"Sands," Quinn inclined his head, both hands on the desk as Sands sauntered in. Quinn had never lost his British accent and he had no intention of adopting an American one. "What brings you in via the front door? I must admit, that was surprising." He studied his old friend, noting the still- damp hair and very obvious lack of guns.

Sands' face jerked in what might have been a half-hearted smile. He put one thigh on the desk, half-sitting, and picked up the letter opener. "What have you heard about the Viscalli hunting us?"

His question brought Quinn's brows up. "What?" It was the last thing he'd expected to hear from his roguish friend, Sands.

"Viscalli? Hunting? Us?" Sands repeated slowly. "They were shadowing me today earlier while the sun was still trying to shine, so they're not juniors. Then at least five of them were organized enough to chase my lady- friend and I into the subway. We lost them." He gently placed the letter opener back on the desk's wooden surface and crossed his hands on his knee.

"Bloody hell!" Quinn stood and went to the door off to his right. This was not good news. He felt a little collaboration was in order. "MacGreggor, come in." He left the door between his office and Jock MacGreggor's open and went to stand in front of Sands. He had a difficult time believing the Viscalli clan would try anything so obviously suicidal. "Did you do anything to provoke this?"

Sands put a hand to his chest and raised his brows innocently as if to say, "What, me?" He looked rather angelic when he pulled that face, Quinn thought, fallen angelic.

"What?" a voice asked from the door. MacGreggor, with long curling red hair tied back in a pony tail and broad strong shoulders, sauntered in. He was dressed in what was almost a uniform for him, black silk shirt, black jeans, black boots, black belt and a semi-automatic in a shoulder holster.

"Sands was chased by Viscalli clan members today." Quinn told the Scot. "Have you heard of anything like that happening anywhere else?"

MacGreggor, Quinn thought with satisfaction, looked appropriately surprised. "No. Not since the wars of old, but I wasn't around then." He flashed a white-toothed grin. "You serious, Sands?"

"I have a witness." Sands pouted. "I've never come to you with fiction, guys."

"Yeah, but this would.could mean another war," MacGreggor said slowly.

"Yeah, well, they started it. I didn't even kill the guy we." Sands trailed off as the other two vampires turned to look at him with questioning glances. "He was waiting for us on the subway platform. I didn't have any weapons to take him out. It was pretty crowded with humans. So we incapacitated him and left him." Sands crossed his arms. "They started it," he reiterated sounding defensive.

"Maybe it's just you they want," Quinn theorized. "You do tend to attract attention to yourself, my friend."

"Is that my fault?" Sands' handsome face pulled into a frown. "It's not like I go looking for shitheads to shoot me, or chase me, or try to." He trailed off. "Quinn, you can wipe that look off your smartass face. I have had nothing to do with the Viscalli clan. Fuck it, who would? They're ugly, they smell, and they don't understand the words finesse or subtlety."

"You got that right," MacGreggor agreed. "I think we should plan a defensive and sit tight. Perhaps monitor Sands here." He jerked a thump in Sands' direction.

"I do not want to have a tail," Sands informed them. "But I'm sort of wondering if a pack of them is trying to figure out how to break into my place right now, damned fucking mooks."

Quinn walked about around to his desk chair and sat slowly. "Okay, before now, say in the past decade, you've had nothing to do with Viscalli? None have crossed your path?"

Sighing deeply, Sands shook his head. "Well, of course, I've seen one here or there, but I haven't slept with any of them, damn it. And I haven't killed any of them. Well, maybe one."

Quinn and MacGreggor perked up. "One?" they asked in unison.

Sands thought back. "When I was in the Agency, I was in Russia. I killed a really rough-looking vampire, but he never identified himself as Viscalli. He was working for the Russian mafia, well, actually, running a branch."

"That may be it," MacGreggor commented.

"It was eight years ago. I've heard of revenge being served cold, but that's ancient history," Sands argued. "And I don't think they knew it was me. I know how to cover my tracks."

"Did you drink from him?" Quinn asked. He knew his old friend. Sands' tended to taste all his victims.

Rolling his eyes, Sands nodded. "I didn't leave any witnesses alive."

"They probably knew you were in town. There's not many of clan Abberline in Russia."

Standing, Sands began to pace. "Well, so now what the fuck are you Guardians going to do about it?"

MacGreggor and Quinn both burst out in laughter.

"Sands, you are more dangerous than a half-dozen of our men," MacGreggor shook his head. "I'll tell you what, we'll arm you. How's that?"

"I'm with a lady. She doesn't really know how to fight," Sands told them.

"Then leave her here." Quinn gestured to the office.

"Never." Sands began to pace.

"Then you teach her to use a weapon," Quinn said softly. "She should know."

Sands nodded. "Get back to me. Tonight."

"We will," Quinn assured him.

Sands' dark brown eyes met Quinn's bright blue ones. The Guardian gave him a slight nod, which Sands took to meant "chill out." Sands nodded back and left the office.

Walking slowly toward the door which would lead him to the staircase, Sands paused. He could sense a power here, subtle yet years more mature than his own. It sent a tingle from the base of his spine up to his neck. His old phobia about other vampires began to rise. Calmly, he continued toward the stairway door, opened it and stepped inside.

As the door swung shut behind him, Sands spun, sensing someone there.