A/N; I'm quick, aren't I? Yay me! Here's chapter 18, and this time you didn't have to wait very long.

Anybody recognise the character of Brenda Packard? If not, check out Midsomer Murders episode 67, 'Secrets and Spies'. I just had to use her, she was stuck in my head! Hope you don't mind.

And yes, I know I'm evil, but I wanted to drag the chase out a little longer. Don't kill me! Review please! Virtual chocolate to any that leave me a line on what you think. Thanks!

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It was very rare for Tom Barnaby to be home from work before six o'clock. It almost never happened. It wouldn't happen today either. He walked into the station with heavy steps, not particularly excited about the phone calls he'd had to make. Not that he had a choice in the matter any more.

The entire investigation had come to a complete standstill. No witnesses, no motive, no connection between the victims, (that he knew of anyway. Since he didn't know the identity of either of them it was hard to tell.) He had nothing to go on, except a feeling in his gut that the American woman and the two British men with her held the answers to most of his questions.

Problem was, he was beginning to run out of questions to ask.

The talk he'd had with the girls uncle, Rupert Giles had given him nothing except more confirmation that the older man disliked William Sinclair immensely. Nothing new there. What he'd found out about the mysterious watchers council told him absolutely nothing. It sounded like a mix between a club and a secret society, very exclusive and hush-hush. In fact, Rupert Giles had been anything but forthcoming, eluding his questions with expertise that made Barnaby's suspicions rise even higher. Had the man been trained in interrogation techniques? And so, he was back on the spy-train again.

Time to take the bull by the horns and call Brenda Packard. Hopefully the former hot-shot of MI6 would be able to shed some light over this murky business. With a barely visible grimace on his face that showed how much he did not want to enter this particular bullfight he sat down behind his desk and picked up the phone.

***

William the Bloody Awful Poet had come out of hiding completely and poems, verses and sonnets were spinning around and around in his head. Thankfully he was still able to keep his mouth shut (probably only because his lips were still attached to Buffy's), so in his head they stayed.

He felt elated, euphoric, effulgent! Well, no, not effulgent. God, that was an awful word! But he was happier now than he could ever remember bein, alive or undead!

Not only did he have Buffy, the woman he had craved, ached for the past four years, but she had given him something he had never thought he would have, a child of his own. Heather was his, that wonderful little girl that was currently in the caring hands of Dawn and Rona back in the BnB was of his own blood. She even looked like him!

His girls... bleedin' hell, they really were!

And Buffy loved him. Bloody amazing!

It finally hit him then. He had the woman he loved and a daughter he'd never thought he'd have. How the hell was he supposed to be a father? The only experience he'd had with children were... none, actually. Drusilla had occasionally dragged a toddler home when the mood struck her, but he'd never been able to stomach it, and had quietly disappeared to find an older prey whenever that had happened, so that he didn't have to deal with it. Thankfully that hadn't happened especially often. Now, with his soul screaming at his subconscious for retribution for every innocent that had met his or her fate at the hands of him or his insane sire, he was very grateful that children never had been part of his diet, even though he felt extremely guilty for not stopping Drusilla from feeding on them.

He was a father now, and the thought of anything happening to his daughter... it made both the soul and demon inside him cry out in outrage and grief. Until just now he hadn't completely understood what Buffy's revelation had truly meant. Sure, he'd heard what she'd said, and he had been chocked to say the least to hear that he'd been able to get her pregnant, but the full truth of it hadn't sunken into his brain until this moment, her second revelation to him today. Buffy loved him. She had given him a child.

When a dry sob escaped from him despite his efforts to quell it, Buffy broke the kiss and looked up in his eyes with concern written clearly in her features.

"Are you all right?" She asked him with a slight tremble to her voice. She hadn't recovered from his air-stealing kiss yet.

"Bloody brilliant, pet." His face broke out in a luminous smile, making him seem years younger and her breath hitched in her throat at the sight. "Bloody fucking brilliant."

She smiled back at him. "Lets go back", she said. "I'm drenched, and we can talk inside as well as outdoors. Plus, it seems like the sun might come out soon, and I'd rather not see you crumble to a big pile of dust."

He chuckled at that. " 'preciate the sentiment, I'd rather not become one." He smiled, and held out his hand. His grin widened when he felt her smaller hand settle against his palm and grip him tight. He couldn't remember ever holding her hand before, at least not since their faux engagement. Amazing that such a simple thing could make him so happy.

They turned around and walked back.

***

The petite woman with grey hair answered the phone on the fourth ring. She half expected it to be her daughter, or maybe one of the women of the garden society regarding the august fair flower arrangements, so when she recognised the male voice on the line she was definitely surprised.

"Tom! Goodness, it's been ages! How are you?"

"I would like to say everything is fine, Brenda, but truthfully I could use some help." Barnaby had learned a long time ago that the best way to handle this woman was with a straight on, no-nonsense approach. Trying to sugar coat the issue or avoiding a confrontation with her would have been useless. She was an expert on half-truths and outright lies. It had been her job, after all. Still might be, actually. Barnaby had a hunch that she wasn't as retired as she sad she was. Once in the service, always in the service. You didn't quit the SIS just like that.

The look on Brenda Packard's face had been amiable when she answered the phone, but that was now replaced by a calculating, almost suspicious look. "I'm guessing you're not calling on behalf of Joyce and the garden society, are you?" she sighed. She sat down in the armchair next to the telephone.

"No, I'm not, unfortunately." Barnaby pinched the bridge of his nose and settled back in his chair before he continued. "I suppose you've heard about the business over in Parva."

"The beheadings? Oh, yes. Dreadful thing. I suppose they ended up on your table. Well, I don't envy you, Tom. I always said you should have stuck it out with us instead of going to work for the police."

Barnaby smirked. "I couldn't have handled the bureaucracy and powerplay over there, Brenda, you know that."

"Still, it's a crying shame. But enough small talk now, Thomas. What was it you wanted?"

"I'm stuck, Brenda. I can't go any further with what I got." She could clearly hear his weary sigh on the other side of the line. "I've got two headless corpses without identity, no witnesses, no motive, and most importantly, no suspects. What I do have is an American girl with a shady past, her non-existent boyfriend and her uncle who appears to be trained in interrogation techniques."

"And why, exactly do you believe I can help you?" against her better judgement, she was intrigued. Life in her old age was beginning to go stale, and she needed something to spice her existence up little. It had been quiet on the MI6-front for a while now.

"I need to know if you have any information on two men and a mysterious organisation." He proceeded to tell her about William Sinclair's rather dramatic entrance in his investigation, and then waited for her chuckles to die down.

"Oh, your poor sergeant! He just stormed in and knocked him unconscious? Well, that image is just... priceless!" She sobered up quickly. "Although I'm not quite sure where I come in in all this."

"William Sinclair does not exist. There is no evidence he has ever been born. It's a rather sloppy job for a cover-up identity I must say. I was hoping you know anything you might want to share with me."

"You know as well as I do that there is very little I can do without clearance from upstairs. What I can tell you though is that the name doesn't ring a bell for me right now." A little bit disappointed she hadn't been able to help, she prodded on. "You said you had one more name, and an organisation you wanted to know more about. What organisation?"

"William Sinclair gave me the name of the organisation, though I got the impression he dropped it to me mostly to irritate the girls uncle. There is some bad blood between them. Ever heard of he watchers council?"

There was silence on the other end. "Brenda? You there?"

All the blood had drained from her face, and her mouth hung slightly open. There was a name she hadn't heard since her active days. The watchers council...

"Oh goodness Tom, what the hell have you stumbled onto now?"

"So you have heard of it then?" Barnaby leaned forwards in excitement. This was the first piece of good news he'd had all day! "What can you tell me?"

She sighed. She had to give him something... "Not a lot, Tom. I'm not sure exactly what they do, but I do know they hold a lot of power, even over the SIS. They have ties high up in the government, and not just our government. They are international."

The line went quiet again. "Brenda? Can you tell me something else?"

"No." Her tone was short, clipped, clearly stating that this topic no longer was open to discussion. Normally Barnaby would have poked and prodded until he got what he needed, but for now he let it be. He might need more of her help, and he didn't want to burn this bridge just yet.

"All right then." he relented and switched the topic. "What do you know about one Rupert Giles?"

She was surprised. It seemed Tom was deeper down in this mess than she'd originally thought. "How does he figure in this investigation?" she asked.

"He is Anne Sinclair's uncle."

She went quiet yet again, wondering exactly how much she could tell him. "He's..." she hesitated. "He's high up in the council. Don't know much more than that."

Barnaby sighed yet again, and felt like he'd run into a brick wall. There probably wasn't much more she could tell him right now, but he decided then and there he would contact her again, and then he wouldn't back down until he had some answers.

"Thank you, Brenda. Please contact me if you find anything on William Sinclair. I would be extremely grateful."

Brenda nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "If I learn something I can tell you, I will call. Just be careful, Tom. This might be big."

"Has that ever stopped me before?" he smiled.

"No, that's why I'm worried. Take care Tom. Give Joyce my regards."

They hung up, and Brenda settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. She hoped all of this didn't end with the DCI's blooddrained corpse lying in a ditch somewhere. She knew from experience that anything remotely connected to the watchers council always had something to do with vampires in the end.

***

Paul was walking slowly up the stairs. He'd had to get rid of the proprietor of the Bed and Breakfast before he could begin his search for the child, and so his sword was now dripping blood all over the floor and stairs. He'd lost some time, but it didn't matter. He knew where to go.

He stopped outside the door he knew hid his prize, and turned the handle. It was locked. He rammed the door with his shoulders, making it tremble on its hinges. Finally, after about ten attacks the lock broke, and the door swung open. He stumbled into the room.

The completely empty room.

***

Dawn jumped down from the window and landed slightly less gracefully than Rona had done. Thank God the room was only on the second floor! The young slayer had jumped out first, then she'd been able to take Heather when Dawn had passed her down to her.

They had been warned in time thanks to Ronas extremely good hearing and well tuned slayer sense. There was a reason she was regarded as one of the best slayers the council had. She had heard a soft 'thump' from downstairs, and something that sounded suspiciously like a gurgle. When her demon-sense then went 'completely ape-shit' (to quote her), she had made the decision that it was better to be safe than sorry and opted to flee out the window with the baby.

If something happened to Heather on her watch, she was never going to forgive herself.

And Buffy would probably mutilate her.

When Dawn was down, safe and sound, they took off towards the more populated area, running as fast as they could, hoping that a lot of people around would discourage the demon.

They were wrong.

Paul landed under the window on crouched legs. Within moments he had gathered his bearings and ran after the girls, not hampered in the least by the heavy weapon he carried. Nothing could stop him.

Nothing would stand between him and the child.