Chapter One

Seacouver, 1995

"I'll see your ten, and raise you ten more."

Joe Dawson watched as two red chips joined the pile in the center of the table. Mac must have a fairly decent hand. As for his own . . .

"I'm out," he announced, tossing his cards face-down on the table. He'd been losing pretty badly from the start, but, as he reminded himself, he couldn't blame anyone else. The poker game was his idea, after all. Just a little get-together with friends before the night's business started rolling in. Duncan MacLeod, sitting to his right, readily agreed to the game. Joe suspected that the ponytailed Highlander, like himself, was fairly itching to see how well the third man at the table played. Casting a glance across the table at the half dozen or so stacks of chips at Methos' elbow, Joe was itching to find out how he was doing it.

Even now, the slender, brown-haired man boldly refused to take any cards from the deck. Was his hand that good, Joe wondered, or was he bluffing? He leaned forward, his attention squarely on Methos' inscrutable expression.

Tossing two more chips into the center pile, Methos responded casually, "Your ten, MacLeod, and ten more."

Joe caught MacLeod's slightly raised black eyebrow before the latter's face went blank. This should be interesting.

Too bad Richie declined the invitation to join them. Mac's protégé was very likely still smarting over the whole Kristin business, and therefore reluctant to be anywhere near both Mac and the man who took Kristin's head. Joe suspected that Richie, with his clear-as-vodka face, would be faring as poorly as Joe himself, but might have enjoyed seeing the other two men face off against each other, and had a good laugh about it later.

MacLeod went through the motion of studying his cards. After a moment or two, he chucked fifteen dollars' worth of chips onto the main pile. "Back to you, Methos," he challenged.

"Very well." From his tone, Methos may well have been discussing who was going to take out the trash. "Your five, and fifteen more."

Joe couldn't help himself; he let out a slow whistle. Meanwhile, the five-thousand-year-old man seemed to have his attention focused squarely on his cards. Methos must have one hell of a hand.

"You're bluffing," declared MacLeod.

In the same bored tone, and without looking up, Methos replied, "It'll cost you to find out."

Mac eyed Methos; Joe was sure Mac was trying to detect any crack in the older Immortal's facade. Mac must not have found one, though, for he laid his cards down. "Not this time around."

Methos followed suit and began scooping up his winnings. It was Joe's turn to deal, but his mind was no longer on the game. Gathering the cards together and casting a quick glance around the otherwise-empty tavern, he announced, "Let's call it for now. We can pick up after closing time. What did you have anyway, Methos?"

Methos finished collecting his chips. "A pair of fives," he stated calmly.

"A pair of fives?!" Mac was incredulous. "You mean I let a three of a kind go for a pair of fives?"

Methos pushed the sleeves of his oversized gray sweatshirt past his elbows, seemingly paying no attention at all to MacLeod's outburst. "What time is it, Joe?" he asked.

Joe set the deck of cards on the table and checked his watch. "Quarter after three. A new shipment of whiskey is on the way, and my night guy's due in any minute." He used his cane to get up and go behind the bar, where he began making space on the shelf for at least part of the shipment.

"He's the one you just hired, right?" Mac asked by way of conversation.

"Nah, that one doesn't show up until tomorrow."

"How about a beer while you're at it?" Methos put in.

A grin split Joe's bearded features. "Why not? It's not like you haven't got enough to pay for it, after all," he joked as he reached for a mug and began filling it. No sooner did he shut off the tap than he saw Mac and Methos suddenly go still. Mac's brown eyes met Methos' hazel ones. After watching Immortals for over twenty-five years, he recognized that look. Another Immortal was nearby. Did Richie decide to pop in after all?

Mac looked ready to reach for the katana he kept in the duster coat he had draped over a vacant chair, while Methos clearly wanted to make a run for the exit. Neither man moved, however. Joe followed their collective gaze as it traveled to the front door. After a second or two, the door opened, admitting a young woman with a baby carrier in both arms and a diaper bag over one shoulder. MacLeod got to his feet, and Joe rounded the corner of the bar, Methos' beer forgotten.

She was pretty, Joe decided, about five and a half feet tall, and looked no older than nineteen or twenty. Her yellow-blonde hair hung from a simple side part to her shoulders, and she wore no make-up. She sported an open, waist-length denim jacket over a purple T-shirt and blue jeans. Her looks were not what captured his friends'interest, though. He observed her as she set the carrier on the table and leaned over to whisper a few unintelligible, yet soothing words to the carrier's occupant, a tow-headed boy about six or seven months old. The boy had been whimpering ever since he and the girl came into the tavern. She straightened up again and fixed eyes as dark as MacLeod's on the three of them.

"Hello?" she ventured timidly. "I'm looking for a Joe Dawson?"

"Look no further." Joe offered his hand, and she took it briefly. He thought he could detect a flicker of relief in those eyes. He introduced her to the others, remembering to use Methos' "Adam Pierson" pseudonym. MacLeod, Joe noted, was polite enough in his greeting, even shaking the girl's hand. Methos, however, wouldn't even say a word, instead choosing to remain seated and barely nodding an acknowledgment of her presence. "What can I do for you?" Joe inquired.

"My name is Laura Kessler," she replied. "I believe you knew my father Daniel."

Joe felt his jaw drop. "You're Dan's daughter?" he exclaimed, unable to keep the joy and astonishment from his voice. "Man, I haven't heard from him in over twenty years! What's he been up to?"

"Nothing anymore, I'm afraid," Laura said sadly. "He and my mother were killed when their car hit a guard rail and overturned not far from our house."

Dan dead. Joe felt the instant pang of grief over losing an old friend. What Laura must be going through! "I'm sorry to hear that," he told her.

"That's why I came here," she went on. "Someone's been stalking my brother, you see, and you're the only person I can turn to for help."

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe spotted Methos' doubtful look. "Laura, your father and I haven't spoken in a long time. How did you know where to find me?"

"Dad heard, through a mutual friend, that you owned a blues bar here in town. I saw the name Joe's in the phone book, and thought I'd take a chance."

Mac chose this moment to speak up. "Why would Joe be the only person you can turn to?" he questioned Laura.

"When I was growing up, my father used to tell me how close he and Mister Dawson . . . Joe . . . were." She paused briefly before shifting her gaze back to Joe. "He said he could trust you with his life."

Joe had to take a stab at it, but he already guessed what Laura's answer would be. "Why not go to the police, then?"

"They would ask too many questions."

"Too many questions?" Methos' voice dripped with skepticism. "Is your brother in some kind of legal trouble?"

Laura either didn't catch or chose to ignore Methos' tone. "Oh, no," she answered earnestly. "Jonathan's completely innocent, I can assure you. It's just that with his condition . . ."

This time, it was MacLeod's turn to sound surprised. "Condition?" he echoed.

Laura's uncertain gaze flicked from Joe to Mac to Methos, then back again. "They won't talk," Joe commented.

Laura relaxed her visibly tense stance. "Because of his condition, I have to take constant care of him, and now that someone's after him . . ."

"Where's your brother now?" MacLeod cut in.

"I'm sorry," Laura apologized. "I forgot to introduce you." She reached down and pulled the baby from the carrier. He was wearing a light blue, one-piece pajama outfit and white socks. "This is Jonathan," she held the boy up for all three men to see, "and he's been a baby for as long as I can remember."

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The group - Duncan, Methos, Dawson, Laura, and Jonathan - adjourned to the tavern office at Dawson's suggestion. Discussing the Kesslers' situation demanded far more privacy than the main room of the bar could afford. Laura quietly sat in front of Dawson's office desk, while Jonathan, in his carrier, rested on the desk itself. Laura had set the diaper bag at her feet. She primly crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Her spine was held in rigid straightness.

Duncan shifted his attention to the now-quiet Jonathan. An infant Immortal? How could it be? Duncan sensed Jonathan, had laid eyes on him, yet he still had trouble accepting the boy's existence. What caused Jonathan's first mortal death? Some sort of freak accident? Overly abusive parents? Duncan didn't like to think of his Watcher's old friend in that light, but he had to consider the notion.

"The crash happened outside this little town where we were living, not far from Vancouver," Laura began. "There was a freak storm, and the authorities told me that my father lost control of the car. He and my mother were killed instantly." She paused, her uncertain gaze scanning her audience. "I had to get Jonathan out of town before anyone found out about him, so I took him and hit the road. I thought we'd be safe."

"But you weren't." This from Dawson, seated behind the desk.

"We were staying in a no-name motel near the border, and one morning, I woke up to find this under the door." Laura produced a folded-up piece of white paper from the wallet she kept inside the left pocket of her jacket. She offered the paper to Duncan, who stood to her right. He reached over and took it, neatly unfolding the creases. He quickly scanned the note and handed it to Dawson, who read the single, typewritten sentence aloud:

"The boy is mine."

"Laura," asked Duncan, "did you show that note to anyone?"

She looked up at Duncan and shook her head firmly. "I was afraid of letting Jonathan's condition slip. I don't want anyone calling him a freak or a child of the devil or anything."

Or a changeling sent by demons. The memory of his father's words came back to Duncan, and he could well imagine what Laura was facing. "Do you have any idea why someone would want to harm your brother?"

Another shake of her head. "All I know is what I already told you."

Duncan couldn't help himself. Out of habit, he searched every aspect of Laura's expression for some hint of deception, but he found nothing except the wild-eyed desperation of someone who was on the run mixed with the hope that her prayers were about to be answered.

"Well," Dawson's voice cut into his thoughts, "I'll see what I can do, but it may take a few days. Do you have a place to stay?"

"I checked us into a hotel before looking you up," she replied.

"Laura," said Duncan, "until Joe gets to the bottom of this, it might be best for you and Jonathan to stay with me."

"With you?" Methos, who'd been silently looking on from his station near the doorway, clearly didn't like that idea one bit.

Laura took exception, as well. "Mister Pierson is right. We can't impose on you like that. We're practically strangers."

"Whoever is after you already found you once. They'll probably find you again."

"But we'd be putting you in danger."

Duncan shrugged nonchalantly, a motion he was sure drove Methos up the wall. "I can take care of myself," he returned casually.

"How?" countered Laura.

Dawson answered, before Duncan could even open his mouth, "Let Mac worry about that."

Laura seemed to consider that for a long moment. "Very well," she said to Dawson. "If you think it's a good idea."

"It's settled, then." Duncan reached into his pants pocket for his car keys. "I'll drive you and Jonathan to the hotel and get your things, while Joe starts looking into your, er, situation."

Laura got to her feet, picking up her brother and the diaper bag. "Mister MacLeod . . . Mac . . . I can't tell you how grateful I am for all you're doing for us."

"Forget it, " he returned.

"But I owe you one," she insisted. "Really."

The instant Laura and Jonathan were out the door, Methos left his post and approached Duncan. In a voice low enough so Laura couldn't hear him, he hissed, "Are you insane, MacLeod? What are you doing. letting her stay with you?"

Duncan met Methos' challenging gaze. "They're Immortal, Methos," he responded, in a voice low enough that he hoped Laura wouldn't hear him.

"Tell me something else from the school of the more obvious," retorted Methos.

Dawson got to his feet. "I don't think she's out to kill anyone," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Joe," argued Methos. "She could be bluffing."

From Duncan, "How can she be bluffing if she doesn't even know the rules of the Game?"