Caper

DISCLAIMER: All "Dark Angel" characters belong to James Cameron and Charles Eglee (Cameron Eglee Productions) and "Dark Angel" itself belongs to FOX.

ARCHIVE: No

Caper
By Valjean

This is a true standalone story that occurs sometime after "Freak Nation." -- author's note

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Photo courtesy of Senga

Max would rather have pulled the heist alone -- breaking into Peter Thornton's posh island estate in order to acquire some of the shady tycoon's much exalted art collection. Drug dealer booty that had been sustaining the Freak's colony was becoming scarce, not to mention dangerous to come by, the street gangs wising up to how the transgenics had been ripping them off. The last heroin exchange she'd busted into she'd been met by half a dozen AKA machine guns. Life was too damn short to waste it on a lost cause Max figured, and so she'd decided to turn to other sources. The money brought in by fencing a few of Thornton's pieces would keep Terminal City in pizza and beer for a long time to come.

However, looking over the floor plans Logan had obtained, Max knew damn well this was a two-man job. And, like it or not, she also knew damn well who that other man was going to be. Glancing up from the table where the plans were spread, Max spotted the object of her thoughts holding an animated conversation with Mole and Dix on the other side of the warehouse that served as Terminal City's headquarters.

Handsome to the point of being almost (but not quite) a pretty boy (although Max liked to tease him with the nickname on occasion for the pure pleasure of annoying), Alec was apparently relating one of his war stories to the two enthralled mutants. Gesturing with his hands, his expressive face mirroring his enthusiasm, Alec grinned and finished his tale with a flourish, a triumphant gleam visible in those hazel-green eyes even from this far away, his ego boosted by knowing he'd impressed his audience. And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned and looked at her, dark blonde eyebrows raised. You want me?

Max sighed and made her decision. Nodding, she gestured for him to join her. No use putting this off. If Alec was going to help there were quite a few things he needed to assimilate in that lightening quick Manticore brain of his before tomorrow night -- not that she doubted he could manage. Like all of the Manticore progeny, X5-494 was possessed of an incredibly high I.Q. and, in Alec's case, an exceptional procedural memory as well. Acquiring new tasks was his speciality one might say, whether it be learning a language, playing pool, flying a Harrier jet, or performing at concert level on the piano. Give him the basics, a day to study, and Alec could do almost anything -- provided, of course, he had the right incentive.

Max watched Alec closely as he crossed the warehouse and shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips, in an odd way proud of her Manticore "brother." He moved with the grace of a natural athlete, very much at home in his own genetically engineered skin (far moreso than she was), a tom cat prowling. With leather jacket slung over one shoulder, lithe muscles rippling beneath a tight fitting black t-shirt, probably a nice package in those loose khaki cargo pants, and a cocky smile on his face that any woman (herself exempted of course) would find hard to resist, on the outside he was the epitome of Manticore perfection -- the ultimate enhanced soldier.

On the inside, however, Max knew Alec was far from perfect. Unlike herself, he'd spent almost his entire life behind Manticore's bars, a slave, their puppet. They'd bred and trained him to be an assassin, his six foot height and 178 pounds the perfect size and build for stealth, recon, and undercover work. In preparation for his solo missions, he'd had extensive training not available to most Manticore soldiers -- away missions in the outside world, lessons in common verbal usage, experiences that had prepared him far better than any of the other X5's in TC for living in post pulse Seattle. His outgoing personality, that wit and charm he wielded like a weapon, had made him an exceptional commodity for Manticore -- until that fateful day when their personable X5 unit had fallen in love with the daughter of the man he'd been ordered to assassinate.

Alec had never talked about what his handlers had done to him after he'd blown the Berrisford mission. Max rather imagined the fact Rachel, the girl he'd loved so passionately, was dead because of his actions made all their other punishments pale in comparison. But she knew they'd probably tried to beat it out of him -- that soul he wasn't supposed to have -- tried to fix what was wrong with their perfect assassin -- torture, abuse, ostracism by his peers ...

I don't want your pity. I want your absence. She'd never questioned Alec about Manticore again after he'd so scathingly thrown those words at her -- that night at Crash Bar when she'd grudgingly offered comfort -- when old memories had come back to haunt and he'd been hurting so bad.

But Max knew Manticore would never have trusted X5-494 again -- not with an outside mission. But then he'd been assigned to her.

Breeding partner. Max smiled faintly at the memory. They were genetically compatible, Alec and her. Manticore had wanted her to bear his child, the next generation of X5's. She glanced across the compound at Gem, an X5 female who was dangling her daughter on her knee. All too easily that could have been me, having a baby about now ... his baby -- if Alec had forced the issue ... forced me.

But Alec hadn't, forced her that is. She'd made her objections to his advances clear, orders or not, and he'd risked the wrath of Manticore by leaving her alone, even going so far as to lie at roll call saying their union had been successful. And he hadn't ratted her out for trying to escape ...

But he had betrayed her. He'd known about the virus she carried that had ultimately affected Logan, had been sent to bring her back to Manticore with Eyes Only as a prisoner after the "escape" that had been a set-up all along. It had taken Max a long, long time to forgive Alec for that, even though it was his job ... his orders ... and also a long time to forgive him for making her lose her best shot at getting a cure for that virus, the thing that still kept her and Logan apart. She'd used the money for the formula to save Alec's life instead, even though he'd almost killed her just a few minutes before, that conscience that Manticore had unsuccessfully tried to torture out of him at the very last moment staying the knife in his hand. Oh, Alec had eventually paid Logan back the money -- but by then it was too late. And now, a year later, the virus was still very firmly in her life. All because of Alec ...

Funny, how that didn't bother her as much as it used to ... Nor did the fact Alec was the twin brother of her sibling Ben, X5-493, who'd developed psychotic tendencies and gone on a killing spree that she'd ultimately had to end herself in the most horrific way. The night she'd told Alec about his brother ... her brother ... and what she'd done, she'd cried -- and he'd held her ... Alec had held her. Looking back, Max could now see that had been the beginning of their real relationship -- an understanding at last reached between them.

Alec had been helping her out ever since.

Max sighed again. Personal scams, questionable female relationships, brazen attitude, self-centeredness, and general mouthiness aside, he really was the only person she'd consider partnering with on this caper.

"You got any plans for tomorrow night?" Max asked as Alec bounded up the steps two at a time to the catwalk. His keen eyes instantly zeroed in on the blueprints she and Logan had been examining, but he still smiled slyly and asked, "Why? You askin' me out on a date?"

"Yeah," Max said sweetly. "I want you to escort me to a formal cocktail party. I miss the high society lifestyle I was so used to before. You do have a tuxedo, don't you?"

"No, but I know where I can 'jack one," Alec replied smoothly, not missing a beat. But his eyes narrowed slightly, a bit unsure if she was joking or not.

She wasn't. Max planted a forefinger in the middle of the blueprint. "Peter Thornton's house," she said. "Know anything about the man?"

"Name's familiar," Alec said, his brow furrowing slightly. "Lives out on one of the islands? Big estate? Lots of grass? I think I made a special run there a few months ago for Normal. Got overtime for it."

"Did you notice any of their security while you were there?" Max asked, a little surprised Alec actually had heard of Thornton."

Alec glanced up at the ceiling a moment, going over the details in his enhanced memory. Then he blinked and looked directly at her. "Yeah. There's too much of it. I remember crossin' that place off my list of potential marks. They had everything -- laser beams, motion and heat sensors, guard dogs, rent-a-cops, you name it. There was a twenty-five digit pin code on their security system. Saw the maid punch it in before she opened the door. Who the hell has a twenty-five digit pin? I mean we're talkin' major paranoid here."

Max looked with dismay at Logan. That's not what she'd wanted to hear. Maybe she'd better pick a different target after all. But Alec had come around the table to stand beside her and was looking closely at the floor plans.

"Why?" he asked. "Has this guy got something worth our time and effort to ... acquire?"

"Artwork," Max said simply. "Lots and lots of the good stuff. If we could fence just a few of his pieces we'd be set for the rest of the year. No more playing chicken with drug dealers, no more gang heists, no more mad dashes through the sewers with underworld scum on our tails."

"Artwork." Alec said the word as if tasting it in his mouth.

Max smiled, then reached over and picked up a large leather bound book. On the corner of the table were several more volumes. "Chose these for you this morning at the public library," she said.

"The Appreciation of Renaissance Art?" Alec read the title and did a double take, the look on his face almost comical. He reached over and lifted up another intimidatingly massive volume, hefting its weight in his hand. "The Joy of Pollock?" His eyebrows arched. "You tryin' to tell me something here, Max? Or do we need doorstops?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I'm telling you that your education at Manticore was a bit lacking in certain subjects."

"Post Impressionist Era Geniuses," Alec read a third title, the words rolling glibly off his tongue. He shot Logan a skeptical look. "You know all this stuff?"

"Enough to get by in the better circles," Logan admitted, speaking up for the first time. He pulled his chair further beneath the table so he could reach one of the books. "Thomas Kincaid: Art or Imitation?" he read, his own eyebrows arching at Max.

"Hey," she said. "Alec needs to familiarize himself with all of the genres, even the kitschy ones. And, "painter of light" or not, I happen to like his cottages."

"And why, exactly, does Alec need to familiarize himself with any of this?" Alec asked. "Just tell me what to take. I don't need an art appreciation course for that."

"Because once we're in the house tomorrow night we're going to split up to cover more ground while we case the place. I need you to know a dog from a diamond."

"Oh, and of course you're already an art expert," he said snidely.

Max raised her chin a fraction. "As a matter of fact, yes I am. I had an excellent teacher in that respect. I learned years ago how to tell a forgery from an original, a piece of paste from a jewel, a fake signature from the real thing."

"And just who was this great teacher of yours?" Alec scoffed. He was looking at Logan.

"Nobody you know," Max said quietly. "And he's dead now. But the point is, I need you to be in the game tomorrow night."

"What's tomorrow night anyway?" Alec asked. "This so-called cocktail party of yours?"

"You got it." Max picked up an envelope off of the table. "I lifted this from a mark in the business district plaza two days ago. Some newspaper art critic who was reading it at a lunch table in the square. It's an invitation to Thornton's private soiree tomorrow night. He's going to be showing off his newest art acquisitions."

"Mr. Lawrence Wilder and guest," Alec read off the invitation. "Guess you do need me for this job unless you're really good at disguises." He eyed her breasts appreciatively.

"Hey," Max snapped. "I could have picked somebody else. And you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I just thought I'd ask. I mean, we have worked together successfully before." She looked away a moment, not wanting to admit the rest.

"And ...?" Alec prompted, loving every minute of her discomfort as she practically begged him to help.

"And, you're the only one in TC who I know is capable of becoming an art expert in less than 24 hours."

Alec was beaming, his white teeth gleaming in the always-semi-dark warehouse. "Is that praise I'm hearin' from you, Maxie? Could you say that to me again only a little louder this time?"

She hit him on the shoulder, hard.

"Ow!"

"Shut up," she hissed, wanting off the roller coaster of a conversation that Alec always seemed to get her on. "Are you in or not?"

"I'm in," Alec said, still grinning even as he rubbed his arm. "Just gimme the books. I'll look at 'em tonight."

"You mean you don't have a hot date?" Max couldn't help herself. It was like a disease, needing to taunt him, not letting him get in the last dig.

"Why?" Alec replied easily. "You wanna be my study buddy tonight? Help old Alec learn the right moves?"

Max started to reply, then suddenly realized Alec's words could be taken more than one way. "Just shut up and learn the facts," she said, blushing slightly. "Oh, and get that tuxedo. Make sure it fits, too. And meet me back here at 1500 tomorrow."

"Yes, mam," Alec said lightly, scooping up the books and leaving her with a wink before heading down the catwalk stairs.

Max watched him until he disappeared through a door on the far side of the warehouse, presumably heading to his quarters. "Do you think I'm making a big mistake?" she asked Logan.

"No."

Max looked at him in surprise. "You think Alec will take this seriously enough? Learn the material? Be prepared and not blow the mission?"

Logan's blue eyes twinkled behind the lenses of his glasses. "What I think is that you'd better stop underestimating Alec and start making full use of his potential." When she didn't say anything he added, "Alec's a fully trained X5 soldier with all the bells and whistles that go with that dubious distinction. Give him a chance, Max. I think you're going to be surprised at just what Alec's truly capable of when someone believes in him."

"You like him, don't you," she said quietly. "You like Alec."

"Pretty much always have," Logan said, looking a bit surprised she hadn't realized this before. "I admit we got off to a bad start, and he can be pretty annoying at times. But truth is, Alec's good people, Max. Sometimes you just have to put up with a bit from him before that shows through. And," he added, "you've been too hard on him."

"Have not," Max said, crossing her arms across her chest defensively. "And besides, even if I have, it's not as if he didn't deserve it. It's his fault you and I can't be together."

"And you're never going to forgive him for that, are you?" Logan said softly. "Max, life's too short. You know damn well that if anything ever happened to Alec, if he got himself killed or captured by White, you'd be devastated. So why don't you start treating him the way you really feel instead of the way you tell yourself you should feel?"

"Maybe you're right," Max admitted. Another heavy sigh (she seemed to do that a lot when the topic was Alec). "Guess I'll get my chance tomorrow night."

"Guess you will," Logan agreed.

*****

"Logan says I'm too hard on you."

Alec glanced at her, a glimmer of surprise in his golden-green eyes. Then his attractive lips curved impishly. "I'm a big boy, Max. Touched as I am by Logan's concern," he dramatically put a hand to his heart, "I think can pretty much take whatever you dish out."

He'd come through on the tuxedo -- she had to give him that. The outfit was an impeccable fit and the finest of materials. Clean shaven, his hair newly trimmed (leaving just enough length in back to cover his bar code), he was even wearing cologne -- something with a faintly musky scent that Max found irritatingly pleasant.

"Besides," Alec continued, exiting the cab that had brought them to the island then gentlemanly offering a hand to help her out of the back seat. "It keeps a relationship interesting -- when two people are always dancin' around the fact that one pretty much hates the other but they have to get along in order to survive."

"I don't hate you," Max said quietly, paying the cab driver then taking Alec's arm as they began ascending the steps of Thornton's mansion. "I used to think I did, but-- I just don't. Not any more."

They reached the front door and Max glanced down at herself, smoothing the folds of her tight-fitting electric blue mini dress. Strapless, backless, and for that matter frontless except for the underwire bustier that elevated (and showed off) her cleavage to perfection, she'd actually rather enjoyed the look on Alec's face when he'd first seen his "date" for the evening. He'd been mildly awe struck, not used to his esteemed leader and nemesis attired in anything but black jeans, tank tops, and army boots. However, Max was somewhat worried those blue sequined high heels were going to kill her before the evening was over. She only hoped they didn't have to run for any reason -- although, come to think of it, those spikes just might make a pretty good weapon ...

"Just remember those new enlightened feelings for me the next time you wanna kick my ass," Alec said, his voice low in her ear.

"I said I didn't hate you," Max quipped, her hand touching the springy curls she'd spent almost an hour coaxing into her hair. "I didn't say I wanted to take all the fun out of our relationship."

Alec made a face at her, but coolly controlled his features before turning to the scantily dressed maid who was checking invitations at the front door.

"Mr. Lawrence Wilder and guest," the beautiful blonde in the tiny-black-lace- apron-and-probably-very-little-else read, comparing the name to her list. "And you would be?" The look she gave Max was icy, the exact opposite of the seductive stare she'd been lavishing on Alec.

"Miss Cora," Max said smoothly. "Miss Mona Cora." She felt Alec stiffen slightly beside her and smiled up at him. "Mr. Wilder kindly invited me along for this party. I do so enjoy fine works of art." Her hand strayed possessively to Alec's ass. "Come along, darling," she said, her words masking Alec's slight gasp of surprise. "I want a drink of champaign."

"Max," Alec hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of the maid. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Fitting in," Max hissed right back. "Now behave."

Alec shook his head. "I don't think I'm the one who has to worry about behavin' tonight. And really, Mona Cora? Is that a double entendre I should be concerned about? Maybe some kind of not-so-subtle hint?" The grin he flashed her was positively wicked.

Max glared at him, then tugged his arm, steering him toward the hors d'oeuvre table.

*****

Half an hour later Max had to admit that having Alec along was a real asset, and she didn't mean what was filling out the back of those tight fitting tuxedo pants. Lethally charming, Alec soon had a small crowd of women surrounding him, plus a couple of admiring men. Laughing, talking, smiling, a devil-may-care twinkle in his eyes, he had the cocktail party crowd practically eating out of his hand.

"So," one of the gayish men said, "you've engaged in the gentleman's sport of boxing?"

Alec waved his hand at the speaker, a false-modest look on his face. "I've dabbled," he said. "Fought a round or two. But martial arts are my forte you might say."

"What school?" the second man asked.

Again Alec brushed the question off. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Taekwondo mostly. Some Kenpo karate. A dash of Krav Maga."

"Krav Maga?" a brunette cooed, testing the muscles of Alec's biceps with her dainty little hands.

"Israeli combat technique," Alec clarified.

His mouth was running too much, Max realized. The crowd was starting to look at him too curiously.

"Darling!" she cried out, sailing through the sea of designer dresses and tuxes to clasp her date's hand tightly. "There you are. I'm terribly anxious to see the artwork. Will you show me?"

"Of course, darling," Alec said through slightly gritted teeth. His head was swiveling back toward the brunette even as Max dragged him away. She put pressure on his thumb, bending the joint painfully backwards.

"Hey!" Alec yelped, pulling away. "Ow! What'd you do that for?"

"Eyes front, soldier," Max said low under her breath. "Pay attention!"

"I am payin' attention," Alec whined. "Did you see the size of the rocks on that chick?"

"I saw the size of her rocks all right," Max replied through gritted teeth.

"Is that all you ever think about, Max? Sex? I meant her bracelet. Had to be two carats at least."

They'd been walking down one of the long hallways of the mansion headed toward the southeast foyer that housed part of the newly acquired art collection. Max dug in her heels and spun on him. "You're one to talk! I saw you back there! If you could get away with it you'd have lured her into the coat room and dropped your pants!"

The hurt look that crossed Alec's face was genuine, and Max knew she'd once again gone too far.

"I told you. I had my eye on the bracelet. That's all, Max. I'm not an idiot. I don't mix business with pleasure -- ever."

"I know," she said more gently. "I'm sorry. It's just that seeing you with those women ..." She stopped, not certain what she was going to say.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy in your voice, Maxie?" Alec said, his playfulness bouncing right back.

"Jealous?" Max sputtered. "Over you? Dream on, pretty boy. For all I care you can lay half a dozen of those moo-eyed cows if you want."

"Moo-eyed cows?" Alec's eyebrows rose. "They may be a bit plump around the middle, Max, but they're hardly cows. That blonde was runner up Miss Washington two years ago."

"Shut up."

Alec leaned over, his breath tickling her ear. "Don't worry. They're not really my type. I prefer my ladies a little more adversarial."

"Shut up. Or you're going to find out just how adversarial the lady you're with really is."

*****

They decided to split up after all, Max taking the foyer and Alec strolling down an adjacent hallway where a collection of contemporary masters' works were displayed.

Max was closely examining what was purported to be a Renoir when she felt someone standing close behind her. Turning around a little bit too quickly, she found herself face-to-face with the owner of the house, the inscrutable, handsome, and extremely dishonest Peter Thornton.

Tall -- at least four inches taller than Alec -- sinewy in the I-workout-everyday-because-I'm-rich kind of way, Thornton's face was an odd mixture of beauty and cruelty. A dark golden goatee and mustache, sideburns, and stylish shoulder-length hair framed a "distinguished" nose, thin red lips, high cheekbones, and brilliant indigo blue eyes. One look at that foxy severe face and Max knew this man was no fool. She'd have to be careful here.

"Why, Mr. Thornton," Max cooed, masking her nervousness well. "What a pleasant surprise!" Taking her offered hand, he bowed and brushed his mouth against her skin. Max shivered slightly at the touch of those cool moist lips. She didn't like this ... didn't like him. But he had her cornered and there was no way out but to be polite.

"I hope you're enjoying my little art collection," he said, his voice a rich baritone rumble. "Although I must admit that a beauty like yours make all of this," he gestured at the paintings on the wall, "pale in comparison." He glanced toward a curtained doorway. "I have some other pieces in my study. Would you care for a private tour?"

Every X-chromosome alarm Max possessed went off at those words. However, she knew Thornton was probably keeping his most valuable works of art out of sight of the public. She'd be foolish to pass by a chance to see just what he really had. A glance toward the main hallway showed no sign of Alec. But I won't be gone for very long.

Max made her decision and delicately placed her arm through Thornton's, allowing him to lead the way.

*****

"Champaign?" Thornton asked, shutting the door behind them as they entered the sumptuous study with its massive picture window overlooking the grounds. He moved to the granite wet bar in the far corner. The array of liquor displayed on mirrored shelves was impressive, just one more indication of this man's vast wealth.

Max accepted the glass with a nod of thanks and took a sip then another. Delightful. She smiled coyly at her host. "You said you had artwork you wanted to show me?"

Thornton's teeth flashed white in that golden beard. "I have many things I'd like to show you, my dear." He moved to the mahogany desk that anchored the main wall of the room, reached into a drawer and triggered a release switch. To the right of the marble fireplace a large scenic Constable swung away from the wall revealing a safe.

Max kept her composure. This was more than she could ever have hoped for. He was practically laying down a red carpet for her to come back and steal him blind.

Thornton twisted the tumblers, then reached into the safe and withdrew a velvet wrapped object about the size of his hand. Unable to contain her curiosity, Max leaned close as he unveiled his prize. Her little gasp of surprise was met with another cosmetically perfect smile from the man.

Cradled lovingly in Peter Thornton's hand was a the largest jewel Max had ever seen -- a blood red ruby, perfectly carved, its dozens of faceted sides glowing like pulsating blood in the room's subdued lighting.

"A token from the royal house of India," Thornton said. "Smuggled out of that country fifty years ago, it made its way around the world before finally coming home to me."

"May I?" Max asked, holding out her hands, for some reason filled with an overwhelming urge to touch that smooth bloody stone. Thornton placed the ruby in her eager fingers, watching with almost erotic fascination as Max caressed the slick surfaces. The feel of the bauble was actually making her dizzy.

Thornton placed a hand on her bare shoulder, his touch trailing down her naked back toward her waist. Max still stared at the stone, the feel of the man's fingers somehow blending with the beauty of the jewel. She didn't mind at all -- not even when her host's explorations became more intimate.

There was a couch in the study, covered with royal blue velvet and adorned with deep cushions. He led her there, gently lowered her to the soft material, letting her keep hold of the ruby as his hands worked their way beneath the silk of her dress. His cold lips pressed against the hot pulse point on Max's throat. Then the pink tip of his tongue was flicking against her breast.

Part of Max's mind was screaming that this was wrong. She should be hating this, hating Thornton, fighting him, breaking his balls for daring to touch her. But for some reason she didn't resist, merely relaxed as he intensified his lewd exploration of her compliant body. At one point, when his hand went up her dress, Max uttered a faint protest and tried to sit up. But the room began to spin and a soft voice was telling her to just relax and enjoy what was happening, to concentrate on that beautiful ruby, to not fight the inevitable.

Max heard the sound of a zipper, felt his weight on top of her, and her heart began to pound. This isn't happening. What's wrong with me?

"I have more jewels for you to handle, my dear," her host's voice purred.

And then suddenly that weight was gone -- and in a blurred flurry of deadly motion the suave and ultra rich Peter Thornton went crashing through his enormous picture window.

*****

"Oh, God," Max said, sitting up on the couch and putting one hand to her spinning head. "Oh, God," she repeated, looking up at Alec who was standing above her with a frighteningly feral gleam in his eyes.

There was shouting outside on the lawn, guards running to pick up their disheveled employer. Somewhere an alarm began to ring.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alec yelled at her, looking from the window to the door and back again, acting for all the world like a cornered animal.

"What the hell am I doing?" Max shouted. "What the hell are you doing? You just threw our host through a window!"

"Because he was trying to rape you!" Alec screamed back. Then suddenly his head jerked around and he stared hard at her, his eyes narrowing perceptibly. "Or did I get it wrong?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

The thought that she had been enjoying Thornton's attentions had obviously just now occurred to him, and Max's throat tightened with emotion. Alec had been protecting her, and here she was being a bitch to him again.

"You didn't get it wrong," she replied flatly, all of the fire gone from her voice.

Running footsteps were approaching the study door, and there were at least a dozen armed guards out on the veranda now. They couldn't run. Worse, Max felt like she was going to be sick.

"Alec?"

Alec looked quickly from the door to the window, then squared his shoulders, a comforting calmness settling over his athletic frame. "Follow my lead," he ordered (and it was an order). Then suddenly Max found herself scooped up into a pair of warm strong arms and her face smothered against Alec's hard cologne scented chest.

A guard burst into the study with gun drawn and two more armed men trailing. "What's going on here?" he demanded as all the weapons pointed at them.

Alec's head reared back indignantly. "What's going on," he drawled in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "is that your employer is a lecherous cad. I caught him red-handed attempting to sully my beloved."

Max, in spite of feeling like she was going to boot her last meal all over Alec's tuxedo, had to swallow her laughter. Alec sounded like a pompous ass, but it was just the right ploy to use on the frazzled guards -- righteous indignation mixed with high society snottiness and a touch of jealous boyfriend thrown in.

"You sir," Alec snarled, indicating with his head the first guard who still had his gun drawn. "I want your name. I want all of your names. I assure you Miss Cora will be consulting with her attorneys first thing in the morning, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if the police don't become involved as well. Attempted rape is, I believe, still a crime in this fair city of ours."

About this time Peter Thornton was making his way back inside his mansion -- via the shattered picture window no less. Propped up by two of his men, he stumbled over the splintered sill, glaring daggers at Alec who Max imagined must look extremely dashing at the moment, standing with shoulders squared and legs apart while holding a beautiful, scantily clad girl in his arms, all the while defiantly staring down several drawn firearms.

"I believe assault is also a punishable crime in our fair city," Thornton said hoarsely. "And you, sir, just assaulted my person."

"I defended the lady," Alec returned, his calmness an impressive counterpoint to Thornton's barely controlled rage. Hazel-green eyes collided with blue ones and Max, for some stupid reason, held her breath. Neither man backed off, neither so much as blinked, until, shifting her weight in his arms, Alec suddenly smiled.

"We're all civilized people here," Alec said, turning on the charm but his gaze still not wavering. "Aren't we? Do we really want to get the officials involved?"

Now it was Thornton's eyes that narrowed, and he looked at his men ... looked away. Max felt Alec relax just a tiny bit, some of the tension leaving his taut muscles. Round one was his.

"Perhaps not, Mr. Wilder," Thornton conceded, his tone decidedly less harsh. He shook away from the two men who'd been supporting him, then whipped a linen handkerchief from his pocket that he used to dab at a bloody scratch on his cheek. "Apparently this has all been a monumental misunderstanding. I didn't realize the lady belonged to you. I thought she was a mere acquaintance, that she was 'fair game' so to speak."

"The lady's taken," Alec said, his voice icy with conviction.

Max stared up at him. She'd always known Alec was a good con artist, but this performance was ... wow.

"The lady's yours?"

"The lady's mine."

"Fair enough," Thornton said, nodding. "But what she's so lovingly holding in her delicate little grasp is mine."

Alec's brows drew together. He didn't understand.

Thornton held out his hand.

Only then did Max sheepishly remember she was still cradling the huge ruby against her body. Reluctantly, she dropped the jewel into Thornton's palm.

"My men will call you a cab," Thornton said. He turned to one of the guards. "And see to it that window is fixed tonight."

"Yes, sir," said one of the guards who'd been holding them at gunpoint.

Alec tipped his head in acquiescence and held her a bit more tightly, the warmth of his body radiating through Max's chilled bones. She still felt sick ... and weak. Absurd as it was, she hoped Alec would keep her in his arms for awhile longer.

"Can you walk?" he whispered in her ear as he carried her down the hallway and through the curious crowd toward the front door.

"I don't think so," she replied softly. "Something's wrong with me. Something was in that drink."

"Don't tell me old Thornton slipped you a Mickey," Alec chided. "I thought you were smarter than to fall for a trick like that." The arriving cab's lights were glowing at the end of the driveway. "Manticore taught me better."

"Shut up," Max said groggily as she let her head fall onto Alec's broad comfortable shoulder and closed her eyes.

*****

"The two of you made a scene. You can't go back there now."

"Why the hell not?" Alec complained petulantly. "It's not as if they caught us tryin' to steal anything."

"No," Logan replied tiredly, raking fingers back through his untidy hair. "You merely chucked the owner of the house through his picture window."

"He was about to rape Max, for God's sake!"

Max raised her head from where she'd been resting it on her arms. She had a horrible headache, one almost as bad as the kind she got after a seizure. "Logan has a point, Alec," she said. "You could have handled the situation more ... discreetly."

"Discreetly, my ass! That piece of shit would have had you in another few seconds. What was I supposed to do? Say 'excuse me, Mr. Thornton, but would you please not bonk my date?'" Alec looked hard at Max. "Or maybe you didn't really mind what he was doin'."

"Hey!" Logan said. "That's enough, Alec. Max is grateful you came to her rescue. I'm grateful. He'd drugged her drink and she was probably pretty much at his mercy."

"I was off my game all right," Max said. "I can't believe two sips of champaign affected me that strongly. Whatever he used to drug me must have been really powerful stuff." She reached out and took hold of Alec's hand.

He stared at her, then looked down at their joined fingers.

"Thank you," Max said, sincerely meaning it. "Actually, in spite of the whole going primitive and throwing the guy onto the lawn thing, you were pretty amazing. You got us out of there without the police being called, and more importantly without us, or anyone else, getting shot."

"You're welcome," Alec said, somewhat mollified by the rare praise.

"You know," Max said with a little smile. "You lie really well. Sometimes it kind of scares me."

Alec was looking smug now, his ego totally soothed. "Yeah," he admitted. "It's a talent. What can I say?"

"You can say things will go without a hitch tonight," Logan replied levelly.

"They'll go without a hitch," Alec said. "Promise."

"Promise," Max echoed her partner's words to her worried boyfriend. It was only then that Max realized she was still holding Alec's hand.

*****

The 10 foot high stone wall surrounding Thornton's estate with its laser beam sensors on top were no problem for the two transgenics, having been installed with far more conventional intruders in mind. Max and Alec cleared the wall in a single leap to land in panther-like crouches on the neatly trimmed lawn.

Quiet as cats, they looked right and left, not moving. Alec's nostrils flared as he picked up the scent he'd expected. Dogs. He motioned to Max and she quickly pulled several pieces of drugged meat out of her backpack. The two Doberman's that came racing through the azaleas barked only twice before grabbing the tidbits. The quick acting sedative Logan had provided worked within seconds, leaving the large animals asleep in the shrubbery.

Creeping across the open ground like shadows, Max and Alec knew their next hurdle would be the front door. There were armed guards patrolling the grounds, but with luck they could be avoided, provided no motion detectors got set off. However, Logan had told them they should be able to maneuver around those using the guards' patrol routes.

"Are you absolutely sure you remember the PIN number?" Max asked Alec for the fifth time. "Because if you get it wrong ..."

"I already told you," Alec said patiently. "I memorized it on that first run I made out here." He pointed a finger to his temple. "Got it all filed away nice and neat in here."

"It's twenty-five digits," Max reminded him.

"I know."

"That's a long PIN."

"Max, I said I know. I've got it."

She watched nervously as Alec's fingers flew without hesitation over the keypad and the numbers appeared in sequence on the display. It was dark on the front porch, the only illumination a dim light behind a curtained window several feet away. But it was more than sufficient for Alec's keen night vision.

There was a buzz, then a loud click as the front door kicked itself open. Alec beamed at Max. See?

She merely swatted his arm and pushed him toward the door.

Once inside the plan was for them to separate. Alec had already chosen his marks, approved by Max -- a small Manet, two Picassos, and a Norman Rockwell, all on display in the north hall. She only hoped he'd picked out genuine articles and not fancy fakes that might be on display while the real things rested in a vault somewhere else on the property. Thornton liked to show off his art collection, but he wasn't a fool. He'd probably had the real McCoys out for last night's party, but it would be up to them to make certain reproductions hadn't been substituted between then and now.

As for herself, she was going after a Pollock and a Remington Bronze in the foyer she'd cased last night before her unfortunate detour into Thornton's study.

With an odd knot of worry in the pit of her stomach, Max watched Alec as he slinked into the shadows and disappeared. She trusted him. She really did. But sometimes he was ... unpredictable.

One thing that had surprised both Max and Alec the night before was the apparent lack of internal security surveillance cameras. Max had proposed the idea that Thornton simply liked his privacy too much -- didn't want his security personnel able to spy on him inside the house. Alec, however, hadn't been so sure. There were types of fiber optic cameras, he said, that were practically undetectable. Maybe the system was simply invisible.

Max had scoffed at Alec's notion at the time, even though Logan had given it some credence. Still, now, she found herself studying the ceiling and the corners of the dark rooms as she passed through, wondering if she was being watched after all.

Three minutes after entering the house, Max reached the foyer. A small penlight allowed her to closely examine the pieces she'd chosen. As far as she could tell, they were still the genuine article. The pencil-thin lasers bracketing the Remington was the first obstacle she tackled, using powder to reveal their whereabouts, and two tiny mirrors to re-route the beams.

Once the Bronze was safely in her backpack, she turned to the Pollock, a rather large work on the south wall. Again, Max made use of the mirrors so nullify the security system while she removed the canvas from its frame, then rolled it into a tight cylinder and safely tucked it away in a protective tube.

Done. And so far the house was still comfortingly dark and still. Alec was supposed to meet her at the front entrance ... Max glanced at her watch ... in two and a half more minutes. She only hoped he'd been as successful as she'd been.

And then, unbidden, her eyes went to the velvet curtain that concealed the study door.

The ruby.

"How the hell would we ever fence the thing, Max?" Alec had argued that morning. "Provided you could even crack the safe without triggering an alarm system we're not ready to tackle."

Logan had agreed with Alec wholeheartedly. That ruby was too dangerous. Too conspicuous. More trouble than it was worth.

Max smiled to herself and crept toward the study.

*****

She'd pressed the desk switch that allowed the Constable to swing out revealing the wall safe, and was within two numbers of cracking the tumbler lock when she heard the gunshot. Distant -- but definitely inside the mansion. Frozen in place, she waited, her fingers unwilling to leave the vault's lock while so close to her prize.

What was that saying? One shot a hit, two shots maybe a hit, three shots a miss?

There had been only one shot. Max's thoughts flew to Alec and her heart started to pound.

Still, she hesitated, her fingers trembling. What should she do? The decision wasn't difficult. Dropping her hand she turned around, intending to leave the room and find her partner who might be in trouble.

And then, in the darkness behind her, someone suddenly cleared their throat.

Whirling, her cat eyes searched the study and she saw him. Thornton -- standing by the wet bar in the corner. Max had no idea where he'd come from. Maybe there was a hidden entrance to the room. Maybe he'd been there all along. But one thing there was no "maybe" about. She was fucked.

Thornton flipped on an end table light and smiled. Then he raised a tiny transceiver to his ear, listened a moment, and that smile broadened.

"Well, well, I see you came back to finish what we started last night before your Sir Galahad interfered," he said, his eyes roaming over Max's body, taking in her skin tight cat burglar suit. "Although I must say I vastly prefer you in more feminine attire."

"Don't come any closer," Max warned. "I haven't had any champaign this time and I guarantee you don't want to tangle with me sober."

Max's eyes flickered to the study door. A glance at her wristwatch told her she was a minute overdue at the front entrance. Alec would be looking for her. And Alec was cat smart ... Manticore smart ... He'd figure out where she was, what had happened. Any second now he'd--

"Thinking about that impetuous partner of yours?" Thornton inquired mildly. "The one who's so very much stronger than he has any right to be?"

Max's stomach did a back flip.

Thornton was smiling wickedly again, his blonde beard sparkling golden in the dim light. "The one who's lying dead in my front hallway?"

The gunshot. Max tried to conceal her emotions, she really did. But Thornton saw the devastation in her eyes.

"He was your lover, wasn't he? That transgenic stud. Oh yes, I know what the two of you are, or in his case what he was. You really should have done a better job covering that bar code on the back of your neck. I could see it through the makeup last night while we were being so intimate. In fact, I've already got a buyer lined up. Too bad I won't be able to offer him a pair, but my man tells me that unfortunately your snarky X5 partner was just a little bit too much to handle. And so--" Thornton raised a finger to his temple, mimicking a gun. "Boom." He moved to his desk and swiveled the computer monitor around. Flipping it on, the screen glowed then coalesced into a picture of the mansion's front hallway. Alec had been right. Apparently there were fiber optic cameras in place afterall.

Max thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

He was lying there, face down, arms and legs sprawled, eyes closed, a pool of blood spreading from beneath his head over the white marble floor. But even more than the blood it was Alec's utter stillness that horrified her.

*****

"Come along now," Thornton said as Max continued to stare at the monitor and the picture of her dead partner on the screen. He waved a gun in her direction, one he'd apparently had in his hand all along although she really hadn't noticed. "I have a nice secure cage waiting for you in the basement, and this time tomorrow you'll be safely in South Africa. They've been waiting a long time to get their hands on a transgenic."

"I know they have," Max said, her voice utterly devoid of emotion. And then she looked directly at Thornton -- the man who'd just had Alec killed.

His gun was pointed at her chest, unwavering in his pale white hand.

The gun made no difference at all.

Max blurred, knocking the firearm aside, her elbow driving into Thornton's exposed throat. She could have merely rendered him unconscious. Instead, she broke his neck.

"That's for you, 494," Max said softly into the now empty room as tears began to stream down her cheeks. "That's for you."

*****

No one had bothered calling the police when the break-in occurred. After all, Thornton hadn't wanted her arrested. He'd wanted her caged as a commodity. No alarms were sounding, no guards converging, no sirens in the distance. Max might have been the only one in the entire vast mansion as she made her way stealthily toward the front entryway.

They'd left him alone, lying on the cold floor.

Max knelt beside Alec, the lump in her throat threatening to choke off her breath even as hot tears scalded her eyes. Tenderly she placed her hand on top of his much larger one, entwining their fingers. He was still warm ... still bleeding.

Which is when Max's heart leaped again, but this time with joy. Dead men don't bleed. Hardly daring to believe what might be true, she placed trembling fingers against the pulse point on Alec's throat -- and felt a slow, yet steady beat.

"Alec," she breathed. She turned him over, checking the wound. At first it looked horrendous, the whole side of his head soaked with blood. But on closer examination she saw the gash in his temple appeared to be a crease, not a penetrating wound.

"Come on, sweetheart," Max said, hefting her partner's weight over her shoulder and gathering up their backpacks with the stolen artwork. "We're going home."

*****

"How did you get him over the perimeter wall?" Logan asked, his keen blue eyes peering at her from behind the lenses of his glasses.

They were sipping coffee together in Terminal City's mess hall. At three in the morning only the nocturnal transhumans were still up so they had most of the large cavernous room to themselves.

Max smiled. "By the time I'd hauled him across the lawn he was coming around so I gave him a boost over the wall. It wasn't the most graceful landing of Alec's life. In fact, he was muttering something about jamming his shoulder when he hit, but we made it out without tripping the main alarm."

"How is he?" Logan asked, glancing in the direction of the colony's infirmary.

Max shrugged. "You know Alec and how hard headed he is. He'll live. Joshua's with him now, keeping him company. Heck, in a week he won't even have a scar, just one more story to impress the ladies with."

"Well, getting shot aside, Alec did pick up some good pieces of art. So did you. After we fence this we'll have enough money to last a long time in here -- food and medicine for everyone, maybe even some beer."

Max smiled tiredly again at Logan. The tension of the night was getting to her at last. "You know," she said quietly, "when I thought Alec was dead ... I was surprised at how hard it hit me."

"That's because you love him, Max."

"What?" She looked at Logan quickly, thinking she'd misunderstood his words.

"You have for a long time," Eyes Only continued. "He's your family, your friend, someone you trust and can talk to."

"Yeah," Max said weakly, realizing what kind of "love" Logan was talking about and wondering why the heck she'd thought he meant something more.

"You're finally seeing in Alec what I saw a long time ago ... understanding how important he is to you. Of course you were shaken when you thought he'd been killed, that you'd lost him."

"So shaken I murdered a man tonight," Max said, remembering the sound of Thornton's neck snapping. "I've never done anything like that before -- killing an ordinary for revenge."

"It was self defense, Max." Logan said soothingly. "He had a gun on you. And you thought he'd just had Alec put down. Hell, he was going to sell you into slavery. You've nothing to feel guilty about."

"No," Max said, not quite able to meet Logan's eyes because of where her thoughts had just gone. "I don't have anything to feel guilty about." She summoned another smile. "I'm going to check on Alec then get some sleep."

"Good idea," her beloved agreed.

*****

The infirmary was dark, but Max walked straight to Alec's bed. He wasn't asleep.

"Hey, Max," he drawled, putting a hand to his bandaged head. "Guess I need to thank you for savin' my butt -- again. Sorry I messed up."

"You didn't mess up," Max said, kneeling on the floor beside Alec's cot. "You were right all along. There were fiber optic cameras. That's how we were spotted. If I'd listened you never would have been shot."

"No, if I'd listened, as in not gettin' distracted and hearin' that goon guard approaching."

Max smiled and shook her head. They could argue about this all night, in fact they probably would. But first--

"You did good, Alec. The pieces you got ... we got ... Logan says they'll fence for a small fortune."

He was looking at her a bit too seriously. "I hear you killed date-rape boy back there at the mansion. He try to get fresh again?"

"No," Max said quietly. "But he tried to have you killed. No one hurts my partner. No one hurts my friend."

"Friend?"

"You heard me," Max said, shyly taking hold of Alec's hand and squeezing tightly. She looked down at their joined fingers. "You need to wash your hands," she commented.

Alec's brows rose quizzically.

"You've got dried blood under your nails," Max explained. She raised his fingers to her lips and softly kissed them. "You chew your fingernails. You need to wash the blood off. It's not sanitary."

"I will," Alec said absently, the words not meaning anything to either of them as she cradled his hand lovingly against her cheek and the look of wonder grew in his eyes.

No, Logan, I don't have anything to feel guilty about. Nothing at all.

Max met Alec's gaze, the new understanding between them palpable, the new facet of their relationship blossoming.

But someday I will.

THE END

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