grateful for an opportunity to admit to her apparent discomfort, though she could not reveal its true cause. She drew in a deep breath and stretched her lips in a sheepish smile. "Oh, I… I think I've had a drink too many, Phillippe. That's all."

Phillippe smiled. "That does appear to be the case. You look positively giddy. Perhaps you should go lay down."

Nodding in agreement, Michele returned his kiss, and strode as unhurriedly from the room as she could muster. Her thoughts were a frantic chaos of nerves, guilt and desire. And yes - she admitted to herself as she made her unseeing, leisurely way down the wide staircase and into the foyer - anger as well. Ray Leon was just arrogant enough to assume that she would drop everything at the sight of his cruiser; that she was so eager for another session with him that she would throw caution to the wind even with a house full of New Year's Eve partygoers to contend with. She ground her teeth in passionate frustration at his selfishness and swore under her breath at him.

Moving to the downstairs front window, she threw another glance over her shoulder at her oblivious guests before checking outside.

He was still there. She could not see him in the vehicle - only a silhouette - but she could feel him. Could feel his darkly demanding presence… his need.

She chewed a manicured fingernail, aggravated and aroused by his unannounced appearance. The notion to strut directly out to his car and tell him to fuck off was a powerful one… as was the urge to seize him in a ravenous kiss. When their involvement had begun, she thought it had been clear between them that the affair was her decision - that she was to be the one who would control when, where and if they were to meet. Somehow - and she was unsure when this had occurred - Ray had wrested control of the affair, stranding her in her hunger and loneliness, so that she was ideally primed for these dramatic and sudden appearances he seemed to enjoy making. She had become his plaything, his jeweled and expensive toy to be enjoyed at his whim.

And if she did not go to him within moments, he would be gone. A strange sensation came over her - one that tensed her body, aggravating her with restless energy that seemed to want to beat its way out of her very skin. Her palms were sweating, clammy. She could not stand still, shuffling restively in her stilettos as if the ground moved beneath her.

In a moment of stark epiphany, Michele realized that she was experiencing something she'd never felt in her long life; something that was part of Raymond and had now infected her existence like an intoxicating disease.

Urgency.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Leon pushed back the leather sleeve of his coat, noted his time, and sighed through his nose. Five more minutes. If Michele did not show in five minutes, he would be forced to abandon his position. He had already spent a sizeable portion of his free time tonight in this holding pattern (he could thank her husband and his ridiculous showmanship for that), and he did not have much more to give. His frustration for the situation warred with his driving need for her, and he clenched his jaw tensely. Across-the-classes affairs never worked, and this was why. Women from New Greenwich didn't - couldn't - appreciate how precious time was. No matter how well they understood the mathematics of it, they would, without fail, take it personally when he could only spend a scant hour with them, or was unable to see them at all.

Leon had learned to value quality over quantity. Michele craved - and expected - both. That was the rub.

Music from the party floated to his ears on a chill wind through his still open window, mocking him with what he was denied, daring him. His gaze locked on the window where he'd seen her last - downstairs - and he narrowed his eyes in thought. He knew she'd seen him; had seen his signal. Either she would come out, or he would leave.

There was, of course, a third option - a dangerous alternative; but never had Leon quailed from peril of any color. After all, he'd come this far in his mission tonight.

He could go after what he wanted.