Part Four

~**~

If there was one thing Marco Suarez had learned in his years on the force, it was to observe quickly, make logical decisions, and move on. That, and how to hit the ground running – that was the only reason he'd managed to dive over the three spirits that stood closer to the portal and make it through first.

He looked around – typical middle class home, stunned woman, sleeping baby – nothing that needed his attention here. The woman touched his arm.

"Alexander? Alexander, are you alright?"

Ahh – the name of the body he now possessed. A clue. He shook free of the hand. "He's not here right now." Then the former LAPD lieutenant figured out a use for the woman. "Where am I, right now?"

"Maple Street Station – it's a small subdivision on the edge of Sunnydale. Why?"

"Sunnydale, California?"

Her puzzled nod gave him his second clue, and a plan. He needed a vehicle – Sunnydale was not too far from LA. He needed to be in LA. Looking out the front window, he saw two girls and a man waiting on the sidewalk. Beside a car. Probably for him – uh, Alexander. A car…

"Thank you, ma'am. 'Scuse me." Squaring his shoulders, he marched out the door, and toward the waiting group.

"Xander," the blonde called, walking toward him.

*Ahh- Alexander has a nickname.* Marco filed the information, taking a quick but thorough look at the girl. *And nice looking friends – a little young, but looks strong. My type. Too bad I have other plans.* He nodded, managing to look as if he wasn't completely ignoring her, while scanning for what he needed inside the car. Keys – in the ignition. Hopefully, Alexander's – Xander's – friends would forgive him for what the lieutenant was about to do.

Suarez smiled a grim and humorless smile at the group, and announced, "I have an appointment to keep. Can't chat." Then he hopped in the car, and turned the starter.

The Citroën coughed a few times, and reluctantly began to chug away. If the three others hadn't been in shock, they could easily have caught it and jumped inside. "Great – what a piece of crap," Marco commented, and looking in the rearview mirror, he saw the defensive and angry expression on the older gentleman's face. Oh, well, at least he knew now who to return the car to when he was finished. If he lived that long…

~**~

Willow wiggled her fingers at the little girl in the car seat, and the baby giggled obligingly.

"I can't believe Xander Harris stole my car!" Giles complained for the twentieth time.

"Giles," Buffy sighed, "Get over it. He did – we've established that fact. Can we move on to *why*?" She shifted again, still trying to find a comfortable place for her legs, around the Duplo blocks and coloring books that littered the back seat of the mini-van. They were extremely fortunate that Kelli Denton was willing to drive them all back to Giles' place.

Willow elicited another giggle from her seatmate before chiming in. "Was it just me, or did Xander seem awfully serious to you guys? Like he had a goal, and we weren't about to get in the way of it?"

"Well, he *did* have a goal – my automobile," Giles offered from the front passenger seat, sulkily.

"That'll teach you to leave the keys in it," Buffy muttered unsympathetically from the back seat. "And you're right, Will – that was a distinctly un-Xander-like attitude he was sporting when he came out. Mrs. Denton, uh, Kelli – did anything unusual happen after you talked to your mother?"

The woman driving nodded immediately. "Oh, yes. Mother told me what she'd wanted to say, and all of a sudden – POOF – she was gone. I think your friend was there for a few minutes after she left, and he was very nice. Then, next thing I know, he's asking me where he is. And his voice was all different, too."

"Yeah – he sounded like he had a Spanish accent, to me. Not strong, but definitely not like anything I've ever heard from Xander." Willow had picked up a stuffed animal, and was swooping it down on the baby's stomach then pulling it away, to the child's great joy.

"So it would seem that when Sarah left, Xander's 'vacancy' sign lit up, and a new spirit came through the portal," Buffy surmised.

"Oh, bliss. Not only does he have my car, but he's probably possessed by the spirit of someone who is as we speak heading to the Mexican border with it."

Buffy rolled her eyes. Her Watcher was being such a – man, for lack of a better word. All about their cars. As if that ugly thing was anything to get excited about. Secretly, she agreed with the evaluation of whatever spirit currently occupied Xander's body regarding Giles' vehicle. But even *she* had tact enough not to bring it up – often.

~**~

Marco slid out from under the vehicle and peered under the hood. Everything looked much better, now. The owner of the Citroën – one 'Rupert Giles,' according to the registration - at least had a set of tools in the trunk. Of course, considering the shape the points and plugs had been in, he probably had no idea how to use them. The trunk also contained a very old looking broadsword, and numerous wooden stakes. This Rupert Giles must live an interesting life. Suarez turned the key, and the engine purred. Much better.

He'd managed to find a deserted gas station along the highway between Sunnydale and LA, and to get the car there before the engine choked completely on the accumulated crud developed in months, if not years, of benign neglect. The former cop also spent a few minutes acquainting himself with the contents of the wallet that came with the body he now occupied. According to the driver's license, that of one Alexander LaVelle Harris, age 17. Sunnydale High School student I.D. Several photographs of the two attractive young ladies that had been beside the car, and one of a different young man. A very old, very unused condom. Four dollars. In other words, nothing remarkable, nothing useful. It figured.

Gunning the now responsive car, Marco headed for LA.

~**~

Marco Suarez had been a good cop. He'd worked his way up from the desk to the beat, from Patrolman to Lieutenant. Finally, his application was accepted, and he was transferred to Special Operations. He had a steady girlfriend, Marah, and a nice apartment. He loved everything about his life – everything except his new partner, Kyle Martinson.

Kyle was big and blonde, a former All-City wrestler in High School, and obviously over-fond of himself. It was good thing that Kyle liked Kyle, because no one else did. Internal Affairs visited him on a regular basis, but never seemed to find anything that would stick long enough to get rid of him. Most of his former partners wouldn't talk about him or to him. At least one had ended up dead. There was some question about exactly *what* had happened to another – she was officially listed as a missing person. Martinson was an equal opportunity hatemonger – he disliked Hispanics, Jews, blacks and women, and anyone else that was different from him. Other officers would cross the street to avoid him. But Kyle apparently led a charmed life, and being married to the Assistant Police Chief's daughter didn't hurt him much either. There was a poll going around the station about what kind of drugs the girl must have been taking the day he proposed. The man could have posed for a cartoon villain, but there was absolutely nothing funny about him.

Soon, the single dark spot in Marco's perfect life was joined by others. First, Marah became close with the officer's wives. This could have been a good thing, since he really hoped to propose to her, but the women had this tendency to talk a lot about the downside of their lives. Like wondering every night if their husband would come home from work hungry, or in a body bag. They made sure Marah knew that while the risks were high for *any* cop, members of the LAPD Special Operations Unit had a shorter life expectancy than most. And so, he and Marah began to fight about his job – constantly.

Before long, he was given an assignment that required he move to a cockroach-infested project in the Barrio for an unspecified period of time. While this sort of thing was the epitome of 'undercover', after his wonderful clean luxurious current apartment, it struck him as hardship duty. And why, exactly, did he have to live in the slums to infiltrate this operation, while Kyle was able to remain in his upscale ranch in Fullerton? It was not really a great surprise to find Marah packing her bags to leave, even as he was packing his own. He'd never seen her again.

The target of the operation that he'd been assigned to was Carleton Perez – cousin to a big name South American arms smuggler, looking to set up a North American branch of the family business. Marco was to try and get in the door as a runner, and Kyle as a customer (which at least explained the place in Fullerton – Marco was thankful his partner didn't get moved into someplace even *nicer* while he himself was battling the rats for his breakfast cereal). Kyle would take a "shine" to Marco, and see that Perez moved him up in responsibility. When both were in position, they'd wire Martinson, get a confession, and take down the entire operation.

Everything went well – too well, Marco realized now, in hindsight. As the weeks ground by, he felt Perez was growing to trust him, and Kyle seemed to be stetting up for "the big sale" without difficulty. The night of the takedown, he was nervous, but not unduly so. After all, they had a plan. Unfortunately, he and Martinson didn't have the *same* plan.

It all happened so fast that he was staring down the business end of Martinson's gun before he was even aware he'd been double-crossed by his partner. "See," the big blonde tossed over his shoulder to Perez, "I told you he didn't suspect anything."

"Jesus, Kyle – what are you doing? The guys in the van can hear everything." Suarez was whispering in the hopes that this was just some new variation on the original plan, and not what it appeared to be. Because if it was what it seemed, the listening team should be bursting in any minute to rescue him.

"Oh, such a shame – my wire *broke* just a few minutes ago. And the team in the van won't be coming around to save your ass anytime soon. In fact, you were stupid enough to kill them with *your* service piece, which will be found on your dead body. I couldn't dare break cover when Perez was defending himself against your threats – it's too bad you got greedy, but it can happen to the best cops." The grin on Martinson's florid face was enough to make Marco queasy, had the situation not already done so.

There was nothing in life that Marco Suarez hated more than dirty cops – except maybe the fact that he died branded as one, unfairly. The instant before his spirit left his body, he vowed to come back somehow, and set this all straight.

~**~

Cordelia Chase was *bored*. After all, once you'd done Rodeo Drive, been seen at all the latest clubs, and shopped every mall at least twice, what was there to *do* in LA? Apparently, all the agents looking for gorgeous young faces to star in the next "Scream" had taken the summer off. At least back home, the Cordettes would be calling regularly, checking on what they should wear and whom they should be wearing it with. There was always the Bronze – not as exciting as Spago, but she knew more people there, and they *admired* her. Most of them, anyway. Here, she'd run out of things to do. Her aunt had to go back to work, and couldn't entertain her this week, but at least had the decency to leave her the BMW.

So Cordelia Chase had reduced herself to walking along the pier at Manhattan Beach, picking out which expensive house she would own after she graduated from High School. She was about ready to go back to Aunt Cecily's house and *watch TV*, for heaven's sake, when she spotted a familiar figure. And although she'd never be caught dead in Sunnydale trying to catch his attention, on a beach full of people who didn't know how special she was, he was the best she could do. She sidled up beside him, waiting for him to tear his eyes from the pay-per-view telescope thingy.

~**~

Marco had spent a couple of hours in the library at the microfiche, checking out articles from the time of his death. Apparently, due to the undercover nature of the operation, the circumstances and investigation behind his death were kept fairly quiet. What the articles *didn't* say said a lot. "Killed in the line of duty," "Small ceremony, closed to the public" – Marco knew what all those things meant. He'd seen how they buried disgraced cops before him – quickly, quietly, and usually no one but family came. No officer wanted to be too closely associated with a dirty cop in the eyes of the brass. The listening team also got small mention, which made sense – if you thought a cop killed two others, you wouldn't want to advertise it in the story of their deaths, and so would best keep it all low key.

He was surprised when he came across a small article about Perez, and saw a quote from Detective Mike Collier, an officer of no small repute and responsibility who often worked as liaison between Special Operations and the rest of the force. "We think he has ties inside the Department," Collier was quoted as saying, referring to the South American, "and may be responsible for the death of one highly respected officer and his team already."  If this was a veiled reference to his own death and the members of the listening team, Marco hoped it meant that not all his friends saw him as having gone to the other side first.

Suarez also pulled the Haynes Directory, and looked up his ex-partner. As he suspected, the address showed that Martinson was living down along Manhattan Beach – awful nice digs for a police department salary, even if he'd made it all the way to the *head* of the Special Ops Section in the last five years, not a likely scenario. He changed Harris' four dollars for quarters at the front desk, and headed over to the pier.

~**~

"I know I'm beautiful, but I can't believe you followed me all the way to LA, Xander. Dreaming big, huh?" Marco looked up from the telescope to see the brunette girl leaning on her elbow against the railing. Her smile held a hint of disdain, and although Marco found her mildly attractive, he still didn't like her. He had a feel for people that way – too bad he hadn't listened to it with Martinson. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm kind of busy right now, miss. If you don't mind." He lowered his head back to the eyepiece.

Cordelia raised an eyebrow. "Miss? Pretty formal for a girl you've known since kindergarten, don't you think? Oh, I get it. Super-Dweeb wasn't working for you, so you decided to try the Miss Manners approach, huh? Trust me, Harris, there still isn't a girl alive that's gonna fall for you. I think it's a hormonal imbalance in your system or something."

Marco growled deep in Xander's throat, and turned dark angry eyes on the girl. "If I didn't have an important mission here, I'd take the time to take you down a peg or two. You need it. Your impression of your own importance reminds me of someone else I really hated, and you're lucky my business with him takes precedence. I'm done here. Get over yourself, little girl." Cordelia's jaw hit her knees as she watched Xander Harris march angrily off the pier and into the parking area, fading from her sight.

"When the hell did he grow the backbone?" she wondered aloud. "And that sexy accent?" Hearing what she'd just said, the cheerleader shook her head. "I must really need some rest."

~**~

"Yeah, Buffy, I know we're hardly friends or anything, but I thought you might want to know that your puppy got loose, and he's running around LA."

"Cordelia, things are hard enough for me right now without wasting my time on your cryptic little insults. Explain that, or go away. Your choice." Buffy needed a long-distance call from Cordelia Chase right now about as much as she needed major surgery without anesthesia.

"I could just let Harris here go running around acting all masterful and in charge until he gets himself killed or something, but I thought I'd be of some help and report him to his Keepers before he hurt something." Cordelia was beginning to regret ever calling the other girl, but if she were to be perfectly honest, the way Xander looked at her, and the way he'd acted, kind of scared her. The only person she knew to turn to who'd even care was Buffy. Willow probably wouldn't even take her call.

"Xander's there? In LA?"

"Well, gimme a 'duh'! That's what I've been trying to tell you. You really *are* a natural blonde, huh?" When Buffy didn't even respond, Cordy went on. "He was talking with this funny accent, and all hot about some 'mission,' but I've known him for a long time, and it was definitely Xander Harris."

Buffy had to get to Giles' place. "Thanks Cord. I owe ya." She hung up before Cordelia could think of what to say to such a stunning response.

"One of my weirder days," the cheerleader mused as she stared at the receiver in her hand. "Maybe I will watch TV after all."

~**~