Moscow, December 2023:
Duncan sucked in a great breath and then rolled to his side to retch, aware that some medicine or poison still circulated through his system and that it was keeping him groggy, listless, sick. He sensed immortals nearby… and flung wide his arms… hoping to fend them off.
"Duncan… it's all right," came a feminine and slightly familiar voice. Duncan attempted to focus his eyes and blinked at the too-bright light. He groaned and rolled to his side… retching again in dry heaves. Evidently he'd already emptied his stomach. He began to shiver uncontrollably.
"That's the result of what I had to give him to keep him dead," drawled a male voice… was that Vrej speaking?
"I understand, but why the IV of the poison? My God it must have been a cocktail similar to what you give condemned men. He likely died over and over."
"MacLeod is known to be a fast healer. It would have been most inconvenient for both of us if he'd revived too soon."
Duncan worked his mouth, beginning to feel his tongue and lips again. He'd taken poison… he remembered that now. He felt his arm itch where an IV had been inserted. It had healed… but it still itched… as if protesting that it had been the entry point for more of the poison. He tried to sit up… tried to speak… but his words were a slur of sound and he remained flat on his back. The light still assaulted his eyes and he couldn't focus on the people about him. He struggled to place the names. Vrej he was fairly certain of… but the woman?
"How much longer?"
Another male… and this one's voice made him feel uneasy about lying here helpless. Duncan shook his head and instantly regretted it as another wave of nausea and vertigo hit him. He groaned and drew into himself, shuddering even more. He gave up trying to see or think. He needed his wits about him and he needed them quickly.
"Relax… just keep an eye out!" Vrej told him.
Duncan breathed evenly… trying to regain control. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. He was an immortal. He was born in the village of Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel over four hundred years ago… and he couldn't die. Well he could… he just didn't stay dead. He blinked and noted that color had returned to the world… great globs of blurry color.
"Breathe deeply MacLeod," the female continued. "Just focus on breathing."
"Easy for you to say," he tried to tell her. He thought it… it just didn't sound that way coming out. His mouth and tongue still felt numb and difficult to control. He relaxed back onto the gurney and stopped fighting the drugs as he let his natural ability to heal and overcome injury and death take control. Before long he blinked into the smiling face and blonde hair of Reagan Cole. He smiled back at her. A thousand questions crossed his mind as to why she was here… how she'd found him… why she was helping him. But it didn't matter. She was here and he was as safe as he could be under the circumstances.
Duncan lifted a hand and clasped hers… managing a slight squeeze.
"Yeah Boy Scout. You're coming around now."
Vrej stepped forward. "You are in good hands MacLeod my friend. I need to go before I am missed. Until the next time." He saluted Duncan with a wink and then pivoted and left.
Reagan shivered slightly. "I don't know what it is about him… but he's changed."
Duncan closed his eyes and nodded. He was free… and soon he would retrieve his belongings and be on the road once more to find Kate. Against all odds… he'd come out of this one pretty much unscathed.
"Get some sleep, Duncan. We'll keep watch until the effects of the poisons wear off."
"We? Who's your friend," Duncan asked with a slur.
Reagan's breath caught in her throat and for a moment she seemed uncertain. "Just an old friend. Don't worry about anything." She leaned forward and kissed his brow. He smiled, recalling pleasant times with her. She had always been a real tigress and incredibly athletic. He hoped her friend realized how lucky he was. Duncan closed his eyes and sighed deeply, letting fresh air pump into his lungs and speed up his heart as his system fought off the drugs.
-----
How long he rested, was unclear. There was no way to gauge how much time had passed, or even if he'd truly slept. He hadn't died again. Of that Duncan MacLeod was certain. He took a deep breath and slowly sat up on the gurney, the sheet covering him pooled in his lap as his feet dangled free of it. He scratched his beard… thinking of how cold it was here… and how dark. A single exposed light bulb hung from a cord in the in the ceiling, and while it illuminated him… it did little to banish the dark shadows in the corners.
"Hello?" he called out. "Reagan?" He could sense another immortal nearby… but not seeing whom it was made him nervous. Anxiously Duncan looked around for anything that could be a weapon. But beyond the light bulb… swinging wildly now from his jumping to the floor and looking for a weapon, and the gurney… steel but nothing loose to break off… he'd found nothing else.
He tied the sheet about his naked waist and pulled the cord free… removing and tossing the bulb to the gurney. Then he picked it back up and hefted it. It could also be a weapon. He was in the dark now… both figuratively and literally. Finding the entranceway, he pulled at the door… locked. He stood behind it and waited.
Soon the lock snapped as the door was opened. In the light from outside… he saw a shadow and felt the cold brisk air of a Moscow winter. Wherever he was… he was naked, blind, and basically unarmed.
"What the hell?" came Reagan's voice. She turned and backed away from him, sensing him rather than seeing him. "Duncan?"
Duncan relaxed. "It's okay… I just didn't know who was about."
"I went to get you some clothes and something to eat. I'm sorry… I locked the door to be certain you weren't disturbed.
Duncan ran a hand through his shaggy and tousled dark hair. "How long was I out?"
"Couple of hours. Here… let's close the door and get some light back on in here. You'll freeze to death with the door open."
He stepped forward into the rectangle of daylight and showed her the cord in his hands. "I don't think we have that choice."
"Oh jeez!" she replied rolling her eyes. "Here… get dressed."
Duncan shivered in the cold as he pulled on the rough wool clothing. "It smells," he commented.
"Sorry… best I could do."
"Why'd you really lock the door?" he asked as pulled the heavy, rough navy blue sweater on.
Reagan shrugged. "To keep you safe. Besides… with no clothes… you'd have made a strange sight out there… not that you'd have lasted long."
Duncan glared at her and then sat to pull on the gray socks and heavy hiking boots. They were a tad big… but they were something to wear. He tied the laces sharply as he continued to glare at Reagan, who was pacing in and out of the rectangle of daylight. Then he saw another shape in the doorway. Lifting a hand before his eyes, Duncan tried to make the other immortal out.
"Is he dressed?" the man asked. "We need to get moving. I think we are starting to be noticed here."
The voice sounded familiar… but Duncan couldn't place it. He grabbed at the military jacket and pulled it on, finding a stocking knit cap in one pocket. "I'm ready. Let's go."
Reagan threw him the paper bag. "Here… Vrej said you'd need to eat when you woke up.
Duncan's stomach growled, as he smelled the burger and fries. Eagerly he ripped the bag and wrappers away and began stuffing the fast food into his mouth. It was surprisingly good… or maybe he was just so hungry that it didn't make any difference. "How did you find me?" he managed to ask between mouthfuls.
Reagan shrugged. "Call it luck. I was down the street when you were arrested. I contacted Vrej… he's my police contact here in Russia for my bounty jobs." She laughed. "You might say I was in the right place at the right time."
"You and your friend."
Reagan glanced at the open door. "Steven Keane," she finally said softly.
Duncan paused a moment and chewed thoughtfully.
"I hope that's not a problem," Reagan went on.
"Not for me," Duncan replied and then popped the last bite of the greasy burger into his mouth. "I never had a problem with him… but he did with me."
Reagan nodded. "He told me. Ready to go?"
Duncan nodded. Inwardly he was concerned about going anywhere with other immortals… especially as he didn't have his sword. Reagan he trusted… but he had no way of knowing what Keane might do. "I suppose so." He hesitated slightly. "I need to retrieve my weapon."
"Yeah," Reagan said with a wink and a laugh. "I figured as much. Come on you big Scot… I'll protect you." She slipped an arm about his and pulled him toward the light of the outside. Duncan blinked at first until his eyes adjusted. They were in a cemetery… and he'd been in what appeared to be a storage shed on the fringe of the property. Pacing amidst the elaborately carved, cross-shaped, stone markers was a well-dressed Steven Keane. He glanced up sharply as Duncan and Reagan emerged.
"'Bout time! Can we go now?" He unwrapped a stick of gum and tossed away the foil.
Reagan nodded and told him to drive as she led Duncan to a black Mercedes and opened the rear door. "Don't worry… I'll make certain he has his hands busy."
Duncan slid onto the rear seat while Keane got behind the wheel and Reagan took the front passenger seat. "Where to?" Keane asked as he started the ignition and met Duncan's gaze in the rear view mirror. Duncan saw nothing hostile in that gaze… but it didn't look particularly helpful or friendly either.
"It would help to know where we are," he said. He sat back in the rear seat as he learned they were pulling out of Novodevichii Cemetery just south of the bend in the river that divided Moscow into two main parts. Duncan mentally called up a generalized map of Moscow in his mind and gave Keane directions toward one of the seedier areas of the city… a place where low-rent and temporary housing was plentiful along with people who asked no questions and were suspicious of the authorities.
As Keane pulled onto the street where Duncan's hotel was situated, he looked about a bit nervously. "I don't want to park here. My car would garner too much attention."
"Agreed," replied Reagan. She turned to Duncan. "We'll drop you off and give you what? Fifteen minutes to get what you need?" Keane nodded his head. He could do some circling about the nearby park and time his return for that.
Duncan agreed. While he did want to check out, it wouldn't take long to gather his money, his papers, and his sword and be off. He found he was anxious to get to the train station. "I won't be any longer," he said as he opened the door and stepped out of the Mercedes. It paused only long enough for him to slam the rear door before it was off. Duncan snorted. He supposed if he were Steven Keane and owned a nice car in Moscow, he wouldn't want to park it on this street either.
-----
As Duncan entered the seedy hotel, he was aware of the smell of cheap vodka and boiled cabbage that seemed to permeate the air in these lower rent hovels that passed for housing. He claimed his key from the desk clerk and told him he'd be checking out in a few minutes as he bounded up the narrow rickety stairs two at a time. He figured the clerk didn't really care… except in knowing that he could claim a few more Euros if he re-rented Duncan's room.
Arriving on the third floor, Duncan headed down the dark hallway to the end of the corridor. He'd wanted an end room… far away from the stairs and the lift so that he could feel someone coming and have time to prepare if it came to it. It hadn't. He unlocked the door and flipped the light switch.
A small lamp on a wooden bureau came on… flickered… and then went out. He snorted and grabbed his duffel bag, still mostly packed, and threw his few toiletries and washed out underwear in on the top. Then he pulled a chair over to an air vent and climbed onto it. He pried the vent cover off and reached in for the plastic bag that contained three sets of identity papers and passports that he'd had made up in recent months and a pile of cash. He removed the items, replaced the vent and climbed down, immediately distributing the cash and papers in different pockets. He pulled his long coat from the closet and tossed it over the chair.
He then stripped the sheets and blanket from the narrow bed and turned over the thin, stained mattress. He pulled at the threads holding together a small tear at a seam until he could get his hand in to grasp the hilt of his beloved katana. He withdrew it swiftly with a flourish, relieved to at last have it back in his hand where it belonged. While he was partly retired from the game, others weren't. It was better to have it handy than to be caught without it. Still, he once more thanked the god of his youth that he hadn't had it on him yesterday when he'd been arrested. He doubted even Vrej could have gotten him out of police custody without incident.
Donning his coat and slipping the katana within it, he shouldered his duffel and glanced around, wondering if he was forgetting anything. He didn't see anything and pivoted on one foot to leave. Without thinking he flicked off the light switch that controlled the burned out lamp and closed the door behind him as he headed for the stairs. The lift, as it had been since he'd checked in, was still out of order.
Arriving on the main floor, he settled up with the clerk, peeling off the required bills from one of the smaller wads of cash and stepped out of the door. Keane behind the wheel of his Mercedes was pulling up to the curb as Duncan reached it. He opened the rear door, tossed his bag in and climbed in after it, slamming the door shut behind him even as Keane took off again.
"You really don't like this part of town," Duncan laughed.
"A private car in Moscow is an expensive luxury. You're damn straight I don't want it damaged or stolen in this part of town."
Reagan laughed.
"Where to next?" Keane asked.
Duncan was about to say the train station but Reagan gave another address… a set of upscale apartments on the other side of the river.
"I need to get out of town," the Highlander insisted.
"You will," Reagan allowed, but not tonight. We need a place to stay while we work on you and your look and a new identity before you hit the road again. Steven has a private house on the outskirts of Moscow. We're going there."
"A private house?" Duncan asked with a touch of humor. Private homes in the former soviet state were still unusual in the cities and a real luxury.
Keane eyed him in the rearview mirror. "It's not elaborate, it's not big, but it is on a quiet side street in a better part of town where we won't be disturbed.
"I'm dead to the police," Duncan insisted.
"Until they see you," Reagan said. "Not all of them have the most up-to-date reports. You might be seen be some officer with yesterday's folder of photo ID's to look for. Trust me… if you're picked up again, it won't be as easy to spring you."
Duncan sat back, his stomach growling again, partially from the need for food and partially from the stress of being further delayed.
"What's so important you need to leave tonight?" Keane asked.
Duncan said nothing. What he'd done was no one else's business but his. Besides, he wasn't about to explain procreation to an immortal he wasn't certain of. "It's personal," he finally said as he looked out at the passing snow-covered cityscape. Keane pulled into the traffic circle of a large up-scale government housing building.
"Be good now. I'll be about twenty minutes," Reagan said as she climbed out. "Same drill?"
"Same drill," Keane said. The housing was close to Gorky Park and he planned to take a leisurely drive around that before returning. He glanced back at MacLeod. "I trust you're a man of your word and won't be taking my head while I'm occupied."
Duncan snorted and laid his head back and closed his eyes. Then he glanced back at Reagan's form, vanishing inside her building. "She certainly is something."
Keane nodded with a slight sigh. "I've always thought so. Evidently we share some of the same tastes in women… especially strong women. She certainly was insistent on helping you."
Duncan laughed. "Whereas you wouldn't have lifted a finger."
"To help you? Honestly… no. You are a dark and dangerous man MacLeod… but you have loyal friends. They seem to think better of you than I do." Keane turned the corner and accelerated. "You also spared my life when you had no cause to. I owe you one. While I'm not your friend, I'm no longer you're enemy."
Duncan smiled grimly. "Then that's the first step," he said.
-----
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to the curb as Reagan reappeared. She tossed a small overnight bag into the back with Duncan. "Well look here… the two of you both still have your head. Will wonders never cease!" she laughed as she climbed in and slammed the door.
"I promised you I'd behave," Keane said in a teasing voice that left little doubt as to what he hoped to get out of this arrangement.
Reagan chuckled lightly. "Well… we'll see what we can arrange."
Duncan closed his eyes and recalled the last time he'd seen and spoken with Amanda. God but he missed her! Every day and every night of this ordeal he'd missed her. But she'd told him to settle things with Kate and Alistair. She understood he was committed to helping them. At the time, he hadn't thought he'd be gone this long and he wondered where she was.
A fine rain was beginning to fall. Rain in December? Almost unheard of in Moscow where snow and frigid temperatures were the norm… but then the weather this year had been warmer than normal. He watched the passing building grow smaller and smaller and the trees larger and larger until they were in an area of tract houses… small, single-family homes that all looked alike on postage stamp lots. It was what passed for upper middle-class in modern Russia.
Keane pulled into the drive of one on a side street and parked. He turned off the ignition. "We're here."
Reagan peered through the droplets of rain building up on the windshield. She whistled. "You weren't kidding about it being small and unassuming. I likely have more room in my apartment."
Keane shrugged before opening the door and getting out. "At least it's more private than the housing units. MacLeod should be safe here." He slammed the door.
Duncan sighed and climbed out, tossing Reagan her small bag and withdrawing his larger one. He hadn't started this trip with all of this, he'd just picked up things as he'd changed and created new identities in his attempts to stay off the radar of Interpol. He'd had to leave the name of Duncan MacLeod behind him, and that was the cruelest cut of this… save for his leaving Amanda.
"It's bigger than my room… but just barely," he chuckled and winked at Reagan who laughed with him. Keane gave them both a withering look while stepping to his door, unlocking it, opening it and stepping aside to show them in.
-----
Reagan tossed and turned on the daybed, finally throwing back the covers. She was drenched in sweat and could just make out the digital time: 3:58. She growled to herself that she was so restless and finally sat up, dropping her bare feet to the cold floor. She knew what was bothering her. It was being in a house with two old lovers… and choosing to sleep alone… her sword within easy reach. She rose, stretched her lithe body, clad in an old undershirt and panties, yawned and then, with sword in hand, padded to the door of Steven's computer room and opened it.
Steven's house had a small front room with attached dinette and kitchenette… barely even a galley kitchen. Besides the one bathroom, he had two bedrooms. One he'd fitted out as his computer and media room; the other was his with its welcoming king-sized bed that practically took up the entire room. Reagan had wondered how the hell he'd gotten it into the house… much less the bedroom.
The media room had a daybed in it. "For guests," Steven had said, evidently expecting MacLeod to take that. The Highlander had snorted and dropped his bag next to the sofa in the main room. That had allowed Reagan the chance to take the daybed.
Steven's face had fallen slightly and reflected his disappointment. But Reagan wasn't saying "No" so much as she was saying, "Not tonight." She couldn't go to one and let the other hear. She was a free spirit who chose and discarded lovers with ease… but she'd felt on the spot earlier and MacLeod had evidently noticed it. If he'd taken the daybed, she'd have been expected to sleep with Steven and, in this small house, she just wasn't ready.
She closed the bathroom door and in the glow of the nightlight Steven had left on for his guests, she used the toilet and then washed her hands and face, noticing how the dim light accentuated the shadows under her eyes.
She loved them both in her own way. She and MacLeod had one of those relationships where if they met and both were free… they made mad, passionate love and then separated as friends. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been involved with Amanda again. After the battle in Switzerland where she and other immortals had banded together with MacLeod to stop the experiments on their people by renegade Watcher Henry Rawlins, she'd seen him welcome, with great relief, Amanda into his arms at the end of the battle. It looked like they were moving to something deeper and more profound than the occasional tryst.
Steven had always been the gentleman with her… but he'd wanted more from her than she'd ever been willing to give. He wanted her to give up her life and live with him in some sort of long-term immortal wedlock. That idea frightened the hell out of her. So she'd always moved on. She liked her life the way it was. She thrilled in the excitement and the danger of being a female bounty hunter in a man's world. She just didn't want to be an adornment on the arm of Steven Keane… or on the arm of any man.
And these thoughts had plagued since they'd retired after dinner and had led to her sleeplessness. Leaving the bathroom, she paused in the hallway, looking left toward the main room and then right toward Steven's bedroom. She could hear the even soft snore of MacLeod and the silence of Steven. Mac, she knew, would have his katana at hand and be up in a flash if she came toward him. Steven would waken and pull her into bed with an almost obsessive sob.
Reagan Cole wasn't ready for either… and she didn't want to hurt either one. With a deep and determined breath, she returned to the computer room and dropped once more onto the bed. It was the safest course.
In his bedroom, alone in the great bed, Steven Keane turned his face into his pillow while silent tears fell. She hadn't come to him. Why? Why not? MacLeod… it had to be MacLeod. Jealousy reared its head deep within him. Why was it that MacLeod was so loved… while he, Steven Keane, was the honorable one?
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