The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance and Joe woke with a start, stiffening in his chair as the light bulb flickered to life. Licking his lips, he swallowed to relieve his dry throat as he heard the bolts slide back. The door opened with a heavy clang, and Joe snorted derisively as the renegade watcher, from the night before, appeared at the doorway. “Back so soon?” he enquired hoarsely.
. “Hello, Dawson,” she drawled, leaning against the door jamb. “I thought it was time we continued our little chat.” Putting her head outside the door, she crooked her finger, and another figure filled the doorway. “I believe you and Halifax have already met,” she said as he entered the room, a briefcase clutched under one arm.
Joe’s eyes narrowed as he examined the newcomer. “Yeah, I remember him,” he said softly as Halifax crouched down and opened the briefcase on the floor, “Him, and his little bottle of chloroform.” Halifax ignored him as he rooted around in the suitcase and pulled out a syringe. “Hey – what the hell are you going to do with that?”
“It’s quite simple, really,” the female watcher said. “After our last conversation, I realised you were right. Torturing you would be waste of effort, so I decided to take a short cut. I hear that one can get amazing results with the right drugs, especially with sodium pentothal.”
“Who the hell are you, lady?” Joe asked disbelievingly, watching as Halifax silently filled the syringe.
“Someone who’s learned, the hard way, how to get what she wants, Dawson,” she said with a shrug, while Halifax produced a knife and ripped a hole in Joe’s shirt sleeve.
“What you want?”” Joe asked sarcastically. “Don’t you work for Tribeau?”
Her lips narrowed into a thin line, but she didn’t answer.
“I see…you don’t work for Tribeau anymore, do you?” He ventured, watching Halifax from the corner from his eye. “Let me guess, you haven’t seen Tribeau in over two months, and once Tribeau disappeared, Wren cut you loose. You were one of Tribeau’s creatures, so he couldn’t trust you…”
“Shut up, Dawson,” she said sharply, nodding at Halifax. Without further ado, he jammed the needle into Joe’s arm.
Joe dredged up, from his memory, all that he could remember about the effects of Sodium Pentothal. This was not good, not good at all. He tried to clear his mind of Adam’s true name and latched onto the first thing that came to mind. Under his breath he began to sing. “Since my baby left me…”
Rain began to fall once more as dawn rose over Paris, and Amy switched on the wipers and anxiously peered through the windshield. Turning onto the street Amanda had given directions to, she slowed the car to a crawl and breathed a sigh of relief when she eventually spotted Amanda stepping out of a doorway.
Pulling the car to the kerb, Amy waited behind the wheel as Lee jumped out. A scuffle broke out as Amanda’s captive realised what was happening, but they soon hauled him out of the doorway and into the backseat, Lee sliding in beside him as Amanda jumped into the passenger seat. “Drive, Amy,” she said shortly, before pointing her gun at the cursing bundle in the back “Play nice, John,” she murmured softly. “Who knows? If you’re cooperative, you might even live through this.” A snort came from struggling heap, and Amy eyed Amanda as she shrugged. “Okay, have it your way,” the immortal said lightly as she settled into her seat.
Pulling out, Amy glanced into the rear view mirror and frowned as she got her first real glimpse of the watcher, his face seemed familiar…Remembering Amanda had called him John; she risked another look in the mirror and gasped in recognition. “John Masters…is that you?”
“You two know each other?” Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We were…classmates,” Amy said lamely. Lee’s presence, and his ignorance about the watcher organisation, was beginning to become problematic.
“Hmm, isn’t that a happy coincidence,” drawled Amanda.
Amy pulled a face. “Not the kind of class reunion I had in mind,” she muttered, before raising her voice. “What the hell are you doing here, John?” she asked. “You specialised in academic research, not fieldwork,” The watcher grunted in response, but didn’t answer. “Fine, be like that,” she mumbled, turning her attention to the road.
The car lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and Amy gave a sigh of relief when she eventually pulled into the lane beside her father’s club. Pulling up the collar of her coat, she jumped out of the car and into the rain.
Amanda watched with amusement as Masters did a double take when Duncan opened the door. “The watcher has obviously read his file,” Amanda thought, with some satisfaction. “That should be useful.” “Duncan McLeod, meet John Masters,” she chirped, giving him a brief wink. Luckily, Duncan got the hint.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Masters,” he growled threateningly, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder as he pulled him into the office. “Come with me.”
As Duncan led him into the bar, Amanda emptied her pockets and threw the contents onto Joe’s desk. “This is all he had on him,” she said, turning to Amy and Lee. “Do me a favour, and go through them. I’m going to help Duncan make our guest comfortable…” The sound of shouting came from the bar, and Amanda hastily made her way to the door, only to groan as her eyes took in the scene before her – the watcher cowering in a chair as a very angry Methos towered over him. Silently, she crossed the room and placed a restraining hand on the elder immortal’s shoulder. “We won’t be able to get many answers if he’s unconscious, Adam. Why don’t you let me handle this?”
Methos glared at the hand on his shoulder, before raising his eyes to meet hers, and Amanda resisted the urge to step back. The moment passed, however, and the cold, hostile light melted from his eyes as he tilted his head. “Whatever you say, Amanda,” he said tiredly, shrugging her hand from his shoulder as he spoke. Turning on his heels, he stalked over to the bar and leaned over the counter, grabbing a bottle of beer.
Amanda glanced at Duncan, who still hadn’t moved from beside the door, and frowned. Something had obviously happened while she’d been at Tribeau’s and, judging from Methos’s foul mood, it wasn’t good news. “I wish somebody would fill me in on these things,” she thought ruefully, turning her attention to the watcher slouching in the chair. “Well, John, now that you’re comfortable, perhaps you could start from the top. Why were you following me?”
The watcher glared sullenly at her, his lips pressed shut. “Oh, John,” she sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of him. “Surely you don’t want to do this the hard way? You must know you’re going to tell us everything, sooner or later; so you might as well talk while all your limbs are still attached.”
The watcher sneered. “I’m not afraid of you,” he snarled, jerking forward in his chair.
Amanda gave him a sharp push; throwing him back into the seat. “Perhaps not, John,” she said mildly, “But you are afraid of him, aren’t you?” she added, nodding at Methos, who watched the proceedings through narrowed eyes from his bar stool. The watcher flinched, and Amanda gave him a small smile as she leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. “Between you and me, John, you don’t want to get on Adam’s bad side…or should I say, stay on Adam’s bad side,” she said. “Tell you what; I’ll make things easier for you. I’ll let the other questions slide, if you tell us where Joe Dawson is.”
“Dawson?” the watcher said unsurely. “What has Joe Dawson got to do with anything?”
Hearing the scrape of a stool being pushed back, Amanda looked over her shoulder as Methos got to his feet, and shook her head warningly. Reluctantly, Methos sat down as Amanda faced Masters once more. “Somebody, one of your little friends, John, abducted Joe Dawson last night. We want him returned to us, safe and sound. If that happens, you get to live.”
The watcher swallowed nervously as Amanda’s words sunk in. “We don’t have him,” he eventually said, his throat hoarse from fear.
“Oh please,” Methos said snidely, getting to his feet once more. “Enough of this, I’m going to get to the truth if I have to cut it out…”
“I’m telling you the truth!” The watcher shrank back into his seat as Methos crossed the room. “We don’t have him… but I can tell you who does.”
“Start talking, Masters,” Duncan growled, stepping away from the doorway.
“I saw them,” he stuttered, “Last night, while I was watching the bar – there were three of them… although, I think the third was a reluctant companion, he had a gun pressed into his back. One of them, a woman, stayed in the car while the other two went to the back door. I don’t know what happened inside but they reappeared about a minute later. One of them was dragging Joe to the car, while the other was holding a gun on them both.”
“We need names,” Methos said lowly.
“I don’t know their names,” the watcher muttered, “But I did get their license plate number – FPN3421.”
“Right, tie him up, Amanda,” Methos said grimly, heading for the back room.
Amanda glanced at Duncan, who just shrugged. “I’ll find some rope,” he volunteered as he followed Methos into the other room, leaving Amanda alone with the watcher.
“You’re never going to let me go, are you?” the watcher said softly.
“It depends,” Amanda admitted, “If it’s any consolation, you’re probably a safer with us than with Wren.”
“The watcher’s head jerked up. “How did you know about…” his eyes widened as he realised what he’d admitted to.
“Lucky guess,” Amanda said dryly, getting to her feet as Duncan re-entered the room with a coil of rope in his hands.
A few minutes later, Amanda pronounced herself satisfied with the knots. “That should hold him for a while,” she said, looking up at Duncan. “Let’s see if Adam has made any progress with the license plate number.”
The back office was oppressively quiet when she entered. Amy was pouring over a small note book, biting her lower lip as she read the contents, while Lee was going through the contents of Masters’s mobile phone. Hunched in the far corner, glued to Joe’s laptop screen, was Methos. Amanda threw a sideways glance at Duncan, who grimaced in return, before walking over to Methos’ side. “Find a name yet?” she asked quietly.
“Give me a moment,” Methos replied absently. “The French registration records have better protection than I expected…wait…ah, got it; Naomi Jameson, 23 Rue de Vosgues.”
“In the 9th Arrondissement?” Amanda asked.
“Yes,” Methos said, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
Rooting around in her pocket, she eventually pulled out what she was looking for, the scribbled address she’d found at Tribeau’s apartment. Wordlessly, she handed it over to Methos.
“Where did you find this?” he asked.
Methos’ face darkened as he snapped the laptop closed and stood. “Why am I not surprised?” he asked rhetorically as he headed for the door.
“Going somewhere,” Amanda asked archly.
“You need to ask?” he said over his shoulder as he slipped through the door.
“Amy looked up from her note book and frowned. “Where is he going?” she asked.
“He’s checking out an address,” Amanda said hurriedly as she rushed to door. “Mind the fort.”
“I’ll go with you…” began Duncan.
“No, you’d better stay here,” she said, stopping at the doorway. “Sooner or later, someone will figure out that Masters is missing; and when that happens, they’ll come looking.”
Duncan gave her a knowing look. “Don’t get yourself killed,” he said dryly.
“I’ll try my best,” she said, throwing him a smile before she chased after Methos.
“I really wish Pierson would stop disappearing like that,” said Tsi Tsung, sighing as he rested the mobile phone on the desk. “It’s beginning to get on my nerves.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Duncan said dryly, throwing himself on the couch. “So…did you two find anything of interest in Masters’s belongings?”
“Well…I can tell you he’s been watching Amanda for two weeks; he followed her to Paris from New York,” Amy volunteered. “They are references to other people, but he hasn’t written down their full names, only their initials.” She glanced down at the notebook. “According to his notes, he’s supposed to contact two of his superiors tonight; their initials are P.W. and A.P.”
“I have the same problem. I’ve a list of phone numbers, but no full names” Lee admitted with a shrug.
“Luckily for us, the very person who can give us that information is in the next room,” Duncan said, standing up once more.
“What has he told you so far?” asked Amy, stifling a yawn.
“He gave us a license plate number. Methos hacked into the local vehicle registration bureau and got an address,” said Duncan, not going into details. He didn’t want to get Amy’s hopes up.
“It seems everyone I’ve met, in the last twenty-four hours, have some very interesting skills,” drawled Lee.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Amy muttered under her breath.
“When was the last time you had any sleep, Amy,” Duncan enquired, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.
“Yesterday night,” she said, “I should be okay for another few hours, though.”
“Amy, you look dead on your feet,” Duncan said softly. “Why don’t you crash on the couch for a few hours? You mightn’t get the chance to do so later.”
Amy looked blearily at the couch. “It does look very inviting,” she admitted, “Wake me up when Amanda and Methos get back,” A few moments later; she was curled up on the couch.
“I’ll go check on our ‘guest’,” Duncan said quietly. “Perhaps he’ll be a bit more forthcoming, now that he’s had time to think.”
“I’ll come with you,” whispered Tsi Tsung, casting an eye on the now sleeping watcher.
Nodding, Duncan led the way into the bar and sat on the chair Amanda had vacated. “Hello again, Masters. I have a few more questions.”
“I’ve already said all I’m going to say, MacLeod,” Masters muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Your lady friend said that if I told you who had Dawson…”
“…That you’ll get to live,” Duncan finished for him, “Yes, I know. However, she didn’t promise to set you free. You’re still our prisoner, Masters, and unless you tell us all you know, that won’t change.” Sighing, Duncan leaned back in his chair. “Listen, Lad, if it’s true you weren’t involved in Joe’s kidnapping, it works in your favour. But the fact still remains; you work for some very unsavoury people. I don’t know why you decided to betray your watcher oath, or how you got involved with Wren, but I do know Wren is a very unforgiving master. How do you think he’s going to react when he learns we’ve captured you?” As the watcher’s face clouded over, Duncan slowly stood. “I’m going to give you a few minutes to decide which side you’re on, Masters, choose wisely.”
The watcher remained silent, but a thoughtful look rested on his face as Duncan went to join Tsi Tsung, who was brewing some coffee behind the bar. “You and I need to talk, MacLeod,” he said lowly, placing a second cup on the bar. “I know you’ve been keeping me in the dark about certain things, but I’ve let it slide because I know I’m an outsider and trust is a rare thing among our kind.” He poured the coffee into the cups as Duncan silently looked on. “I need the truth, MacLeod. What is a ‘watchers oath’?”
Duncan winced inwardly. He’d been so anxious to get answers out of Masters; he’d forgotten Tsi Tsung was in the room. “It’s a long story, Lee,” he said.
“We’ve got some time to kill,” Lee said with a shrug. “Pierson and Ms Darieux probably won’t be back for a couple of hours, and our captive would benefit from a couple of hours alone with his own thoughts.”
Duncan hesitated; then came to decision. “Well…it all started with Gilgamesh,” he sighed. “And a mortal who saw him rise from the dead...” The presence of another immortal impinged on his senses, and Duncan stiffened in his seat. “What now!” he muttered, pulling out his katana as he rose to his feet.”
“It could be Pierson,” Lee said mildly, reaching into his coat.
“Unlikely,” Duncan said. “They haven’t been gone long enough. Even if there was nobody at the address, it would still take a while to search the place. You take the front door, I’ll take the back…it looks like Amy’s nap is going to be short lived.”
Silently, Tsi Tsung took his sword out of its sheath and headed for the door as Duncan slipped into the back office. Amy,” he whispered, giving the sleeping watcher’s shoulder a shake. “Amy, wake up, we’ve got visitors.”
Mumbling, Amy opened her eyes. “wha…”
Putting his finger to his lips, he pointed at the door. “Company,” he mouthed. Instantly, Amy came fully awake and rolled to her feet. Duncan pointed at the office doorway and Amy nodded, pulling out her gun as she ran over to it, Duncan took up position beside the back door. A crash broke the silence, and Duncan cursed as he realised that he’d guessed wrong, they were coming in through the front. A gunshot rang out and Amy ducked her head through the door. Before he could stop her, she started firing into the room. “Lee’s down,” she shouted as Duncan leapt across the room.
“How many?” he asked.
“Three, but one is down,” she said, ducking out of the doorway as another bullet ricocheted against the door jamb.
“I only sense one immortal, Duncan muttered back.
“That will be the one with the sword, then,” she said, giving him a wry smile.
“I’m going in,” Duncan said, “Cover me.” Crouching low, he ran through the doorway and threw himself behind the bar counter as gunshots filled the air. A cry rang out, and Duncan looked over the counter to see the second gunman fall to the ground as the strange immortal closed in on the still dead Lee. Cursing under his breath, he jumped over the counter as the other immortal raised his sword. “You don’t want to do that,” he said.
“Oh, but I do,” the strange immortal said with a lazy smile. “Let me guess, you are the legendary Duncan MacLeod. Well, I’m not after your head today, MacLeod, so why don’t you stand back and let me finish what I started.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Duncan said grimly, closing in.
Sighing, the other immortal raised his sword to block the Highlander’s blow. “Very well,” he muttered. “We’ll do this the hard way.”
Warily, the circled each other, each keeping their guard up; suddenly, the strange immortal lunged, aiming for the Highlanders chest. Jumping back, Duncan deflected the blow. Another thrust, this time to his stomach, and Duncan stepped to the side and slipped his Katana through his challengers guard, drawing blood as his sword sliced into the immortal’s arm. The battle began in earnest.
In a flurry of moves, the immortal pressed his attack, pushing Duncan across the room. Knowing that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d find his back against a wall, Duncan waited for his opening. Once again, the immortal lunged for his chest, and Duncan blocked it. With a twist of the wrist, he pulled the blade out of the immortal’s grasp, sending it flying across the room. Cursing, the immortal dived after it, but Duncan’s blade was at his neck before his fingers reached the hilt. “If you promise to walk away, I’ll let you live,” he said softly.
“You know I can’t promise that,” the other immortal said hoarsely. “It’s too late in the game for that.”
A stray sound caught Duncan’s attention, and he looked up to see the two injured gunmen escape through the front door. With a sigh, Duncan shook his head as he sliced down, closing his eyes as the head hit the floor. “So much killing,” he murmured, steeling himself as the quickening engulfed him.
Methos closed his eyes and pretended to doze as Amanda hummed under her breath at the wheel. The morning traffic had slowed to a crawl, and now they were stuck at a traffic light.
“Oh Meethos,” drawled Amanda.
“Hmmm?” he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed.
“I know you’re not asleep, old man; so stop pretending.”
Grumbling under his breath, Methos opened his eyes. “I haven’t slept in over a day,” he protested, hunching into his coat.
“Be that as it may,” she said with a grin. “We’re nearly there, so look alive.” The light turned green, and Amanda nudged the car forward.
“In this traffic? Hah, in your dreams.”
“Oh ye of little faith.” She wrenched the wheel sideways and pulled the car into the oncoming traffic.
“Bloody hell!” Methos shouted, his hand shooting out to grab the dashboard as the car veered wildly. “Look out, you fool, that van is going to crash into us!” Amanda ignored him as she swung the car out of the way. The van honked, and Methos slid down in his seat. “Are you trying to get us killed, Amanda?” he hissed.
“Relax, Methos, I know what I’m doing.”
“You could have fooled me; we’re on the wrong side of the road!”
“Oh, where is your sense of fun,” she said as she sped up the road, ignoring the cars that screeched and honked as they veered out of the way.
“The cops are going to be on our tails in a minute, if you don’t come to your senses,” he roared. “Get us off this street!”
“Yes sir,” she said with a grin as she swerved the car down a side lane.
With a sigh of relief, Methos fell back into his seat. “Why the hell did you do that?” he demanded.
“Short cut,” she said, turning left onto another small street. “And I also wanted to see the look on your face,” she added with a mischievous grin. “Oh look, we’re here!”
Methos rolled his eyes as she pulled the car to a stop. Pushing the door open, he slowly got out and looked around. “And where, exactly, is ‘here’?”
This is the lane that runs behind the houses on Rue des Vosgues,” she explained, popping the boot before she got out of the car.
“You seem very familiar with the area,” Methos said, raising an enquiring eyebrow.
“I once had to do a little…business around here,” she admitted as she retrieved a small backpack from the boot and slammed it shut.
“I see,” Methos drawled, shutting the car door.
“Actually, you probably don’t,” she said brightly. “It was a bit more complicated than that…remind me to tell you about it sometime.”
“Oh believe me, I will,” Methos said dryly as he followed her down the lane. “So, which one is number…” He stopped mid sentence and looked about as the presence of another immortal washed over him. Looking sideways, he caught Amanda’s eye, who pointed wordlessly at the gate a few steps ahead of them.
Methos came to a quick decision. Slipping his hand into his coat, he pulled out his gun and he kicked the gate open.
“So much for a stealthy approach,” muttered Amanda over his shoulder.
“Whoever it is already knows we’re here,” Methos said with a shrug as he strolled into the neglected garden and peered around. “There doesn’t appear to be a welcoming party…let’s check out the house.”
“Shouldn’t we have some sort of plan first,” Amanda muttered as she followed him up the pathway.
“No time,” he replied tersely. “He – or she – is on familiar ground. If can’t afford to give the immortal time to think.” He tried the backdoor, which turned with a squeak. “Be ready,” he said as he slammed the door open and pointed his gun into the hallway. It was empty.
“Well, that’s strange,” murmured Amanda.
Raising his hand for silence, Methos cocked his head as he listened to the seemingly empty house. “I hear something,” he eventually said as a faint sound reached his ears. “It’s coming from below us.”
“You do? I don’t hear a thing,” whispered Amanda.
“It’s very faint.” Slowly, he approached a door on the left and put his ear to it. “This is the way down.”
“What does it sound like?”
“I can’t be sure but…I think it’s somebody singing,” he said unsurely.
“Well…you did ask!”
Amanda threw him a disbelieving look; then sighed. Muttering under her breath, she tested the door. This time, it was locked.
“Can you open it,” Methos asked.
“Give me a moment,” Pulling out a small wallet from her coat, she selected a couple of lock picks and crouched in front of the lock. A moment later, the lock clicked. “Piece of cake,” she said as she pushed the door open.
Snorting, Methos clicked on the light switch outside the doorway and looked at the steps leading into the basement. “Okay, this is way too easy,” he mumbled. “Where are the guns, the mayhem, the homicidal immortal?”
“Do you think it’s a trap?” Amanda asked anxiously.
“Probably,” Methos admitted. “But if it is, it’s way too late to pull out now…we’ve already sprung it”
“Well…seeing as this was your idea, why don’t you go first,” Amanda said archly.
“Why, thank you, Amanda,” Methos said sarcastically.
“The pleasure is all mine,” she said, flashing him a smile. “Down you go…”
“Why am I suddenly getting a sensation of déjà vu?” he asked rhetorically, stepping onto the stairs.
“Look on the bright side; at least it isn’t a ladder.”
“Or a warehouse,” Methos added, a small smile dancing on his lips. “Alright, stay close.”
Silently, he crept down the stairs, pausing as he reached the bottom. The singing was now louder, but he couldn’t make out the words. “Do you hear it now?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Amanda.
“She nodded. “The voice sounds faintly familiar…”
Their eyes locked as they came to the same conclusion. “Joe!”
Quickly, they made their way down the narrow hallway until they came to a door. Methos paused as Amanda put her ear against it and listened. “Nothing,” she whispered, pushing it open. Silently, Methos stepped into the doorway, gun raised. The room was bare except for a small pile covered by a blanket in the far corner. Crossing the room, Methos pulled the blanket aside. Underneath, was a pair of prosthetic legs.
“These are Joe’s, if I’m not mistaken,” he murmured. “Let’s check the next room.” Quietly, he slipped into the hall and crept up to the next door. The sound of singing had grown louder, Joe’s tenor voice now completely recognisable. Frowning, he examined the door.
“It seems a bit over the top don’t you think?” Amanda whispered, gesturing at the heavy bolts attached to the metal door. “Who were they expecting to lock up in there – Hannibal Lector?”
“As long as it isn’t us, I really don’t care,” Methos whispered back. “Oh well; nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Gently, he slid back the locks and tested the handle, raising an eyebrow as it turned. “Ooh, this way is too easy,” he muttered. “Here, hold this.” Handing Amanda his gun, he drew his sword and nudged the door ajar.
The room was dark, but Methos could still make out Joe’s face from the hall’s light.
“Joe, are you okay?” Methos asked, stepping into the room. A soft murmur came from Joe’s lips, but he didn’t raise his head. “I didn’t hear that, Joe; you’re going to have to speak up,” Methos said softly, crouching down in front of the tied up watcher. For a moment, it looked like Joe was about to pass out, but then his eyes opened. “Joe?” Frowning, Methos studied Joe’s face. “Amanda, can you see a light switch out there?” In answer, the room lit up and Joe shut his eyes. “Easy there, Joe, I just want to have a look at you,” Methos muttered, lifting his eyelid.
“What’s wrong with him,” Amanda asked, stepping into the room.
“He’s been drugged,” Methos answered briefly, eyeing Joe’s dilated pupil.
“How bad is he?”
“Don’t know…hey Joe, can you hear me? What’s my name, Joe?”
Joe opened one bleary eye. “Oh no, your not getting me that easily,” he slurred. “No names…”
Methos rolled his eyes. “Well, whatever they gave him, he’s not going to be coherent for a while. Grab his prosthetics while I untie him. We’ll sort this out once we’ve got him out of here.”
“Do you think he needs hospital attention?”
Methos checked his pulse. “He needs a bath, a meal, and a good night’s sleep,” he said briskly as he produced a small knife and cut Joe’s bonds. “Not necessarily in that order,” he added as he prevented Joe from falling off the chair. “Isn’t that right, Joe?”
“Born free… as free as the wind blows…” the old bluesman crooned.
“Oh, this is going to be interesting,” Methos grumbled as he heaved Joe over his shoulder.
“You’ll live,” drawled Amanda, reappearing at the doorway. “Let’s go, this place is giving me the creeps…it’s too quiet.”
“Yes… it is, isn’t it?” Methos observed as he followed Amanda down the hall. “I wonder where the immortal has disappeared to.”
“Let’s just count our blessings and leave, shall we?” Amanda said
Grimacing, Methos nodded and followed her upstairs.
BACK : NEXT
FICTION : BUFFY/ANGEL
FICTION : CROSSOVER
FICTION : E-MAIL ME