Before Gerard could speak, the door flew open. All it took was one glance for Gerard to make the guy as a snitch of some kind. In his late thirties or early forties, the dark-haired, brown-eyed man wore a beat-up brown leather jacket, had half-a-day's worth of stubble and had the look of somebody lived in the shadows.
"Kate! Hey, Kate! I – hey! It's you! You're early!" The snitch flashed an unusually white smile at Gerard before turning back to Kate. "And you owe me an apology. I told you he was coming."
Kate got to her feet, neither her face nor her eyes showing anything. Even if she wasn't a cop anymore, she still could do a cop-face. "Sam, meet Whistler."
"Whistler," Gerard repeated, testing out the name. "Like the painter?"
Whistler gave a short laugh. "Maybe. I work with Kate on what you might call a freelance basis."
"Really?" Now this was interesting. Gerard kept his expression bland and his tone light. He wondered if Kate was evaluating his version of cop-face. "How'd you know I was coming?"
"He's kidding," Kate interrupted, sharply, throwing a glare at Whistler.
"He needs to know," Whistler insisted.
He sure did, Sam agreed silently, waiting to see what Kate would say next. She didn't say a word, though, just shook her head and folded her arms.
Whistler paced the small office, fiddling with the files on Kate's desk, straightening the stacks. Finally, he stopped, having organized his thoughts as well as the paperwork and locked eyes with Kate again. "If he's here and he's early, that means other events are moving faster, too. We don't have the luxury of letting him find his own answers."
"So tell him. When he's done laughing his ass off, then we can do it my way," she said, moving back behind her desk so that she could watch the drama unfold.
"No can do," Whistler told her, checking his watch. "Deputy Gerard, you need to take that phone call."
Before Gerard could begin to wonder how Whistler knew his name, his cell phone rang. He decided against wondering if his day could possibly get any stranger. "'Scuse me, folks, I need to take this."
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Kate waited for Gerard to close the door behind him as he stepped out into the hallway before she tore into Whistler, in the harshest whisper she could manage. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Whatever They want me to," he responded, brushing past her to the mini fridge behind her desk. "You know that, Kate."
"I still have a hard time believing this stuff," she hissed. "And I saw plenty with my own eyes before you walked into my life with your spiel about working for the greater good. You think he's just going to sit here and accept everything you say?"
Shrugging, he cracked open a can of cola. "Of course not. That's why he came to you. It's nice that you're so protective of him. He feels the same way, even if he doesn't know it yet."
Kate counted to three. "Now you're saying I'm supposed to get involved with him? Don't you think he's a little old for me? Not to mention he thinks I'm out of my mind?"
"Doesn't matter what I think," Whistler said, taking a long sip of the cola. "I'm just the messenger."
They were doing it again, she realized. It was the same song and dance they went through every time he told her something she didn't want to hear or believe. And every time, he was right. But...Gerard? Did this mean they were supposed to be friends? Lovers? True, there was something about him, but he was older, in his fifties, and once he heard about the vampires and the demons, not to mention the reason he was here, he'd be ready to ship her off to the nearest nuthouse. And if he believed it on the first listen, maybe he should be shipped off to the nearest nuthouse. Gerard. Not likely.
With a loud slurp, Whistler finished the cola and put the empty can into her wastebasket. "You'll see."
And she knew he was going to be right. Again. Damn it.
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"You're kidding."
"No, boss, no kidding," Cooper told him, her voice holding a note of excitement as she repeated the information. "The Wesley Wyndham-Price who signed the visitors log at Stockton came into the US under a visa issued in 1999. He was hired as an assistant librarian at Sunnydale High, which is in the same town where this Faith took out the deputy mayor and that professor. Price was let go in 2000 after the high school was destroyed in an explosion. A few months later, he surfaced in LA as an employee of Angel Investigations, which is the same firm that is listed as yet another visitor on two occasions to this Faith. Price wasn't the visitor, though."
There were coincidences and then there were coincidences. It was a shame Gerard didn't believe in coincidences. "Keep going, Cooper, you're doing good."
"The visitor was Angel, no last name, no Social Security number, but there is a tax ID number for the detective agency. Staying with Price for a minute, he's now an employee of a law firm, Wolfram and Hart, and had his visa renewed three months ago. I sent copies of all the supporting docs to your LAN fax."
Gerard let her pause while he digested all this. How did a librarian – an assistant librarian, yet, and was there really such a thing in a high school -- get a job as a private investigator? And then move to a law firm. It didn't sit right and he hated it when the facts didn't sit right. "What else you got, Cooper?"
"This Angel guy is running the LA office of Wolfram and Hart. He's not a lawyer, but he's running the office. I've got a few sources tracking down how that happened and why. Price isn't a lawyer, either, but according to the law firm's directory, he heads up the research department." Cooper paused and took a breath. "Cosmo called and asked me to look into Katherine Lockley. I have a prelim on her. You want it?"
He glanced at the office door behind him. "Go ahead."
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When Gerard let himself back into her office, Kate caught herself looking at him for any sign that Whistler might be right. What she saw was that he was looking at her, too, but for what she knew were different reasons. "You heard about why I was let go."
"Some of it," he admitted, with a wry grin. "Wanna tell me the rest of it and save the taxpayers some money?"
Whistler brushed past them and slipped through the open door. Stopping, he waved a warning finger in Kate's direction. "Remember what I said."
She heaved a sigh as he walked down the hall.
"What did he say," Gerard asked.
"You don't want to know."
"I do," he assured her. "Unfortunately, it has to wait. I need to follow up on a lead –"
"You're going to Wolfram and Hart, aren't you?" If he was surprised, he only showed it for the briefest second. "Come on, Sam. I worked this case two years ago and I know who you need to talk to. Just be careful. Wolfram and Hart isn't your typical law firm."
"Most law firms are soulless bloodsuckers," Gerard joked. "What makes these guys different?"
Kate smiled. "Most firms think they're soulless bloodsuckers. Wolfram and Hart is the real thing."
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"I'm sorry, but Mr. Wyndham-Price is in a meeting."
Gerard looked down at the nametag on the girl's desk. Harmony Kendall. It figured. He flashed a smile and shifted into his just-doing-my-job-ma'am-tone. "Look, Harmony, I could come back with a warrant, but do you think Mr. Windham-Pryce would really want that?"
She blinked and looked like she was thinking very hard about his question. There was no doubt about it. Harmony Kendall was a dumb blonde, reinforcing the stereotype for blondes everywhere.
"Can I help you?" The voice was deep, resonant and Gerard spun around to see its source. Every inch of the guy screamed lawyer, from the custom Italian suit to the shiny Ferragamos. "I'm Charles Gunn, officer...."
"Deputy US Marshal Sam Gerard." He flashed his badge, making a mental note of the name. In the meantime, it was time to play with the lawyers. "I'd like to speak with Wesley Wyndham-Price. It's concerning an open investigation."
Gunn's reply was cut off when a woman wearing a skin-tight leather bodysuit strode into the reception area. Her hair had bright blue highlights and her eyes were a matching blue that had to be contacts.
Gerard blinked, because she seemed to have a blue glow and that just had to be his imagination.
The woman stopped in front of him and cocked her head, staring at him.
He stared back.
"Illyria." Her head snapped in the direction of the speaker and Gerard's eyes followed.
"Wes, this nice US Marshal wants to speak with you," Gunn told the new arrival. "He doesn't have a warrant and I'm about to tell him to hit the road until we can arrange a time when you can speak represented by counsel."
Price's eyes narrowed at Gerard and he addressed Gunn without turning his attention from Gerard. "It's alright, Gunn. We can dispense with the warrant for now."
"That's awfully nice of you, Mr. Price," Gerard said, easily. The woman, Illyria, was still staring at him. "I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about a jail break you witnessed last year."
"Of course you do." Price locked stares with Gunn. "We'll oblige you. Illyria, will you wait for me in the laboratory?"
Illyria stiffened, eyes flashing blue fire. "I go where I please. Whether you are there or not is irrelevant."
"Of course you do," Price agreed. "But Spike is waiting for you there."
"The halfling. He amuses me. I will go, but I will go because it pleases me, not because you asked." She started to go and then stopped, looking at Gerard once more. "This one interests me. He shall live."
Gunn quickly stepped between the two, blocking Gerard's view of the departing woman and flashing a quick smile. "She's in a band."
"A truly awful band," Price chimed in. "Worst music you ever heard."
"But she's a paying client."
"Yes, we must have those."
"'Course you do." Gerard offered a half-hearted grin at both of them and knew in his gut that whatever this Wesley Wyndham-Price was, he was no assistant high school librarian.