A/N:  Hi everyone!  Well, after-Christmas clean-up and my sister coming into town in a week have had things very busy here.    Not to mention the start of tax season, which is twice the mess for me since I have to gather up the stuff for mine and my grandma's.  All this by way of apology for the wait for this chapter.  I thought it would be the last one, but it sort of got away from me again (they have a habit of doing that!)  I can see at least 2 more chapters now off of this.  I'll try not to leave you hanging too long.  Thanks to those who review, especially my "regulars", and welcome to the few new names I've seen turn up in my reviews the past few chapters.  Anyone who wants the whole thing from beginning to end can also find it all on my web site, in the Stories section, at www.angelfire.com/scifi2/aimspar

Ian and Sara directly preceded Irons into the room for security reasons, but it somewhat spoiled the billionaire's entrance because the few people who weren't arriving "fashionably late" were all staring at the gorgeous couple.  They glided into the room together as if they were one creature, every step, every polite smile, every breath in synchronicity.  They prowled about, meeting the guests that had already arrived, then the ones who were just entering, trying to get an indication from the Witchblade who the assassin might be.  When the Witchblade made no sign and they had met everyone, they returned to Irons' side, flanking him, so they could consult on their next move.

"Well, we cannot make a fuss now," Irons said, smiling politely, with the edge of a predator in his grin.  "Keep your eyes open and continue to circulate."

Ian nodded, Sara smiled tightly, and they walked out into the crowd.  Many of these people were rich and powerful.  If Irons had any peers, they would be these people, but the suave ice-blond had no equal in wealth or power.  A party like this was more for business than pleasure.  It was a way for Irons to remind everyone who alpha wolf was in this power pack, as well as exchange information, cement loyalties, and keep a wary eye on those who dared to threaten his empire.  Ian had seen it from his master's side all too often, and he knew everything there was to know about each of them.  The only ones he did not have a complete dossier on were the "companions" of the elite, the guests of the guests.  These were the ones Ian and Sara kept a close watch on.

Sara for her part was a little uncomfortable, feeling out of her depth surrounded by such an elite gathering and pretending to be one of them.  She had to keep reminding herself that she was dressed the equal of any of the women, and as the Wielder probably surpassed every single one of them in actual power.  They may think they had the fate of the world in their hands, but she actually did.  Not that that was something she would have chosen for herself if she had been asked.

Ian was enjoying the attention, especially the looks he was getting from those who realized they had seen him before and dismissed him as nothing more than a servant.  He was being reevaluated in the eyes of many this night.  Was he Irons' partner, his heir, or was he going to challenge Irons?  How much importance did he have, how much information?  Could he be bought, bribed, blackmailed?  Or could he be seduced, a great many of the women, and some of the men, were wondering.  Would he be an ally or a rival to their plans?  The petty scheming he could read in their eyes amused him.  He had spent all his life at Irons' side, and knew the game well, perhaps better than most of them.

They wandered over to the bar to get drinks, opting for ginger ale, though many assumed it was champagne.  Scanning the room as they sipped, they compared notes mentally and had to admit neither one of them had a clue who the shooter was, or ,more properly, would be.  The music started, something akin to a tango, and Ian got a wicked gleam in his eyes.  Sara answered his grin, and as one they set down their glasses and moved onto the dance floor.  Noone else was dancing, and many were watching the elegant couple closely as they glided to the precise center of the floor, waited until precisely the right moment, then began to move precisely together.

Gazing into each other's eyes intently, they flowed smoothly, gracefully across the floor, their movements perfectly matched.  The steps were somehow classic and yet not, as they danced closer to each other than was customary, their bodies flowing against and around each other as they moved in perfect harmony.  The result was subtly erotic, sensuous, and many of the guests couldn't look away.  Light flashed off of Sara's jewels, was absorbed by Ian's dark, silken curls.  They stepped, spun, and ended with Ian dipping Sara to the last quavering note of the violin.  Noone applauded, that would be gauche, but there were many admiring looks, and none too few jealous ones.  Irons looked like he couldn't decide between approval and anger.

Ian handed Sara graciously into a chair, then went to get them both more drinks.  At the bar he was approached by a woman who had always ignored him before.  Rich and powerful, Isabella was a former lover of Irons'.  When she had finally realized Irons wouldn't marry her and give her access to his vast empire she broke it off in a huff.  Now it seemed she was targeting Ian as her second chance at that empire.

"Well, Ian," she purred, sliding up to him and twining her arm in his as if they were old friends.  "I never knew you could dance like that."

He looked the petite Spanish beauty up and down slowly before gently removing her hand from his arm.  She resisted, but he was subtly firm, disentangling her from him without causing a scene.

"If you had ever paid any attention to me at all, Isabella, you would have known there was a great deal more to me than guard and errand boy."  Ian's tone was quiet but firm as he replied to her in her native tongue.

"Indeed," she said, still trying to be sensuous and attractive, running her fingers down his chest.  "A mistake I won't make twice.  Perhaps we can go somewhere and get better…acquainted?"

"I have a companion," Ian pointed out, amused.  Sara sent an inquiry to him, watching from across the room.  He sent back and amused "don't worry" and she relaxed.

"That woman cannot offer you what I can," Isabella purred, pressing in against his body.

"What do you think to offer me that she can't," he asked while maneuvering away from her in a way that appeared as if her were merely shifting his feet.

"I can offer you wealth, power, everything you ever wanted."

"I have everything I ever wanted," Ian replied.  "There isn't anything you have that I want."

"What about my heart," she asked, gazing deeply into his eyes.

"You cannot offer that which you do not have," he replied, and as she was trying to recover from such a scathing insult, or perhaps it was a compliment in some circles, Ian collected the drinks and walked away.

While Ian was entangled with Isabella, Sara was approached by an older man in exquisite black Armani.  In his mid to late forties, she guessed with a practiced eye.  He was darkly handsome, perhaps Arabian or Egyptian, she wasn't sure.  He bowed politely and held out his hand.  She placed her hand in his, allowing him to kiss the back of it, then slipped her fingers free of his grasp before he could do anything else.

"My dear," he said smoothly.  "You are a rare and exquisite beauty.  Why is it I have not seen you before?  Has Kenneth been hiding you away?"

"Kenneth couldn't keep me if he wanted to," Sara replied, her amusement at Ian's internal reply of "don't worry" making her smile.  "There are some things even he can't buy."  The man chuckled, amused at her spunk.

"Indeed," he said, stepping closer.  "And what would it take to win you," he asked.

"You'd have to be able to catch me," she said, openly grinning now.  Ian was coming up behind with the drinks now.

"Not so difficult a task, I wager," he said, arrogantly sure of himself.

"Only one man's ever been able to do it," Sara replied, smiling past the man to Ian.  The man turned, saw Ian, and backed off a step.

"Keeping my Lady company, Mr. Assair," Ian asked pointedly, handing Sara her glass.  His emphasis on the "my" was not missed, and Mr. Assair backed off another step, making a short bow to Ian and excusing himself most politely.

"Well, that was fun," Sara remarked wryly.

"Forgive me, Sara," Ian said, sitting down next to her.  "I forgot in all the excitement to warn you about that."

"About what, being hit on by complete strangers?"  She was more amused than upset.

"About the politics," he told her.  "My appearance here as someone other than bodyguard to Irons has shifted the dynamics of power.  They are all wondering now what I represent and how it will affect them, and by extension, how you will affect them.  Also, it is something new and surprising, and there are few new and surprising things in the world for these people anymore."

"I'll bet," she said.  "Lets go check with Irons.  I still have no idea who we're looking for, and it's putting me a bit on edge."

"Of course, my love," he replied.  They finished their drinks and wound their way through the crowd to Irons' side.  As Ian spoke with Irons the Witchblade warmed on Sara's wrist.  She glanced up and saw a man in a black suit coat looking straight at them, coming through the crowd, a gun in the hand he was raising to point straight at them.

"Ian," she yelled, stepping closer to him, half in front of Irons, the Witchblade morphing into an organic-looking glove over her hand.  Ian's gaze snapped up, and he moved sideways towards her as the shot rang out.  The bullet tore through Ian's chest and out the back.  He lunged forward as one with Sara, and in two steps they hit the man together, taking him down to the ground.  Before Sara could do a thing Ian had snapped the man's neck, letting him fall, limp and lifeless, to the floor.  Guests were screaming and running for the doors, and noone thought to stop them from leaving.

The security guards came running, one of them calling for a medical airlift.  Dr. Immo was at Irons' side, trying to staunch the flow of blood coming from Irons' chest.  Ian came back to Irons' side, took one look at the position of the wound, and howled his grief to the skies.

"Father!" he screamed, one long tortured cry, knowing that Irons was already dead.  He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, Sara's arms coming around his shoulders.  She could feel his pain, physical and emotional.

"Ian, honey, we need to do something about your wounds," she said, trying to hold back the blood with her hands.  Ian would not respond, staring at the body of the only father he had ever known while his life seeped away down his chest and back. The Witchblade hissed and grew hot on her hand, still in it's strange organic form.  Sara stared as it extended thin tendrils into his chest.  The blood began to slow, and Sara could feel a lessening of his physical pain.  By the time the medical team arrived the tendrils were withdrawing and she could see the wounds knitting together, closing without so much as a scar.  A part of her mind marveled at this miracle of healing, the part that remained detached even at the most grizzly crime scene.  The part of her that loved Ian mourned with him as the medical team assessed the situation, then shook their heads and withdrew.

"Ian, love,"  Sara shook him, then took a risk and slapped him when he didn't respond.  His head snapped around, a snarl on his lips, his teeth bared, but he relaxed slowly when he came back to himself and realized it was her.

"He's gone, Sara," Ian said, his voice so lost and childlike her heart bled for him.

"I know, Ian," she replied, laying her hand against his cheek, tears still sliding down her face.  "But now isn't the time to fall apart.  The police are coming, and you have to get changed."

"Changed?"  He was confused.

"You have blood all over your clothes, and a bullet hole in your shirt, but no wound to go with it.  Unless you want to tell the police you got shot and some mystical bracelet healed you, you have to get cleaned up and changed."

"I was shot?"  Ian was clearly going into shock.  Despite the healing he had lost quite a bit of blood.

"Yes, you were," she said.  "Ian, you have to pull yourself together.  You're in charge now.  You have to fight this.  Don't let Irons down now, he trained you to be strong."

The last sentence finally penetrated his daze.  He made a great effort, shook off his mental fog, and stood.  He snapped orders to the security guards to seal off the property, noone in or out until he gave the word, including the police and the guests.  With Sara in step beside him he headed for his bathroom, stripping off his jacket and shirt as he went.  The rest of his clothes followed swiftly.  He wiped down quickly but thoroughly, Sara helping with his back.  She took the opportunity to wipe his blood off of her hands and arms, and noted with amazement there wasn't a single drop of blood on her dress.  He went to his room and dressed in the burgundy mock-neck he had bought for the trip to Mexico and a jacket similar enough to the one he was wearing earlier not to be remarked upon.  Soon he was striding back down the hall, Sara at his side.  Ian's second in charge of security fell into step beside them and filled them in on the situation.  The police were just arriving, but the press of people at the gate trying to get out was causing enough confusion for now that Ian had a little time to decide what to do.

Ian ran though things in his mind, his years of training and discipline taking over, coldly analyzing the situation and deciding what to do in the time it took to get back to the hall where the murder had happened.  He swept the scene with a professional eye, noting Iron's body laid out on the floor, the body of the killer in a heap with his head at an odd angle, Dr. Immo wiping the blood from his hands with a handkerchief.

"Royce, remove the video tapes of this event and lock them up.  There was no video surveillance tonight as far as the police are concerned.  I will go over them later to figure this out.  Now, Sara and I were talking with Irons when Sara saw that man pull out the gun and aim.  She screamed, I turned, we stepped towards each other as the man fired.  The bullet went between us to strike Irons in the chest.  Sara and I lunged for the killer while Dr. Immo tried to aid Irons.  The guests all panicked and fled.  I cannot remember exactly what happened after that, since I blacked out, but you all saw me fall to my knees, and I've been there ever since.  If you weren't actually here then tell the police exactly what you were doing.  Everyone clear?"

"But I saw you get shot," one young guard protested.  Ian stalked over to him, glaring at him.

"Do I look like I've been shot," Ian asked menacingly.

"Um, no," the young man said.

"Do you want to explain to the police how I got shot without getting wounded?" Ian demanded.  "Or perhaps you will tell them I got shot only to be miraculously healed.  Stick with what we can explain, and forget what anyone thinks he saw to the contrary."

"Yes, sir," the young man said.

"Mr. Nottingham," Royce said, listening to his radio.  "The police are coming in."

"Let them," Ian said, walking over to where the body of Irons lay, falling to his knees there.  He looked at the man who had been master, teacher, father to him and let the grief of loss overtake him.  When the police came in to establish the scene and start grilling witnesses Ian was sobbing into Sara's shoulder.  When a detective came over to question Ian Sara snapped at him and told him to give Ian some time.  No one could overrule her until the new Captain showed up and took over.

"Detective Pezzini, I'm your new boss, Captain Carter.  I'd like to speak with you now."  She nodded, disentangled herself from the much calmer Ian, told one of the security guards to get Ian some water, then followed Captain Carter across the room.

"What can I do for you, Captain," she asked.

"You can explain what you were doing here, for starters," he said.  He had read her file, and even allowing for Dante's prejudice he wasn't sure what to make of her.  Her police work was good, sometimes too good, as she played hunches that were right far more often than should be possible, and escaped impossible situations without a scratch.

"I'm engaged to Ian," she said, holding out her hand for him to inspect the ring, now returned to the proper finger.  "I came as his date."

"Even though he was in charge of security," the Captain asked in a way that made it a statement.

"Mr. Irons didn't have a problem with it, since I'm a cop," Sara told him.  "As far as he was concerned I was just another security guard, one he didn't have to pay for."

"Hmph, alright ," the Captain accepted her answer.  "Now, what happened?"

"Ian had wanted to ask Irons something," Sara began.  She gave the story as Ian had outlined it.  Really, the only change was not mentioning Ian had gotten shot and the Witchblade.  "When we tackled the guy I don't know what happened, because next thing I know his neck was broken."

"Did Mr. Nottingham do it, Detective," Carter asked her point blank. She looked him in the eye when she replied.

"I don't know what happened.  I didn't see it."  She held Carter's gaze, and he dropped his eyes first.

"Well, there's a lot more questions here than we have answers for," he sighed.  "Personally, I think your fiancĂ©e did it."

"If he did, it was either an accident or temporary insanity," Sara replied.  Carter eyed her.

"Temporary insanity," he asked, as if he didn't believe in any such thing.  Sara nodded.

"Irons was a father to Ian," Sara said.  "If I had been there when Gallo gunned down my father I would probably have done something like it.  I can understand Ian's grief.  Ask the medical personnel or the security guards.  Ian was pretty much incoherent."

"I already did, and one of the medical team remembered something like that. Alright, Pezzini, here's what I've decided.  We're gonna call this one an accident, no matter how hokey that sounds.  The guy's neck got broken in the fall when you and Mr. Nottingham tackled him, maybe while trying to get his gun from him.  Everyone saw this guy kill Mr. Irons, no one saw Mr. Nottingham deliberately snap his neck.  One less killer on the streets, no trial, no extra paperwork.  The guy got what he deserved."

Sara nodded, afraid to say anything.  The Captain started to walk off, then turned back.

"I know what it's like, Pezzini," he said quietly.  "I saw my mother gunned down in cold blood so some punk could steal her purse.  If I could have killed him, I probably would have too."

Sara went back to Ian, who was sipping at his water and answering questions.  The Captain gathered everyone up, got the bodies bagged and removed, then ushered everyone out to give Mr. Nottingham and his future bride some peace.  After about ten minutes, when everything was quiet again, except for one of the cleaning staff getting the blood off the floor, Ian stirred in the circle of Sara's arms.

"What did you tell the new Captain to get him to leave me alone," he asked.  "I expected to be hauled out of here in handcuffs, accused of murder."  Sara related the entire conversation, and Ian was very quiet for a while.  "I don't know what to do now," Ian said.

"What do you mean," Sara asked.

"Now, at this moment, I don't know what to do."  He sounded lost, and her heart hurt for him.

"Let me take you back to my place, Ian.  Away from all this.  Put you to bed.  Maybe you'll even sleep."

"My Lady, my love," he sighed.  "What would I do without you?"  He let her pull him to his feet and lead him away from the scene of his sorrows.