Chapter 12

Need

Intro Song: Stop Crying Your Heart Out, Leona Lewis

Beth Turner stood in the middle of her bedroom, staring blindly at three pieces of packed luggage and a garment bag. She had managed to condense her needs down to mere suitcases. What did that say about her life? She had started this task on Monday night and then set it aside when she decided to stay at her own apartment. Now, with nothing else to occupy her time, she'd begun again. Even with the work she'd already done, it still took over an hour to complete...and the leftover mess was still there to clean up. Everything from accessories to underwear was strewn around her closet, bed, and almost every other available surface of the room. Absentmindedly, her fingers whisked back errant strands of hair that had worked loose from her haphazard ponytail.

Moving her excess clothes to the side, Beth fell backward onto the covers, thankful for the familiar comfort of the quilt. Should I take it with me? Everything boiled down to the question of what to keep and what to discard from her life before Mick…you mean BV: Before Vampires, don't you? She was tired. Not from her work day, or even from packing but from stress, fear, uncertainty - and yes, some anger - all of which traced back to a certain Mick St. John.

After playing vampire-human phone tag with him since he'd left for New York, the last call to him had ended abruptly. He'd shouted that there was an emergency and hung up - and had been silent ever since. She had been beside herself since the call. What was the emergency? Was he in danger? Worry had worked at her ever since. Mick was not indestructible; she'd personally witnessed him badly injured - or tempting death - more than once. Staring blankly at the ceiling, she tried to will away the unhappy memories but her mind was helpless to stop the parade of 'what if' scenarios they'd shared that could just as easily have gone horribly wrong.

What if she hadn't disobeyed his order to stay in the car, putting her in a position to shoot Lee Jay Spalding before he killed Mick? Or, what if she hadn't followed him into the Pollock residence where he had been staked? What if Leni Hayes hadn't gotten through to her in time when he was dying in the desert? What if she hadn't been able to find him and help him after the Monaghan break-in? And all that was just in the last few months!

Now, he was on the opposite end of the country, involved in god-knows-what. She tried to rationalize – he's fine, he can take care of himself way better than you can, he's been doing this longer than you've been alive, he's with Josef... While logical, the mantra didn't help to diminish her worry. Her morose mind-play was abruptly halted by the muffled sound of her cellphone ringing.

Beth flung herself off the bed and toward the closet door where her purse was hanging, snagging her phone and grinning broadly when the incoming call screen displayed the P.I.'s picture. "Mick!" she exclaimed with joy. "No, it's all right, I understand. Are you okay?! What happened?! Where are you?" She listened intently, nodding. "Yes, we'll talk later. When are you coming home? You're already in route? So what…oh, that means it'll be about two or so when you touch down. When you get in, promise me you'll go straight to bed - I mean, your freezer - don't even stop by here."

There was a pause while Mick responded to that piece of news, then she attempted to explain. "No, I'm at my apartment. I stopped by to pack some things, and then it got late, so I decided to sta- no, we had not agreed on anything. We barely got to speak over these last couple of days! Okay, you may have mentioned me staying, but it wasn't defini- ". This time, Beth was quiet for a long moment before responding, "Mick, I'm fine here. Wha... what's the big deal? I lived here years before I even met you - okay, met again, whatever... what harm is a couple of nights?"

Beth could almost feel her blood pressure start to rise as Mick continued to press her to stay at his apartment. I'm not at your beck and call, Mick St. John! "I am perfectly safe in my own apartment. I can take care of myself, you know." Judging from his heated response, that was not the thing to say. "Mick, I'm a grown woman. I think I have some say as to where I sleep – this isn't the 40s anymore." She tried to keep her voice calm. Shouting was not her style. "It's already late. It makes much more sense to stay here. I-" Beth broke off to listen to the agitated man on the other side of the country. "This isn't a big deal. Can't we talk about it?!"

Apparently, they couldn't. Mick was rapidly becoming confrontational and she was growing more exasperated. This much anticipated phone call was rapidly degenerating into an argument and she had suddenly had enough. "I'll talk to you about it tomorrow, OK? ... Good night." With a jab of the button, she ended the call as quickly as it started. Men!

The panorama of New York City after dark spread out like a jeweled necklace below the rising jet - beauty that was lost on its passengers.

Mick St. John stared at the dark surface of his phone as he blurted in disbelief, "She hung up on me!" His face bore dark shadows of exhaustion from the marathon two days he had just completed in the city falling away behind them – too many hours in the sunlight and not enough in a freezer. Just a few minutes before, the P.I. had realized that he had yet to talk with Beth, despite their best efforts to connect. Beth!

With an audible curse, he had whipped out his phone, ignoring the flight attendant's request for him to wait until they reached cruising altitude. Josef had watched without comment from the other side of the cabin as Mick hit the icon to dial her number, praying that they would connect. The last time she had called him, he'd had to hang up on her to contact Gabby after Victoria was attacked.

"Beth! Hey, I'm sorry I had to hang up on you earlier…no, I know. Everything's OK, I'm sorry I didn't call you back sooner – there was an emergency… No, I'm fine. I'll explain it to you when I see you… We're in the air now – just left La Guardia… It'll be late when we get in, probably around two in the morning – I'll come right home."

He listened, his scowl deepening by the moment. "You're what? No, I thought we had agreed…well, maybe not, but I thought I had at least -… It's not safe, Beth…no, I don't want to discuss why right now!" He sighed, exasperated. "OK, well, I'm coming over as soon as I get in… No – when I get in!"

That had apparently been Beth's cue to end the call. Now he glared at the phone as if willing it to get her to obey him. Why were women always so stubborn? And here he had thought she was probably frantic after he'd had to hang up on her earlier in the evening to call Gabby after Victoria was attacked. He repeated to no one in particular, "She hung up on me!"

Looking up, he met his friend's amused stare. "Trouble with the little woman?" Josef inquired innocently, his eyes glowing in the dim light as he focused on the vampire across the cabin. He was obviously having fun at Mick's expense.

St. John held up his hand, warning his friend off. "I'm not in the mood, Josef. Beth is supposed to be at my place, not hers. It's not safe for her at her apartment."

"Really? Why is that?"

"What?!" Mick exploded. "Who are you? I honestly don't think I know you sometimes, Josef! You just bolted from New York like there was a mob with torches after you! Victoria's in a coma - who knows if she'll even live! Gabby is dealing with everything herself. We have no idea who is responsible for all this – or for Sara's death! So, you tell me, Josef! Why isn't it safe for Beth?" He got up and stalked over to Kostan, throwing himself down in the chair across from him.

Despite the yeoman efforts of both he and Gabrielle Sinclair, he felt like they were still no closer to solving the mystery of who – or what – was responsible for the death of Sara Whitley. For that matter, he couldn't even point to a specific suspect in the near-fatal assault on Victoria Silver earlier that evening – and it had happened right in front of him. His instincts told him that the information Josef was apparently withholding from him for god knows what reason, played a role in all of this and he intended to press Josef for answers.

"You owe me an explanation about Crucis if you want me to continue this investigation for you. I'm not going to operate in the dark. And don't lie to me, Josef." How many times had he needed to say that to his best friend over the years? Too many.

"What did Victoria tell you?" Josef's eyes shifted away from St. John in the soft light.

"Not much – just that it was an organized group with a history of persecution of vamps. She said they were dangerous to our kind."

"That's it?"

"She said it wasn't her place to tell me more – that it was up to you to decide how much to tell me. So… you need to tell me everything, Josef." Mick leaned forward and glared at his friend, daring the billionaire to deny him the information he demanded.

Kostan jumped up out of his chair and began pacing in the small, but luxurious cabin. Truth be told, he had hoped that there would never be a need for this discussion with the much younger vampire. Mick was tied up in enough knots over the very idea of being a vampire, even one that didn't prey on humans. If he told him everything he knew…I'll just hit the high notes.

"It's actually not as mysterious or conspiratorial as Victoria made it sound. Crucis is the name of an organization that has been around since…well, since there have been vamps, actually, although it's had other names. Crucis members are descendants, and recruits, of humans who were originally helpers and servants of vamps."

He stopped to pick up the Maker's Mark he had poured earlier - more as a stalling tactic than because he needed the drink - as he contemplated what to tell his friend. "Back in the beginning, vamps needed the assistance of humans to survive. There was no refrigeration, no A-C…no blood banks. Vamps needed help with finding shelter and getting the blood they needed. It was a symbiotic relationship – Crucis members supplied that kind of service for vamps and, in exchange, they were rewarded with wealth, power… and protection in a very dangerous world."

"So, what happened?"

"Somewhere along the way – before my time – the whole thing changed. The quid pro quo was off - and the relationship became an adversarial one. Now, Crucis members hunt and kill vamps. Simple as that." Josef shrugged, as if apologetic that there wasn't more to tell.

"So, wait. This rift had to have happened, what, hundreds of years ago? And their descendants still try to hunt us down and kill us? You call that simple? I call that a crazed cult!" Mick's tone was incredulous.

"Tomato, tomahto. It's a lot like racism – passed down from conspiracy-loving, chip-on-his-shoulder father to asshole, violence-addicted son. An excuse to buy excess military grade firepower. That's all there is to it. Sorry I can't provide you with more intrigue. Look. I know Victoria made it seem like a much bigger deal than that, but it's not. It's no big conspiracy – just a few whack jobs that get their jollies killing vamps. I think she's just a little paranoid because most of them seem to be concentrated in the New York area."

"So, you don't think this group had anything to do with the attack on Victoria - or Sara's death."

"For all I know, the attack on Victoria could have been orchestrated by them, although I haven't heard of them being that sophisticated. But, Sara? No way – that's just too much of a stretch for a group like that. But what can I say – there are crazy people everywhere."

"Why else would someone blow up that building?! It doesn't make sense."

"That is for you to find out, my talented friend," Josef retorted.

Easy for you to say, Josef. "What about all the other attacks on vamps in New York lately – and the ones that are still missing? I heard Victoria tell you she thought it was Crucis."

"Well, what Victoria thinks versus what is real may be two different things – she's always been given to high drama. Even if it is Crucis organizing all this, that's happened from time to time. You get a particularly bloodthirsty group with delusions of grandeur…and it's trouble for vamps. I'm not implying that they aren't dangerous in their own way. Lola always thought Crucis – or Legion, as they were called back then - was behind that whole fiasco in Spain I told you about. So, anything is possible… but most of it isn't probable. You know me, Mick. I love drama almost as much as awkward. I'd really like to be able to add to the whole melodrama, but I just don't see it."

"Then, why did you insist on leaving like that when they needed our help back in New York?!"

"Look, I'm very fond of Victoria – and I've known her a hell of a lot longer than you have. But, I do think New York is about to become a powder keg and I don't want to be caught up in it…not even for Victoria. I just don't happen to think it's some big Crucis plot. There have been a lot of vamp killings, and the vamp community is jittery. They are going to retaliate – and soon. We don't want to be there for that, trust me."

"You're not telling me everything, Josef." Mick couldn't shake the sense that his friend was, for whatever reason, not telling him the truth – or at least not all of it. But why?

"I'm telling you what matters, Mick. What reason would I have to lie to you?" He hadn't actually lied to Mick, Josef rationalized to himself, just left out some details, most of them gory. He had learned a long time ago that the younger vampire had a sixth sense about when someone was lying. I hope I'm convincing him - I wish I could convince myself…

Beth decided to put the built-up adrenaline from her quarrel with Mick to good use. Donning a pair of old gray sweats, for the next three hours she swept, vacuumed, dusted, folded and vented her spleen throughout her apartment. No dust bunny, patch of lint, questionable Chinese food, laundry or flat surface she could reach was safe from her onslaught.

Once she was done - or, more accurately, had run out of anything to else to do - Beth stripped, tossed her grungies in a nearby hamper, and hopped into her shower. She emerged from her bathroom minutes later, feeling a world better. Unable to dismiss Mick's concerns regarding her safety, she walked to her nightstand as she ran a comb through her long, wavy hair. Rummaging through it, she muttered, "I know it's here somewhere…" Tada! Triumphantly, she held up the small can of mace before placing it carefully on the nightstand next to her phone. Now he can't say that I'm not being cautious! Despite what Mick might have thought, she did listen to what he had to say - he was a top-flight private investigator with a wealth of experience, and she knew he was right far more often than not.

Beth slid into her favorite nightgown, faded and soft from too many washings to count. It had been the last gift she had received from her mother and she cherished it. Josh had never seen her in it as she knew it would have generated a discussion about the need for better sleepwear. For whatever reason, she had never wanted to share its history with him. Would she feel differently with Mick? "Yes," she answered her question out loud. Josh had been a good guy but Mick… Her relationship with him was undeniably different. He would understand her loss in a way Josh could only have pretended to…

"Dammit!" she exclaimed, "I'm supposed to be mad at you, St. John!" Chastising herself, she sat down at the computer to catch up on the news. That was one of the many things she missed about working at BuzzWire - the ability to easily stay on top of what was happening in the world. She often felt like she was being shut away from the outside world when she was working on a case in the D.A.'s office, and she wasn't able to come and go as she pleased.

Sighing, she scrolled through the national and international news, then decided to focus on New York City. Maybe she could find some news reports related to Sara's accident. She Googled the Waverly Place address and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when the computer brought up pictures of the smoking ruins that had once been the lovely brownstone she had visited. Poor Sara. Poor Josef! She scrolled through the report, noting that the article stated that the fatal fire had, in all likelihood, been the result of an accidental explosion. Then, she noticed a related link in the right-hand column - John Whitley!

Clicking over to the news article, she read that John Whitley, a real estate magnate in his earlier years, had once owned most of the brownstones in the block in which the explosion had occurred. How ironic! She was about to close the page when a sentence and link near the end of the article caught her eye. Making one more jump, her eyes widened as she read the headline.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. It was an obituary for Whitley! Reading further, she learned that he had died just the week before. She wasn't surprised as he had clearly been close to the end when she and Mick spoke to him. Knowing he must have died alone and unloved though, she couldn't help feeling sorry for him. I wonder if Mick knows.

Mick... the thought of him brought back their argument, stirring her anger. He had to learn that she had a life – and a will – of her own. Still missing him despite her anger, Beth shut down the computer, crawled under the covers, and turned off the lights. Grabbing the mace, she placed it under the pillow next to her, and willed herself to sleep.

"Logan! What have you got for me?" St. John had given up on getting anything else out of Josef Kostan for the time being. When Josef dug his heels in, there was no budging him. The biggest mystery to him wasn't what the older vampire wasn't telling him, but why he had been lied to in the first place. He could think of no logical reason for him to withhold information about Crucis from him, and he was still not convinced that he knew the whole story. That left him with two investigations to pursue...from across the country.

"Hey, Mick! I wondered when I'd hear from you. You back?" Logan Griffen was genuinely glad to hear from his friend. He greatly admired the private investigator and, while he charged him exorbitant amounts of money for the work he did for him, he probably would have done it for free - a fact he had no intention of ever revealing. St. John always treated him as an equal, with admiration for his abilities. It had been one of the highlights of his life as a vampire to play a role in the rescue operation for Emma Monaghan, and it had been he who had caused the wreck of the police van that ultimately freed her.

"No, on our way back right now. So, what did you find out, Logan?"

"Well, not a hell of a lot yet. The woman appears to be a ghost!"

"You mean you haven't found anything!?" Mick's composure was shaken at this rare failure on Logan's part. "What have you been doing - playing World of Warcraft instead of working? I asked you to get on this!" Why doesn't anyone else seem to feel any urgency here? Maybe it's Josef rubbing off on me, but I can't help feeling like the world is about to cave in on us.

"Hey, I have been working on it!" The unusual scolding stunned Logan. His response was also due, in part, to the fact that Mick's guess was dangerously close to the truth. But I only played for a few minutes, he rationalized to himself. OK, OK, a few hours…

"The woman's a ghost, I'm telling you, Mick. I checked on her New York nursing license - that's on file with the state and it may be legit - but her BSN degree? Not so much. And the phone numbers listed to her? Both her cell and her land line were activated about six months ago - and both of them were disconnected on Monday morning." Logan tugged his hand through his tight curls in frustration.

"What about her social security number? Driver's license?"

"The same with both of them - fake, created about six months ago."

"Dammit!" Mick's frustration showed in his voice. "What about her employment records?"

"Well, maybe there would be something in the Renaissance employee records that might help - but they have a very sophisticated system. I haven't been able to tap into it yet."

"Isn't that unusual for a company like that? They're just a home health care agency, not the CIA."

Here I was suspicious of John Giles. Maybe I was wrong about Judy Albert and Renaissance being harmless. Man, I'm really off my game here.

"It is kind of weird, but it does happen, especially if the owner is a techno-geek and wants to be a real player."

"Look, Logan, call Ryder England. If he can tap into the Pentagon records, surely he can get into the Renaissance system." He anticipated Griffen's next comments. "And, I know he works for Josef Kostan. You can tell Ryder for me that Josef will support his doing whatever is needed to help get this information. Let me know as soon as you two find out anything more."

Ending the conversation, he looked over at Josef. "I'm assuming you're OK with Ryder helping out."

"What?" Kostan had been lost in his own thoughts, already second-guessing himself over what he had told his friend about Crucis. "No, that's fine. Whatever you need, Mick. You know that. I want to get to the bottom of all this as much as you do - more, in fact."

St. John did not reply to this. I hope so, Josef. I hope so. He closed his eyes as he allowed his weary bones to sink into the seat. I just want to get back to Beth.

In the city below, Gabrielle Sinclair was on constant alert, restlessly prowling Victoria's condo. She checked with each member of the security contingent she had assembled, making sure they were alert and in place, then moving back to Victoria's bedroom to check on her condition, then back, before starting the whole route all over again. The questions swirling through her mind made her jumpy and restless...and there were so few answers.

Who had attacked Victoria - and why? Who was behind all of the recent vampire attacks in the city? Were they all somehow tied to the death of Sara Whitley? What about all the loose ends she and Mick had uncovered in their brief investigation? Were John Giles or Judy Albert connected to all this? Why had Josef Kostan left as if the hounds of hell had been set upon him? She sighed. This was an impossible situation with no easy way out. Resigning herself to a long wait, she began prowling again...

The cabin was silent as the jet touched down at LAX, the last hours of the flight seeming endless after the two vampires argued over the events in New York and possible Crucis involvement. They had finally reached an uneasy truce, but the atmosphere remained strained between the old friends. Mick was convinced that Josef was withholding valuable information from him. He could feel it in his bones, but he knew Josef Kostan well enough to be sure that no amount of pushing or badgering would get him to divulge anything further at this point.

His attention shifted to Beth. He was uneasy over her decision to stay at her apartment while he was gone, and frustrated that there was nothing he could do to stop her. We need to make some changes. His grim, set face betrayed his resolve as he unbuckled his seat belt and heaved himself to his feet.

Josef glanced over. "Wow. You look like you're ready to kill someone."

"No, just have a little talk." He smiled mirthlessly.

"Well, from the look on your face, I'm just glad it isn't me, my friend... It isn't me... is it?" He smirked, but his eyes were dark, inscrutable.

"Don't worry, Josef. It isn't you...this time. It's Beth."

"Well! Good luck with that!" Josef saluted jauntily as the jet door opened, allowing them to deplane.

The waiting limousine transported them in silence through the streets to Josef's home in Hollywood Hills. Mick climbed out to transfer to his own car, then turned back.

"Josef."

Kostan, who had just clambered out of the limo, rested his arms on the car roof, and regarded his friend quizzically.

Mick propped his own arms on the car roof on the opposite side of the limo. "Look, I've got some things to take care of... at home. But, I've got Logan working on this and I'll give you an update this evening, OK?"

"I'm not worried about it. I have some things to take care of here myself. It can wait until tomorrow night - I know you'll get the job done."

I wish I were that confident. Mick didn't voice his misgivings; instead, he nodded and turned to climb into his vintage Mercedes.

"Oh, and Mick?"

St. John looked out from his seat behind the large steering wheel of the 60's era car.

"Take whatever time you need with Beth. Don't waste the time you have - trust me on this." Kostan rapped his knuckles on the roof of the car and spun around, bounding up the steps to his mansion. As he hurried in, he pulled out his phone. Mick could hear the beginning of a conversation. "Simone? Yeah. Yeah, I know it's late..."

He turned the key, bringing the old, finely-tuned engine to roaring life and drove off to find Beth.

Unless there was a serious emergency, Simone Walker did not take calls at such an obscene hour, let alone welcome guests. Josef Kostan was no ordinary visitor, however. For him to have called her toannounce that he was driving himself down from his perch atop Hollywood Hills to her relatively humble apartment in Marina Del Rey, meant something had to be up. What happened in New York? He was clearly feeling a sense of urgency – she had not had time to do more than throw on jeans and a shirt and run a quick brush through her hair.

Simone had received a brief message about his emergency trip to New York, but it contained precious little meaningful information. As always, her first concern was Josef's protection. Such a rash decision by a man in his position, immortal identity aside, was one that, as his attorney, Simone would have vehemently protested without a better understanding of the meeting. Admittedly, she was perplexed that he had not at least consulted with her before taking such action.

Simone shook her head, admonishing herself. This was Josef, after all. To those who didn't know him, he might seem flippant – or even indifferent - but she had learned that was just a veneer he put on. She had come to know him as smart, capable, cunning and very engaged. When needed or desired, he could also be very lethal. Her worrying about him was akin to the chum worrying about the shark. She winced at her own analogy, the unromantic truth about the nature of the relationship of human to vampire hitting her especially hard despite her usual dispassionate rationale on the topic.

Feeling the sudden need for fresh air, Simone opened the sliding glass door to her patio, allowing the ocean breeze to drift through her living room. She shivered as she inhaled the cool air, trying to sooth her jangled nerves. Josef himself was not the cause of her jitters. No, it was the list of possible reasons for such an impromptu appearance at this time of the morning. None of them, in her mind, were good.

The knock at her door drove all this to the back of her mind.. That there had been no announcement from building security only further confirmed the identity of her peculiar caller. Simone smiled when she opened the door and got a look at him. Josef Kostan, one of the so-called masters of the universe, not to mention a 400-year-old vampire, was wearing a simple t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans and boots. Of course, the shirt was Ed Hardy, the leather jacket, Piero Tucci, with Paul Smith jeans and Prada footwear, but on him it didn't look at all pretentious. He looked... cute. And tired.

"Hey, you," she greeted warmly.

The infectious, boyish charm cued almost immediately. "Hey, yourself," Josef kissed her passionately, kicking the door shut behind him. When they finally came up for air, he shook off his jacket and hung it on a nearby coat rack - a clear sign that he intended to be there more than a few minutes.

Something's definitely off...let's get this out in the open. Simone took a seat on her sofa, patting the cushion next to her in invitation. "So, what's up Josef?"

The vampire plopped down next to her. "I need a drink!"

Without a second thought, Simone stretched her arm out to him.

That made him smile. "No, I mean scotch, bourbon... you know, the stuff we both can have. The stronger, the better."

Simone rose and walked to her bar, trying to suss out Josef's mood…he refused to feed, requested alcohol ... yep, something was definitely very wrong. As with all things involving him, she had to figure out exactly how to get him to open up to her. Kostan was not readily forthcoming with anything personal - apparently, a tendency that both human and vampire men shared. She finally surmised that the best way to get him to talk was to start talking to him. "So... what's your pleasure?" she called out, rooting through her beverage collection.

"I don't suppose you have any Hardy Perfection…?" Josef asked almost wistfully, thinking of the bottles he had broken in his rage and anguish over the news of Sara's death.

"I wish," Simone tossed the retort over her shoulder as she searched for a bottle she knew he would appreciate.

"OK, then I trust your judgment."

The beautiful brunette honed in on a bottle of 35-year-old Port Ellen Fourteenth Edition, given to her as a law school graduation present. At almost 58% alcohol, the scotch was far stronger than anything she normally drank, as well as way more expensive, but… desperate times call for desperate measures. She grabbed the bottle and two heavy glasses from the overhead rack. "On the rocks, hit of spring water, or straight up?"

"Straight." Josef didn't hesitate.

Nodding, Simone dropped a large ice cube in her glass and moved glasses and bottle to the coffee table. Prying open the bottle, and pouring a healthy amount into each glass, she handed Josef his glass, then lifted her own, the ice in hers tinkling against the fine crystal. "First, before you say anything else... a toast to you making it home safely."

Kostan returned the gesture, but said nothing; the only sound he emitted was three loud gulps as he rapidly emptied his glass. This time, he didn't wait to be served, instead pouring his own refill. He sipped slowly, and closed his eyes as the liquid fire briefly burned away the unpleasantness of the last several days.

This was getting her nowhere. Playing cool and aloof clearly wasn't going to work. Time for a different approach. Bringing her hand to his face, Simone touched his cool cheek as she brushed her lips against his. She was completely unprepared for the vampire's passionate response. It was as if he were hungry for the connection. His arms went around her, squeezing her tightly, almost desperately, as he buried his face in her neck. Startled, she felt wetness on his face. Slowly, she pulled back and looked at him to confirm that Josef Kostan was, indeed, crying.

"Josef," she began, wiping at his tears with her finger, "What happened? What's going on?"

He took a deep breath, steeling himself to tell the first woman he'd cared about in over half a century the truth about what happened in New York - and why he deflected any conversation about turning her. "In 1955, I met a woman named Sara Whitley..."

One advantage of being a night person in L.A. was more manageable traffic. In less than twenty minutes, Mick was pulling up in front of Beth's apartment complex. He sat there for a moment, listening to the tick and ping of the cooling engine. The fresh night air tugged at the waves of hair on his forehead like the pull of a small child's hand. He could remember few times when he had felt this beaten down and bone-tired. New York City had definitely taken its toll on him; the jet lag of the bi-coastal flights without a freezer only added to his weariness. At least when they had access to Kostan's personal jet, they had that option. Nothing about this trip was easy.

He gazed up at the building, cataloging the many points of access, flimsy doors and unprotected windows. He also knew the small structure had no alarm system, a fact that he found hard to comprehend in this day and age. The very things that gave the old building the character Beth loved, were the things that made it dangerous for her to stay there. Sitting in the car, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in frustration. I need to convince Beth that her apartment isn't safe...

His eyes lit up as an idea occurred to him; a ghost of a smile played on his lips. Beth probably wouldn't like what he was about to do…Probably?! No probably about it, St. John. However, he needed a way to impress upon her the very real dangers she faced now. Jumping out of the car, he crept, catlike, toward the building, blending easily into the shadows on the way to the door of the building. He had no trouble jimmying the lock that separated him from access, taking care to use only human methods to gain entry. He wanted to be sure that he could make his point with Beth - it took no superpowers or vampire skills to breach the minimal protection afforded by her apartment.

At this hour, there was no one in the hallway - and no security personnel, yet another bone of contention with him. He walked, un-accosted, to Beth's door, selected a tool from the small kit he carried with him, and easily... too easily ...unlocked her front door. Shaking his head, he replaced the small tool with another and snipped the 'safety' chain so that he could slip inside.

Even without a vampire's acute vision, he would have been able to negotiate these familiar surroundings effortlessly. Mick crept into the bedroom, thoughts of the last time he had been in this room with Beth bringing a smile to his face. He headed toward the gleaming mass of blond hair piled on the pillow. Still smiling, he leaned over the bed...

"Ahhh! FUCK!" He shouted at the burning, stinging spray of mace. Falling to the floor, blinded, he twisted in agony from the shooting pain in his eyes.

"Oh my god! Mick!" Beth sat up in bed, switching on the bedside light. She was still holding the canister of mace in one white-knuckled hand. "Mick! Mick! I'm so sorry!" She flew out of bed and dropped to her knees beside the writhing vampire. She reached out to turn him over and almost cried as she saw his face, his eyes red, swollen and streaming with tears. As she watched, the vampire's incredible powers of recuperation took over, and the swelling and redness rapidly began to recede. With a groan, he sat up, his eyes still bloodshot and watering. Reaching over, he pried the mace canister out of her tightly-clenched fist. "Just to be safe," he gasped.

Beth crouched on her hands and knees next to him, peering into his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" she said, over and over again. "I- I thought you were an intruder..."

"No, it's my fault." He leaned back against the bed with a sigh, wiping away the last of the mace-induced tears. His healing powers were such that even the residual redness in his eyes had already all but disappeared.

"Well, I did warn you that if you kept sneaking up on me, I would eventually mace you." She smiled tentatively and reached over to brush the hair out of his face. "Welcome back!"

Mick snorted, still wheezing slightly. "Gee, thanks. I don't think I've ever gotten a welcome quite like that. I know I said that it was only a matter of time before this happened - but, you didn't have to mace me just so I could be right! Guess I should have paid more attention to my own warning..."

Beth didn't know whether to laugh or cry with relief. She reached to hug him, but was stopped by a raised hand from the still-recovering vampire. "Beth, don't - unless you want to join me down here. I've still got mace all over me!" She realized he was right...hugging might not be such a good idea just yet.

"Get your clothes off, Mick!" She took charge, jumping to her feet. "I'll be right back." Sprinting to the kitchen, she rummaged around in the pantry to retrieve a plastic bag while Mick stripped off his shirt. Returning to the scene of the crime, she took the contaminated Henley and wrapped it safely in the bag. "What do you think we should do with this?" Her face wore a guilty expression as she looked down at the now bare-chested man.

"I'd say burn it." Mick's face twisted into a painful smile.

She laughed. At least his sense of humor was intact. "Wait right there," she commanded and ran into the bathroom to soak a clean face towel with soap and water. Returning to Mick, who was still seated on the floor, naked from the waist up, she got down on her knees beside him, and gently washed his face, paying particular attention to his eyes and mouth. She moved on to his neck, chest and hands, glancing up at him with a smile as she did so. "At least, this gives me an excuse to get my hands on you."

After returning to the bathroom to rinse the towel in fresh water, she again crouched down to rinse him off. "Now, why did you sneak in on me like that?" she growled, her mouth next to his ear.

He shifted uneasily. Now that it was time to explain his actions, it sounded foolish, even to him. Knowing Beth, her reaction probably wouldn't be good. "Well I... uh, well, I wanted to show you how unsafe your place really is, and..." he finally blurted, looking at her sheepishly.

"What?!" She interrupted him, sitting back on her heels, hands on hips, her mouth set in a determined line. "Then, Mick St. John, you deserved to be maced! I'm just sorry I didn't kick you in the groin too!" Furious, she glared at him. "Men!"

"Beth, look. I'm sorry, OK? I just wanted to..." He threw up his hands in exasperation and jumped lightly to his feet. Looking down at her, he started again in a calmer voice. "I just want you to be safe. It was driving me crazy, knowing you were here instead of at my place, when I know this apartment isn't secure. I decided I would break in so I could show you that - and I didn't use any special vampire abilities to do it. I just wanted you to see the danger of staying here."

He offered her his hand to help her up. She glared first at it, then at him. Finally, exhaling loudly, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet, still furious. She opened her mouth to say more, but Mick placed his fingertips on her lips to silence her. "Listen to me OK? I know it sounds crazy now and I don't blame you for being angry. But hear me out. There are so many things I can't give you - I can't take you for picnics on the beach, or share dinners out, or sleep with you in my arms every night... or give you children," he added after a pause, his eyes sorrowful. "But I can keep you safe - please let me at least do that for you."

The words cut to her heart. Her first good look at him since he had broken into her apartment settled it for her. Whatever had happened while he was in New York had exacted a heavy price from him. He looked haggard, with deep circles of tiredness around his eyes - eyes that contained a grim look he hadn't been wearing when he left L.A. All of her comebacks died on her lips and she resolved to do what she could to make the rest of the night easier for him. Starting with no more macing...

"OK, you win." She almost laughed at his startled expression. "No, I mean it. You win, Mick. I got lucky with the mace, but I could as easily have missed in the dark. And - it's obvious you didn't have any trouble breaking in either. I'm just lucky it was you - and I'm so glad to see you!" She threw herself into his arms with that sentence, wrapping her arms around his neck, as she kissed him.

Stunned but grateful for the sudden capitulation, he slid one arm around her small waist and gently chided, "Hey, be careful. I haven't showered yet." Looking down into those bright, beautiful eyes, he uttered words that sounded good to his ears. "Come on, let's go home."

Beth stared at him, struck by the profound meaning layered in those few words. Not his place… home. "You know," she said softly, "you don't have to give me reasons why you want me with you. Just tell me that you do."

He closed his eyes, and leaned down so that his forehead touched hers. "I'm sorry, Beth. Please be patient. I'll get it right, I promise."

"You already have." She corrected him tenderly, unconsciously pushing her body more tightly against him.

His response was a sudden intake of breath. Her nightgown was so thin, it was as if she had nothing on at all, and the sexual tension that had built up around him after two days of merciless flirting by Victoria Silver made it difficult for him to breathe. He pulled her tighter to him, reveling in the feel of her against his bare chest. The closeness between them was an effective antidote for the nightmare of the last few days.

She reached down, sliding her hand down his flat stomach and into his pants. "So, you missed me, huh?" She laughed up at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

"Oh, no you don't!" He caught her wrist, pulling her hand out and placing her arm back around his neck as he frowned down at her, his eyes dark and serious. "I definitely missed you - more than you'll ever know. But, I'm not going to relax until we are back at my..." he stopped and corrected himself "...at the apartment."

Her exaggerated sigh and comically dejected look lifted his spirits. "Alright... you're right. I'm actually all packed to go. That should make you feel better - I'm not completely arbitrary, after all."

"Yeah... sure you aren't." His voice dripped sarcasm. If there were a picture in the dictionary next to the word 'arbitrary'... it'd be of Beth...

Breaking their embrace, he picked up the bags at the foot of her bed. Now that he had fully recovered from the mace attack, he felt an unsettling sense of urgency to get out of Beth's apartment. "Is this everything?" He raised his arms, holding out the three bags Beth had packed earlier in the evening.

"I just need to grab the garment bag – I'm not leaving my new Stella McCartney clothes behind! Just give me a minute to pull on some jeans. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be driving around L.A. in this, do you?" She gestured down at the nearly translucent, peach-colored nightgown that barely covered her slight frame, smoothing the much-loved garment as she talked.

"I like your nightgown. It's very becoming. Looks vintage."

Beth smiled to herself. Trust Mick to somehow sense that she loved this old article of clothing and find a way to compliment it. I'm so lucky in so many ways… She responded,"That's good because it's coming with me. It was a gift from my mom – the last thing she gave me, actually." Her voice caught on the words.

Mick dropped the bags he was carrying to hurry to Beth, drawing her into his arms. "Well, it definitely needs to come then," he said, smiling down at her. "You'll have to tell me about her sometime."

Beth blinked back sudden tears. I'm so lucky in so many ways… "Just give me a minute to get my jeans on."

A few minutes later, they were settled into the Mercedes. Mick, still shirtless, had donned the long coat fortunately left behind in the car when he broke into Beth's apartment. She eyed him as she slid into the passenger seat. "Now, that's a look I could get used to."

He shook his head, face set in a serious frown, but reached over and squeezed her hand as he started the old car, grateful for her presence. He would not relax until he had her within the relative safety of his penthouse.

Neither of them noticed the lone, hidden figure watching them drive off.

End Song: Worry About Me, Ellie Goulding