Though he knew Daniel and Paul were waiting for him, Lewis didn't go to the monitor room, nor did he go to the kitchen to help Carlie. He descended the stairs at the back of the hallway, and headed for the pool at a quick, deliberate pace. Reaching it, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. He undressed methodically and dove in, swimming hard, fast laps, pushing his speed, turning mindlessly each time he reached a wall. He passed his usual stopping point, and continued on, driving his body to its limit, until exhaustion drained the emotions from him and left him trembling, gasping for breath, but calm once more. He wondered if Sloan Parker had any idea how close she'd just come to dying.

He held onto the side of the pool, his forehead against the cool tile, his body drifting in the slowly subsiding waves. He had managed to purge his own reaction, but nothing would ever be able to remove the image of fear seen on faces that had never shown him that before, or erase the knowledge of fear felt in souls that had never feared him, not in that way. He took a deep breath pushed himself out of the pool, and walked over to the shelf where they kept a supply of towels. Wiping water from his face and eyes, he was glad no one but himself would know that moisture tasted more of salt than chlorine.

He hadn't realized how dominant Llewellyn had already become, just in the few months he had been that man. Carlie, Arian, Luke and Sorcha had forged a new creation from the remnants of Lewis, and their own love. He shook his head. Weakness. Emotion was weakness. He couldn't afford that now. He had to be clear, be precise, be focused. Already he could feel the newly-formed layers of Llewellyn sloughing off his psyche, the thin tissue cloven by the shining edge that was the blade of Lewis' being. The last of the pain dulled to a whisper somewhere too deep to notice. He finished drying himself off and reached for his clothes. He had things to do.

Carlie stood in the kitchen, fighting off tears as she felt Llewellyn disappear, replaced by the stranger she'd once given her body to. He didn't know she could feel him from here, she was sure of it. He'd gone far enough that she shouldn't have been able to feel him, but she could. Lately she'd realized her range was increasing. She wasn't sure why, whether it was just practice, or something else, she just knew it had happened.

Blindly, moving by rote, she finished putting home-made baby food into plastic dishes, and apple juice into three Tommy-Tippee cups. That done she set up the high-chairs, and placed things within easy reach on the table, ready to move them to the trays once the babies were settled. Noticing Sloan's iced-tea glass on the table, she picked it up, staring at it, feeling anger building. Why did she have to sacrifice her mate for Sloan's? Why did her babies deserve to lose their father? Why had she agreed to it? What martyr's impulse had driven her?

Something twisted inside her, and she threw the glass as hard as she could at the kitchen window. The drinking glass shattered, but the window held. Carlie stared, perplexed by its wholeness until she realized that it was yet another example of Lewis lurking inside Llyn. Bulletproof, shatterproof glass, no doubt. He'd never told her. For some reason that made her even angrier.

Yanking open a cabinet, she started hurling dishes at the window, deliberately trying to hit the same place each time, to stress it past its breaking point. Surely it had one. She did. She'd reached it. She grabbed another bowl, and found her arm caught and held. She turned, and saw that stranger standing there, holding her wrist in his hand, looking at her with a faint, puzzled frown.

"Carlie?"

It was his voice, but not his voice. She dropped the bowl, it fell to the counter, rolled off, and hit the floor but didn't break. She couldn't look at him, so she stared at the bowl instead, feeling slightly hysterical laughter bubbling up inside.

"Carlie?" He repeated her name, softer, trying to sound like Llyn, but she wasn't fooled. She knew it wasn't him. She shook her head.

"Go away. I'm all right. I'll clean up the mess."

"You're bleeding."

She looked and realized he was right. Her bare arms were littered with small cuts from flying ceramics and glass shards. None of them were more than scratches, though. She shrugged. "They don't hurt. Go on, Daniel and Paul are waiting for you."

He let go of her arm, and took a step back. "I told you, I won't leave unless I have your permission."

She sighed, and shook her head. "It's too late to change our minds. I already gave you permission, and you already left. Nothing can change that now."

He didn't reply, and she couldn't sense his reaction to her words. Lewis shielded himself from her much better than Llyn had. A moment later he left the room. Carlie moved to the pantry that held the broom and dust-pan. Lunch would be a little delayed.

Sloan heard a scream and the sound of breaking glass. She jumped up and went to the door, about to run and see what was going on, then realized she couldn't leave the little ones alone, especially not after Lewis had ordered her to stay with them. There was a moment of silence, then more breakage, a deliberate, almost paced record of destruction.

That scream hadn't sounded frightened, it had been an expression of pure rage. Though Sloan would never have imagined gentle Carlie to capable of such a sound, she also had no doubt that was who it had been. She shivered in reaction. Why? What had happened? The babies started to fret, probably upset by her reaction to the sounds, since Carlie should too far away for them to sense. Taking a deep, calming breath, she closed the door as much for her own peace of mind as theirs.

Nearly an hour passed, and in trying to keep her trio of charges occupied Sloan had almost forgotten the sounds until the nursery door opened and Carlie stepped inside.

"Is everything okay?" Sloan ventured tentatively, searching her friend's face anxiously

Carlie seemed calm as she moved toward the girls. "I think you know the answer to that already, Sloan. Would you bring Luke down to the kitchen? I'll get Sorcha and Arian."

"Carlie, wait, we need to talk."

Carlie turned. "About what? It's done, Sloan. It can't be undone now."

"If there was any other way, anyone else I could have asked . . ." Sloan began, but Carlie shook her head.

"Don't, please. I do understand, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." Carlie moved to the window, staring outside, clearly seeing nothing of the view. "I just don't know what I'll do if Llyn doesn't come back," she whispered.

"He'll come back, you know he will. Lewis won't allow himself to fail."

Carlie looked back at her enigmatically. "That's not what I meant. You have no idea what you've done, do you? Yes, Lewis will probably come back. I don't know if Llyn can."

Sloan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's worked very hard to become Llyn, to not be Lewis any more. He's been succeeding, too. Now you've asked him to become Lewis again. I don't know if he'll be able to go back to being Llyn once that's over. It was hard enough the first time.

Sloan felt a painful stab of comprehension. She'd just had a first-hand demonstration of the difference between Lewis and Llyn. "I understand, Carlie, I do. If I'd known what I was asking, I might not have done it."

Carlie shook her head. "You would have, because as you said, there's no one else." She looked up, her dark eyes holding Sloan's as intently as Lewis' did at times. "But I have to tell you that if I had completely thought it through, and realized what I was setting into motion, I might not have been able to give him permission."

Sloan nodded slowly. "I don't think I could have, in your place. When I came here I was only thinking of myself, of Tom. The effect this could have on you never even crossed my mind, and I can't forgive myself for that. I'm so sorry."

Carlie sighed. "Thank you for that much, at least." Unexpectedly a wicked gleam of humor sparked her eyes, she grinned. "And I suspect that having to work alongside Lewis will be partial retribution for that thoughtlessness, won't it?"

Sloan remembered Lewis' question. 'Are you sure you want Lewis back?' and shuddered. "You're absolutely right. Lewis scares me spitless."

Carlie studied her for a moment. "Yes, he does. He also turns you on."

Sloan felt her face turn red, but didn't bother to deny it. How could she, when Carlie could feel what she felt? "Yes," she finally managed to say. "But you don't need to worry about that."

Carlie smiled knowingly. "No, I don't. Come on, help me get these guys downstairs before they get cranky."

She picked up Arian and winced as she settled her on her hip. Sloan saw her arms were pocked with small scabs, which she didn't remember from an hour earlier.

"What happened to your arms?" Sloan asked as Carlie reached for Sorcha

Carlie looked over at her with a wry expression. "A little accident with some dishes," she said, then paused and shook her head. "Actually, to be perfectly honest, it was a little 'on purpose' with some dishes. I think the technical term would be 'temper tantrum' but of course as a mature adult, I don' t have those."

Sloan ventured a smile. "Of course you don't. 'Accident' works just fine."

"Thanks."

Carlie headed out the door with a daughter on each hip. Sloan picked up Luke and followed her down to the kitchen. They settled the children and Sloan helped out, feeding Luke while Carlie took care of the girls. After discovering the pitfalls involved in feeding a child who actually wanted to eat, Sloan began to wonder how anyone ever got food down a reluctant one. She swore she had more food on the tray, the floor, and Luke's outside than she did his inside.

They were starting on cleanup when Carlie suddenly looked up, frowning, and turned toward the door, her eyes wide. Sloan turned too, but didn't know the man who stood there, though he was vaguely familiar-looking with brown eyes and short, ash-blonde hair. Since she'd met Daniel, she figured he must be Paul, or did until Luke laughed, pointed, and said "Da!" That focused her attention more sharply, and she gasped as she recognized him. It was Lewis.

For just a moment she had the sickening fear that Dominants could shape-shift, then she realized there were more prosaic explanations. Remove the beard, cut his hair, add some hair-color, and dark contact lenses, and voila! He was barely recognizable. Every change was subtle, but together they added up to an entirely different person. No one looking for Lewis would give this man a second glance.

Lewis walked into the room and Sloan knew that even without his trademark hair and eyes, she would have known him by the way he moved, like a stalking cat. Definitely feline, she thought, remembering Carlie's comment about Luke. Like father, like son? He ignored Sloan completely and went to stand close to Carlie, his gaze on her face, unwavering.

Carlie colored a little, but lifted her chin. "Interesting look," she said blandly.

He shrugged. "It's functional. You're feeling better?"

Carlie's blush deepened as she nodded. "Yes."

Sloan noticed she didn't apologize. Lewis didn't seem to expect it, he just nodded in return.

"Good. I've made the necessary arrangements. Paul and Daniel will stay here until I return. I don't want them distracted, so call Teresa or Eric to come help you with the kids if you need assistance, they can be trusted. Above all, do not leave the house without an escort, understand?"

Carlie sighed. "Oh for God's sake, Llyn, you're the one who'll be in danger, not me!"

His expression softened slightly, and he reached out and touched her cheek with his fingertips. "Yes, I am, and I'll be in more danger if I'm distracted by worrying about your safety. Do as I ask?"

Carlie was apparently mollified by the change from order to request, because she reached up to cover his hand with hers, and nodded. "Yes, if it will help keep you safe." She drew his hand away, and shot him a narrow look. "But I'm well aware that you're manipulating me shamelessly."

Lewis smiled. "Of course you are, what would be the point, otherwise?"

Carlie laughed, then the laugh faded and she reached up to frame his face with her hands. "Come back to me. Both of you."

Sloan knew Carlie wasn't talking about her, or even Tom.

Apparently so did Lewis. He nodded. "I will."

Carlie leaned in and kissed him. Sloan turned away and started using the damp washrag on Luke, not wanting to intrude on their intimacy. Luke didn't much appreciate her efforts, and proceeded to let her know that in no uncertain terms. She was trying to hush him when someone tugged the rag out of her hands.

Sloan turned to find Lewis beside her, his attention focused on Luke. He leaned down, and took over where Sloan had left off. She was a little miffed when Luke chortled happily rather than protesting. She found it interesting that Luke recognized Lewis despite the changes in his appearance. Was it the empathic sense that made that possible? Scent? Some more profound parent-child bond? Whatever it was, she was clearly not the person Luke wanted to be with. She moved away and watched Lewis finish.

He spoke to Luke in a low, even voice as he worked, quietly enough that she couldn't make out words, just a soft, almost hypnotic rhythm. Luke seemed to relax as he listened, his fidgets lessening. He yawned. Lewis leaned down to kiss Luke's forehead softly, unfastened the safety strap that held him in the chair, then turned to Carlie, who was also watching him.

"I'll take Luke up, would you bring the girls? They'll be sleepy now, and I think it will be easier if they're asleep when I leave."

Carlie nodded solemnly, and started to get Sorcha out of her chair. Sloan moved to her side and lifted Arian out, handing her to Carlie. Sloan stayed behind. She had intruded enough as it was.

At first it hadn't been so bad once the drugs wore off, but it was getting worse, harder with every passing hour. Tom hated being alone. Even a guard stationed within sensing distance would be enough to keep him occupied, but instead there was only the camera, relentless, indifferent, and devoid of sensation. He found himself listening for the soft hum of its internal workings, the occasional whir as someone unseen adjusted the focus or the aperture from afar. At least that was better than silence.

He discovered that he could also hear the changes in the air-conditioning unit as it worked to keep the temperature at a constant, uncomfortable chill, and could occasionally catch a whiff of some petrochemical product, perhaps a lubricating oil used in the ventilator machinery. And always, there was the persistent ache of muscles never allowed full relaxation, or exercise. After so long, the pain had almost become a welcome thing. It was, at least, sensation.

The guards that had once brought him food had been replaced by a robotic drone that periodically rolled over to his cage with his 'meal', most often two slices of stale white bread smeared with an unappetizing salty-sweet substance that might have been peanut-butter in another lifetime. And they didn't even give him milk. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment. All he had to drink was water, and not enough of that.

They did still come to get him twice a day to escort him to the lavatory, at their convenience, not his. Of course, since it was the one place he would like to have been alone, they watched him there. He had to admit, though that he sometimes needed their help to get to the small cubicle, since his muscles were cramped from confinement. Even so, the guards who escorted him were completely stoic, apparently instructed not to speak or even emote in his presence. It was frustrating not to know what his captors wanted of him, other than to break him. Were they just doing it for fun, or was there some real purpose served by torturing him?

Devoid of any other stimulus, he turned inward, to his memories. He was still perturbed by the hole in his memory prior to the time he'd been sent to Lewis. What had his life been, before that? Good, bad, indifferent? Of the memories he did have, many were too dull for review, others too painful, or too shameful. But some weren't. Memories of Sloan, mostly. A few others. The night in the warehouse when they were studying the Pillar, when he and Ed had actually communicated for the first time, warily, but truly in a tentative attempt at friendship.

Then there were those other memories, the ones he didn't really want to think about but couldn't help. Talking to Sloan about Lewis had made those memories sharper, it seemed. He realized that Sloan was right. There had been, and still was, an emotional bond there. A strange one, but definitely present. He turned that thought over in his mind, not liking it very much. It did explain some things, though. Such as why he hadn't been able to bring himself to shoot Lewis, either time he'd had the chance to do so.

In fact, the more he thought about his last few encounters with Lewis, the odder they seemed. Looking back on that entire sequence of events, he realized now that Lewis had twice deliberately placed himself in a situation where he was vulnerable to Tom. Now, certainly Lewis was arrogant, and Tom had counted on that in trying to lure and entrap him, but he was also highly intelligent. Logically, Lewis shouldn't have given in to any urge that would place him at risk. So, why had he done so, unless . . . the bond went both ways?

Tom frowned, Sloan's words about trusting Lewis echoing in his head. Perhaps she been correct in sensing that in that particular instance, Lewis had indeed been trustworthy. That admission led him further into speculation. If Sloan had been right about that, perhaps she was right as well in thinking that the time Lewis had spent with Carlie had changed him even more. Could she also be right in thinking that, far from hiding somewhere plotting against humanity, Lewis really was up in Washington with Carlie, being nothing more than a mate, and father?

Tom laughed out loud at that. It was too bizarre to even consider. He glanced at the camera, quietly recording his actions, and wondered if they would take his laughter as a sign of mental deterioration. As he thought it, an idea came to him. If they thought they had succeeded in breaking him, then maybe they would let him out. He smiled slowly. They wanted crazy? He could do that. In spades.

Lewis was as efficient as Sloan had always imagined. He arranged for someone to deliver her mother's car back to her, along with a note from Sloan explaining that she was fine and would be in touch soon. He arranged airline tickets for them under assumed names, and fake identification so good Sloan wondered how he'd known her statistics so accurately. When she got up enough courage to ask, he just smiled enigmatically. The fact that he seemed permanently attached to his small notebook-computer made her figure it probably had something to do with that. Maybe he had access to the California DMV database? That was a scary thought.

On the plane he spent every possible moment working on the computer, much of it using an Airphone modem link that had to have cost him a fortune. Sloan tried to see what he was doing, but the damned LCD screen made it nearly impossible to see from where she was sitting, and she knew better than to be obvious about it. About twenty minutes before they were due to land, he shut the system down and sat back in his seat, staring past her out the window. After a few moments, she couldn't stand the suspense.

"Everything all set?"

Lewis shifted his gaze to her, looking amused. "Yes, Dr. Parker."

"Sloan," she corrected.

He shrugged. She waited for him to say something, but he didn't, so she was forced to try again.

"So, what are our plans?"

"To get off the plane when we land," he said blandly.

She managed not to roll her eyes. "After that?"

"Pick up the car that will be waiting for us."

"A rental?"

Lewis shook his head. "A rental might get noticed in certain areas. We'll have access to several vehicles, all of them with legitimate registrations."

Sloan nodded as if she already knew that a rental might be a problem. "Can I ask you something?"

He looked at her obliquely. "You can ask."

His tone suggested he might not answer. She decided to ask anyway. "How do you have access to all this information and equipment and stuff if your people don't know you're still in the game? And what about Daniel and Paul? They obviously know."

His gaze shifted toward the window, and she had decided he wasn't going to tell her when he looked back at her again. "I've always believed strongly in self-preservation. After seeing what happened to some of my associates when they were no longer useful, in common parlance, I covered my ass."

His attitude surprised her a little. She'd thought that his loyalty to his people would be much stronger. But then, as he'd said, demonstrations of how little loyalty they had toward him would tend to shape a certain enlightened self-interest. Not unlike Tom, though the direction his had taken was quite different. She wondered how much of Lewis' plans had already been in place before he'd met Carlie. He'd helped her with money when the babies were born. Was that when he decided to leave himself a way out, or had he done that earlier?

She figured she'd gotten as much out of him on that topic as she could, and he was clearly not willing to give her details about his plans. So now what? Something safe, mundane, ordinary . . .

"Do you change diapers?"

His gaze shifted quickly to her face, obviously startled by her change of subject. After a moment a smile curved his mouth. "Yes. Why?"

"Just curious. You seemed to do pretty well with the babies."

"That surprises you?"

She nodded. "Well, yeah. It's not something I would have put high on a list of probabilities where you're concerned."

"Children are our future and our immortality, Dr. Parker. They are sacred. Actually, I've had a lot of experience with children, though generally they were somewhat older."

Like Tom. Instantly, involuntarily, Sloan remembered the night Tom had told her about himself and Lewis, remembered that moment of absolute horror when she'd thought Lewis might have been with Tom, sexually, when he was still a child. Before she could think of something else, Lewis picked up on her reaction, and stared at her curiously.

"That was a very odd response to such a simple statement, Dr. Parker."

Sloan resigned herself to being 'Dr. Parker.' He seemed to be constitutionally unable to use her first name. She shook her head. "It's nothing. Just a misunderstanding I had with Tom."

"Regarding?"

"You, and him, and certain aspects of his training."

Lewis nodded thoughtfully, and was silent for a moment, then his gaze snapped back to her, narrowed, affronted. "I'm not a monster, Sloan."

At first she only heard her name. Just when she thought he'd never use it, he did. She wondered if he did the 'Doctor Parker' thing just to irritate her. Then she realized what he'd said, and understood that he must have somehow figured out what she'd been thinking. God, she hated it when they did that. His phrase suddenly struck her as familiar, and she laughed softly.

"I know. Tom made that very clear."

That seemed to startle him. He studied her quizzically. "He did?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He sat back, considering that. "Interesting. I wouldn't have thought he would. Wouldn't it have better served his purpose to let you think I was a monster?"

"Why would he want me to think badly of you?"

"To protect you, to keep you away from me."

She smiled. "There was no reason for him to do that, he thought you were dead."

"Ah." Lewis was silent for a moment, and when he looked at her she thought she saw something, almost pleasure, in his gaze. "So it was an honest reaction. Untainted."

She nodded. "Completely. It was right after . . . um, never mind."

Lewis chuckled. "You asked him, didn't you? About program forty-three?"

Sloan felt herself going beet-red and couldn't meet his eyes. His chuckle deepened.

"Well done, Dr. Parker. With Tom, sometimes you have to push."

Sloan thought about Lewis being pushy with Tom, and shivered a little. Lewis grinned.

"Have you ever heard of privacy?" she snapped.

"Certainly, but to me your reactions are as public as if you were shouting them in an open room. Privacy hardly applies in this situation."

Sloan scowled. "Well, couldn't you at least pretend you didn't notice?"

Lewis just looked at her.

She sighed. "I guess not."

As he drove toward his chosen base location, Lewis occasionally glanced at Sloan to see if she had picked up on where they were going. She didn't appear to have done so, though she was frowning slightly as she looked out the window at the large, widely separated houses that littered the hillside, their green lawns looking out of place amongst the sere chaparral that was the locale's normal vegetation. Of course, her expression might have more to do with her annoyance with him than any subconscious recognition.

Lewis suppressed a smile. She was so predictable, yet somehow he found it amusing to provoke those predictable responses. He supposed it was a little childish of him, but after all, he had never gotten to indulge in such behavior when he was young. Carlie approved of him being childish, though to be truthful, he had to admit the word she'd used was child-like. Of course, he should be doing neither. He frowned. Vestiges of Llyn again, slipping out from his control. Damn. He turned the car onto the long drive that led up to the house, and finally Sloan gave a start of recognition, and turned to look at him.

"Isn't this the same place . . . ?" She started.

He nodded, cutting her off. "Yes. Amazing what you can pick up inexpensively at government auction."

Sloan's eyebrows went up. "You bought it?"

"I bought it. The government seized it, put it up for auction, and I bought it for half what we originally paid for it. I thought it would be a good investment as a rental."

Sloan looked at him oddly, and he sensed amusement from her.

"Something amuses you?" he queried.

She let out the grin she'd suppressed. "Just that you're the last person I'd ever expect to be a landlord. I'm having trouble picturing you with your head under a sink, wearing a ratty old t-shirt, dirty jeans and a tool-belt."

He visualized that, and made a face. "Is that what your landlord is like?"

She chuckled. "Well, not the current one, he lives in Hawaii and just collects rent and lets his super do all the dirty work, but I've had a few like I described."

He smiled. "I think I prefer the idea of living in Hawaii, myself."

Sloan seemed surprised by his response, and he wondered why. "Don't you think I can enjoy life?" he asked, genuinely curious.

From her embarrassed look, he assumed that she must not have. Interesting. He thought about that for a little while, and realized it was an example of how much he had changed since he'd been captured. Prior to that time, he probably wouldn't have even thought of such a thing, let alone commented on it to Sloan Parker.

He could still remember telling Carlie 'enjoyment is irrelevant.' Amazing, how long ago that seemed, now. He was disturbed, though, that even trying to be only Lewis, there were strong facets of Llyn beginning to reassert themselves. Emotions were distracting, and could affect his performance, possibly even prevent him from achieving his goal. That was unacceptable.

As they approached the end of the drive, he reached for the remote on the sun-visor, and pressed it. Ahead of them, the large garage door slid slowly upward, revealing two cars, and a space for the one he drove. He pulled in, set the brake, and got out. Sloan hurriedly unbuckled her seatbelt and scrambled to follow him as he unlocked the door into the house.

He stood on the threshold for a moment, looking into the spacious entryway with its curving staircase. The house looked much the same, the cream-colored walls reflecting the light that streamed in through the myriad windows. He liked the openness of it, the expansive feeling it had. In truth that was why he'd bought it, not because he ever thought he would have need of it as a base again.

Memories stirred. Tom. Lisa. He frowned slightly. Lisa had been a decent operative, and would have continued to develop, once her arrogance had been tamed. She had feared him appropriately, she had respected him, and most importantly she had obeyed him, unlike Tom. Killing Lisa had been convenient, but ultimately wasteful. Looking back on it with the distance and wisdom that time gave, he realized he had done it not just to frame Tom and Sloan, though that had been a beneficial side-effect. He had been required to make a choice. He couldn't leave both them and Lisa alive.

Ultimately, his decision to kill Lisa had been predicated on the knowledge that Lisa would eventually have taken it upon herself to remove the threat posed by Tom. She had been disdainful of Tom, calling him 'useless,' and she had always been overly-protective of Lewis. Tom's death had not been something Lewis could allow. At the time he'd told himself it was because he couldn't afford to make martyrs of Tom and Sloan, but since yesterday he had been thinking about what Sloan had said when she'd been trying to convince him to help her.

Sloan had spoken of his feelings for Tom. She'd pointed out that he had made himself vulnerable to his former lieutenant, that he had deliberately chosen to expose himself to capture in order to try to regain Tom's loyalty. Reflecting on that, he knew she was right, leaving him with the uncomfortable realization that Lisa had died because of emotions he hadn't dared acknowledge at the time. He had chosen to kill her because he could not bring himself to kill Tom, nor could he kill Sloan, knowing how Tom felt about her.

Lewis scowled and walked into the house. He hated having developed a conscience. Life had been much simpler without one. Emotions complicated things, but remembering the way he felt when he held Arian in his arms, or played with Luke and Sorcha, or the way he felt when he woke up beside Carlie, he knew he would continue to pay the price to have them. Some things were worth the price, and he knew deep inside that this was one of them.

He started up the stairs, heading for his old room, Sloan on his heels. Opening the door to the room, in his mind's eye Lewis saw the table and uncomfortable upright chair he'd been using that night. He saw himself there, waiting, anticipating Tom's arrival with anger, and yet a certain level of pleasureable anticipation. He'd wanted to see his wayward student, to bring him back where he belonged. In the present, Lewis moved into the room and went to stand at the window, looking down into the pristine turquoise of the pool, remembering. They'd fought. Strange, he thought, the similarities between battle, and sex. Two bodies striving, interlocked, anticipating each action, each reaction.

Lewis turned, saw Sloan staring at a spot on the floor with a strange intensity, he sensed fear, and dismay from her, but distantly, the emotions conjured in memory not the present. She was remembering that night as well. Sloan had actually been instrumental in Lisa's capture. Surprising, that, especially considering her reactions when he'd kidnapped her. She had shown no initiative at all. Apparently Sloan Parker only had initiative when someone other than herself was threatened. Her own safety didn't motivate her, but a threat to someone she cared about did. That was a good thing to keep in mind. He touched the wall, his shoulder aching a little in body-memory, that was where Tom had thrown him.

Looking up, Lewis noticed that the bullet-holes in the ceiling had been carefully patched and repainted. The government wouldn't have bothered, so it must have been done by his operatives. They always tried to anticipate his desires, to please him. All except Tom. Perhaps that was where the fascination lay, Tom was the only one of his students to ever defy him. Lewis thought about that, and knew it was partly true, but incomplete. He had been intrigued by Tom long before the other man had chosen to turn away from his own kind, and the thing that had interested him even then had been the same thing that eventually bonded him to Carlie. Emotion. Tom *felt* things.

He deliberately turned his thoughts from that path and stepped away from the window. Sloan looked up, her eyes wide, as if he'd startled her. That wasn't difficult, since she was afraid of him. He suppressed a smile at that thought. Afraid, but also drawn to him. It could be fun to play with that, though Carlie was all he really wanted. He moved closer to Sloan, just close enough to make her uncomfortable. She visibly resisted moving back away from him, and looked up, trying to act brave.

"So, when are we going to go get Tom?" Sloan asked.

Lewis smiled. "We're not."

Sloan stared at him, perplexed and a little angry. "What do you mean, we're not? You told me you would help!"

He reached out and smoothed a curl from where it had strayed across her forehead, using that as an excuse to impose his presence on her even more strongly. He caught her gaze, and stared into her eyes.

"Dr. Parker, I may have chosen to help you, but I'm not a fool, and I have every intention of returning to my family. I'm not going to risk my life attempting a frontal assault on what is probably their most heavily defended location."

Her gaze wavered. "Then how . . ." She swallowed hard, and finished in a whisper. "How are we going to rescue him?"

He let his hand slide down her hair to her shoulder, leaning close. "We're not. We're going to let them bring him to us."

She pulled away from his touch, retreating as he'd known she eventually would. From a safe distance, she looked at him with troubled, wary eyes.

"Then we'll never get him back!"

Lewis moved toward her, and she flinched back. He ignored the movement and passed her, going to the doorway and looking back at her.

"Of course we will."

She laughed a little hysterically. "Oh really? They're just going to walk up, ring the bell, and say 'here's Tom, thanks for the letting us borrow him'?"

Lewis considered that scenario, and slowly shook his head. "No. It will be slightly more complicated than that, though not tremendously. You see, the easiest way for us to get him back is to offer them something they want in exchange."

"We don't have anything they want!"

"Oh, we will, don't worry."

She eyed him suspiciously. "What will we have?"

He smiled. "You'll see."

"Why do I have the feeling I won't like this?"

"Because you're not entirely brainless, despite the front you like to put on," Lewis snapped, tiring of the game. "However, if you want them to give Tom back, you're going to have to play by their rules, which aren't nearly as fair as you seem to believe they are. Now, help me bring in the luggage. We have work to do."

Carlie sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing. Something was wrong! She was on her feet and moving before her brain really kicked in. She stopped a moment in the hallway, trying to compose herself, and figure out what had brought her awake. The house was still and quiet, and she sensed no intruders. Besides, even if there were, Daniel and Paul would have been alerted to that first. No, this was something else.

There. She figured it out finally. It was Luke. He wasn't really upset, not yet, but he wasn't happy either. He was 'aiming' for her, too, not just broadcasting widely. That meant Sorcha and Arian were sleeping. They had recently started to be able to do that, to not wake each other with undirected emotions. It wasn't something either she or Llyn had taught them, because it wasn't something they knew how to teach. It was fascinating to watch the children evolve ways of using their abilities to their own benefit.

Quietly she opened the door, stepped into the nursery, and turned up the dimmer just enough to light the room to a subtle glow. As she'd expected, Sorcha and Arian were sound asleep. Moving to the third crib, she wasn't too surprised to find it empty. He must have climbed out. Carlie turned, looking around the room trying to spot him. Paul and Daniel had spent two hours earlier that day walling up the bookcase to keep Luke off it, so he couldn't be there, but she didn't see him anywhere else, either. She frowned, and concentrated on 'feeling' him. He was nearby, very near. Definitely in the house, probably even in the room. He must be hiding. Carlie sighed.

"Luke, sweetie," she whispered. "Three in the morning is not a good time to play with mommy. Where are you?"

She looked under the crib. Nothing. She checked under Sorcha and Arian's' as well. Nothing. She looked in the toy box. Nothing. Had he somehow managed to get out of the room? No, that was impossible, the door had been closed when she got there. Frustrated, she looked around, hands on her hips.

"All right, where the heck are you?" Her gaze fell on the door that led into the bathroom, and she smiled. "Gotcha, you little bugger."

Reaching into the bathroom she flipped on the light, prepared to confront her wayward son. Luke was nowhere to be seen. She even checked under the sink, which he couldn't possibly have gotten into because of the childproof latches. Nothing. Carlie was starting to get a little scared. Only the reassuring feel of him nearby kept her from panic. She could tell he was no longer upset, in fact, he'd decided that having her search for him was amusing. She wasn't amused, herself. She was starting to get mad.

"Luke, show yourself right this instant, young man," she said in a quiet, but firm voice.

How could she have missed him? She started toward his crib again, to look under the rumpled blanket. He was too big to be hiding there, but she had to look. As she passed the newly walled-over bookcase, she heard something. She stopped suddenly, holding her breath, listening. The sound came again. The distinctive gurgling chortle of an amused child. It sounded oddly muffled, muted. Not quite believing her ears, she moved closer to the wall and put her ear against it. She heard a small scrabbling sound, which grew louder, and clearer, as did Luke's 'presence.' She stared at the wall.

"Luke?"

A giggle this time. Luke could hear and feel her just as she could him. There was no doubt in her mind, none at all, that her son was on his favorite shelf. Behind a solid wall. Impossible. He simply could not be there. But he was. A shiver that was more of a shudder chased its way through her body. How could he have gotten in there? And how the heck was she going to get him out? She was going to have to get Paul or Daniel to come in and undo their handiwork. Surely they couldn't have accidentally walled Luke up inside there. . . no, that didn't make sense. They'd been finished long before she had put the children to bed for the night.

Carlie put her hand against the plasterboard, feeling its cool solidity underneath her fingers. Was she dreaming this? That was the only thing that made any sense. She had to be dreaming. Deliberately she lifted her hand from the wall, and slapped herself. It stung both her face and her fingers. Nope, not dreaming. She rubbed her face a little to ease the sting, and tried to come up with some plausible explanation for what confronted her. There was none. Giving up, she turned to go find her bodyguards-cum-handymen and get them to rip open the newly installed wall so she could get to Luke.

Another giggle sounded. This time it wasn't muffled at all. It was perfectly clear, and it came from Luke's crib. Carlie covered the distance in less than a second and grabbed Luke, lifting him, running her hands over his small, sturdy frame to reassure herself of both his presence and his safety. Hugging him to her, she sat down on the floor, her legs a little unsteady from the surge of adrenalin pouring through her. Arian and Sorcha stirred, disturbed by the emotions she knew she was projecting. She took several deep breaths, consciously calming herself the way Llyn had taught her. It worked, neither of the girls woke completely, settling back to sleep after a moment.

"How did you do that, baby? How?" Carlie whispered, staring into Luke's crystal-blue eyes, wishing desperately that he could talk.

She could think of only two explanations, both of which were too fantastic to be true. One, he had teleported himself into, and back out of, the bookshelves. Two, he had somehow projected a hallucination real enough to convince his own mother that he was in the bookcase. Teleportation was the least likely theory, since it was patently impossible according to known laws of physics. The other answer was more probable, but almost scarier in its own way. Either way, she wished Llyn were here to talk to. This was something she wasn't equipped to handle on her own. She cuddled Luke until he went to sleep, then put him back in his bed, and slipped quietly from the room.

Closing the nursery door with a sigh, Carlie took a moment to savor the quiet. While she knew it was perfectly natural for naps to grow shorter, and waking periods longer and more active as the babies matured, that didn't make it any easier to cope with the three of them without Llyn. She'd thought about calling Theresa, or Eric, as Llyn had suggested, but decided against it. She didn't want someone else to take Llyn's place in the babies' minds. They kept 'asking' about him, fussing, and giving her their emotion-pictures that represented him. Sorcha in particular was distressed by his absence. She was the most like him, quiet, thoughtful, with an almost frighteningly quick mind. Carlie tried to be reassuring, but even with empathy it was impossible to explain why he wasn't there. Not without letting her own fears slip into the mixture and upset them more.

She walked through the bedroom she and Llyn shared, out onto the balcony, and went to the rail. Curling her fingers around it she looked south, toward where she knew he was. Her nails dug into the wooden railing. Why had she let him go? Why had she allowed her sympathy for Sloan to interfere with her good sense? He was out there, in danger, only because she had allowed it. All it would have taken was a simple "no" and he would be here, and safe.

Of course, there was no way she could have said no, not once Llyn had admitted he wanted to help. Carlie suspected this was the first time he'd ever felt motivated to help someone for purely altruistic reasons. Not only that, but Tom and Sloan had helped her, how could she ignore their need and still be able to live with herself? Really, she'd had no other choice. She stared off into the distance as if she could somehow see him, or feel him, from so far away. She couldn't, of course. She was getting more sensitive, but not that much more.

God, he'd only been gone a few hours, and already she ached inside. Without him, she wasn't whole. She realized suddenly how stupid she'd been to worry about who might come back, Llyn, or Lewis. He couldn't be compartmentalized into good and bad halves, like some stupid Jekyll and Hyde story. He was who he was. Lewis was part of Llyn, and Llyn part of Lewis. The same man, inseparable. As she though that, a slight breeze stirred the trees, sending a rush of resinous scent southward.

"Come back to me," Carlie whispered, letting the wind carry her words. "Just come back."

"So, you think he's really nuts?" The question came from the big black man in the paramilitary gear. His rifle was slung casually over one shoulder as he studied Tom, apparently not too concerned about either his own safety, or that of the man he accompanied. Possibly that had something to do with the fact that Tom was currently lying on a gurney with psychiatric restraints holding him in place.

"I would say so. I mean, if he wasn't he couldn't keep that up. Actually, if I hear one more time about how small the world is, *I'll* be nuts! How have you stood it all this time?"

The second speaker was also male, though he was neither tall, nor strongly built. He wore a white lab-coat and his blonde hair had been carefully styled to conceal the fact that it was thinning. From his accentless, news-anchor delivery, Tom suspected he was a native Californian. The man's question was met with a laugh.

"I'm used to it, I've got three kids, but it's still pretty fuckin' annoyin'."

Tom hid his pleasure. He'd chosen that particular song for maxium irritation value. Sloan had once referred to it as "The Song That Shall Not Be Sung" and told him that many humans found it unbearably repetitious. Apparently he had chosen well.

"This guy didn't last nearly as long as the other one," the one with kids said. "What does that mean?"

"Could be any number of things," Lab-coat said, circling Tom like a vulture. "Either he's weaker-willed, less well-trained, or we've improved our technique. Maybe all of the above."

"Weird, they're supposed to be so superior and all that, but just stick 'em alone in a room for a few days and bingo, instant fruitcake. Wrap 'em up and ship 'em out for Christmas."

That drew another laugh from the Californian. "Interesting way to put it, but yes, it does seem to be a significant weakness. Still, we don't want him doing what the other one did, so we're just going to give him a little medication to make sure before we let him out of bed."

Tom tensed. Medication? What kind of medication? He hadn't counted on that. He thought they'd wanted him crazy so he'd given them that, figuring they'd let him out of the cage if he did. He hadn't bargained for this. He stopped singing. Both men looked at him in obvious relief.

"Thank God for small favors," Lab-coat breathed reverently, taking a syringe from his pocket and tapping it to move any trapped air to the top.

Tom swallowed. If they gave him an anti-depressant, or worse an anti-psychotic, it would scramble his nervous system and ruin any chance he had of escape. He knew intellectually what the drugs might do to him, but had never experienced it first hand. Lewis had planned to put him through that regimen so that he would be better equipped to endure it, but they had not gotten a chance to complete that part of his training. Knowing he had to try to prevent the use of drugs, Tom cleared his throat and spoke for the first time in days.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked, looking hopefully at the blond. He was surprised by the sound of his voice until he realized he was hoarse from hours of singing.

That got a smile. "Yes, actually. Very good. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. What am I doing here?" He hoped that his sudden lucidity wouldn't tip them off, but he had to keep them from using that syringe, and being crazy wasn't going to do it.

"You don't remember?"

He tried to look puzzled, and shook his head. "No. I . . . can't remember much of anything really. Am I in a hospital?" He was trying his best to seem pleasant, unthreatening, and very human.

"You could say that," the man said smoothly.

Tom tugged against the restraints on his arms carefully, with only a fraction of his full strength. "Why am I tied up? Did I do something bad?"

"You really don't remember? Do you know who you are? Do you know what you are?"

"I . . ." He frowned, not sure what response to give. He had to be not-crazy, but he also couldn't let on that he knew he wasn't human. Thinking quickly, he reverted to his most recent 'human' cover. Maybe he could convince them that he didn't remember that he was a Dominant. "I'm Tom Daniels. I work for the FBI. Was there an incident? Is that why I'm here? Was I drugged or shot?"

The doctor and the guard exchanged glances, a little puzzled, a little suspicious. Finally the doctor spoke again.

"You don't work for the FBI," the doctor informed him bluntly.

Tom frowned. "Yes I do. I was working on the Randall Lynch case."

The doctor laughed. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you were, since you're probably related to him."

Tom let a little anger show in his eyes. "Hey! No need to be insulting! The guy's a serious nutcase!"

"That's a strong statement coming from someone who just spent the last eighteen hours singing a Disney song over and over."

Tom looked at him blankly, pretending incomprehension. "I did?"

"Yes, you did." The doctor uncapped the syringe and leaned down.

Tom tried to pull away, but the restraints kept him in place. "Hey, what're you doing? What is that?"

"Just a little something that will help you keep it together. Don't worry."

"I don't like needles," Tom said, feeling a little desperate.

"It won't hurt a bit," the doctor said reassuringly. "I've had a lot of practice."

"Please," Tom said. "I'm just starting to feel normal . . ."

Too late. A sudden stinging in his arm told him that the doctor had ignored his plea. Damn. He could almost feel the medication as it swirled through his veins. He hoped it wasn't anything psychoactive, but knew the hope was futile. What else would they give a crazy person?

Pain bloomed behind his eyes in a burgeoning wave as the drugs reached their target. Tom gasped as the world spun and shifted around him, and his senses deadened. Nothing smelled right, or sounded right, and a strange, metallic taste flooded his mouth, making him gag. Even the feel of the restraints against his skin, and the pressure of the gurney underneath him was suddenly somehow distanced, removed.

He could no longer sense even the faintest vestige of emotion from either of the humans, and he was left even more isolated than before, completely cut off from any empathic contact. His thoughts seemed to clot like old blood in his head, slow, and sticky and opaque. He focused on the man standing over him with an empty syringe and tried to reach out, forgetting he couldn't. His arm felt heavy, almost disconnected.

"No . . . more . . . please?" He managed to get out.

"We'll see how you do with this, then decide."

"Won't work, not right." Tom said earnestly, trying to tell the man that the drugs wouldn't have the right effect on him, but couldn't form a coherent sentence.

"Just relax, Mr. Daniels. You'll be fine."

The man's words seemed foreign, meaningless. Tom stared, uncomprehending. Why was he here? Where was he? Where was Sloan? He needed Sloan, or even Ed. Someone he could trust. Someone who wouldn't hurt him. These people didn't understand him.

"Need sumnn . . ." No, that wasn't the right sound. Someone. It should be easy. Someone. He tried again. "Mmm unn . . ." He clenched his fists, frustrated that he couldn't make his throat and tongue work right.

The guard laughed. "I think he wants his mommy."

Tom turned his head toward the man, his gaze narrowed with dislike as he remembered his mother, what she'd done to him. "Killed her," he announced.

The humans exchanged a look, then the doctor turned back to Tom. "You killed your mother? Why?"

"She hurt me. Lewis said to." Tom couldn't decide which had been the primary motivation. It didn't matter. It had been necessary.

"Lewis?" The guard spoke. "That's the bastard who broke my arm!"

"Our previous 'guest,'" the doctor affirmed. "Interesting. I'd like to know more about that. How did you kill her?"

"Nine-mill'meter automatic, single shot," Tom told the doctor absently. It wasn't so hard to talk now. Why was that? He wished he could ask Lewis. Lewis knew a lot about drugs and how they affected Dominants.

Tom frowned, remembering how he'd shot his mother. Something seemed strange about the memory. Unreal. He remembered pulling the trigger, but not the inevitable aftermath. No blood, no mess. Just the acrid smell of burnt powder. When he tried to remember more, he could only hear Lewis' voice-- even, gentle, reasonable, but insistent.

"Why did she try to hurt you?"

"Tried to kill me. Said I was a traitor-- helping humans."

"Now that's what I call a dysfunctional family," the doctor commented drily, chuckling.

"Maybe they could get a guest shot on one of those daytime talk shows," the guard said, grinning. "'She's a member of an emerging new species bent on replacing humanity. Her son wants to further the cause of coexistance and claims she tried to kill him for it. She says it's just a case of evolution in action! We'll hear the full story today on Jerry Springer!'"

The guard and the doctor both laughed uproariously, the sound a painful underscore to Tom's isolation. It was so strange, so alien to hear their humor, but not feel it. Instinctively he reached out, his arm moving only an inch or so in the restraints.

"Touch?" he begged thickly. Maybe proximity would help. Maybe if he could touch one of them, he could feel again.

"What's that?" The doctor asked, leaning over him, his gaze curious.

"Touch. Let me. . ." Tom stretched out his fingers toward the closer man. "Need to feel, can't feel . . . "

The doctor drew back. "I don't think so. That would rather defeat our purpose."

"Purpose? Don' understan'. Why? Mm' on your side."

His confusion was honest. He really didn't understand. He'd been helping the humans, why had they turned on him? He realized suddenly that Lewis had been right. Humans weren't trustworthy. His head ached and he wanted to rub his eyes but couldn't. He couldn't think clearly. He wanted Sloan, he could trust her, if not the others. He could remember her face, horror-stricken as she'd seen them take him. She would help him. He had to rely on that. She would find him. Get him out. He only hoped she did it soon. He wasn't sure how many injections like that one he could handle.

What had Lewis told him to do in situation like this? In his mind he heard Lewis guiding, teaching, a calm, steady presence telling him what to do. Think of it as an experiment. Don't panic. Stay calm. Find your own emotions and use them to stabilize. Yes. That was it. Stabilize. Calm. He closed his eyes, and let the darkness soothe him. He heard someone speaking to him, but ignored it. Whoever it was, they weren't important, they didn't matter. For the moment, only Lewis' instructions mattered.

"Here, make yourself useful."

A three-inch stack of paper was slapped down onto the table next to her, and a yellow highlighter dropped beside it. Sloan jumped and gasped, startled out of dark imaginings about what might be happening to Tom. She looked up at Lewis, then back at the pages. She picked up the stack, found it still faintly warm from the laser printer.

"What are these?"

"Surveillance reports. You've done research before, right?"

Sloan thought back on the zillions of hours she'd spent working on her thesis, and smiled as she nodded. "Ad infinitum. What am I looking for?"

"Behavior patterns."

Sloan frowned. "Such as?"

"Anything. Does she brush her teeth at the same time every night, does she go out to dinner at the same time or place each week, any pattern at all. Understand?"

He stared down at her, waiting for her answer. He'd taken out the brown contact lenses, and his icy gaze was piercing, Sloan nodded again, and Lewis continued.

"She's a professional, so there won't be much. She knows better than to follow a routine. But there has to be someplace where she slips up. When we find that, we'll have her."

"Have who?"

Lewis looked at her with a faintly exasperated expression. "Victoria Anne Givens."

Sloan frowned. "Who?"

He sighed. "Dr. Attwood's superior."

"Oh, you mean 'The Bitch,'" Sloan said offhandedly. "Why didn't you just say so?" She picked up the highlighter and turned her attention to the stack of papers. A moment later she realized he hadn't moved, and looked up, meaning to ask if there was something else he wanted, but his expression stopped her cold. He looked amused. Not in the irritating, superior, condescending way he usually did, but amused like he really did think something was funny. She lifted her eyebrows.

"What?"

"'The Bitch?'" he asked, grinning.

Sloan shrugged. "She earned it."

He chuckled. "There's hope for you yet, Dr. Parker."

She grinned back. "I've thought the same thing about you a few times."

The humor in his eyes deepened. "You, and my wife." As he said it, the humor faded a little.

Sloan understood. She wasn't sure how, but she did. "Call her."

He frowned, staring at her. "What?"

"Call her. Tell her you're okay, make sure she is too. You know you want to. Just go ahead and do it."

"That would be inadvisable," Lewis said evenly.

"Why? It's not like we're in the middle of a pitched battle here. It's not going to compromise the mission or anything."

The humor flashed back into his eyes. "'Compromise the mission'?"

Sloan blushed. "Okay, I admit it. I've watched too many action-adventure movies with Ed. That's beside the point. Go call Carlie, or when I see her next, I'll tell her you had a perfectly good opportunity, and didn't use it."

His expression smoothed out into what she'd started calling his 'inscrutable' look. "Are you trying to blackmail me, Dr. Parker?"

Sloan widened her eyes innocently. "Me? Blackmail you? Whatever gave you that idea?"

Lewis studied her a moment longer, then turned away, shaking his head, a smile lurking in the muscles around his mouth. She watched him walk away, noticing that his jeans fit him very well. Carlie's influence, no doubt, since the first time she'd seen him he had looked like an escapee from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. It really was too bad that Tom's taste in clothes ran to stodgy, too. When they got him back, she was definitely going to buy him some jeans that fit. Idly, she wondered if great butts were one of the genetic enhancements coded into the Dominant's DNA.

Four hours later, Sloan picked up the sheaf of pages and flipped through them, looking at the highlighter marks. There weren't all that many of them. Lewis was right, the woman was very careful. As she fanned the pages, something jumped out at her. She fanned the stack again, more slowly, then she spread them on the table, and looked. She started to smile. Careful, yes, but there was one thing. She stood up, stretching to ease the muscles cramped from bending over the table for so long, then went looking for Lewis.

She finally found him ensconced in the library. He had set up his laptop on the large desk, and was typing rapidly, his gaze fixed on the screen. She waited for a break in the flow of clicks, but none came. She was starting to get impatient when he spoke, his fingers never slowing on the keys.

"What is it, Dr. Parker?"

"I found something."

His fingers stopped moving. "Show me."

She moved to the desk and spread out the pages, glancing at the screen of the laptop just as he minimized whatever it was he'd been doing. She wondered for a moment if it was Solitaire and he'd just been pretending to work. Probably not.

"Here, this . . ." she pointed. "And this, and this. Same time, every week. A pattern. And," she pulled out a few more sheets. "See? She uses three routes on a sequential basis. Always the same three, always the same sequence."

Lewis studied the reports for several minutes, then he started to nod. "Yes, it is a pattern, a continuing one, better still she takes only two guards." He looked up at her. "Congratulations, Dr. Parker. I think you may have just found her weak spot."

Sloan grinned, inordinately pleased by his meager praise. "It's enough?"

He nodded. "I believe so. We can wait for her on her jogging route, and take her there."

Sloan started. "Take her?"

Lewis gazed back at her, that annoyingly ironic amusement back on his face. "What did you think we were going to do, invite her for coffee?"

Sloan swallowed hard. "I guess I didn't really think about it. So, she's the commodity you intend to trade?"

His smile deepened. "Bravo, Sloan. Such a bright girl."

Her face got hot, but she lifted her chin. "I did find the pattern for you."

He shrugged. "I had other things to do, you were here and capable."

She brightened again, oddly gratified by the fact that he'd thought she could do it. She tried to think of something to say in reply, but didn't come up with anything that didn't sound fatuous. She was about to give up, when something else occurred to her. "Did you call her?"

He looked puzzled, but only for a fraction of a second. Then, to her delight, a faint flush washed across his face. She grinned.

"You did! You called Carlie! Is she okay?"

He nodded. "Yes, they're all fine. Nothing out of the ordinary, so far."

"Good. I'm glad. Carlie's very special."

"They all are," Lewis said, his expression challenging.

Sloan smiled, amused by his possessive pride. "Yes, they are."

He looked away, at the papers, and gathered them up. "I need to make a call."

Lewis stood and walked out of the room, leaving Sloan by herself. She leaned on the edge of the desk and eyed the laptop. After a moment her curiosity got the best of her and she reached for the trackball to bring up the screen. From behind her, a hand shot out, catching her arm.

She gasped, and turned to find herself nose-to-nose with Lewis, his eyes narrowed, and hard. Where the hell had he come from? She had neither seen, nor heard him reenter the room. His fingers were like steel bands around her wrist, not hurting her, yet, but the promise was inherent. Her heart rate skyrocketed, and she started to shake. He stared into her eyes a moment longer, then released her arm. She rubbed at her wrist, watching the white marks left by his fingers turn pink as blood returned to the skin.

"Dr. Parker, you're intelligent enough to know that what you just tried to do is against the rules, correct?"

She nodded, and shuddered. He smiled.

"Good, then we understand each other. Now, after you?"

He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the library, closing the doors behind them. They weren't locked, but they didn't need to be. She was starting to understand that though he wasn't the Lewis she remembered, there was enough of that man left in him to scare her spitless. She couldn't believe she'd actually teased him a couple of times. Where had she gotten the nerve? She was still shaking as they reached the kitchen. She sank down into one of the kitchen chairs and he glowered at her as he turned to leave the room.

"Stay there," Lewis ordered with a stern look.

Sloan stayed.

By the time he returned fifteen minutes later, Sloan had stopped shaking, and gotten irritated with herself again for letting him get to her so easily. How did he do it? How did he manage to make her forget who and what he was, only to smack her in the face with it when she'd been lulled into thinking of him as someone else, someone not-scary. He was both, that was the problem.

He paused for a moment in the doorway, pulling on his jacket, clearly planning to leave. She noticed his eyes were brown again, he'd put the contacts back in. Sloan started to stand up, but he waved her back. She sat, not happy, and looked at him.

"Where are you going?"

"What day is it?"

Sloan was puzzled by his response, but answered anyway. "Saturday."

"And what time is it?"

She looked at her watch. "Four-forty-two, p.m."

"And what day of the week and at what time does Ms. Givens go for her run?" His tone held the encouraging brightness of a pre-school teacher to a particularly slow child.

Sloan sighed, feeling every bit as stupid as he was implying she was. "Saturdays at eight."

He smiled. "Exactly."

"Why can't I come along, then?"

"Because you have no training at all. You'd just get yourself in trouble, and I don't have the time to be dealing with that. I'll be back with her between eight and nine. Make yourself scarce. I don't want her to see you."

"Why not?"

"Because, I want her to think this is a Dominant operation, not a private action."

Sloan stared at him, confused. "What difference does it make?"

Lewis looked exasperated. "If she thinks it was a formal operation, she won't be looking for anyone else to blame. If you'd like to have a life once this is over, I recommend that you cooperate."

Sloan thought about Givens and her ninja-commandos, and nodded.

Lewis smiled. "Good." He started out of the room, then stopped, looking back at her. "Two of my operatives will be here shortly. They know you're here and they won't disturb you, but it would be best if you stayed out of their way. The bedrooms on the second floor are unoccupied, I suggest you use one."

He turned and left. Sloan heard the door that led to the garage open, then close a moment later. She felt like screaming. What was she supposed to do here by herself for hours? Pace? Think about Tom locked up somewhere, alone, maybe dying? She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but seething inside. At least Tom had always let her try to keep up, Lewis just left her behind. With a sigh, she went looking for something to occupy her time. There was a whole library full of books. Might as well try that first.

It annoyed her that she actually hesitated before opening the library door. She caught herself looking around, making sure Lewis wasn't lurking, waiting to grab her. Of course he wasn't. The only place he was likely to be lying in wait at the moment was on The Bitch's jogging route. Sloan suddenly discovered she didn't feel even an iota of guilt about the fact that she'd helped make that possible. Interesting. Maybe there were some aspects to being a Dominant that she could relate to.

Pushing open the door, her gaze was immediately drawn to the desk. The laptop was still there, which engendered a strange mixture of irritation and pleasure. Irritation that he was so arrogant as to assume she would leave it alone, and pleasure that he trusted her enough to leave it. She debated whether or not to check it out, and finally decided not to. She needed Lewis. Antagonizing him would be stupid, and the last thing she wanted to do was fulfill his expectation that all humans were stupid.

She found a book on Watson & Crick on one of the shelves, and pulled it, savoring the irony. What better reading material in a house belonging to a Homo Dominant than a biography of the men who had discovered DNA? She headed upstairs to claim a room, figuring one of them had to have an attached bath. Reading in the tub was always a good way to relax.

Lewis sat in the passenger seat of the parked Explorer, waiting. He could sense the alert, sharp minds of his operatives at their assigned stations. He checked his watch. Ten minutes past eight. She should be here in approximately ten minutes, depending on her speed. He leaned back, closed his eyes and let his senses expand, searching for her familiar 'scent'. There. She was close. A slight surge of adrenalin flowed through him, and frowned. It had been too long since he'd run an operation. He couldn't let himself be distracted by such things. He took a moment to use breathing and relaxation techniques to deal with the excess stimulant in his system, and returned his attention to the task at hand.

In the side mirror, Lewis saw a tall, strongly built man in a dark sweatsuit approach. His target's point man, definitely. He radiated the alert confidence of a trained bodyguard, and his shirt was oversized enough to conceal a handgun in a body-hugging sheath. Lewis noted the headset he wore, most people would assume it was for a Walkman. Lewis did not. As the man drew even with the vehicle, he glanced inside. Lewis didn't look up from his book as the man's sharp gaze swept over him, the paper cup emblazoned with a popular coffeehouse logo, the book in his hand and the empty driver's seat in a matter of seconds.

None of those things raised a warning flag in the man's mind, clearly he didn't find it unusual that someone would park here, having a cup of coffee and reading as they waited for the vehicle's driver to return from some errand. Lewis had expected as much. He had deliberately set the scene so as to suggest no immediate threat. The bodyguard moved past, and Lewis put down the book, and tossed the empty cup to the floor.

Half a block ahead, Lewis saw Kimberly swing onto her bicycle and start off, her action precisely calculated so that she would arrive at the intersection at the same moment as the first bodyguard. He watched, smiling slightly as the cyclist careened into the jogger, and they both hit the pavement in a welter of arms, legs, and wheels. Anyone watching would see it as no more than a chance occurrence. He shifted his gaze to the mirror, and saw his prey pause only a few feet away as she saw the accident occur. About twenty yards behind her, the second guard slowed in response to her hesitation. As he did, a car towing a travel-trailer pulled out into the street, blocking him, exactly as planned, cutting the guard off from Givens. Lewis knew that he would be efficiently dealt with by the driver of that car, and turned his attention to the target.

Jason and Michele moved out from their positions to flank her, each taking her by an arm. She started to resist, then abruptly sagged between them, looking disoriented as the sedative Michele had administered began to take effect. They quickly walked her to the Explorer and pushed her to the floor in the back seat so that she couldn't be seen from the street. Michele got into the back with her to make sure that she would stay down if the sedative proved ineffective. Jason got into the front seat, started the engine and pulled smoothly out into traffic. They passed the accident at the corner where the first bodyguard lay on the side of the road, to all appearances knocked unconscious by the apparently hysterical cyclist.

Lewis was pleased. Everything had gone smoothly, despite his long absence from the field. Once he was back at the house and his assistants dispatched to their normal duties he would call and give the release codes to the operatives he had 'borrowed.' They would remember nothing of the operation, only the implanted cover-memories he had given them to account for the time involved. Not only that, but he had managed it in such a way that no one on either side had been killed or seriously injured; he would not have to take more deaths onto his conscience. The thought of having a conscience made him smile ironically. Carlie would be pleased by that development. He wasn't sure he was.

Sloan knew when Lewis' operatives arrived. She'd heard them come in, and shortly after that, heard pounding, sawing, and various other odd noises from above her. She never would have guessed the Dominants to be such a practical bunch, but between Mark, and these guys, it was clear that they knew how to work with their hands as well as their minds. She didn't really want to know what they were building, though. Finally things got quiet again, but she didn't know if they had left, or just finished whatever it was that was noisy.

Sloan had stayed in the tub until her toes started to wrinkle, then got out and dressed, and curled up on the bed to read. After awhile her stomach started nagging her to eat, but Lewis had made it clear he wanted her to stay out of the way, so she just ignored it. She figured there would be time to eat later. Even Dominants needed to eat. In fact, if Tom was any example, they needed to eat more frequently than humans in order to fuel their higher metabolisms. In any case she was sure food would be forthcoming eventually.

The light coming in from outside began to change, taking on that just-before-sunset glow, and Sloan got up and went to the window to watch the sun send streaks of light through the clouds as it slid behind the hillside. She looked down and saw the pool reflecting the light and clouds. She noticed a hot tub and wished she'd seen it earlier. It would have been a lot more comfortable than the bathtub, and she had shorts and a T-shirt in her bag that could have substituted for a bathing suit.

As she stood there thinking that she could get used to living in a place like this, Sloan suddenly remembered Tom's voice as he spoke of his training sessions with Lewis. She shivered. Had they happened here? Tom had said something about the place having had 'the right address', which this definitely was. Logically she knew that there was no rule that said someone who lived in an expensive, elegant home couldn't be a rapist or a murderer, but a place like this would tend to put someone at ease, even if it was a false sense of security.

She sighed and turned away from the window, dropping back onto the bed. It was interesting being around Lewis. Sloan suspected Lewis' behavior toward her was pretty typical of a Dominant toward a human, which showed her just how much Tom had modified his behavior for her sake. If Lewis had been interested in her sexually, he would never have waited for months before making a move, but Tom had waited until she practically forced him to respond to her. She knew it hadn't been due to lack of interest on his part. No, he'd just waited until she was aware enough of her own desires to act on them.

For someone like Tom, with the feelings of superiority his upbringing had instilled, waiting must have been incredibly difficult. She thought of him sleeping on her couch all that time, never once making an overt move, and shook her head in wonder at his self-control. Of course, Sloan grinned foolishly to herself, there had been that one time in the hotel when she'd practically stuck her breasts in his face. He'd certainly responded then! But then they'd been interrupted by the cops and in the aftermath of that he'd been taken by Lewis. Her trust levels had plummeted for quite awhile after that, and Tom had backed off again, waiting patiently. Amazing.

She looked at her watch impatiently. The sooner they had The Bitch, the sooner they could get Tom back. She knew there were those who would consider her a traitor toward her own kind, but she didn't see it that way. As far as she was concerned, the suffix didn't matter, it was the prefix that counted. They were all members of the same genus, if not the same species. They could live together, if people of intelligence on both sides could be made to understand that genocide was unnecessary. Maybe what she really needed to be asking Lewis to do was a little programming on the heads of both factions.

Leaving Jason to bring in the still-unconscious Victoria Givens, Lewis entered the house and moved up the stairs. Perhaps he should think of her as 'the Bitch' he thought, smiling inwardly. It was a very apt nickname. He opened the door to the room he'd designated as her cell, and a quick glance assured him that his instructions had been carried out precisely. Not that he had been particularly worried. His operatives knew better than to disappoint him.

The room had been walled off about two-thirds of the way across its width to remove access to windows, the new wall soundproofed and carefully painted to match the rest of the room. The scent of fresh paint lingered in the air. The remaining third of the room held his workstation. A bank of view screens was linked to fiberoptic camera stalks hidden at intervals near the ceiling, their combined field of view covering the entire room, the whole setup linked with the microphones and speakers wired into the system.

Lewis heard footsteps on the stairs, and moved to close the workroom door. Givens should be close to regaining consciousness, and he didn't want to risk being seen. He knew that if the woman figured out he was alive she wouldn't rest until she had found him, and that would put his mate and children at risk. To avoid that, he had taken pains to be sure he could see and talk to her without her being able to identify him. For times when his work required physical presence, Jason would be his proxy. He turned on the monitors and watched as Jason placed Givens on the bed then stepped back, waiting for instructions. Lewis activated the link to his headset.

"Stay there, watch her until she wakes. Some humans have adverse reactions to sedation. If she wakes up nauseated, take care of it, she's too valuable to lose to aspirated stomach contents."

Jason nodded and took a seat on the floor leaning against the wall. Sure that Givens had at least rudimentary training in anti-personnel techniques, and well aware that furniture could be broken and used as weaponry, Lewis had specified that the mattress Givens currently occupied be the sole furnishing in the room. Lewis watched the monitors, and waited. It didn't take long. Only a few minutes had passed when she stirred, groaning softly, lifting a hand to her head, then rubbing her mouth and licking her lips.

"Jason, water." Lewis ordered.

Jason nodded and got to his feet, moving into the attached bathroom. Givens sat up, looking around, clearly disoriented. His operative returned and handed the woman a paper cup full of water, which she gulped down quickly, then looked around again.

"Please, where am I?" she asked, trying to look helpless, and afraid.

Lewis sensed little fear and knew she was far from helpless, and knew Jason could sense that as well.

"Don't reply," Lewis instructed Jason. "Let her ask questions, but don't respond, and if she gets angry, leave the room."

Givens stared at the young man for a moment, then tried again.

"Who are you? Can you tell me what's going on?" She let her eyes slide over Jason's muscular frame caressingly. "If you help me get out of here, I could make it worth your while."

Jason continued his silence, standing with arms crossed, unmoving. Lewis could feel Jason's amusement, and echoed it. Did she really believe they could be so easily turned from their focus?

Givens' sultry expression turned to a scowl. "Tell me who the hell you are, where I am, and why I'm here!" she demanded.

Jason turned and Lewis hit the door release switch so he could leave the room. Givens shot to her feet, and swayed dizzily, still partially under the influence of the sedative. After a moment she moved more cautiously to the door, inspecting it. When she realized there was no handle on her side Lewis felt the hot flare of her anger, and she drew back a hand to hit the door, then the anger was dampened and she let her hand fall. Lewis' eyebrows lifted. She had decent self-discipline. It would be amusing to break that.

Lewis frowned. No, that wasn't his purpose. Breaking Givens was unnecessary, and would possibly interfere with his plans. He wasn't used to thinking of the welfare of a single person over that of his species. Of course, now that he thought about it, tampering with Givens might not be in the best interests of the many, either. She was quite useful just as she was, with only one small adjustment. That way when she was returned, Givens would spend weeks trying to convince her superiors that she hadn't been tampered with, and eventually they would believe her, because in essence she would be correct, save for one tiny alteration. He started to smile. This was going to be entertaining.

Sloan had heard a car arrive. Quickly turning out her light, she looked out her window to see Lewis, a blonde woman and a dark-haired man get out of a white Ford Explorer. They conversed for a moment, then Lewis entered the house. She heard him go upstairs. A few moments later the dark-haired man moved to the rear of the Explorer, bending over to reach inside. When he straightened, he held the ominously still form of The Bitch. Sloan swallowed heavily. Her heartless streak wasn't very deep, and she hoped the woman was all right. She saw the man take Givens into the house as the woman got in the Explorer and drove away.

Heavy footfalls told her the man was taking Givens to the third floor, where Lewis had gone. She sat, tense, listening, but heard nothing for some time. After about fifteen minutes she heard footsteps again, only one set. Someone had gone downstairs. More time passed quietly, but she was too keyed up to read. Oddly, she thought she smelled food cooking, and her stomach growled. Suddenly someone knocked on her door. She gasped in surprise, not having heard anyone approach-- and she'd been listening pretty hard. Trying to calm herself, she walked to the door and opened it cautiously. Lewis stood there, blue-eyed once more. He studied her for a moment, then smiled apologetically.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you might be hungry. I've asked Jason to prepare a meal."

Sloan eyed Lewis askance, puzzled by the sudden charm. She couldn't help but wonder what he wanted.

He grinned. "Nothing at the moment, but there are things we need to talk about, and we might as well be comfortable when we do."

Sloan sighed. "Damn it, I hate it when you do that!" she complained. This 'reading her mind' stuff had to stop.

Lewis chuckled, a look of mischief flashing across his face. "I know. That's what makes it so irresistible."

Sloan found herself staring at him, agape. She would never in a million years have guessed he was even capable of that expression, let alone that she would ever see it. Lewis must have felt her astonishment, but chose not to comment further.

"Shall we go down?" he asked, still looking amused.

Sloan nodded. "I am kind of hungry. What is it we need to talk about?"

"Your part in the plan," Lewis said, moving aside to let her exit the room comfortably. She still didn't like getting close to him. Probably never would. He seemed to know that, perhaps even enjoy it.

"My part?" Sloan asked as they descended the wide, curving stairway.

Lewis nodded, preceding her into the dining room. The table was formally set for two. Whoever Jason was, apparently he wasn't joining them for dinner. Lewis seated her, which felt really odd to her, then seated himself and looked over at her.

"There are one or two things I need for you to do in order to facilitate the transfer between Tom, and Ms. Givens."

Before Sloan could ask what they were, a handsome young Eurasian man stepped into the room from the open kitchen, carrying two plates. He set one in front of Lewis, and gave the other to Sloan. As he turned to leave, Lewis held up a hand.

"Wait." When the younger man paused, Lewis turned toward Sloan. "Dr. Parker, this is Jason, one of my assistants. If I'm unavailable and you need anything, ask Jason." He looked over at Jason then. "Jason, this is Dr. Parker, she's working with us on this matter. You're to treat her as you would one of our own."

Jason nodded, giving Lewis a slightly puzzled look as he did so. Lewis didn't acknowledge the look, he just nodded toward the door.

"Eat, then go feed our guest. I wouldn't want her to feel neglected."

Jason nodded again, and left the room.

Sloan surveyed her meal, and was a little surprised to find a beautifully presented offering of spring greens, topped with slices of grilled chicken, herb-crusted goat cheese, and clusters of champagne grapes. The whole was drizzled artistically with a pale pink dressing. Pink? She cautiously used the tine of her fork to sample the sauce, and found that it tasted faintly of raspberries. She wasn't sure why, but she'd expected something more . . . prosaic. Like a bowl of canned stew, or chili, and some saltine crackers.

The meal seemed to call for wine, but there were only water glasses on the table, and a pitcher of ice-water with lemon from which to refill them. It occurred to her suddenly that she'd never seen a Dominant, including Tom, drink anything alcoholic, or even something as ordinary as a soft drink. Mark had reacted to her offer of a soft drink with apparent revulsion. Tom did drink tea sometimes, but usually herbal. She could only remember him drinking coffee or black tea on a few occasions. Curious she lifted her glass and looked at Lewis.

"Why water?"

Lewis looked at her, puzzled. "Excuse me?"

Sloan found herself inordinately pleased to have managed to confound him. "I mean, I just realized that I've almost never seen one of you drink anything else." Sloan clarified.

His expression cleared. "Ah, that. I tend to avoid anything which has a negative effect on the nervous system."

"So your people don't use sugar, caffeine or alcohol?"

"Well, I was speaking for myself, but in general, yes, that's correct. Although, there are times when the effect those substances produce is desirable or useful, so it's not prohibited."

Sloan nodded, filing that fact in her mental Rolodex. If they avoided such things, it was for a reason. She imagined that since Dominant brain functions were so much more efficient than a human's, it was likely that chemicals which had a slight to moderate effect on humans would have a much stronger effect on a Dominant. They probably got more of a 'buzz' from caffeine or sugar, and were more radically affected by alcohol as well. That line of thought posed interesting questions. Were there Dominants addicted to alcohol, sugar, caffeine, or tobacco, or had Nature removed the tendency toward addiction from their gene pool?

They ate in silence for a while, then Lewis spoke.

"I assume that Mark gave you the means by which to contact him?"

Sloan looked up. "Yes, he did."

Lewis nodded. "Good. I'll need for you to do so. Tell him that you want to arrange a meeting."

Sloan put down her fork. She wasn't going to let him get away with just giving her 'need to know' information. "I want to know the whole plan first."

Lewis studied her speculatively. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of being a mushroom." Sloan said belligerently.

Lewis laughed out loud. "Don't like being kept in the dark and fed manure? Good. I was wondering if you would ever stand up for yourself."

Sloan stared at him, startled not only by the laughter and the fact that he knew what she meant by 'mushroom,' but that he thought she should be more assertive.

"Okay, then, tell me."

"It's very simple, really. We want to discredit both the human and the Dominant factions who are against coexistence, correct?"

Sloan gaped. "We do?"

"I assumed you would find that an acceptable outcome, am I wrong?"

"Um, no, but you . . . I mean, before, you were . . ." her sentence trailed off, she couldn't think of how to word what she was trying to say. Lewis understood anyway.

"I'm no longer involved in the implementation of what I now consider to be a misguided philosophy."

"Then you think they're wrong? You believe we can coexist?"

"I don't think you want to hear what I believe," he returned drily.

"Yes, I do."

He shrugged. "Very well then, but you won't like it. I've come to believe that evolution favors the continuance of our species over yours, that's clear when you look at the fact that cross-species matings produce Dominant offspring. All we had to do was sit back and wait. By taking an offensive stance we unnecessarily exposed ourselves to hostile actions. The attempt to speed up the conversion was ill considered."

Sloan frowned. He'd been right. She didn't much like it, but that was neither here nor there. The fact that he thought the Dominants were wrong to be actively trying to wipe out humankind was the important thing. It meant she could trust him more than she'd imagined she could.

"You're very quiet." Lewis remarked.

Sloan looked up. "Just processing." She forced herself to stop thinking about what he'd said, and focus on the present. "So, how do we go about discrediting both factions?"

"By exposing their agendas, and making it clear that there are other options."

It sounded simple. She knew better. "And just how are we going pull that off?"

"By having Mark 'rescue' Ms. Givens, ostensibly from our own militant faction and arrange to trade her for Tom, and have the exchange covered by the press. Mark's presence and actions will put both peace factions in the forefront, and make both militant factions look bad."

"She'll never go for it," Sloan said shaking her head.

"She doesn't have to. She won't know. She'll have to arrange for Tom to be traded for herself, at a time and place of our choosing to prevent another ambush. We'll set the rest up from there. We probably don't want to put Tom in in the public eye, though, so I'll have to make secondary arrangments for him."

Sloan stared at him, and slowly began to smile. "You're a genius."

He nodded. "Yes."

Before Sloan could react to that, he continued.

"So, you need to contact Mark, and Dr. Attwood. He's been very adept at setting up press conferences in order to further Ms. Given's agenda, but after what she tried to do to him, I suspect he will be willing to help discredit her. He can't know of my involvement, however, that has to be strictly confidential."

Sloan looked at him, troubled. "Well, I'm pretty sure I can convince Walter to help without much trouble, especially if Mark is involved, but I don't know if Mark will believe I kidnapped the Bitch. It's not exactly the most convincing idea."

Lewis chuckled. "An understatement if ever I heard one. However, you needn't convince Mark, leave him to me. I have ways of making certain I can trust him. All you have to do is arrange for him to come here. I'll take things from there."

Sloan studied him, not liking the sound of that 'I have ways.' He looked back at her calmly.

"Don't worry, Dr. Parker, I assure you, I won't harm him. I trained both Daniel and Mark."

Sloan heard the unspoken implication. If he had trained Mark, then Lewis knew his 'trigger phrase' and would use it to reprogram him, if it came to that, rather than harming him. She wondered briefly if he had also trained Lisa, the woman he'd shot in cold blood the night he'd held Sloan and Tom at gunpoint. If so, it hadn't helped her. She shivered and shook off that memory. Sloan still didn't like it, but what alternative did she have? She sighed.

"Okay, I'll call Mark. He can get me in touch with Walter. When and where do you want to meet?"

"Tomorrow morning, early, let's say seven. Have him come here, he's been here before, tell him to come to training house six. If he wonders how you knew about the location, just tell him you found out about the place from Tom, and are renting it temporarily. He won't be able to detect the falsehood over the phone, and if he goes to the trouble of checking it out, the paperwork will appear legitimate. I've already taken care of that."

Sloan nodded. "I take it I shouldn't mention your name, or anything about Givens?"

Lewis lifted an eyebrow at her, as if surprised that she had even bothered to ask. She returned her attention to her dinner, a bit embarrassed. Lewis finished his meal first, and stood up, plate in hand. She watched, surprised, as he carried his dishes into the kitchen, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher. Dominant domesticity still caused her the occasional moment of cognitive dissonance.

Of course, Lewis had a habit of causing those for her. She was beginning to realize that despite his own acknowledgement of the duality of Lewis/Llyn, he wasn't one or the other, he was both. He could scare the snot out of her one minute, and be an interesting and even pleasant companion the next. He was like a faceted stone, she mused, hard, bright, each face reflecting a different part of him. Sloan knew there had to be facets she hadn't seen yet, otherwise he would never have stayed with Carlie, and she would never have stayed with him. He kept those parts of himself very private, but they were definitely present.

Finishing in the kitchen, Lewis returned to the dining room and reached over to snag a peach from a bowl of fresh fruit in the center of the table, then went to stand at the window, looking out across the valley at the widely scattered lights of other houses. He closed his eyes, and lifted the fruit, inhaling deeply, then brushed his lips across it without taking a bite. The action was blatantly sensual, and Sloan could almost feel the soft down of the peach's skin against her own mouth. She shivered. Lewis opened his eyes and turned to look at her, frowning slightly, then his gaze moved to the fruit, back to her, and he smiled, and bit into it.

The shiver became a distinct twinge somewhere below her navel, and she forced herself to look away. Lewis was just twitting her, and she knew it, but even so he managed to provoke a response. Maddening. What made it worse was the suspicion that he hadn't even intended to do it this time. At least, not until he noticed her reaction. Still, it was getting annoying enough that if it weren't for Carlie and Tom, Sloan might even be willing to call his bluff. Except that she wasn't altogether certain it was a bluff. He stood at the window a few moments more, finishing his dessert, then walked into the kitchen to dispose of the peach-pit and wash his hands before turning to her again.

"Use the kitchen phone to make your call to Mark, not your cellular. If he has caller ID, I want it to return the correct address, it will make him less suspicious if everything appears to correlate."

Sloan nodded, and as he moved toward the door that led to the foyer and the stairs, she stopped him. "So, what are you going to do?"

He turned, his expression unreadable. "I have a little work to do with Ms. Givens before we release her. It may take some time."

Sloan tensed. "What kind of work?"

Lewis looked at her for a long moment, then finally replied. "Nothing untoward, Dr. Parker. Harming her would be counterproductive. I suggest you make your arrangements, and then get some sleep. We'll have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Lewis watched on the monitors as Jason attempted to coax Givens into eating. She refused, clearly concerned that the food was drugged. He smiled, shaking his head, and activated the microphone.

"Please, eat, Ms. Givens, Jason went to considerable effort to prepare the meal, and it's quite good. I assure you that the food is untainted. There are much more direct and efficient ways of drugging you, should we wish to do so."

She jumped a little, clearly startled. After a moment when she realized that the voice hadn't come from Jason, she got up and started to pace the cell, studying her surroundings with narrowed eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked after a moment.

He chuckled. "If I wanted you to know that, I wouldn't have gone to all this trouble, would I? Relax, no one intends you any harm."

"Then why am I here?" She turned in a circle, still looking for a camera, microphone, or speaker. Lewis knew she wouldn't see any, not the way they had been concealed. It would annoy her to know they were present, but not be able to identify them.

"You're here because you have something we want."

She waited a moment before responding to that, considering, perhaps weighing options. Lewis could feel her mind working, though he could not read her thoughts. She wasn't afraid, not really. She was a little nervous, but not enough to be useful. Her focus was really quite remarkable. In many ways, she was more like a Dominant than a human.

"What is it you want?" she asked finally. "Maybe we can make a deal."

Lewis laughed again, pleasantly. "A deal? Really? I've heard what comes of making deals with you, Ms. Givens, and I have no intention of being ambushed in a dark alley."

She stiffened, and he felt her shock. She hadn't thought anyone outside of her own hierarchy knew she had planned that. Her surprise was a chink in her armor. Good.

Givens tamped down her surprise almost as quickly as it had come and started to pace again, trying to cover her reaction. He smiled. She must have forgotten that wouldn't do any good. Either that, or perhaps she wasn't entirely sure who was holding her captive. It was quite likely that there were a good many humans, as well as Dominants, who would like to have her in a vulnerable position. That could actually work to his benefit, since there was no outward way for her to tell what they were. He switched over to private mode on the headset and spoke only to Jason.

"Jason, don't react to her emotions, and don't anticipate her moves. I want her to be uncertain as to our species."

Jason nodded almost imperceptibly. Lewis thought for a moment, and made a decision. "Leave her now. Take the food, dispose of it and return to me when you finish," he instructed Jason.

It was clear that she didn't intend to eat it in any case, and she would react faster to the Versed if her blood-sugar was low. Jason picked up the food, and Lewis hit the door release to let him out. Givens moved quickly toward the door, but Jason was much faster, and it was closed by the time she reached it. Her frustration was clear, both in her body language, and her emotions.

As he waited for Jason to return, Lewis pulled up the files on Givens and studied them, considering how best to achieve his objective. With most people it was relatively simple to know when they were fully hypnotized and responding to his control. In addition to the mental state which he could feel, the best test was to have them carry out an action they would not willingly perform under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, so far as he could tell there weren't any actions which Givens wouldn't be willing to do.

Lewis thought about how easy it had seemed that last time, to know when Tom had been properly programmed. What he hadn't taken into account then was that after his previous encounter with his mother, Tom's emotional reaction to her had been strongly negative, so persuading him to 'execute' her had been all too easy. He would not make the mistake of underestimating the effect of emotions on a hypnotized subject again.

He tried to see Givens in that scenario, and shook his head, smiling ironically. He had to admire her practicality and lack of conscience. It was quite likely that she would cheerfully murder both of her parents if she thought it would get her out of her current difficulties. No, though it would be harder and he would be less certain of the results, he was going to have to just go by 'feel' this time. He turned to the drug cabinet and filled a pressure-doser with the correct amount of Versed for someone of Givens' weight and height. Jason could administer it as soon as he returned.

Sloan hadn't slept well. All night long she'd found herself awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what Lewis was doing to Victoria Givens. It had to be something. In the intense quiet of late night, she had heard faint sounds from upstairs. Nothing as radical as screams. Just footsteps, and a steady, soft drone of speech that almost never let up. Finally, around five, she'd given up trying to sleep and gotten out of bed, showered, changed, and gone downstairs.

Occupying herself in the well-appointed kitchen had been easy, and now a plate of cinnamon-honey scones sat on the stove. Sloan sipped her coffee and stared at the half-eaten pastry on her plate, wondering if her mother would find it amusing that she baked when she was stressed. A sound brought her head up, and she saw Lewis standing in the doorway. He looked tired. She'd never seen him look tired before. His head lifted as he sniffed audibly, an animal scenting the air, then he zeroed in on the scones. His eyebrows lifted and he looked a question at her. She felt herself blush a little.

"I couldn't sleep," she said defensively.

He smiled a little. "Neither could I. Different reasons, I suspect." His voice sounded rough, huskier than usual. She wondered if that had been his voice she had heard all night long. He picked up one of the scones and sniffed it. "Honey, not sugar?" he asked.

At her nod, he looked a little surprised.

"Thank you, then."

She didn't understand what he meant for a moment, then she realized he thought she had remembered that he didn't eat sugar and had substituted a non-refined sweetener out of consideration to his preferences. She hadn't, of course, but it didn't hurt to let him think that, especially if it earned her brownie points. She smiled sweetly.

"You're welcome."

He studied her for a moment longer and smiled knowingly. She kept forgetting about the empathy thing. One would think after living with Tom all that time, she'd be able to remember. Maybe it was because Tom usually hid it so as to seem more human, while Lewis played up his differences. He bit into the scone he held. She thought she saw a flicker of appreciation cross his face. Well, they were good. It was her mother's recipe, one Sloan had started to make frequently because Tom liked them. It was pretty much the only thing she knew how to bake. He finished the bite and looked over at her.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

She sighed. "I'd suspect you would say it was an overactive conscience. What were you doing to her all night?"

He smiled. "Just trying to make sure we have an escape route if we ever need one."

Somehow Sloan didn't think she was included in that 'we'. "Did you succeed?"

He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Finally he swallowed, and spoke. "Hard to tell with that one, actually. I think so, but only time will tell. She's an exceptional human. If there were more like her, we might be in trouble."

Sloan stared at him, pretty sure she'd just been insulted. "Exceptional in what way?"

Lewis looked at her evenly. "She's more like us than like you."

She lifted her chin. "I don't think that's necessarily a good thing."

"In this case, I would agree with you." He glanced at his watch, and finished his scone. "Mark should be here any moment. Go wait for him in the drive and bring him in here."

Sloan thought about refusing but she figured it was in her interest not to put up too much of a fuss so she sent him a look that told him she didn't appreciate being ordered around, and headed for the front door, then stopped.

"He'll sense you and Jason. What should I tell him?"

"Jason is out running an errand, and I can guarantee Mark won't sense me. Just bring him in."

Sloan glared at him and stomped off toward the door. As she opened it, she heard a car pull up. Stepping out onto the porch, she watched Mark set the brake and step out, looking around warily. His gaze came to rest on her, and he inclined his head slightly in greeting.

"Dr. Parker."

"Mark," she acknowledged.

He studied her a moment longer, frowning. "You seem agitated, is everything all right?"

She took a deep, calming breath and nodded. "I'm fine, just upset over this whole nightmare. Come on in."

He took a step forward, then hesitated. When she looked at him curiously, he looked a little sheepish. "This place holds a lot of memories for me."

Sloan was surprised that he would admit that, and extremely curious. "Good or bad?"

He looked at the facade of the house thoughtfully. "Both."

That wasn't very helpful, Sloan thought with some irritation. She still had a strong suspicion this was the place Tom had spoken of when he had told her about himself and Lewis. Lewis said he had trained Mark as well, so perhaps he had done similar things here with Mark. Mark looked at her oddly all the sudden, and Sloan suddenly decided it was time to start remembering the periodic table of elements again. Handy thing, that.

Sloan walked into the house, leading Mark toward the kitchen. Lewis was waiting there, leaning casually against the counter. Mark stopped abruptly as he registered the presence of another person in the room. She had thought that with the dye-job it might take Mark a minute or two to recognize Lewis, but the sharp intake of breath Mark gave almost immediately told her otherwise.

"Lewis?"

Mark's voice sounded incredulous. She watched his expression go from amazement, to pleasure, to dismay, finally settling into a kind of blank shock. Sloan would have given her left arm to be empathic and be able to feel what he felt at that moment. Lewis smiled, and nodded.

"Hello, Mark, it's been some time."

Mark stared for a moment longer, clearly stunned. Finally he found his voice. "They said you were dead."

Lewis' smile took on that ironic tilt that tended to annoy Sloan.

"As you can see, 'reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'"

As he spoke, Lewis moved forward, reaching out to take Mark's hand in his, clasping it firmly. For the first time, Sloan could see the action for the ancient ritual it was, Lewis was showing Mark that he carried no weapons and meant no harm.

"Frankly, I would prefer that they remain convinced of my demise," Lewis continued. "I had Dr. Parker call you here because with Richard's death, I suspect you are now the head of the coexistence faction. Am I correct?"

Mark nodded slowly, and Sloan saw his throat move as he swallowed. He was afraid. She didn't really blame him. Lewis was scary.

Lewis smiled again. "Good. Please, sit. We have a lot to discuss."

Mark set his jaw and took a deep breath. "If you think I'm going to help you against the humans, you're wasting your time."

Lewis chuckled. "Relax, Mark. I'm no longer engaged in my former line of work. As a matter of fact, I'm only here to assist Dr. Parker in regaining something she's misplaced, isn't that so, Sloan?"

Sloan flushed, thinking she wouldn't have put it quite that way herself, and Mark looked at her, startled, as if he'd forgotten she was even there. He frowned, his gaze moving back and forth between her and Lewis several times. Finally he sighed, shaking his head.

"I won't even pretend to understand what you're up to here, but I'll listen."

Lewis pulled out a chair and sat down, Mark took a seat across the table from him. Sloan stayed where she was, indecisively, until Lewis looked at her, then pointedly looked at one of the other chairs. She got the message, and joined them. She wasn't sure what she could contribute to the conversation, but she certainly preferred being included in it. Lewis began to speak, outlining his plan, and Sloan concentrated on catching all the subtleties. As one of her professors had liked to say, the devil was in the details.