Chapter Two
His name, it turned out, was Garrett Sunderson. He was new in town and the newly hired sports anchor for News at Eleven on Channel 5. Diana couldn't tell anything about him as far as his latent immortality went, but if Duncan had said it was possible; she was willing to believe it… and to keep an eye on him. She smiled… he was a fine looking man… one she'd normally have no qualms about getting to know. They'd sparred a bit in the practice room one evening and then had shared a drink at the juice bar. He was thirty-four, adopted, divorced, and eager to make a new life for himself in a new city.
"Why the divorce?" Diana asked curiously. "If you don't mind my asking." She shrugged. "A girl has to be careful."
Garrett had chuckled. "My wife came from this really huge family. She wanted kids in the worst way. Four years into our marriage and nothing… not even a false alarm or a late period. It wasn't her. The doctors checked her pretty thoroughly. That left me." He shrugged. "So… long story short… we divorced."
"She divorced you because she couldn't have children with you?" Diana was aghast that anyone was that shallow.
"Yeah… so here I am," Garrett said thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Hey… maybe it just means I'm God's gift to women. I don't have to be careful any more." He winked and she smirked and slapped his arm, noting the firmness of the muscles.
No, she thought wistfully, children are something you'll never have to worry about. Aloud she laughed and rolled her eyes, but she let him have her business card. She'd keep an eye on him… she'd told Duncan she would… but she wasn't really interested in him otherwise.
As Diana left Silvio's that night… she had a moment when she thought that she was being followed. She sped up until she reached her car, unlocked it, tossed her bag into the back seat even as she pulled her short sword free from its sheath and stood waiting at the opened car door.
A piece of paper blew in the wind across the parking lot. In the distance she heard two young male voices teasing one another and the occasional blare of a car alarm… followed by laughter and running footsteps. Sensing no other immortal… Diana gradually relaxed as she returned the sword to its sheath and shut the rear door. She climbed into the front, auto-locked the doors and started the ignition. There was no immortal here… but after what Duncan had told her… she was not about to take chances.
Once her Camry started, she shifted into gear and drove off.
In the hustle and bustle of the next few days… and the launching of her client's new product… Diana forgot about Duncan's warning and her uneasy feeling about being watched. She shouldn't have.
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Molly Templeton wanted to be Diana Hamilton in the worst way. She watched her boss glide through sales meetings and conferences with a cool aplomb that made her seem far older and more experienced than someone of about thirty. Sometimes Molly thought Diana had been doing her job for centuries… and then she'd laugh to herself at the absurdity of that remark. Molly had recently styled her hair and dyed it to match Diana's flowing auburn locks, but no one had really noticed it or commented on it. Molly was an unimportant stenographer with the company, not even a sales associate. She'd never even actually met Ms. Hamilton face-to-face. She remained anonymous within the steno pool.
She had no family in San Francisco… having run away from an abusive stepfather at age fifteen. She'd managed to get off the streets and into some job training due to a caring social worker… but had refused all attempts to re-establish contact with her step-father. "He hated me for being a millstone about his neck when my mom died," Molly had tried to explain. "He'd hate for me to remind him of that fact." So she'd dug in her heels and remained alone… except for a stray cat… who'd adopted her more or less.
She'd stayed late at work to finish up her transcriptions, always determined to be efficient no matter what… and to grab the eye of a supervisor… and was crossing the parking deck on her way to the bus stop when she heard something that sounded like swords in the darkness. Molly paused and, curious, closed in for a better look. Who would be using swords in this day and age?
From behind one of the pillars, she could see two figures and they were indeed fighting with swords. Moreover, it didn't look like the movies. These two men lunged at one another in desperation; apparently out for blood… and giving no quarter.
Molly watched open-mouthed in fascination as one man sliced the mid-section of the other and then danced away. The injured man held a hand to his wound and then growled as he leapt back to his feet and bore down upon his assailant with several two-handed hacks.
The first man, easily defended against the assault, and managed to grab the other man… pull him in and then shove him away… slicing once more… this time he drew blood from an arm. The other man stumbled about several steps holding his wounded arm… seemed to dig within himself… and came out swinging once more. But this attack was less intense than the previous one. Molly couldn't see how he was even still on his feet.
She wanted to cry out… but sensed that doing so would only result in her own death. Surely these two maniacs would stop! But they didn't. The wounded one's actions became slower and slower. Finally the other man stood over him and sliced off his head!
Molly gasped and scrambled backward… aware that she was splashing in water or oil or something. The winner looked up… his eyes narrowed as he saw her… and then all hell broke loose. Lightning seemed to come from everywhere as cars began to explode and alarms went off all about her. Molly Templeton thought she was in a nightmare. She covered her ears at the loud booming crashes and when silence returned, she ran. The flickering fires of burning cars became fewer… and fewer. She reached the street level and raced into traffic.
A car braked to a stop right before her and a woman got out. "What's happened?"
"M-m-m-en… w-w-w-ith... s-s-s-swor-ds," Molly finally managed to mutter between chattering teeth.
The woman looked around sharply. "Get in!" she barked.
Molly climbed in… still shuddering… her teeth still chattering. The driver hit the gas and tore off. "There's a blanket in the back. Cover up!" she ordered.
Molly reached into the back and pulled the blanket forward… she cuddled beneath it… but still she shook. Vaguely she was aware that someone was talking to her.
"Your name?" the driver prodded. "Tell me your name!"
"Molly Templeton."
"Well… Molly Templeton… I want you to open the glove compartment now. You'll find a flask. Take a little sip of bourbon and then begin to breathe slowly."
Molly opened the compartment and shakingly took out the flask. Upon opening it, she took a sip. Then she glanced at the no-nonsense driver. Oh great! she thought as she rolled her eyes. I finally meet my idol and she likely thinks I'm a nut case. Aloud she murmured, "Ms. Hamilton."
Diana glanced over at her with a smile. "Do we know one another?"
Molly shook her head as she bit her lip. "Not really. I work in the steno pool."
Diana pulled to a stop at a red light and watched the traffic go by. Finally, she turned right on red when there was an opening. "Just sit back now, Molly. I'm going to take you home. Where do you live?"
"Shouldn't we call the police?"
Diana said nothing.
Once again Molly realized how wild and insane her story sounded. "You don't believe me," she finally said.
"I didn't say that."
"But you don't. No one ever believes me."
"Molly… I need an address…" she laughed lightly. "Or would you prefer I just drive around the block again."
Molly realized that they were coming up again on the parking structure. Until now, she' hadn't been aware of what Diana was doing. Sudden fear gripped Molly. She didn't want to be near the parking deck. If that man had seen her… he'd kill her! In halting tones, she gave Diana an address.
"That wasn't so hard now… was it?" She turned left at the next light and started toward the bay.
Molly took another sip of the bourbon… letting its smoky flavor seep into her. Her step-dad had smelled of bourbon. She'd hated him for living when her mom died. She'd hated him for the smell of it… and for the way he'd forced himself on her again and again. She'd thought about pounding his brains out one night when he was too drunk to be aware of it. But as with most things… she'd chickened out and kept her mouth shut until she'd finally run away. She'd known he wouldn't come after her… she'd just known.
But the bourbon was like liquid fire… warming her inside in a place she'd never thought would be warm again. The blanket was doing its job… cocooning her in blissful warmth. The steady click of the windshield wipers as a light rain began helped her relax. Molly sighed and crunched down in the seat as she closed her eyes. "It's not far," she said with a yawn. "Not far at all."
Diana nodded silently as she continued to drive. Her mind was a-whirl as to who had been at the parking deck. Had one of them been looking for her and then been surprised by another? If so… who'd won? Was she still in danger? She sped up when she noticed a black panel van exit the parking garage, following closely on her tail. Glancing sharply at Molly hunched down in the blanket, Diana sped up and turned quickly to the right to head onto the Golden Gate Bridge. The van followed.
She got no sense of an immortal behind her… but someone obviously was following her. As they hit the bridge… the van bumped her several times on the bumper. Diana began to weave back and forth as she sped faster and faster across the bridge. The van sped up to beside her and Diana could see a man with a gun pointed in her direction. The red light of the laser sight moved over her chest.
What is going on? she thought. What's happening? Aloud she ordered Molly to get down and stay out of sight.
She swerved to the right even as she felt something hot and hard slam into her head. "Oh crap!" she mumbled. In desperation… she slammed her foot onto the gas, breaking through a low barrier that skimmed the roof from her Camry. As something hit her on the head, she saw stars and felt nauseous. The momentum continued as she instinctively pressed harder so that the car slammed into the side and flipped into the air against the side of the bridge… and then fell… fell… fell… into an inky blackness. Even as she began to lose consciousness she felt cold water splash on her. She fumbled for the seatbelt… relieved that it let go and then floated away on a dark dream.
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She opened her eyes on a dim yet unfamiliar room. Not far away she could hear the tide breaking on the beach. She licked her lips and tried to sit up.
"Easy now," said a familiar male voice. "Lie back."
She did so and felt the cold cloth he placed on her forehead. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. "That feels good."
He laughed. "Glad to hear it. Ya know… since I took this job… women have done all sorts of things to meet me and get into my bed… but you take the cake."
She opened her eyes. "What did I do?"
"Go for a swim and wash up on my private beach," he laughed. Then he sobered. "You don't remember? Maybe I ought to call someone."
She reached out with a grimace, some interior voice yelling not to let him call for help. "No… really… I'm fine. I just need to rest a bit."
He leaned over her with a smile. "Fine by me. But I when I tell the guys I had a beautiful woman in my bed and didn't make a move on her… they won't believe me."
She turned her head and moaned. That… evidently was a mistake as the room spun. "Please… just let me sleep a bit."
He laughed. "I don't get it. Other than being asleep or unconscious on my beach… there wasn't a mark on you. You're fine."
"Fine," she mumbled as she dropped off to sleep. Maybe when she woke up… it would make sense.
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Diana threw back the duvet and swung her legs out of the bed. Her head still hurt… but it was a dull throb compared to what it had been earlier. It had been decades since she'd had a headache. She rose to find some aspirin in the small bathroom attached to the bedroom.
When she rose… she noticed she was nude. Glancing around the sparsely decorated bedroom, she realized that she had no idea where she was… or how she got here. She slipped into the small bath and opened the medicine cabinet, noting the man's razor, shaving cream, and after-shave were prominently displayed. Black towels hung haphazardly on the rods. Swiftly she downed a couple of aspirin and sipped water from the faucet.
Wiping her mouth off, Diana noted the be-draggled snarls of her auburn hair. She wanted a shower and to wash it… but that would have to wait until she learned where she was. Behind the door was a navy blue velour robe. On a man, it would hit mid-calf. On her… it hit a bit longer. She tied it tightly about her waist and folded up the sleeves. Taking a deep breath, she resolutely opened the door and strode with a confidence she didn't have into the main room.
The tall, good-lucking man with the phone pressed to one ear paced about the main room, again only the basics… if one counted the weight bench. He glanced up at her entrance, smiled and gave her a wave. He pointed to the phone and mouthed, "I'll be right off."
Diana relaxed slightly. She couldn't recall how she'd gotten here. She couldn't even recall having a date with Garrett Sunderson… but how else to explain her awakening here. Had he given her something? He didn't seem to be the type to use a date rape drug… and she had no idea how it would have affected her even he had. It was best to wait this out. Why couldn't she remember?
Garrett finally shut off his phone and rolled his eyes with a laugh. "Remind me again why I love this job?"
Diana shrugged. "You like being the center of attention?" She crossed her arms, rubbing them thoughtfully. She laughed. She waited. Finally she asked. "Clothes? I did have clothes on when I came… didn't I?"
He stared at her with a smile… and then realization dawned on him. "Oh… right… your clothes. Listen… they were soaked. What were you thinking going swimming fully dressed? Don't answer that!" He turned and led the way to his laundry closet. "I tossed them in with my stuff."
Even from here… Diana could feel the heat of the dryer. She had a feeling her clothes… whatever she'd been wearing… were likely ruined. Her worst fears were confirmed when he pulled out the unmercifully wrinkled rayon pantsuit and silk blouse. She held them up to her chest. "I guess I might need to borrow something?"
"Uh… right. Sorry about that." Garrett ran a hand over his sandy hair with a rueful look. "My stuff is all cotton… You know… It's the fabric of our lives… anyway… I always use high heat."
Diana grunted without commitment. "Is there anything I can put on?"
"Oh… yeah," Garrett said with a grin and pulled out some gray sweats. "Would these do?"
Diana accepted the hot cotton and held the pieces up before her. "They'll do, I guess." She turned to return to the bedroom and dress.
"I didn't take advantage of you… I just thought you'd sleep better if you weren't in wet things," he called after. She closed the door and leaned against it.
What had she learned? She'd been in the water… unconscious? Dead? Garrett had found her. Diana removed the robe… letting it fall about her feet. She opened the drawers to his bureau and found a pair of boxers, which she pulled on, and then a T-shirt and socks. After that she pulled on the still warm sweats. She ran a hand through her matted hair. She'd get a shower when she got home. Maybe there… the events of last evening would clarify. She must have had a head injury of some sort. That was the only explanation. But if she'd had a head injury… why? Was someone after her? Had she escaped by going into the water? She seemed to recall driving… urgently driving… flashing lights… cold saltwater.
Again her head throbbed and her stomach lurched in sympathy. She sat for a few moments, and then found a pair of sandals to strap to her feet. They were over-large… but the best she could do in the circumstances. Fully dressed she returned to the main room with a pleasant smile.
Garrett was staring at the television. He looked at her strangely and then pointed to the screen. "You're dead, Di."
Diana saw her picture plastered on the screen while a voice intoned the briefest highlights of her current life. Then the picture shifted to her ripped open and crumpled car being pulled from the bay. Another shot showed the body-bag and the words "decapitated body… the head still being sought…" filtered through her numbness as she closed in on the set until she was inches away. "Molly," she whispered as the events of the last evening came back to her.
Her knees buckled and strong hands caught her, lifted her into arms and carried her once more to the bed. "Easy now," he said. "I've got you. When you feel better… we'll call the authorities."
Diana curled onto her side, facing away from him as he sat beside her on the bed and gently rubbed her back. "When I feel better," she mumbled. She reached behind her to clasp his hand. "Don't leave me," she pleaded.
Garrett stretched out on the bed behind her and held onto her. Diana nodded. She needed to keep him from contacting anyone while she figured out exactly who had been after her and why… and… would they think she was dead?
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Duncan MacLeod was drying off his face as he emerged from the small bathroom attached to his new living quarters… a loft above the dojo he'd bought a few months ago… just a side business where he could go to work out, he'd thought… when Tessa was still alive. There really wasn't room for a full-on workout in the antique store… not with her studio and the inventory taking up the main floor… not with Richie living in the spare room upstairs in their living quarters. And he'd known he needed to work out more. Now… with Tessa dead and Richie immortal and on his own… he'd given the young man the proceeds from selling the shop to set himself up… the dojo and this loft were home.
He clicked on the twenty-four hour news channel and was humming to himself as he looked through the stainless steel commercial refrigerator he'd bought when he heard something about a headless body. Pausing… he stared at the set, but the commentator had already moved on to another story. Still… like any immortal… the words headless corpse always got his attention. Had one of them died? If so… who?
He pulled out eggs, cracked them open and began whisking them in a bowl while he focused on the next few stories. Eventually, the story was repeated. By this time, he was standing in front of the set… eating his omelet… a fork of eggs halfway to his mouth when he caught the details and heard the current identity of his student Diana Hamilton mentioned. Evidently she'd lost control of her car… crashed through a barrier, which had sliced off the top of her car… and likely her head… before the remnants had plunged into San Francisco Bay. He listened intently for any reports of a freak lightning storm… but heard nothing.
Pulling out his laptop… he began to research the story and other events of the past day in the city by the bay. An hour later he shut the machine down and leaned back thoughtfully. She was dead… but it appeared to have been an accident. There had been a freak lightning storm at the parking garage near her business. Had she been there? Had she seen something? Had that led to her death? But if the two were connected… why hadn't her quickening been released? Duncan shuddered at the memory of Darius lying headless in his church. "Hunters," he snarled. It had to be.
He pulled out his wallet and looked through it for the card on which Dawson had written a number… "Just in case you want to talk to me sometime," the man had said. Duncan had kept it… but hadn't called. Now he needed to.
"Dawson?" he barked into the phone. "We need to talk."
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Griffin Park by the shore was a testament to land use reclamation. Once it had been the site of mile after mile of tenements, several fish processing plants, and warehouses, which had housed the wonders of the Orient. A fire in the 1950's had leveled the area. Duncan had actually seen the fire on one of his periodic trips to the northwestern city. He'd stood on the hills above and watched the wall of flame consume the livelihood and homes of hundreds of people. The land had sat undeveloped until 1961 when a benevolent but anonymous philanthropist had bought the land and built the park… giving it to the city as a memorial of those whose lives had been lost in the fire.
Standing now on the soft rise of dunes… amongst the naturalized areas of wild grasses, Duncan tried to find a sense of hope in his despair… a hope that despite it all… there was a future for immortals. But all he felt was the loss of another student.
He heard the soft whisper of Dawson's cane on the nearby pebbled path. Duncan nodded did not turn. Dawson likewise faced the bay from where he stood on the path… as if he'd merely stopped to view the white-capped waves and the seagulls soaring over them.
"You rang?" Dawson said with that easy manner he seemed to have.
"Are you certain you people found all of Horton's people in your organization?"
"Yeah… well… maybe. Hell MacLeod… we can't be one hundred per cent certain. But we're doing the best we can."
"Tell me what you know about Diana Hamilton."
Dawson shifted uncomfortably. "You heard about her then."
"Tell me!" Duncan thundered. Through his mind the names of friends lost this past year drifted… Lucas Desiree… Gabriel Piton… Darius… Michael Moore, Tessa… Tessa… Tessa! And now Diana. Friends, mentors, lovers… and students. How many more would die while he remained. Would Richie suffer the same fate?
Dawson stared out at the bay. "Her Watcher reported she left work. There was a battle between immortals in the parking deck. Other reports indicate it was Johan Grűber and an unidentified immortal. Grűber lost. Grűber's Watcher didn't get a look at the attacker. Hamilton tore out of the parking deck a few moments later. Her Watcher was trying to catch up with her when Hamilton's car plunged off the Golden Gate Bridge. There was no quickening, MacLeod. It wasn't until the body was brought up that any of our people thought she was dead. Death by mischance. No immortal involved. I'm sorry."
Death by mischance? Duncan thought. He shook his head. "She was too careful," he insisted.
"Yeah… she was. But the facts say something spooked her. My people have been going over her file trying to find any connection between her and Grűber. So far no luck. We thought maybe whoever killed Grűber knew her as well… that it was someone she was frightened of."
"Diana wasn't frightened of anyone," Duncan said sadly. "That was part of the problem. She had no illusions about being the one… or even one of the few. But she didn't run from death. This doesn't sound like her. Something else happened."
"You think Horton's people?" Dawson sputtered.
"I do. I'd warned her about them… and you."
"Hell MacLeod. You can't go around telling your friends about us!"
"Why not?"
"Because it upsets the system! If immortals know about us… they'll confront their Watchers… maybe kill them."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"We are historians, MacLeod. Don't judge all of us by the actions of a few!"
Duncan turned to glare evenly into Dawson's eyes. "Prove to me that none of Horton's people were involved in this."
"They don't have access to the records. Diana's Watcher is grief-stricken. She's certainly not involved with any attack on immortals."
Duncan turned, gritting his teach and scowling. "I want to talk to her."
"Absolutely not! Do you have any idea what might happen if word got out that I talked to you!" Dawson replied; his voice tinged with fear.
Duncan smiled grimly. "Is that fear I hear in your voice, Dawson? Are you risking your life to talk to me?"
"Yeah MacLeod… I am."
"Then your people aren't just historians."
"But we are. But we do have rules. I've broken about a dozen of them since you found me. But it's the right thing to do."
"Break some more."
Dawson's mouth worked up and down as he sought an answer.
Duncan whispered two words… a name… and Dawson paled and nodded before Duncan walked away.
Pallin Wolf… the renegade Watcher who had kidnapped Tessa… who'd been run out of the Watchers and on his own. Dead now… but the meaning was clear. There could be more like Pallin Wolf… still Watching, still hunting Immortals. Dawson would have to break another rule. He'd have to arrange for Greta Conklin to talk to Duncan MacLeod… or at least… to have a talk with her himself.
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