A/N: sorry it took so long to update - work has been unkind. I have a pretty good idea of where I want to go next, if only I can find the time to actually write it, it shouldn't be such a long wait until the next chapter comes.

Thank you to everyone who has put this in their faves or on their alert list - I am really glad I'm not just writing this for myself ^^; Reviews make my day ;)

Chapter 6

"So we decided to go with Ms. Rayleigh for the birthing classes," Karla said between spoonfuls of scrambled eggs. Her eyes widened as she seemed to rethink her statement. "Or do you think I should've picked Lauren?"

Abby gave a noncommittal shrug. It was enough to keep Karla talking.

"I mean, Ms. Rayleigh certainly is the one with more experience, but she's always so stiff."

While Abby cleared her plate, Karla kept her monologue going. From her choice of midwife to the pattern on the soon-to-be baby's bed, from the last doctor's exam to the way Rob, her husband, was presumably more nervous about it all than her. Everything Karla had to say today seemed to be revolving around the little one.

Not that Abby couldn't understand that this was important for Karla, but the way the conversation had turned out thus far had nothing to do with her old friend and colleague Karla and any of the countless brunches they'd had together at the café. Abby had been looking forward to hearing how Karla's pregnancy had gotten along since she'd gone on maternity leave, to telling her about the latest office gossip and maybe even to getting her opinion about the whole Adam/Nichols business.

And now this. Hospitals, doctors, midwives, baby buggy, baby clothes, baby anything – choices, choices, choices for the young mother-to-be, choices that seemed to leave no room for office rumours or heartaches. Not even for the kind that had the explosive potential of a nuclear bomb.

Abby's ears seemed to reduce Karla's sermon to background noise, while her eyes were drawn to the screen at the far side of the café. The TV was tuned to some local station without sound, but with the latest news running through at the bottom of the screen. Abby found herself mesmerized by the blues and greens of the rain forest flickering by as a documentary ran its course. She kept making affirmative noises now and then, all the while wondering if this was how it would always be with Karla. Now that Karla's world revolved around that baby – a baby that wasn't even born yet - did they even have anything left to talk about any more, anything they could both relate to?

The documentary was suddenly interrupted by a solemn looking news anchorman. Behind him was an image of a big iron gate, through its bars, uniformed policemen could be seen watching the road outside. Scrolling at the bottom, now with a screaming red star in the lower left corner, the news ticker spelled: "Breaking News: banker murdered brutally in his own kitchen"

Abby could easily picture the scene the photo didn't show: reporters and a horde of curious onlookers, hoping to get a glimpse at whatever was going on behind the gates, standing in clusters on the on the opposite side of the street. The reporters would be keen on getting their story, pumping anyone arriving or leaving for information, while the onlookers would try to look half disinterested and appalled while lapping up every bit of news they could get their hands on.

Abby had always been sickened by the way accidents and tragedies drew in the vultures like moths to a flame. No respect for someone else's loss, Abby thought bitterly as she watched footage of a female reporter wearing the reddest lipstick that had ever been invented thrusting her microphone in a woman's shell-shocked face. The subtitle identified her as the victim's wife, Caitlin F.

Abby noticed that even though the woman must have been horrified and her pale complexion and reddish eyes clearly spoke of a grave loss, she seemed self-confident and… angry. Or was the flash in the widow's eyes just a trick of the light? Abby couldn't be sure, but there was definitely something intriguing about the raven haired twenty-something.

Abby was just about to point her out to Karla, when the news ticker's message changed and her blood ran cold. "Banker slain in his own kitchen – sources in the LAPD claim a sword was used – mafia ties suspected"

Amanda hesitated, her finger hovering over the door bell of Abby's apartment. She needed to find out everything the other woman knew about the man calling himself Jude Nichols, that much was certain. But Amanda also knew that Abby wasn't going to just accept her sudden appearance without question.

She had debated randomly meeting her at the grocery store or at a café, but soon dismissed the thought. If anything, that would just make the younger woman more suspicious. Her being a reporter – a business where suspicion and tenacity were pretty much a given to get the job done – would make this a walk on raw eggs.

It couldn't be helped though, not if she was going to help the Old Man. So finally, Amanda pressed the bell with a sigh. Half truths and partial lies were as much part of her life as being a thief was in her blood, but there were moments - like the one coming up - where Amanda would've loved to be able to be honest for once.

As expected, Abby was taken aback to see her standing at her door. She blinked against the afternoon sun, then shielded her eyes and scrutinized Amanda with a suspicious look before recognition dawned and a smile reached Abby's eyes.

"Amanda! What brings you out here?" she exclaimed delightedly as she ushered the blonde inside.

"I was in the area, visiting a friend, and I thought I would stop by" Amanda started, already knowing she'd have to admit to more than that. "How have you been?" Smalltalk first.

"Oh, I'm fine," Abby replied, gesturing for Amanda to take a seat in a cozy kitchen. "What about you? You look great!"

"I'm good. Been here and there, same old, you know." Amanda couldn't help but smile at the ease with which they fell back into old habits. Adam and Abby hadn't been together for long, but even after he'd disappeared, Abby had kept singing in the Blues Bar with the band. At that time, Amanda had made it a point to check in with Joe at least once a month, never telling Abby where she'd been, always evading her questions with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Abby giggled at that as she poured coffee into two enormous mugs. She set them down with a flourish and let herself sink into a chair opposite Amanda.

"So you're just stopping by, hm?"

Here we go, Amanda thought as she took a sip of coffee, managing to give a slight shrug without spilling the hot liquid on her white linen trousers.

"This has nothing at all to do with my call to Joe, then, has it?" Abby's tone was light enough, but her eyes had that no-nonsense glare to them that Amanda remembered well.

"Well," Amanda said, as she carefully set the mug down and threw her hands up in a 'you got me'-gesture, "not exactly."

The glare intensified.

"Joe called me after he had talked to you. He was worried and I said I would check in on you. So here I am." Amanda conveniently left out the transatlantic flight that had been necessary for the visit, hoping the younger woman would simply assume she'd at least been in the US.

"Did I sound that bad?"

"No, I don't think you did. It's just…" Amanda sighed and hoped Joe wouldn't hear about what she was about to say. "Joe is showing his age these days. He seems a bit overprotective and is easily worried. He's a good friend and if me visiting you can put his mind at ease, then I'll do that."

Abby nodded thoughtfully. "It's been a hell of a past few days, though. So I'm not sure how much of his worry is due to him getting old." She sighed and buried her face in her mug.

"Don't tell him I said this," Amanda said conspiratorially, "but I suppose you asking about Adam has reminded him of when he lost two friends within a week and he still feels guilty about that. Hearing you may have seen Adam, well, I think that alone would have been enough for him fly over himself."

That got a grin out of Abby. Amanda could practically see Abby's vision of Joe getting onto the first plane from Paris to Los Angeles, as the Joe she knew would have done without thinking about it twice even if the outcome was questionable.

"His legs have been giving him trouble lately and he couldn't catch a flight if he wanted to." That part at least was the honest truth, a truth that made Amanda's heart ache for the old blues player.

It had the same effect on Abby, who stared into her coffee as if it held answers before asking, "What have the doctors told him?"

"To be honest, I don't know. He doesn't let on much, not on the phone and not when I visit him. You know how he is, it's like it's his burden to bear and his alone."

"Yeah, I can imagine." A reminiscent smile briefly crossed Abby's lips. After a pause, she continued, "So, none of you have heard of Adam for ten years?"

Amanda shook her head. "Not a word."

"I don't get it. I always thought it had something to do with me as much as Mac's death that he vanished – but why wouldn't he even contact you?"

Because he's Methos. A former Horseman of the Apocalypse who may just now be riding again and we would just be in his way. "I don't really know. But he's never been forthcoming either."

"I suppose you're right about that one," Abby agreed, clearly thinking of one incident or other that had proven that to her.

"Joe told me the Nichols story. What made you think it was him?"

"When I saw him at the station, it was my first though. The way he moved, perhaps," Abby shrugged as if looking back on it now, she had no clue. "Nick, my boyfriend, works for the police and knows Nichol's record. He filled me in on what they think he did. I should've just let it go then. But I didn't."

Then Abby told her the whole story about her botched attempt at subtle surveillance, the realization that the man in the rear view mirror looked even more like Adam than she would've thought possible and Nick's reaction to her "initiative". She ended with this morning's news of the tortured banker.

"So apparently, Freudinger was tied to the mafia and they decided to get rid of him. And not just that, he was tortured using a sharp knife or a sword." She threw her hands up in frustration. "Who on earth would use a sword?"

Amanda didn't answer. All she could think was, this is worse than I thought!

"Adam showed me his collection, you know." Abby's voice was calm as she was staring pensively off into the distance, as if she could see the gleaming swords on display on her kitchen wall. "I also saw him sparing with Mac at the dojo once or twice, but never thought much of it."

"It's an eccentric hobby, I'll give you that," Amanda forced herself to smile the implications of what she'd just heard away. "I used to be into that sport, too, you know. So I can tell you it's nothing more sinister than doing karate or whatever is trendy this year."

"Did Mac bring you into it?"

"No," Amanda sighed deeply, "but his death made me want to get out of it."