Author's notes: I don't own any of them, except for Rochelle and her mother, at the moment. Please be kind; this is an old fic I'm dusting off and posting. Please R&R!
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Boston, c. 1988
Duncan MacLeod and Tessa Noel stepped off the white and yellow Mass Transit bus that had moments before stopped in front of the Boston Superior Courthouse. Tessa wrung her hands together nervously, seemingly unnoticing of the throngs of people who were disembarking behind her. She would have surely gotten swept away were not Duncan holding tightly to her hand. MacLeod looked around at the tall buildings, noting how much the city had changed in seventy odd years. He squeezed Tessa's hand as they walked up the large marble steps. In the elevator, she paced nervously. He caught her arm gently and smiled reassuringly. "Hey, don't worry about it. They'll say yes." If the judge decided in their favor, MacLeod knew their lives would change forever; not only would they be getting a child, but a teenager who had witnessed her own mother's death. His reassurances were not as effective as he'd hoped them to be. Tessa shook her head, her blond mane flying about wildly. "What if they don't?"
"They will." Tessa and MacLeod stepped off the elevator and slowly walked down the long hallway. At the end, on a wooden bench sat a middle-aged woman and a teenage girl with chestnut hair like her mother's. Her head popped up as she spotted Tessa and she jumped up, a half smile on her face. Tessa and MacLeod stood beside her, Tessa hugging her protectively, MacLeod trying to fit in to their all ready well-established family. The social worker placed her hand on the girl's shoulder and led her back to the bench, tearing her from Tessa's arms. Mac could see his love's distress and he whispered something in her ear. Tessa's lawyer stuck his head through the large courtroom doors and asked Tessa and Mac to come inside.
Tessa smiled at the teen. "We'll be together, I promise." The doors shut behind her.
Duncan and Tessa sat behind their lawyer and waited for the judge to enter. Moments later, he came in, black robe puffed out behind him like wings. Slowly, he sat, then opened a manila folder. "I have considered the matter of the custody of the minor, Rochelle "Shelly" Evans. It's always difficult to decide a case like this. Mr. Murphy," he addressed Tessa's lawyer. "Ms. Noel is petitioning for custody of the minor, is she not?"
Murphy stood. "Yes, your honor. Ms. Noel is the girl's godmother, appointed years ago by the girl's now deceased mother."
The judge nodded. "And Ms. Noel lives out west, in Seacouver, as an antiques dealer and artist, is that correct?"
"Yes. Your honor," the lawyer answered. "Ms. Noel lives with Mr. Duncan MacLeod; both deal in antiques. Ms. Noel is also a sculptor, dealing primarily with metals."
"Duly noted." The judge turned to the prosecutor. "And the state feels that the living conditions are satisfactory for said child?"
Beside him, MacLeod could feel Tessa squirm every time they referred to Rochelle as though she were being auctioned. A woman stood. "Yes, your honor. However, the state is concerned with the fact that Ms. Noel and Mr. MacLeod frequently leave Seacouver and travel to Paris, where they live for extended periods of time."
"Your honor," Murphy interjected. "Tessa Noel was born in Paris and has dual citizenship, both in France and the United States. She has committed to arranging a schooling and travel schedule that would allow said minor, Rochelle Evans, to live with her and Mr. MacLeod in Paris, and still maintain her academics."
The prosecutor shook her head. "Your honor, the state feels that in the best interest of the child, her needs would be better met if she were to live in a stable home environment. May the state also remind the court that, although they live together, Ms. Noel and Mr. MacLeod are not married."
The judge nodded and thoughtfully stroked his graying beard. "I have reviewed the testimony and written reports from The Department of Social Services, and taken in to consideration what has been said here today. I have decided that the minor, Rochelle Evans, will not fall into the custody of Miss Noel." Tessa let out a short cry. Duncan took her hand in his own. The judge continued, "Rochelle Evans is under state custody until she turns eighteen. Case closed." He banged his gavel, rose, and left the courtroom.
"No!" Tessa cried. "He can't do that! Nicole wanted Shelly to live with me, not in some foster home. I promised her; I promised Rochelle!" Duncan held her as tears streamed down her face. He could understand her frustration.
"Surely we can appeal this." He looked beseechingly at their lawyer, who had been chosen rather hastily.
Murphy nodded. "Yes, but it would take years, money and be detrimental to all your emotional health. Go to any lawyer in this state and he'll tell you the same thing: you'd probably get the same verdict. I'm sorry." He gathered his things and left the courtroom; after all, he'd already gotten his retainer. A short time later, MacLeod sadly led Tessa out as well. Seeing them exit, Rochelle stood, took one look at Tessa's tear-stained face and began to cry herself. She tore away from her social worker and ran to Tessa, grabbing at her blouse in desperation.
"No! Please don't let them take me Aunt Tessa! Please! You promised! You promised, you promised!" She tried to hold on to her godmother, for protection and love, but the social worker restrained her and led her away. Shelly screamed for Tessa, her mother, Duncan, cried out to them. Her cries echoed in the halls and in the minds of those who heard them, even long after she'd left. Tessa sobbed and collapsed into Duncan's arms.
*Paris, the present*
Ten years later, Shelly Evans, who now went by the name Rochelle Picaut, and who was, ironically enough, Immortal, sat on a stool on Duncan MacLeod's barge. Her hair was the same length, though now it was a deep red, instead of auburn. Her eyes, which had once been a clear, strikingly crystal blue, were now hazel thanks to the wonders of contact lenses. She was a little taller and looked not much older than she had when he'd last seen her; MacLeod wondered when she had died. "For the next three years, I was tossed around to five or six different foster homes." *So much for a stable home environment.* "Eventually, one night, when I was sixteen, I had had it. I sneaked away from the foster home, which at that point was on an island off the Cape-remember the day we spent down there?" She shook her head, knowing she had allowed herself to get sidetracked. "Anyway, I sneaked away and went to my favorite place, a bridge that over looked the Nantucket harbor." She paused. "Then I jumped."
MacLeod coughed, "You killed yourself?"
Rochelle nodded, "I was so angry. At my mom, for dying. At Aunt Tessa, for breaking her promise. At you, because I thought you were the reason the judge would not grant custody. I was mad at the world, more or less. When I jumped, I considered myself a bastard orphan whom no one loved or cared about."
"That's not true," Mac scolded her softly. "She loved you. It broke her heart to be denied custody."
*Past tense?* Shelly wondered. Had they broken up? She surveyed the barge and did not see much. There was an antique wooden stove, the small kitchen area, a bed covered in white, a bookcase, a couch, a mat and small Japanese-style coffee table on the floor. She saw no signs of a female influence whatsoever and thought it odd. She turned to him, thoughtfully, "You knew, didn't you? That week you spent with me in Boston; you knew I was Immortal."
Mac nodded, "I knew. And I was hoping that the judge would grant custody so that when you did eventually die, I could be the one to teach you." Wondering, he asked, "Who was you teacher?"
Rochelle sighed, almost forlornly, "Frank Mamakos. He worked with Social Services and was actually the one to ID my body. When I came to he was there with clothes and an explanation. He quit DSS and became my teacher."
"Where is he now?" MacLeod asked, pouring them drinks of brandy. He handed the glass to her, which she accepted gratefully.
Shelly gulped her brandy as though it was water, "Dead. Some guy whacked him about two years ago." Her words were even, lacking emotion. She had the greatest respect for her former teacher, but dead was dead was dead and that was it.
After a few moments of silence, Duncan asked, "Why did you come to Paris?"
"I belong to an American theater troupe. We do standard stuff like ballets, concertinas, musicals and plays. We just came from London where we spent three weeks performing at the embassy. We are set to perform for the ambassador here as well. It is a reminder of home, I guess," she sounded indifferent. "We go from country to country, embassy and consulate to embassy and consulate, bringing a little bit of the US to them."
MacLeod nodded, "How did this come about?" During the brief time he'd known her, he'd never thought of her doing anything theatrical or musical.
Rochelle smiled ruefully, "We needed money." She swallowed her laughter as MacLeod's face took on a strange perplexity. She attempted to explain, drawling, "It ain't cheap to run a theatre company, so the director applies for local, state and government grants. To get the government grant, which was very substantial, he had to make a deal: the money for a good will mission, all expenses paid once we got to Europe; all we had to do was get here." Which was more expensive then she had imagined. If she had to participate in one more bake sale, cash in one more empty soda can, or make one more speech asking some elderly people for donations, she might have to spontaneously combust. The thought struck her as amusing and she swallowed a smile.
"So," Rochelle asked the question that had silently been burning on her lips since her arrival. "Where is Aunt Tessa?" MacLeod lowered his eyes and refilled her glass. Rochelle furrowed her brow and sipped her liquor. "What, did you two break up or something? I had always imagined you guys would be together forever." The thought of a mother and a father figure had been what kept her going all those years.
"Shell-Belle," MacLeod said, using a nickname she had not heard uttered in a decade. "Tessa died over five years ago." Shelly dropped her glass and it shattered and splintered on the wooden floor. Her hand flew to her mouth and she was about to ask all the million questions that were flying around inside her mind when they both felt the presence of another Immortal. Their senses heightened, their minds buzzed, and Rochelle's stomach lurched.
"Mac?" a female voice called, her boots thumping as she descended the stairs. "Are you here?" Amanda entered the barge, carrying a few suitcases and dressed for a Modern Gothic costume ball; she saw Shelly and MacLeod and the shattered glass. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, the nerves in her arm twitching, waiting for the message to reach for the scabbard of her sword, hidden beneath her long rain coat.
"Actually," MacLeod began.
"No," Rochelle cut him off. She gathered up her backpack, apologizing profusely for the broken glass. Quickly, she rushed past Amanda, not bothering to say hello or goodbye, and ran up the stairs and off the barge.
"Shelly!" MacLeod called after her, but it was too late. Angrily, he sighed and turned to Amanda, who had removed a dustpan from a cabinet and had begun sweeping up the shattered remnants of the glass. She looked up at him, her brown eyes full of questions.
And she asked him a second time, "Did I just interrupt something?"
"Yes." A pause. "No," Duncan rubbed the back of his neck wearily and sat on the wooden steps leading up to his bed and one of two possible exits. "It's a long story." Amanda came and sat beside him.
"I have time." She twisted her upper body and began massaging his broad, muscular shoulders. Her ministrations felt good and MacLeod began to speak.
"That was Shelly Ev-, er, Rochelle Picaut. I knew her when she was a child and she came looking for me."
"For you?" Amanda asked, her thin hands moving down his back.
"Not just me. She came looking for Tessa."
Amanda momentarily stopped her ministrations. She had met Tessa once, a long time ago. Amanda had been traveling with the circus at the time, and met up with Duncan and Tessa purely by chance. When she had seen Mac with Tessa, she'd been insanely jealous; she'd even tried, on several occasions, to persuade Mac to leave Tessa. She continued massaging, "What does she have to do with her?"
"Rochelle is Tessa's goddaughter. After Rochelle's mother died, Tessa, we, petitioned for custody, but were denied. Tessa lost touch and now Shelly's here looking for her."
"And you told her what happened," Amanda assumed.
Duncan nodded. He stood up and began pacing the barge. "Amanda, I have to find her and explain everything."
Amanda remained seated on the steps. Her brows raised and she began twisting her hands together. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" He spun on his heel and stared at her. She saw the need and determination in his eyes; she conceded. He could always make her agree. "All right. We'll find her. Do you have any idea where she's staying?" MacLeod shook his head. "Okay," Amanda continued, always thinking, a reflex now, after spending time with Wolfe. "Is there another reason she's in Paris, besides finding you that is."
"She's here to perform for the US ambassador, with some theatre troupe, I think she said."
"Then she's at the embassy." Amanda declared factually.
"How do you know?"
"I read it in the newspaper I found in the taxi. Honestly Duncan, you've got to read more."
Annoyed, MacLeod shook his head. "How do you suggest we get in to the embassy?" Had this happened earlier, all Duncan would have had to do was ask his friend at the embassy to get them in. But now...now another of his friends was dead.
"Easy," Amanda said nonchalantly. "There is a dinner tomorrow tonight for all the members of the theatre troupe. All we have to do is get ourselves on the guest list."
MacLeod's eyes widened. "Sure. 'All we have to do is get ourselves on the guest list,'" he mimicked. "Right." He watched as Amanda walked over to the table and flipped open his laptop.
"You doubt me?" she asked, her fingers flying over the keys. After a few more quick keystrokes she stood and smiled. "Done." Nick would love this, she thought.
"What did you do?" Mac asked incredulously.
"I hacked into their system and put us on the list; it was incredibly easy."
"You've taken to hacking, have you?" He used to hack; he still could if he wanted.
Amanda shrugged innocently. "Thanks to your code of ethics, which I find incredibly sexy by the way, I can't steal anymore." Okay, that was a lie, she had stolen a lot since they had last seen each other, but she only used her powers for good; if Wolfe, a cop understood that, then she was sure Duncan would-when she told him, which would be later. Much later.
For the first time, MacLeod took a good look at Amanda and his eyes widened, as though seeing her for the first time. Her hair was white blonde, and she was dressed in a style that was a cross between a medieval dominatrix, and the stereotype of what an undercover agent would dress like. She was wearing all black, a leather corset that tied in the front, thank you, and tight flared leather pants. Her trench coat billowed out like wings behind her and it made him wonder what she had gotten herself into.
"What are you wearing?" he exclaimed. "And what have you done to your hair?"
Amanda whirled around for inspection, "You like? It helps me blend in."
*Blend in?* "Are you back in the circus?"
She smiled, "No. Nick and I..." But she caught herself.
Too late. "Who's Nick?' MacLeod asked, feeling twinges of jealousy.
Amanda shook her head, "I'll explain everything later." She kissed him and headed for the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go and make myself pretty. Pick me up at seven thirty. Don't forget to wear a tie." She snatched her suitcases, bounced up the stairs and out the door, leaving MacLeod alone, wondering where his tux was.
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Boston, c. 1988
Duncan MacLeod and Tessa Noel stepped off the white and yellow Mass Transit bus that had moments before stopped in front of the Boston Superior Courthouse. Tessa wrung her hands together nervously, seemingly unnoticing of the throngs of people who were disembarking behind her. She would have surely gotten swept away were not Duncan holding tightly to her hand. MacLeod looked around at the tall buildings, noting how much the city had changed in seventy odd years. He squeezed Tessa's hand as they walked up the large marble steps. In the elevator, she paced nervously. He caught her arm gently and smiled reassuringly. "Hey, don't worry about it. They'll say yes." If the judge decided in their favor, MacLeod knew their lives would change forever; not only would they be getting a child, but a teenager who had witnessed her own mother's death. His reassurances were not as effective as he'd hoped them to be. Tessa shook her head, her blond mane flying about wildly. "What if they don't?"
"They will." Tessa and MacLeod stepped off the elevator and slowly walked down the long hallway. At the end, on a wooden bench sat a middle-aged woman and a teenage girl with chestnut hair like her mother's. Her head popped up as she spotted Tessa and she jumped up, a half smile on her face. Tessa and MacLeod stood beside her, Tessa hugging her protectively, MacLeod trying to fit in to their all ready well-established family. The social worker placed her hand on the girl's shoulder and led her back to the bench, tearing her from Tessa's arms. Mac could see his love's distress and he whispered something in her ear. Tessa's lawyer stuck his head through the large courtroom doors and asked Tessa and Mac to come inside.
Tessa smiled at the teen. "We'll be together, I promise." The doors shut behind her.
Duncan and Tessa sat behind their lawyer and waited for the judge to enter. Moments later, he came in, black robe puffed out behind him like wings. Slowly, he sat, then opened a manila folder. "I have considered the matter of the custody of the minor, Rochelle "Shelly" Evans. It's always difficult to decide a case like this. Mr. Murphy," he addressed Tessa's lawyer. "Ms. Noel is petitioning for custody of the minor, is she not?"
Murphy stood. "Yes, your honor. Ms. Noel is the girl's godmother, appointed years ago by the girl's now deceased mother."
The judge nodded. "And Ms. Noel lives out west, in Seacouver, as an antiques dealer and artist, is that correct?"
"Yes. Your honor," the lawyer answered. "Ms. Noel lives with Mr. Duncan MacLeod; both deal in antiques. Ms. Noel is also a sculptor, dealing primarily with metals."
"Duly noted." The judge turned to the prosecutor. "And the state feels that the living conditions are satisfactory for said child?"
Beside him, MacLeod could feel Tessa squirm every time they referred to Rochelle as though she were being auctioned. A woman stood. "Yes, your honor. However, the state is concerned with the fact that Ms. Noel and Mr. MacLeod frequently leave Seacouver and travel to Paris, where they live for extended periods of time."
"Your honor," Murphy interjected. "Tessa Noel was born in Paris and has dual citizenship, both in France and the United States. She has committed to arranging a schooling and travel schedule that would allow said minor, Rochelle Evans, to live with her and Mr. MacLeod in Paris, and still maintain her academics."
The prosecutor shook her head. "Your honor, the state feels that in the best interest of the child, her needs would be better met if she were to live in a stable home environment. May the state also remind the court that, although they live together, Ms. Noel and Mr. MacLeod are not married."
The judge nodded and thoughtfully stroked his graying beard. "I have reviewed the testimony and written reports from The Department of Social Services, and taken in to consideration what has been said here today. I have decided that the minor, Rochelle Evans, will not fall into the custody of Miss Noel." Tessa let out a short cry. Duncan took her hand in his own. The judge continued, "Rochelle Evans is under state custody until she turns eighteen. Case closed." He banged his gavel, rose, and left the courtroom.
"No!" Tessa cried. "He can't do that! Nicole wanted Shelly to live with me, not in some foster home. I promised her; I promised Rochelle!" Duncan held her as tears streamed down her face. He could understand her frustration.
"Surely we can appeal this." He looked beseechingly at their lawyer, who had been chosen rather hastily.
Murphy nodded. "Yes, but it would take years, money and be detrimental to all your emotional health. Go to any lawyer in this state and he'll tell you the same thing: you'd probably get the same verdict. I'm sorry." He gathered his things and left the courtroom; after all, he'd already gotten his retainer. A short time later, MacLeod sadly led Tessa out as well. Seeing them exit, Rochelle stood, took one look at Tessa's tear-stained face and began to cry herself. She tore away from her social worker and ran to Tessa, grabbing at her blouse in desperation.
"No! Please don't let them take me Aunt Tessa! Please! You promised! You promised, you promised!" She tried to hold on to her godmother, for protection and love, but the social worker restrained her and led her away. Shelly screamed for Tessa, her mother, Duncan, cried out to them. Her cries echoed in the halls and in the minds of those who heard them, even long after she'd left. Tessa sobbed and collapsed into Duncan's arms.
*Paris, the present*
Ten years later, Shelly Evans, who now went by the name Rochelle Picaut, and who was, ironically enough, Immortal, sat on a stool on Duncan MacLeod's barge. Her hair was the same length, though now it was a deep red, instead of auburn. Her eyes, which had once been a clear, strikingly crystal blue, were now hazel thanks to the wonders of contact lenses. She was a little taller and looked not much older than she had when he'd last seen her; MacLeod wondered when she had died. "For the next three years, I was tossed around to five or six different foster homes." *So much for a stable home environment.* "Eventually, one night, when I was sixteen, I had had it. I sneaked away from the foster home, which at that point was on an island off the Cape-remember the day we spent down there?" She shook her head, knowing she had allowed herself to get sidetracked. "Anyway, I sneaked away and went to my favorite place, a bridge that over looked the Nantucket harbor." She paused. "Then I jumped."
MacLeod coughed, "You killed yourself?"
Rochelle nodded, "I was so angry. At my mom, for dying. At Aunt Tessa, for breaking her promise. At you, because I thought you were the reason the judge would not grant custody. I was mad at the world, more or less. When I jumped, I considered myself a bastard orphan whom no one loved or cared about."
"That's not true," Mac scolded her softly. "She loved you. It broke her heart to be denied custody."
*Past tense?* Shelly wondered. Had they broken up? She surveyed the barge and did not see much. There was an antique wooden stove, the small kitchen area, a bed covered in white, a bookcase, a couch, a mat and small Japanese-style coffee table on the floor. She saw no signs of a female influence whatsoever and thought it odd. She turned to him, thoughtfully, "You knew, didn't you? That week you spent with me in Boston; you knew I was Immortal."
Mac nodded, "I knew. And I was hoping that the judge would grant custody so that when you did eventually die, I could be the one to teach you." Wondering, he asked, "Who was you teacher?"
Rochelle sighed, almost forlornly, "Frank Mamakos. He worked with Social Services and was actually the one to ID my body. When I came to he was there with clothes and an explanation. He quit DSS and became my teacher."
"Where is he now?" MacLeod asked, pouring them drinks of brandy. He handed the glass to her, which she accepted gratefully.
Shelly gulped her brandy as though it was water, "Dead. Some guy whacked him about two years ago." Her words were even, lacking emotion. She had the greatest respect for her former teacher, but dead was dead was dead and that was it.
After a few moments of silence, Duncan asked, "Why did you come to Paris?"
"I belong to an American theater troupe. We do standard stuff like ballets, concertinas, musicals and plays. We just came from London where we spent three weeks performing at the embassy. We are set to perform for the ambassador here as well. It is a reminder of home, I guess," she sounded indifferent. "We go from country to country, embassy and consulate to embassy and consulate, bringing a little bit of the US to them."
MacLeod nodded, "How did this come about?" During the brief time he'd known her, he'd never thought of her doing anything theatrical or musical.
Rochelle smiled ruefully, "We needed money." She swallowed her laughter as MacLeod's face took on a strange perplexity. She attempted to explain, drawling, "It ain't cheap to run a theatre company, so the director applies for local, state and government grants. To get the government grant, which was very substantial, he had to make a deal: the money for a good will mission, all expenses paid once we got to Europe; all we had to do was get here." Which was more expensive then she had imagined. If she had to participate in one more bake sale, cash in one more empty soda can, or make one more speech asking some elderly people for donations, she might have to spontaneously combust. The thought struck her as amusing and she swallowed a smile.
"So," Rochelle asked the question that had silently been burning on her lips since her arrival. "Where is Aunt Tessa?" MacLeod lowered his eyes and refilled her glass. Rochelle furrowed her brow and sipped her liquor. "What, did you two break up or something? I had always imagined you guys would be together forever." The thought of a mother and a father figure had been what kept her going all those years.
"Shell-Belle," MacLeod said, using a nickname she had not heard uttered in a decade. "Tessa died over five years ago." Shelly dropped her glass and it shattered and splintered on the wooden floor. Her hand flew to her mouth and she was about to ask all the million questions that were flying around inside her mind when they both felt the presence of another Immortal. Their senses heightened, their minds buzzed, and Rochelle's stomach lurched.
"Mac?" a female voice called, her boots thumping as she descended the stairs. "Are you here?" Amanda entered the barge, carrying a few suitcases and dressed for a Modern Gothic costume ball; she saw Shelly and MacLeod and the shattered glass. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, the nerves in her arm twitching, waiting for the message to reach for the scabbard of her sword, hidden beneath her long rain coat.
"Actually," MacLeod began.
"No," Rochelle cut him off. She gathered up her backpack, apologizing profusely for the broken glass. Quickly, she rushed past Amanda, not bothering to say hello or goodbye, and ran up the stairs and off the barge.
"Shelly!" MacLeod called after her, but it was too late. Angrily, he sighed and turned to Amanda, who had removed a dustpan from a cabinet and had begun sweeping up the shattered remnants of the glass. She looked up at him, her brown eyes full of questions.
And she asked him a second time, "Did I just interrupt something?"
"Yes." A pause. "No," Duncan rubbed the back of his neck wearily and sat on the wooden steps leading up to his bed and one of two possible exits. "It's a long story." Amanda came and sat beside him.
"I have time." She twisted her upper body and began massaging his broad, muscular shoulders. Her ministrations felt good and MacLeod began to speak.
"That was Shelly Ev-, er, Rochelle Picaut. I knew her when she was a child and she came looking for me."
"For you?" Amanda asked, her thin hands moving down his back.
"Not just me. She came looking for Tessa."
Amanda momentarily stopped her ministrations. She had met Tessa once, a long time ago. Amanda had been traveling with the circus at the time, and met up with Duncan and Tessa purely by chance. When she had seen Mac with Tessa, she'd been insanely jealous; she'd even tried, on several occasions, to persuade Mac to leave Tessa. She continued massaging, "What does she have to do with her?"
"Rochelle is Tessa's goddaughter. After Rochelle's mother died, Tessa, we, petitioned for custody, but were denied. Tessa lost touch and now Shelly's here looking for her."
"And you told her what happened," Amanda assumed.
Duncan nodded. He stood up and began pacing the barge. "Amanda, I have to find her and explain everything."
Amanda remained seated on the steps. Her brows raised and she began twisting her hands together. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" He spun on his heel and stared at her. She saw the need and determination in his eyes; she conceded. He could always make her agree. "All right. We'll find her. Do you have any idea where she's staying?" MacLeod shook his head. "Okay," Amanda continued, always thinking, a reflex now, after spending time with Wolfe. "Is there another reason she's in Paris, besides finding you that is."
"She's here to perform for the US ambassador, with some theatre troupe, I think she said."
"Then she's at the embassy." Amanda declared factually.
"How do you know?"
"I read it in the newspaper I found in the taxi. Honestly Duncan, you've got to read more."
Annoyed, MacLeod shook his head. "How do you suggest we get in to the embassy?" Had this happened earlier, all Duncan would have had to do was ask his friend at the embassy to get them in. But now...now another of his friends was dead.
"Easy," Amanda said nonchalantly. "There is a dinner tomorrow tonight for all the members of the theatre troupe. All we have to do is get ourselves on the guest list."
MacLeod's eyes widened. "Sure. 'All we have to do is get ourselves on the guest list,'" he mimicked. "Right." He watched as Amanda walked over to the table and flipped open his laptop.
"You doubt me?" she asked, her fingers flying over the keys. After a few more quick keystrokes she stood and smiled. "Done." Nick would love this, she thought.
"What did you do?" Mac asked incredulously.
"I hacked into their system and put us on the list; it was incredibly easy."
"You've taken to hacking, have you?" He used to hack; he still could if he wanted.
Amanda shrugged innocently. "Thanks to your code of ethics, which I find incredibly sexy by the way, I can't steal anymore." Okay, that was a lie, she had stolen a lot since they had last seen each other, but she only used her powers for good; if Wolfe, a cop understood that, then she was sure Duncan would-when she told him, which would be later. Much later.
For the first time, MacLeod took a good look at Amanda and his eyes widened, as though seeing her for the first time. Her hair was white blonde, and she was dressed in a style that was a cross between a medieval dominatrix, and the stereotype of what an undercover agent would dress like. She was wearing all black, a leather corset that tied in the front, thank you, and tight flared leather pants. Her trench coat billowed out like wings behind her and it made him wonder what she had gotten herself into.
"What are you wearing?" he exclaimed. "And what have you done to your hair?"
Amanda whirled around for inspection, "You like? It helps me blend in."
*Blend in?* "Are you back in the circus?"
She smiled, "No. Nick and I..." But she caught herself.
Too late. "Who's Nick?' MacLeod asked, feeling twinges of jealousy.
Amanda shook her head, "I'll explain everything later." She kissed him and headed for the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go and make myself pretty. Pick me up at seven thirty. Don't forget to wear a tie." She snatched her suitcases, bounced up the stairs and out the door, leaving MacLeod alone, wondering where his tux was.