Chapter Five

Jaime felt the tell-tale burning pain - it seemed to go right through her - at the same instant she heard the shot. If she'd been standing still, it would've merely grazed her side with little damage done, but her half-spin at exactly the wrong moment sent the bullet careening into flesh. What the hell? was all she had time to think; she was unconscious before she hit the ground. She hadn't been alert enough to listen for Steve's approach since - in her mind - it was far too soon for anything to be happening. She'd planned to don the bullet-proof vest around dinnertime, but even then she wasn't expecting the attack until at least the morning of the second day. Now it was too late. She'd been hit and there was no one around to help her.

At the very last minute, as they were fleeing the scene, Steve remembered the required picture. He pulled the camera from his belt, turned around and snapped a few fake shots. He struggled against the overwhelming urge to run to Jaime's side, sweep her up in his arms and carry her to safety. Doing that would only get both of them killed.

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When they returned to the compound, he gave the film to 'Caitlyn', who 'just happened to have a li'l old dark room' in her friend's basement. She was sent off to develop the photos.

For a reason he couldn't pinpoint, Steve was unable to shake the horrible, gut-wrenching fear that something was really wrong. He hadn't been expecting to be jumping for joy after firing a real, loaded gun at his wife, and she'd been given the ultimate protection available, so why was he so damned worried?

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Buffy had the needed pictures already in her car, but she still had a couple of hours to fill. After shaking off her New Destiny tail (by driving the little sports car in a way he couldn't possibly duplicate), she found a phone booth and pulled over to call in a progress report. From what she'd been told about Oscar, she wasn't surprised that he was already in his office at 7:30am. She didn't realize he'd spent the night there.

Oscar was impressed - Buffy had carried out her assigned tasks superbly - but he was also deeply alarmed. If the 'hit' had been carried out, he should've heard from Jaime long before Buffy's call. Had something gone wrong? Had Steve aimed too high?

"What did Steve say when he came back?" he asked Buffy, taking care to keep his voice even and calm.

"They didn't give us a chance to talk."

"How did he look?"

"Sorta green," Buffy replied. "Is...something wrong?"

"I don't know." Oscar realized that to continue working the case effectively, Buffy needed the facts - all of them. "I'd expected to hear from Jaime right away, before you or Steve checked in -"

"She hasn't called?" Now Buffy, too, felt the cold stab of fear in the pit of her stomach.

"No. But if she was wearing her vest - and she better have been - I'm sure she's fine. Could be a problem with her phone. She can't leave to call from anywhere else; she has to stay completely out of sight now, until it's all over."

"I'm going over there," Buffy said quickly.

"I don't think -"

"I'll sneak in from the back. No one'll see me."

"Buffy -"

"I'll call as soon as I know more," she promised, hanging up.

Damn, Oscar thought. Steve was right. This one's just as independent, and stubborn, as Jaime!

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Buffy was truly frightened as she moved swiftly and silently through the woods behind Steve and Jaime's house. It wasn't fear for her own safety, though. She was scared to death for her friends.

The rear screen door was unlocked and the solid door behind it was wide open. Buffy held her breath as she let herself in. The first thing she saw was Jaime's vest, draped over a kitchen chair. No nicks, holes, slashes or defects were visible anywhere on the garment. This was not a good sign.

"Jaime...?" Buffy called out softly, but there was no answer. She quickly ascertained that the house was deserted. When she saw the red splatters in the living room, she knew instantly that they hadn't come from any fake dye packets. Buffy had spent nearly four years among vampires and their prey. She knew blood when she saw it.

It was on the front door, just a little bit on the outside but a bigger splash on the inside, as though Jaime had made it through the door and closed it, but leaned (or fell) onto it for support. The cradle half of the telephone still sat on the little table beside the sofa, but Buffy had to follow the cord to find the receiver. It had gone under the table, out the other side and a short distance down the hall, in a position where it had obviously not been dropped or set down. It had been thrown there and, like the door and the sofa, there was blood on the receiver.

Buffy left the receiver where it was and placed a coaster sideways on the phone cradle to close the circuit, then used the phone in the kitchen to call Oscar.

She spilled all of it quickly, in a single breath, as soon as he picked up the phone. "Mister Goldman, she wasn't wearing the vest and there's blood - not pools of it, but too much - on the porch, the door, the couch and the telephone, and Jaime isn't here; I looked everywhere." Finally, Buffy stopped talking and took a long, shuddering breath.

Oscar took a deep breath of his own, to steady himself. "Buffy, I do not want you to go back to the compound. Come to my office immediately. I'll send an extraction team in for Steve...and for Jaime, if she's there and still alive."

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