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Victor was leaning against a wall in a filthy alley next to an auto garage and waiting for a police patrol car to finish its slow journey down the street. He wasn't happy about it.

"Mac!" Victor hissed. "Let's give it up. You are never going to get the best of the Director and you know it."

Mac's eyes were sparkling with their usual enthusiasm for any stupid and probably dangerous scheme. He uncapped the bottle of scotch that he'd insisted on bringing along and handed it to Victor.

"Come on," Mac said persuasively. "I ran into this guy a couple of weeks ago and he showed me this stuff. It's going to be awesome!"

"I can't believe you want to paint the Director's car." Victor put his head in his hands. "Why don't we just t.p. her office and go all the way back to high school?"

"You know, that tells me a lot more about your wild and crazy youth than I think you want me to know," Mac teased. "Listen to this. It's perfect. The guy also gave me this specialty template. You know. Patterns like they use for those mountain scenes or flames."

"We cannot paint flames on the Director's car," Victor insisted, wondering how he'd been convinced to participate in this suicide pact. He took a drink, trying not to picture the ugly consequences for what they were about to do.

Starting from what would happen if they got arrested. Which, once he thought about it, would be preferable to what would happen if they didn't get caught and wound up facing the Director, instead.

"Sure we can." Mac was grinning wildly, never a good sign. "Let me finish. Like I said, this is something new. Temporary auto paint. It comes with a special solution that washes the decoration right off. It's perfect, don't you see? We give her a new paint job, make her live with it while we're on this assignment, and then, before we agree to clean it off, she has to promise not to kill us."

"She could get around that by having Dobrinsky kill us," Victor pointed out.

"We'll cover all the bases," Mac said, waving aside Victor's objection. "Don't you think this is the perfect payback?"

Victor still hesitated. It wasn't that the idea of doing something, getting some kind of revenge, wasn't appealing, because it was.

He took another drink. "We're going to die this time," he predicted. "What if it doesn't come off?"

"It will." Mac grinned. "The guy showed me. On his own car." He took the bottle and poured scotch down his throat. "By the time we get back to town, she's going to be willing to do anything to get this stuff off of her car, you know?"

Victor wasn't sure whether to envy Mac's drinking capacity, or to feel sorry for his liver. "Including having us killed and washing the car with our blood," he predicted bitterly.

"Actually, I have an even better idea, now that I think about it," Mac said.

"What? We forget the whole thing and get on with the case?" Victor asked hopefully.

"Not exactly." Mac took another look at the white police cruiser, which was still in sight, then leaned back against the dirty wall and smiled broadly.

Victor was familiar with that expression. He'd seen it a hundred times; whenever Mac was about to talk Victor into something against his better judgement.

He took back the bottle and tried to harden himself against temptation. "Nothing to do with good sense, then?"

"This gets better and better." Mac laughed. "Wait until you hear this."

"I don't want to hear it." Victor took a comforting drink.

"No." Mac shook his head. "This is perfect. When the case is over, don't you see, and we get back to town, the first thing we do is to fix the car. Before she even sees us." He looked triumphant. "Destroy the evidence."

To his horror, Victor realized he was wavering. Maybe he shouldn't have had those last few drinks. "You're sure this stuff comes off?" he probed. "I mean, you did actually see it work?"

"Scout's honor," Mac promised. "He even let me try it myself. It worked perfectly. It looks like finger paint. Thick, you know, so you can't paint over it, but water doesn't touch it. The dissolving compound takes it right off, though."

Victor knew he was going to regret this, but too much scotch was making it hard to focus on possible consequences. "Maybe you're right. She has it coming."

"That's the spirit." Mac's face lit up. "You know, I'll just bet she's sitting somewhere laughing at us right now."

"No," Victor objected. He thought about it. "You think so?" The idea sparked some anger.

"Sure she is," Mac said confidently. "You know how she is. She thinks she's pulled a fast one on us." He held up the bottle in a toast. "We'll see who laughs last, right?"

The challenge in Mac's eyes was too much to ignore. Victor let his partner drink, then took the bottle. "Deal," he said, and drank to it. His stomach objected for a second and Victor decided that he'd let Mac have the rest of the bottle.

"Excellent." Mac was beaming. He looked around the corner. "As soon as we're sure they're gone, we'll get started."

"No rush. Let's finish the bottle, first," Victor offered. He wondered how much it would take to put Mac out. More than Victor wanted to drink, he was sure of that. It might be possible to let Mac drink himself into a more reasonable state of mind, though.

"You're not wimping out on me, are you?"

As always, the hint of a dare from his partner generated an instant response, unconnected to sanity. "No," Victor said. "I just thought we'd have another drink first, that's all."

Mac eyed him suspiciously, then grinned. "Another drink is always a good idea," he agreed cheerfully.

Mac insisted on Victor having a couple more drinks he didn't need or want, to keep Mac company. Victor was seriously unsteady by the time Mac decided it was safe to break into the garage.

Mac scoffed at the garage's heavy steel lock and picked it in less than fifteen seconds. He grabbed Victor's arm and Victor allowed himself to be dragged through the door. He waited, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness of moonlight seeping through dirty skylights, while Mac relocked the door behind them.

"Come on, buddy." Mac slapped him on the shoulder and started picking his way across the floor. "Let's get this party started."

I'm going to hate myself for this tomorrow. Fortunately, Victor had been entrusted with the bottle. Another swallow, and then another and tomorrow seemed a lot less important.

He sauntered off across the floor, swinging the bottle carelessly and looking around at the parts and pieces of various expensive foreign cars that were spread out on tarps next to each car. A classic red Fiat caught his attention for a second. From the display of parts, it looked like this one was in for a carburetor overhaul.

"If we were in the spare parts business, we could make a killing," he offered, feeling much more cheerful now that they were more or less committed to the crime.

Mac glanced around. "That's true." He gave Victor a wicked grin. "You want to find a couple of boxes and pick up a few things to cover our expenses here?"

"Are you crazy?" Victor stumbled over a carburetor and swore quietly.

"Hey, it was your suggestion." Mac shrugged.

"It wasn't a suggestion," Victor objected. He caught up to Mac and grabbed his arm. "We're not here to steal anything," he said urgently. "Are we?"

"Relax, buddy," Mac soothed. He draped his arm around Victor's shoulders and nodded toward the corner of the garage. "There is it. A beauty, isn't it?

The car's high-gloss, immaculate paint job glowed darkly in the dimness of the garage. Mac surveyed it with the air of a connoisseur, or a lover. Mac had a passion for sports cars, the more expensive the better.

"Are you sure this is hers?" Victor tried to picture vivid red and yellow flames sprouting from the car's sleek nose and shuddered. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"Sure it is." Mac's arm urged him forward as they approached the gleaming automobile.

While he was waiting for Mac to unpack the heavy bag of supplies he'd dragged along on this hair-brained outing, Victor thought about how he'd been driven to this point.

Life had seemed to be making as much sense as it ever did until that afternoon's briefing....

. . . .

The conference room was characteristically dim, cool white light spotlighting the heavy table. Mac and Victor were separated by an empty chair. The space made Victor uneasy. It was surprising how much he relied upon Li Ann's quiet presence as a buffer between him and their irritating partner.

The Director leaned against the other side of the table, watching the two of them. "Your mission," the Director said, "should you choose to accept it...." She caught a glimpse of Mac's expression. "And you will, is to infiltrate a small community that the police have been unable to penetrate, blend in with the locals, establish yourselves as accepted members, and wait."

"Wait?" Predictably, the outburst was Mac's. "Wait for what?"

"You will wait," the Director emphasized. "And watch. And listen. To everyone, and everything."

"What's this closed community?" Victor asked, less concerned about the potential boredom. "I mean, who are we supposed to be blending in with?"

"I'll bet it's the Amish," Mac offered with a smirk. He cocked his head. "You know, I think it's a look that could work on you. I mean, I can really see you in one of those hats, you know?"

Victor threw a pencil at him.

"Boys, boys, boys." The Director's bored voice interrupted the teasing. "Play nice, or mama will have to spank."

Victor didn't know what it was about the Director's bizarre threats that managed to silence Mac, but he was grateful that they usually worked.

The Director continued the briefing. "The rumors, gentlemen, vary between large-scale kidnapping, wholesale murder, involuntary slavery, and a host of other, less palatable ideas. Your assignment is to find out what you can of the truth of the situation, from the inside."

"So, what are we going to be?" Victor asked. "Are we undercover cops, or bait?"

Mac snickered. "I think you're getting a little old to be a harem boy, Vic. No offense."

The air between them crackled with familiar tension. "You know, it's just like you to immediately assume that...."

"That's enough," the Director said sharply. "As it happens, Victor, you're not that far off."

"You're kidding?" Somehow, Victor didn't like the sound of that.

"I never kid. So far, we have twenty-three confirmed disappearances within a five-block radius of a single city. All male, more-or-less single, all attractive, and all between the ages of twenty-five and forty. Which makes you two the perfect bait."

"People disappear all the time," Victor pointed out, remembering the hundreds of 'missing person' reports he'd seen during his years with the police. "And they usually don't want to be found. What makes you think these guys are any different?"

"We've compiled reports from friends and neighbors." The Director paused. " We've done hours of analysis. You name it, we've tried it. None of these men fit any of the profiles for someone who just...drops out. If nothing else, just the statistic tell us that twenty-three disappearances in six months from such a limited area is...highly unlikely. And none of the men were seen under any unusual circumstances before their disappearances."

"Come on," Mac said impatiently. "Give with the details. Who disappeared? When?" How are the cases related? Who says these guys have been snatched for...whatever it is? And, more important, where's Li Ann?"

"She's on vacation," the Director told them. "You won't be needing her on this assignment."

"Hey," Victor objected. "We're partners. I mean, we're a team, right?"

"Yeah." Mac scowled at the Director. "How come she rates a vacation while we have to work?"

Trust Mac to get it backwards, of course. The question wasn't why the two of them weren't on vacation, it was why the Director didn't think they'd need their very capable partner on this assignment.

"Because I said so." The Director answered Mac's irritable question coolly. "I felt she was entitled to some time off. When she returns, she'll be involved with other duties for a while.

"For how long?" Victor demanded. "Are you splitting us up?"

"No." She eyed the two of them, smiling at some private thought. "But you two will be undercover for quite some time and I thought we'd take advantage of Li Ann's availability to use her on one or two special assignments."

"How long is 'quite some time'?" Mac asked suspiciously. "And what about the details?

"How long, boys, all depends upon how good you are at what you do, doesn't it?" She slid two blue envelopes across the table, one to each man. "As for the details, there aren't many more. As I said before, your assignment is to gather information. You'll be working on your own this time. It's a sensitive situation and we don't want too many cooks spoiling this particular soup."

"So, we go in blind?" Victor stared at her in disbelief. "What are these?" He tapped the envelope in front of him.

"Your cover stories." The Director slipped off the edge of the table. "And the facts that we do have. You have sixteen hours to memorize everything in those files, boys. And I do mean, everything. In the meantime, you'll need clothing and so on to fit your cover stories. I'll see to it that everything you need is waiting for you here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

She sauntered toward the door. "Oh, and one more thing. Since you will be working together very closely on this one, I'd suggest that you take the rest of the day off. Take your cover stories home with you tonight. You can...get together and work out the details. It might take you all night."

She smiled again, never a reassuring sight, and waved inch-long red lacquered nails at them. "Taa-taa, boys. I'll see you tomorrow."

"We're not going to like this." Mac watched the Director leave.

"How bad can it be?" Victor eyed both envelopes. "We're just supposed to keep our eyes open and gather information, right?"

"Sounds boring," Mac complained.

"Some people are never happy." Victor picked up his envelope and slid it into his pocket. "It's a piece of cake. And, in the meantime, we have the afternoon off. You ready to get out of here?"

"Sure." Mac fingered his envelope, then slid it into his jacket carefully, as though it might blow up at any second.

"How about this?" Victor headed down the deserted hallway. "We go back to my place, get this stuff memorized while I make us something to eat, and if we get done early, we can go get a drink?"

"Sounds okay." Mac brooded for a second, the usual amount of time he was able to keep his mouth shut. "How can she expect this to take weeks? And why doesn't she think Li Ann should help us? I mean, three heads are better than two, right?"

"Especially if one of them's yours," Victor needled.

"Hey! It's just you and me for a while," Mac reminded him. "If I were you, I'd be careful about pissing off the only person who's going to be watching your back in the foreseeable future."

Victor stopped, one hand on the door. "You threatening to blink at just the wrong second one of these days?"

"Not at all." Mac grinned at him. There was something underneath the smile that Victor didn't quite understand. "Just suggesting that a little diplomacy might be in order."

"Right." Victor shook his head. "That'll be the day."

"Hey, are you implying that I don't respond to tact and diplomacy?"

"I'm saying...." Victor stopped. "Never mind. Let's get out of here."

. . . .

Victor took another drink of the potent scotch and watched Mac spread a heavy tarp across the floor next to the Director's car. The only time his partner was ever this neat was when he was committing some kind of criminal act. Mac had a finicky precision on the job that never showed up in his personal life.

Anyhow, the briefing hadn't been that much different than a hundred others they'd gone through. Besides Li Ann's absence, and the fact that the Director seemed to be laughing at a private joke half the time, which wasn't that unusual, he and Mac had still been expecting a fairly ordinary case.

Until they'd gotten around to looking inside the blue envelopes....

. . . .

The assignment stayed just beneath the surface of Victor's mind as he was sure it did Mac's, but neither of them mentioned it again until they were in Victor's living room, jackets off and cold beers in their hands.

"Well, who wants firsties?" Mac held up his envelope and grinned. "Wanna draw straws?"

"Just open it." Victor stood up. "I'm going to get the steaks out. Tell me what it says."

"Steak?" Mac leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"To the fact that it's all I've got. Get your feet off of the table."

"Chill, cowboy." Mac ripped the envelope open.

Victor pulled the meat out of the cooler and poured marinade over it. He glanced at his now-silent partner. "Well? Are you going to tell me what it says?"

"I do not believe this." Mac's jaw dropped and his eyes raced over the sheaf of papers in his hand. "I fucking do not believe this."

"What?" Victor waited impatiently, but Mac ignored him. Cursing under his breath, Victor grabbed his own envelope, tore it open, and started reading.

Words jumped out at him from the page.

Twenty-three missing... presumed dead... gay community...three weeks...on your own...you and Mac...couple...blend in ...be convincing ...call for emergency... counting on you...

Oh, my god. Victor's knees buckled and he sat down abruptly. She had to be kidding.

I never kid. He heard her voice echoing in his head. No, she wasn't kidding. She was sending him and Mac, unpredictable, irresponsible, impatient Mac, off to...to play house, for god's sake, for weeks on end. To pose as lovers in front of an entire community of gay men.

The couch springs creaked as Mac stood up. Victor half-glanced at his partner, watching Mac wander over to the window and stand there, staring out into the street.

One of them had to say something, but Victor didn't have the faintest idea what it should be. He wondered what the Director's note to Mac had said. It had been pages longer than Victor's.

Victor drained his beer, then went to the kitchen for a fresh one. Along the way, he picked up a bottle of single-malt scotch he'd been saving, and a couple of glasses.

Back in the living room, he poured two scotches and carried one to Mac.

"What, no ice?" Mac barely took his eyes off the street before he accepted the glass.

"You want ice, get it yourself. This isn't a bar." Victor settled back onto the couch and swallowed his drink. It burned a tortured path into his stomach, stopping his breath for a moment. When the flame eased into a milder heat, he poured a second glass.

He heard Mac in the kitchen, then the sound of ice cubes ringing against glass. A minute later Mac reappeared, drink in one hand and a bowl of ice cubes in the other.

"Figured we might want these," Mac offered. He set the bowl on the coffee table, then hovered for a second before resuming his earlier seat on the couch.

"Thanks." Victor dropped ice into his glass, then leaned back and propped his feet up on the table. "Well?"

"What the hell, right?" Mac took a drink. "It's an assignment, that's all."

"Sure." Victor refilled his glass and offered the bottle to Mac. "Just like all the other assignments, right? We go in, we do the job, we put the bad guys away."

"Right." Mac took another drink. "Simple."

Victor cleared his throat. "Seems to me, if we've got at least three weeks and five city blocks to cover, we'd do better going in separately. Cover more territory faster, you know?"

Mac shook his head. "She mentioned that. Of the twenty-three guys who disappeared, twelve were actually six couples. And over half of the guys were known to be at home, behind locked doors at the time they disappeared without a trace. No splitting up."

Victor wondered what else Mac had been told that the Director hadn't shared with Victor. "What else?"

Mac shrugged. "Street rumors say it could be some kinky sex club thing. Or gay-bashers, but that isn't likely since a lot of the guys were at home. Or some illegal lab, grabbing test subjects. Or a hundred other things." He grinned. "Even a shadowy government agency."

Victor thought about it. No. It wasn't beyond the Director to use the agents to help her fight inner-Agency battles, but this one felt different.

He glanced at Mac and raised his eyes. Mac shook his head. So, they were in agreement. This one was real.

"So, we really are going in blind?" Victor was comfortable with this impersonal discussion of the case. "No other leads?"

"Not a one." Mac poured himself another drink. "Except for what we can scare up for ourselves."

"Right." That weird silence started closing in again and Victor looked for something else innocuous to say. "So, we need a plan."

"Of course." Mac laughed quietly. "A plan. You've always got a plan, don't you, Vic?"

"You want to just show up there and stand around with our fingers in our noses until someone tries to jump us?"

"I can't believe she's doing this to us." Mac stared at the floor, his knuckles whitening where they were wrapped around his glass.

"Nothing to it." Victor glanced at him. Here it comes. "We've worked undercover before."

"Not like this," Mac pointed out. "You're telling me you don't have a problem with this?"

Victor did, but it was nothing he intended to share with his partner. "What kind of problem?" he answered, keeping his voice calm. "It's an assignment."

"Just another job." Victor could see Mac's thoughtful expression as his partner considered his words. "Why not?" Now Mac's face wore a grin that made him uneasy.

Mac made a production of sliding over next to Victor on the couch. "We've had tougher assignments, right?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Victor took a nervous sip of his scotch, but refused to move away. He wasn't going to give Mac the satisfaction of thinking he could get to Victor that easily.

"Our orders say to be convincing," Mac reminded him. "I figured we should have a little practice before we make our first public appearance as a married couple, don't you?" He grinned again. "So, you wanna play house?" He slid his arm around Victor's shoulders.

Victor could feel the tension in Mac's arm, in spite of his teasing. Mac was probably expecting Victor to take a swing at him and for a second, Victor thought he might just do it. But orders were orders. And, although Victor hated to admit it, Mac was right.

"You think it's going to be that easy?" Victor pretended to accept it, waiting to see what Mac would do when Victor didn't rise to the bait.

"Sure, why not?" Mac was still watching Victor. "How tough can it be?"

"You ever been in a relationship with a man?" Victor asked.

"What difference does that make?" Mac jerked his arm away and backed off.

"I'm just saying that it might take a little more than you expect." Victor took a sip of his scotch, keeping his face serious. "I mean, if you really want to be convincing. And like you said, our orders are to be convincing."

"More like what?" Mac looked like he still didn't understand why Victor hadn't turned around and belted him one.

That suited Victor fine. He wasn't going to spend the next three weeks or however long it took to solve this case with Mac believing that all he had to do to get to Victor was to pretend to make a pass at him. Victor knew Mac's sense of humor and knew that if Mac thought Victor was uncomfortable with their roles, he'd do everything in his power to drive his partner crazy.

They were going to do this by the book, or not at all. Which meant figuring out now just what would be needed. Drawing some lines and making sure that Mac didn't cross them.

As long as Victor didn't react, didn't rise to the bait, Mac would be a lot less tempted to keep acting like a jerk, if that's all he was doing. And if Mac wasn't sure just how far Victor would go to keep their cover intact...well, that might help keep him in line, too.

"Hard to say." He answered Mac's last question with a shrug. "Anything in your envelope about who we're pretending to be?"

"Yeah." Mac sorted through the stack of papers, blue to match the envelope, and handed one to Victor. "One for each of us. There's not much there."

Victor glanced at the sheet" We should memorize each other's stuff as well," he said. "After all, lovers would know these kinds of things about each other." He started reading the short list of facts.

"You know, you are just taking this way too casually," Mac complained suddenly. "I mean...where's all that narrow-minded, I'm-a-cop attitude? I would have thought you'd be the first one yelling about this assignment."

Victor didn't look up. "Are you saying you think I'm a bigot?"

"No...I'm saying...I just thought...." Mac fumbled to explain what he meant, then gave it up. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

Perfect. "Twenty-three people have disappeared," Victor reminded him. "We have to go in there and find out if anyone knows anything. If anyone saw or heard anything, or has any ideas." He took a drink. "A crime may have been committed. Several crimes. We're investigating them. Frankly, I don't see the problem, here."

"Fuck you." Mac refilled his glass and stared at the paper.

"I don't think we'll have to take it that far." Victor ignored the stare of mingled surprise and shock that Mac gave him and settled back to start reading again.

The room was quiet as they read. Victor memorized the short biography he'd been given. He and his 'lover' were new to the city. No close family, no ties except each other. Victor had recently gotten a small inheritance from a remote family member and he and Mac were planning to take a few weeks off before they started job hunting. A 'honeymoon' of sorts, although the phrase in black-and-white on the page made Victor nervous.

A note at the top of the page assured him that their stories fit the profiles of the missing men as closely as possible. Not having to pretend to work during the day would give them plenty of time to dig for information.

By the time Victor finished, Mac was through with his own fact sheet. They exchanged papers without a word. It wasn't a comfortable silence, but it wasn't hostile, which, with Mac, was about as good as it got.

The man lived for conflict. If there wasn't any chaos handy, he would set out to create some with a reckless and usually criminal disregard for consequences. Victor had to hope that Mac was convinced by his partner's casual acceptance of their cover story and that Mac would look somewhere else for amusement.

"You about ready for dinner?" Victor dropped the paper back on the table and stood up, stretching. One more drink would be too much if he didn't get some food in his stomach.

"Yeah. Sure." Mac shot him an odd look, then stared down at the glass in his hand.

As he got the steaks ready for broiling, Victor thought about Mac's reaction to the assignment. His partner was so unpredictable that it could have gone either way. Mac could have decided that the unusual case was a perfect excuse for any obnoxious behavior he could think of.

In fact, Victor would be surprised if that thought didn't occur to his partner before long. He just hoped he was right in guessing that Mac would be less outrageous if he didn't think he was getting on Victor's nerves. Or discovering a weakness.

He stayed in the kitchen. Neither of them was going to have much time to get used to the idea of this assignment, which he assumed was part of the Director's plan. Given a couple of days to work on it, he and Mac both would have found a thousand reasons not to do this one. They didn't have that option, though, and Victor needed to think.

He pretended to keep his attention on the cutting board where he was trying to create a salad. Green lettuce. Orange carrots. The rich red of tomatoes. The cookbook he was studying said that presentation enhanced flavor. Not that Mac would notice details like that.

"Well, looks like we know who gets to be the lady of the house.".

Victor hadn't heard him stand up, but Mac was now leaning against the doorway that separated the kitchen from the small living room.

"Fuck you," Victor snapped. He dumped the rest of the vegetables into the salad bowl.

"I thought you said it wouldn't come to that," Mac snickered. He took another drink. From the look of him, he'd taken a couple more when Victor wasn't looking.

"There's nothing specifically feminine about cooking," Victor said tightly. "I like to eat decent food, so I'm learning to cook it."

"Sure," Mac agreed. "Add a frilly pink apron, you'll be a perfect...."

He didn't finish the sentence because Victor had him by the throat, shoved up against the wall.

"Don't," Victor said carefully. He heard Mac's glass hit the floor. "Just...don't."

"Hey, sure," Mac choked out. He raised his arms peacefully "Whatever you say."

Victor eased his grip and stepped back, avoiding the puddle of scotch and ice cubes. Naturally Mac took that instant to retaliate, throwing Victor against the counter and twisting his arm behind his back painfully.

"You want to play rough?" He heard Mac's unsteady laugh next to his ear.

"Get your hands off of me," Victor demanded. His free hand stretched, then inched across the counter toward the paring knife he'd dropped.

"You touch that and I'll break your arm," Mac threatened.

Normally Victor might not have believed the threat but tonight he wasn't sure. Which didn't mean Victor was going to stand there and take Mac's shit quietly. "In case you've forgotten, we're supposed to be on the same side here."

"You started it, buddy." Victor's arm was twisted another painful degree. "I don't appreciate being jumped by my partner."

Victor forced himself to relax, pretending to be calmer than he felt. Sometimes it was like he was always doing that around the hot-tempered Mac. "Hey, I'm not the one who started this."

The pressure on his arm eased and then disappeared. He heard Mac step back. "Yeah. Maybe I was a little out of line."

"I told you," Victor massaged his arm, glaring at his partner. "We treat it like any other assignment. If you can't deal with it, talk to the Director. Don't take it out on me."

Victor was almost tempted to admit that he was anything but comfortable with the situation, but experience had proven that it wasn't safe to admit a weakness to his partner. There was something in Mac that made it impossible for him to resist taking advantage of any opening in Victor's guard.

Besides, Victor wasn't worried about it in exactly the way Mac expected. Mac's hostility was directed at their cover stories. And Victor didn't have a problem with those. His only worry was Mac.

"You'd better eat," he said shortly. He handed Mac a plate, and nodded toward the steaks sizzling on the broiler on the stove. "There's salad if you want it."

Victor cleaned up the mess on the floor before he fixed his own food and took it back to the living room. Mac was already eating. He nodded when Victor put a clean glass next to his plate, but made no move toward the scotch bottle.

Mac carried his own dishes to the kitchen when they were done with their meal. He didn't offer to help clean up, but then he never did.

"Sorry." The apology broke the strained silence.

Victor shoved the last dish into the dishwasher and stood up, staring at Mac. "Are you done acting like a jerk?"

"Hey, I said I was sorry," Mac said defensively.

"Right. Forget it." Victor started the dishwasher. "I guess we should sit down and work out a plan."

"Naturally," Mac said half under his breath. He led the way back to the living room and dropped back down on the couch, not avoiding Victor, but not crowding him the way he had earlier, either.

Mac poured two large drinks and offered one glass to Victor. "Come on. Apology accepted?"

"Sure." Victor accepted the glass. "Why not."

"That's the spirit." Mac offered him a mock toast. "Partners."

"Where should we start?" Victor didn't trust Mac's unusual meekness. With good reason, as it turned out.

"Revenge," Mac said eagerly. "Red-hot revenge. I know just what we can do to her to pay her back for this one."

Oh, no . Victor was shaking his head before Mac finished the sentence. "No way."

"Yes, way." Mac gave him a big grin. "You're gonna love this."

. . . .

That had been a lie. Of course. Victor wasn't loving it at all.

The garage had another bank of security lights inside. Victor was grateful. Without the lights, he never would have been able to see the crazy grin on Mac's face as he pulled out a roll of heavy tape and fixed a template in place on the Director's car.

Victor swore to himself he'd remember that expression, and use the memory to keep himself out of trouble in the future. Mac was crazy sometimes, and no one but Mac denied it.

Mac moved quickly, pumping a thick, yellow mist into the cut-outs, timing something on his watch, then covering the center of the pattern with a narrower pattern of red.

"It dries to the touch in a couple of minutes," Mac explained, pulling the flexible tape off and removing the template. "Come on." Even thought it was like watching a graffiti artist deface a Rembrandt, Victor couldn't resist watching.

Mac fixed the template into place on the other side of the car, checking both sides several times until he was sure he had it positioned right. Then he picked up the homemade pump and handed it to Victor. "Your turn, maestro."

"What?" Victor stared at him. "You're kidding?"

"One for all, and all for one," Mac said smugly. "You're a victim here, too, right? She's playing both of us for fools."

"I'm not sure that's what she's trying to do," Victor said reluctantly.

"Trust me," Mac said solemnly. "She's laughing. I mean, I don't doubt it's a real case, but I'll bet she volunteered us for this one, you know? It's just like her warped sense of humor."

"But the job does need to be done." It was too easy to picture what Mac was saying and Victor didn't doubt that the Director was laughing her head off at them right now. Thinking about it did piss him off. It wasn't that he minded the case, but he did mind her taking the opportunity to take cheap shots and him and his partner while pretending it was all just business. She'd done that a lot lately. Too often.

"So does this one." Mac interrupted Victor's thoughts abruptly. "Get to it, tiger."

"Don't call me that," Victor said automatically. He inspected the pump, figuring out the simple mechanism, then pointed the hose at the car. He hesitated, then he could hear the sound of the Director's laughter in his head. He pushed the plunger and a heavy spray of yellow shot across the car's spotless paint. Victor covered the template cut-outs thoroughly, then applied the second coat of red as soon as Mac gave the signal.

Mac waited until Victor was done, then jumped into action, peeling off the template, folding it carelessly and stuffing it and the capped-off pumps back into his bag. "Okay, let's get out of here."

"What's the rush?" Victor stayed where he was, looking in horrified fascination at the brilliant paint defacing the expensive car.

"Hey, you never hang around once the job's over." Mac grabbed Victor's arm and pulled him toward the door. "More guys have been caught because they couldn't resist stopping to admire their work than any other way, you know?"

"Really?" Victor let Mac hustle him across the floor, trying to remember if he'd had the same experience on the police force.

He looked back and shuddered. The red barely showed in the dim light, but the wavy stripes of yellow paint glowed almost neon.

They were going to die. When the Director saw that, he and Mac were both dead. He didn't even try to pretend that she might not know who was responsible. This trick had Mac's name all over it.

A quick trip down the alley, across a dark and deserted street, and into another alley, and they were at Victor's truck. He stared at it in dismay while Mac waited impatiently for him to unlock the doors. My truck. If that police cruiser had been down this street too, and he assumed they had been, there was no way they would have missed seeing the red truck tucked illegally back into the alley.

"What's the matter?" Mac hissed.

"My truck," Victor explained as he unlocked the doors. "Those patrolmen must have seen it."

"So what?" Mac slid into the seat. "It's not like she's going to turn us in or anything," he pointed out.

"She might." Victor started the engine. He shouldn't be driving with all he'd had to drink, but he didn't trust Mac. "It would be just like her."

"No." Mac shook his head. "She'll want to get us personally. You'll see."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Victor headed the truck toward his apartment, cursing himself for once again letting Mac drag him along on one of his hair-brained schemes.

Mac helped himself to a celebratory drink. "Just think," he said cheerfully. "By the time she finds out about it, we'll be deep undercover and out of reach for weeks."

Victor did think about it and one obvious thing occurred to him. "I think you've achieved the impossible," he said bitterly.

"What's that?"

"You've actually managed to make me glad we have to go on this assignment."

Mac rolled down his window and leaned back. "It's important to enjoy your job."

By the time they got back to Victor's apartment, it was later than either of them had expected. Victor dragged some blankets and a spare pillow out of the closet and tossed them on the couch.

Then he went to take a couple of painkillers and drink a large glass of water, pre-emptive medicine against the hangover he knew was going to be pounding inside his skull when he woke up in four hours. He would have offered Mac some, but the idea that his partner was going to be feeling a lot worse than Victor, was the one bright spot on the horizon right now. Victor slid into bed and turned off the light, almost able to smile at the thought.

Ten seconds later, he heard Mac's voice coming from the living room. "Hey, Vic!"

"Don't talk to me," Victor ordered. "You've done enough damage for one night."

"I just wanted to remind you to enjoy yourself," Mac said.

Victor could hear suppressed laughter in the other man's voice. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"After tonight, you and I are going to be pillow buddies for a few weeks," Mac reminded him. "I'm looking forward to it, too."

"You're a pervert and an asshole," Victor said without any real anger. "You make one move toward my fucking pillow and I'll beat the crap out of you."

"Ooh." Mac gave a falsetto giggle. "I do like 'em butch."

"Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"If you say another word, I'm going to call the Director right now and tell her what you did to her car."

"What I did? You were there too, buddy."

"Who's she going to believe?" Victor asked, yawning. He punched his pillow into shape. "Who do you think she's going to believe?"

If Mac answered the question, Victor didn't hear it. He didn't hear anything until the alarm went off, too loudly and too early the next morning.

Shit. style='font-size: 10.0pt'>Victor started to sit up, then grabbed his head. Fire lanced through his skull, his stomach rolled with an oily, uneasy sensation, and his mouth tasted like he'd been dead for a week. He remembered one thing clearly. No, make that two things. This was Mac's fault, and he hated him for it.

The next thought was a doozy. A dim memory of sleek black paint defaced by glowing yellow lines swam into his head. Victor fell back onto the pillow, suppressing a moan as the movement sent more arrows of misery through him.

Oh, god. What was I thinking? The answer to that was obvious. He hadn't been thinking at all. Mac had all but dared him to go along and, like a sheep to the slaughter, Victor had followed his partner, making what he knew was going to turn out to be the stupidest mistake of his life.

The aroma of coffee wafted through the air. Victor pried his eyes open to see Mac's face, heavy-eyed but still smiling. "Get the hell away from me, you jerk."

"Blaming me are we?" Mac didn't look surprised. He brought the coffee to the bed, waiting until Victor shoved himself up and took the cup. "And after I brought you breakfast in bed and everything." He pulled a bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and handed them to Victor.

"If you think this makes up for anything, you're mistaken," Victor growled. He swallowed three of the pills, washing them down with the hot coffee. "Jesus, what the hell got into me last night?"

"Just boyish high spirits," Mac cooed. At the expression on Victor's face, he backed away. "I'm going to grab a shower. Why don't you drink your coffee?" He stopped in the doorway. "Remember, the good news is we're leaving town today."

"You're not going anywhere. When I get up, I'm going to kill you." Victor took another sip of coffee and closed his eyes.

By the time Mac got out of the shower, Victor had gotten two cups of coffee and a couple of pieces of toast down and he was feeling better. Sort of. He took his own shower and dressed quickly. They hadn't been told to pack and the Director had said she was going to provide everything they'd need, including clothing, so he didn't bother with a bag.

Weapons weren't a problem. He and Mac were both carrying their guns and their usual hold-outs.

Mac was sitting at the breakfast bar, clutching a cup of coffee and staring with loathing at half a piece of toast laying on a paper towel in front of him.

Victor folded the paper over the bread and handed it to his partner, taking the coffee cup. He turned off the pot and washed it and both cups quickly.

"Let's get out of here." He took a last look around the apartment, then grabbed his keys and waited impatiently for Mac. "You can finish eating your breakfast in the car," he added maliciously.

Mac gave him a pathetic look, but without the scotch interfering with his judgement, Victor almost was immune to his partner's bogus tricks.

"Why are you so fucking bright and cheery?" Mac complained. He followed Victor out of the building, stopping to throw the cold toast into the trash. "You drank as much as I did last night."

"More," Victor lied. He ignored the faint throbbing in the back of his head and took a deep breath of the cool, damp morning air. The better Mac thought Victor felt, the worse Mac would feel. That suited Victor perfectly.

He didn't feel quite as smug when they were facing the Director. She came out to meet them, bundled warmly against the misty rain that was starting to fall. The two men, under Dobrinsky's supervision, were loading heavy suitcases into the car that was waiting to take them to the airport.

"Everything you need should be in there, boys," she said. She eyed them both closely. "It appears as though you two took my advice a little too seriously."

"What do you mean?" Victor knew his guilt was spread all over his face.

"When I told you to make a night of it," she explained. "I hadn't actually expected you to go quite this far. You boys seem to be throwing your hearts into this one." She wasn't smiling.

"Really?" Mac wasn't doing much better at pretending to be casual and unconcerned. Last night's bravado had disappeared and Victor could see Mac was as nervous as he was. "How far is that?"

She eyed him closely. "Is there something you boys would like to tell me?" She huddled into her dark coat and frowned at the sky. Victor was surprised when it kept raining, in spite of her disapproval.

"Tell you?" Mac jumped on the question. "What would that be?"

"You tell me," she offered. She looked at Victor. "Either of you have anything to say?"

"Me?" Victor tried a casual smile. "Not a thing." He looked at Mac desperately. "We ready to go?"

"I'm ready." Mac dove for the car door. "If that's all...." He looked at the Director.

She paused for a long, pain-filled moment. "That's all. You can call in, if it's an emergency, remember. Other than that you're on your own."

"Right," Mac said eagerly. "Out of touch. Undercover. Got it." He was in such a hurry he didn't even stop to fight with Victor and Dobrinsky over who was going to drive, just climbed into the closest passenger seat.

"Well," Victor glanced from Dobrinsky to the Director nervously. "I guess we're out of here."

"I guess you are." She gave him a steady look. "Are you certain you don't have anything you want to tell me, Victor?"

"Not a thing," Victor said truthfully. "Nothing at all." He slid into the back seat and Dobrinsky got behind the wheel.

The Director leaned over and smiled into the window. "You boys have a good time. Try to remember that you're on assignment."

The drive to the airport was completed in silence except for a few comments from Dobrinsky, instructing them to rent a car when they got to their destination. He also gave them both bank books showing healthy balances and informed them they'd have to buy everything they needed for the apartment, including furniture.

Dobrinsky not only drove them to the airport, he walked them to the gate and was still standing there when they boarded the plane.

"Did he think we were going to make a run for it?" Mac complained. He always hated being shepherded around by a keeper. Especially when it was Dobrinsky.

"Probably." Victor settled into his seat, wishing that the Agency had sprung for the first class seats with more leg room. "If we didn't have guilty consciences, can you swear we wouldn't have thought about it?"

"My conscience isn't guilty," Mac denied. He thumbed through the flight magazine. "She deserved it."

Victor wasn't quite as sure about that in the clear light of day. "I don't know. She just gives us the assignments, she doesn't make them up."

"We don't know that," Mac said stubbornly. "Anyhow, there are cases and cases. You can't tell me she isn't getting a kick out of this."

The flight attendant came by and offered drinks. Mac leaned across Victor and flirted with her, offering to buy her a drink and asking for a tour of the galley area later. In other words, acting just like Mac.

Victor tried to ignore his partner's behavior but as soon as they were alone again, he decided a reminder might be in order. "In case you've forgotten," he hissed, "we're supposed to be a couple. If you keep coming on to everything in a dress, you're going to blow our cover."

"We're not there yet," Mac objected. "And it's going to be a while before we have a chance to talk to anyone like her again." His eyes admired the flight attendant's figure in the snug blue and white uniform as she swayed by.

"Everyone on this plane is headed toward the same place we are," Victor reminded him. "You don't know we won't be seeing them again." He picked up his own dog-eared copy of the in-flight magazine. "I don't think it's too much to ask that you keep your pants on for a week or so."

"Maybe not for you," Mac sniped.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Victor threw down the magazine, prepared for a fight if that was what Mac wanted.

"I mean maybe some people are happy with a date once every couple of months, but I don't operate that way." Mac's expression dared Victor to argue.

"Oh, is that so?" Victor crossed his arms. "Let me see. The last date you had...correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it that 'totally gorgeous babe' you met in some bar who tried to take you for two hundred bucks when you got her home?"

"She wasn't the last one," Mac objected. "And anyhow, everyone makes mistakes." He brooded on the incident. "I thought she really liked me, man."

"She liked your wallet," Victor scoffed. He picked up the magazine and checked his watch. Three more hours, with luck.

"You saying that's never happened to you? You've never made a mistake?"

"Not that one," Victor said smugly. He turned a page. "One of the advantages of working Vice is that you learn what to look for. Besides," and he looked at Mac's clothes critically, "I don't go around dressed like some kind of gigolo, either."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Mac smoothed the lapel on his gray jacket. "These are expensive threads, man."

"Further proof that money can't buy taste."

Mac turned his shoulder and stared out the window, which suited Victor just fine. They were going to have to get along. Hell, they were going to have to pretend to be lovers, but he wasn't any more anxious than his partner to start the charade. As long as Mac didn't make himself conspicuous chasing every attractive woman on the plane, that would be enough.

. . . .

Four hours later, the plane had landed in a place easily twenty degrees warmer than the city they'd left. The sun glowed a brilliant yellow and the air was flavored with a tang of salt that hinted at the nearby ocean. The abrupt change in climate soothed the last of Victor's hangover and even let him be optimistic about the case. It was always possible that his unpredictable partner wouldn't use this assignment, and their comparative isolation, as an excuse to torment Victor. Anything was possible.

Mac had sulked himself back into a good mood, which probably had more to do with being in a new city and the prospect of immediate action than anything else. Victor knew his partner too well to expect him to follow the orders to watch and wait. He didn't have any objection to anything they could do that would shorten their three-week undercover assignment to a few days. Or less.

"Why can't we just move into the apartment?" Mac demanded, steering the car recklessly through traffic.

"Dobrinsky said we'd have to furnish the place," Victor reminded him. "I don't know about you, but I'm not sleeping on the floor for a week while we wait for whatever passes for a delivery service in this place to get around to us on their schedule."

Mac grinned. "What's the matter? Bones getting a little brittle with age?"

"I can still take you any time you're in the mood."

"Take me on maybe. But beat me? I don't think so."

"Pull over there." Victor bit back his first reply and pointed to a flashing red neon Vacancy sign. "According to the map, we should be just a couple of blocks from the address the Director gave us."

Mac jerked the car into an abrupt and illegal left-hand turn and Victor made a mental note to steal the keys to the rental car as soon as his partner turned his back.

"Okay." Mac slid out of the car and stretched. "Let's go see if the honeymoon suite is vacant."

"Would it be possible for you to take this assignment seriously?"

"I am taking it seriously." Mac's expression said otherwise but Victor didn't challenge him. "We want to start off on the right foot, don't we?"

Victor followed him toward the dingy office. "Yeah, well, if you're expecting to be carried over any thresholds, you're in for a big disappointment, buddy."

"Have you no romance in your soul?" Mac demanded. He opened the door and waved Victor in with a flourish. "No respect for tradition?"

"Listen, I've got more romance in my little finger than you do in your entire body." Victor hit the bell on the desk.

"I've got a news flash for you." Mac grinned. "That thing you're doing with your hand every night isn't romance."

"Fuck you," Victor said automatically.

"Ooh, talk dirty to me, baby." Mac batted his eyelashes flirtatiously.

Before Victor could come up with a really good response, a man shuffled in from the back room and leaned on the counter tiredly. "You need something?"

"A million dollars and a private yacht," Mac said promptly.

The desk clerk or whoever he was closed his eyes and shook his head. "Always on my shift," he sighed.

"Shut up," Victor told his partner. "We'd like to rent a room."

"Are you sure?" The clerk looked at Mac bitterly. His expression said it all.

Mac opened his mouth again and Victor kicked him on the shins. "One room," Victor said clearly. "One night, maybe more."

"Right." The clerk fished around under the desk, looking depressed when he was forced to admit he had a room available.

"With a bed," Mac said wickedly. "A nice firm one."

"No pets, no parties, no drinking, no drugs, no loud noises," the clerk told Victor.

"How old are your mattresses?" Mac persisted. "Do you have one of those vibrating ones?"

"Payment in advance," the harassed man said stubbornly. He seemed determined to ignore Mac, which seemed like a good idea. "Every day."

Victor checked them in and accepted two keys, ignoring Mac's continued questions about the decor. Expecting Mac to pass up an opportunity to make cheap jokes was asking the impossible.

Mac dropped the ridiculous act as soon as they were alone in the room. Victor hoped that if he kept ignoring him, Mac would get bored with the game and settle down to work on the case seriously.

They dumped their luggage in the room. Mac insisted on unpacking and changing before they did anything else.

"I didn't get to change this morning," he pointed out. "You may be happy to run around looking like you dressed out of the laundry basket, but I have an image to maintain." He swung one of the suitcases onto the bed, " Anyhow, aren't you curious to see what the Director picked out for us?"

Victor had almost forgotten that part of the arrangement. Now that Mac mentioned it, it occurred to him to wonder why they hadn't just packed their own clothes.

"Well, well, this must be yours." Mac had thrown open one of the cases and was holding up a scrap of white material.

Victor caught it automatically when Mac tossed it to him and held it up, staring at it in disbelief. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a shirt." Mac was going through the rest of the suitcase. "Don't you keep up with fashion? It's the latest thing for the man's man." He gave Victor an evil grin. "You put that on and every guy in the neighborhood is going to be following you with his tongue hanging out."

"It's not a shirt, it's an undershirt." Victor ignored the last half of Mac's speech. "It's half an undershirt," he corrected.

Mac was going through the other suitcases with the reckless efficiency of a man who had searched a lot of luggage. "Beats the hell out of that baggy stuff you wear most of the time, and it's your look for this assignment, sunshine. Get changed."

"What the hell makes you think it's mine?" Victor didn't move.

"Not my size," Mac said cheerfully. "Ahhh...." He held up something that looked like a blue silk tee shirt. "Here's something for me."

He started stripping out of his clothes. "Get changed, so we can get this party on the road."

Victor pawed through the suitcase, looking for something less...weird, but he didn't find anything. Almost nothing in the case was anything he would have bought although he had to admit that the clothes were indistinguishable from what they'd seen on the streets in the neighborhood. The Director's usual efficiency at work. Victor was usually impressed by the Agency's attention to this kind of detail, But that was when he wasn't expected to pour himself into the kind of clothes that were impossible to move comfortably in and designed to reveal as much as possible of the body underneath. He settled on a pair of worn jeans that turned out to be too tight when he pulled them on, and a green pullover that was just as tight.

"You think it would have been too much trouble to get stuff I could actually wear?" Victor tucked in the pullover and buttoned the jeans around it, wondering if he'd be able to sit down.

Mac looked Victor over and leered. "You actually look good, for a change. The earring really makes the outfit."

Mac turned toward the door and Victor grabbed him. Two seconds later, Mac's arm was twisted up between his shoulders and Victor was crushing his face into the wall.

"I think," Victor said into Mac's ear, "that this case is going to be tough enough without you mouthing off at me every five seconds, don't you?"

"Just getting into character," Mac gasped. "Establishing our cover, you know?"

"Save it for when you have an audience," Victor advised. He eased off of Mac's arm and stepped away, alert for retaliation.

Mac glared at him. "You know, I wouldn't have pegged you for a bigot, Victor. I'm a little disappointed in you."

"I'm not a bigot," Victor told him tightly.

"Then lighten up," Mac advised him. "I know you have a serious problem with this assignment, but don't take it out on me."

"I have a problem?" Victor shook his head. "You're the one who's freaking out, not me."

"Bullshit. You've had a bug up your ass ever since you heard about this case." Mac turned away to finish dressing. "It's that cop thing again, isn't it? Gets on your nerves having to pretend to be one of the guys you used to arrest?"

"If that's the kind of cop you think I was...." Victor's temper started to boil over.

Mac waved him to silence, looking annoyed. "You know what I meant. We're stuck with this, okay? Just...just lighten up."

That was so far from the truth that Victor would have laughed, but then he'd have to explain it to Mac. "Let's get this straight. I do not have a problem with this assignment." He looked at Mac suspiciously. "But I was sure you did."

"Well, I don't." Mac gave him a thoughtful look. "Okay, I don't have a problem. You don't have a problem. So why do we have a problem?"

"We always have a problem," Victor reminded him. "I. Don't. Like. You. Remember?"

"Ahhh, you like me." Mac shoved the suitcases onto the floor. "I'm a very likeable kind of guy. You just don't want to admit it."

"Not even on my deathbed." Victor held out his hand. "Keys."

"I'm driving."

"You're not driving," Victor told him. "I want to get to our destination in one piece."

"I'm a good driver," Mac protested. "Why do you guys always act like I'm not a good driver?"

"I'm the one who read the map," Victor reminded him. "I know where we're going."

Mac surrendered the keys. Not cheerfully, but Victor didn't care. Once a week was about all he could take of being a passenger in any car Mac was driving. The way his partner seemed to expect to find a demolition derby at the end of every street was hard on Victor's nerves.

Victor got them to the address on the paper. He made a couple of wrong turns that Mac refrained from commenting on so loudly that his silence was practically shouting, but he got them there.

They pulled up in front of the house and Victor turned off the car.

Mac eyed the building, then the neighborhood. "Interesting."

"Yeah." Victor glanced around. "Interesting." He double-checked their direction, comparing them to the street sign nearby. They were supposed to be at the intersection of Paris Street and Florence Avenue. Right where they were.

Mac peered over the edge of his sunglasses at the building. "It does make a statement."

"Yeah, but who would want to say that?" Victor shook his head in disbelief.

The house was lavender. And studded with the kind of fake architectural detailing that his mother had always called 'gingerbread' with a disapproving sniff. Curlicues around the doors and windows, and hanging from every level of the roof like slabs of multi-colored frosting sliding off of a lopsided cake.

"Are you telling me that we have to live here?" Mac's jaw was hanging open as he took in the full glory of the riot of colors on the decorations.

"That's the plan." As usual, the one thing that gave Victor the strength to accept the situation was the satisfaction of knowing that Mac was hating it.

"I'm hating this," Mac said.

"Aren't we all." Victor opened the car door. "Let's get it over with. Maybe it's not so bad from the inside."

"At least we won't have to look at it from in there." Mac followed him. 'I swear, if we find out that she knew what this place looked like...."

"I think you'd better worry about surviving your last trick before you start planning what else you can do to shorten your life."

They headed up the sidewalk and Victor wondered how far they were from the docks. He could still smell salt in the air and once again he thought he heard seagulls squawking.

"Girls!" A falsetto trill greeted them as Victor reached for the doorbell. From an open window just left of a door, someone waved to them. "You're here about the apartment, right, dears? Give each other a squeeze and I'll be there in a jiffy."

The man disappeared and they could hear faint thumping from somewhere in that room.

"I am hating this," Mac said through gritted teeth.

"Now who's a bigot?" Victor asked quietly.

The door swung open. "Who's a bigot?" the man inside asked cheerfully. He was shorter than Victor and Mac, and considerably wider, and wearing a wildly patterned shirt that managed to be more offensive than his house. "You two come right on in. There's nothing like that in our little neighborhood, I can promise you."

Victor hung back to let Mac go ahead of him, then stepped into the hallway. It was bright with sunshine and the décor had been chosen by someone other than the person who had designed the building's exterior.

"I'm Roland Jeffries. Call me Rollie. So nice to meet you," their host said vaguely. "Let's go on in and sit down. " He walked past them and Victor jumped as he felt a hand trailing across his butt.

Mac snickered and waved Victor in front of him. "Your first conquest," he said with a grin. "I told you those jeans did something for you."

"You know, I'm can tell I'm going to get really tired of telling you to go fuck yourself every five minutes," Victor hissed. "So why don't you just assume I'm saying it and save me the trouble?"

"Hey, I thought we were cool with this." Mac followed him into the living room. He waited until their host had turned around to face them before he reached out and gave Victor's ass a quick pinch.

Victor could feel his hands itching to ball into fists, but he forced himself not to react.

Rollie smiled at both of them approvingly, then patted the couch next to himself. "You come right on over here, you naughty boy."

The invitation was for Mac. Victor smothered his grin and dropped into a chair, out of reach of both men.

"I can tell you boys are going to fit into our little family just fine," Rollie cooed. He gave Mac's arm a squeeze.

"How did you boys hear that we had a vacancy?" Rollie looked at them expectantly.

Victor interrupted whatever improbable story Mac was planning to offer. "We checked around. Some friends of friends. You know how it works."

"Yeah, but we almost had second thoughts," Mac interrupted. "We heard some guys kind of disappeared from around here recently. Is that true?"

Rollie drew himself up and looked insulted. "No one has disappeared from my place," he insisted. "It's a very safe neighborhood."

"We're not saying that it's not, RJ," Mac soothed. Apparently, 'Rollie' was a bit much for him to say. "It was just...it sounded like kind of an unusual sort of thing."

Rollie shrugged. "People do move on without notice sometimes. And I guess not everyone knows why." He looked uncomfortable, but he smiled at both of them brightly. "You know how it is, sweetie pie," he told Mac. "People do like to talk."

"Yeah, I guess they do." Mac smiled at him. "It's nothing. We were just curious."

"Mac's the curious type," Victor said maliciously. "If you give him the chance, he'll have the story of your whole life out of you by the time we sign the lease."

"He's a gossip, is he?" Rollie smiled at Mac fondly. "And why not? What's to be interested in if not our friends, that's what I always say."

Victor leaned back with a smile and prepared to enjoy himself.

In between various nuggets of information about their landlord's private life, Mac eventually got Rollie to share some information about the apartment. The man had clearly taken a liking to Victor's partner, as he demonstrated with occasional squeezes to Mac's arm or pats on his knee. Mac's face alternated between panic and anger.

Victor followed the two of them upstairs to inspect the apartment. Mac's expression, begging for rescue, finally stirred a charitable impulse in him. When they got to the apartment, he stationed himself between Mac and Rollie as they walked from room to room, keeping a casual arm over Mac's shoulders. Deprived of Mac's attention, it didn't take Rollie long to finish the tour.

Negotiations complete, they paid their rent and deposit and were awarded two keys. Rollie came to the door with them and directed them toward the neighborhood business district where, he assured them, they would be able to find furniture and everything else they needed.

Victor could feel Rollie watching them as they made their way back to the car. He unlocked the passenger door and waited for Mac to start climbing in before he reached out and gave his partner's butt a painful tweak.

"Jeez!" Mac jerked and his head hit the edge of the door. "What the hell was that for?"

"What goes around, comes around, buddy." Victor swung the door shut and gave Mac a smug grin.

"Asshole." Mac fastened his seatbelt.

"Just think of it as establishing our cover," Victor advised him.

"This is not a battle you can win," Mac warned him. "Trust me on this one."

"Ramsey, the day I'm worried about threats from you, I'll just give up and retire, okay?" He could practically feel Mac frowning at him.

"I think we need to have a nice, long talk about this assignment," Mac said finally.

"Sure." Victor braked at a stop sign. "Go ahead."

"No." Mac shook his head. "When we get back to the room tonight. I think we need to lay out some guidelines."

"Well, what do you know?" Victor jeered. "Mr. Fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants wants a plan all of a sudden?"

"Just keep your eyes on the road," Mac told him. "We'll talk about it later."

"Sure thing, sweetie pie," Victor said cheerfully.

"I suppose you think that's funny?"

"I do," Victor admitted.

"Go fuck yourself."

"That's my line. Get your own." Victor spotted the parking lot Rollie had described and pulled in.

"Let's get this over with." Mac slammed the car door and looked around. "By the time we finish with this shit, everyone in the neighborhood could have been kidnapped."

"This is part of the case," Victor reminded him. "These are local businesses, and the people working here are who we need to be meeting. That's why we rented unfurnished, remember?"

"I guess so." Mac looked more cheerful. "You take care of the rugs and I'll do the detecting."

"With your usual sledgehammer technique, I don't doubt." Victor shook his head. "This is a fifty-fifty partnership."

"Whatever." Mac followed him toward the store. "As long as we get it over with."

"At least we have money for the part." Victor remembered the comfortable balance in the bank books Dobrinsky had given each of them.

"Sure. We need an infra-red, laser-sighted snooper and it's not in the budget. For tacky suburban furniture, there's all the money in the world."

"This is an urban neighborhood," Victor pointed out. "And buying furniture is part of our cover." He held open the door and motioned Mac into the store ahead of him.

"The Director didn't turn down your dumb snooper because of the price tag. She turned it down because those laser sights are a dead give-away to the bad guys that someone is listening to them. We might as well all wear neon reflector patches and paint targets on our foreheads."

"I hate it when you're logical." Mac headed toward a display of couches and chairs.

"Admit it," Victor insisted. "It was a new toy and you wanted it to play with, right? She told you 'no' and you're still sulking."

"I'll admit one thing." Mac stopped to look at a black leather couch with a heart stopping price tag. "I'm not sorry we gave her car that nice, new paint job."

Victor shuddered at the memory. "Yeah, well, I'm willing to admit that I'm not in as much of a hurry to get back as I might be otherwise."

"She'll get over it." Mac said positively. He moved on to look at another sofa decorated with a tropical blue and orange floral pattern.

"No flowers," Victor insisted.

"I was just wondering who would buy something that ugly," Mac claimed.

"It would go with the house."

"Not at all." Mac shook his head. "It's entirely the wrong shade of blue for that lavender."

"You must be Rollie's new tenants." A bland, professional voice interrupted their discussion.

Mac turned to survey the newcomer. "How did you guess?"

The young man, a dishwater blond in his late twenties, shrugged and smiled. "Even in this neighborhood, lavender houses are a bit unusual." He offered his hand to Mac. "I'm Jack. You guys shopping or just browsing?"

"Buying." Mac shook his hand delicately. "I mean, what you see is what we have. We need simply everything." He was off again.

"Left it all behind?" Jack nodded. His eyes seemed to approve of the silky material that clung to Mac's chest.

Mac rolled his eyes. "You have no idea. I mean, we were so ready for this. We just tossed a few things into a bag and flew on out."

Jack looked understanding. "It's going to be a good change for you."

Mac smiled at Jack. " Do you live around here?"

Victor wondered if Mac had any idea how close to a proposition that question was in this neighborhood. He glanced at his partner's face. Yes, he knew. And he was obviously determined to make the worst possible impression on everyone they met.

Mac leaned close to Jack and smiled again. "We were just wondering where to go and everything. Restaurants, and where the parties are, if you know what I mean."

"I understand." Jack smiled back at him. "If you want to stay in the neighborhood, there are a few good restaurants. And we do have movie theatres, bars, a pretty good gym, and some stores, all pretty much within walking distance in good weather."

"That's great," Victor interrupted. He was tired of Mac's new personality and the case was barely started. And he was tired of being ignored. He glanced around. "Looks like this place is doing okay."

"Business comes and goes." Jack shrugged. "So, you want to start with the living room?"

"To begin with...." Without asking Victor, Mac pointed to a couch and two matching side chairs. "All three of those. And the three tables that are in the display with them. " He looked around and pointed again. "That entertainment center, over there. The one that matches."

"Don't mind me," Victor complained. He didn't care about Mac's choices, but they needed to spend some time here if they were going to get to know the salesman well enough to pump him for information.

"Sweetie." Mac slipped on his sunglasses, then grinned over the tops of the lenses at Victor. "Those are the only choices for our new space. You have to agree with that."

Later, Victor was going to sit down and decide if Mac was more annoying when they were fighting about this case, or when he threw himself into his role with too much enthusiasm.

"I don't like the entertainment center." Victor was determined to take a stand. "There's not enough room for my CD's."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Mac smiled at Jack. "Wrap 'em up."

Jack glanced at Victor and waited. When Victor didn't object, he shrugged and pulled out his order pad, making notes. "Anything else?"

Victor jumped in first this time. "A recliner," he said firmly. "I want a recliner."

Jack led them to the display and waited, making no secret of his appreciation for Mac's tall, lean body.

"How about this?" Mac, unaware of Jack's admiring stare, stretched out on a dark blue chair. He fumbled with the arm and it opened to reveal a cup holder and a pocket for storing a remote control. "Hey! Too cool! If we had two of these, we'd never have to stand up."

"Forget it." Victor pointed to a different chair. "That one goes with the couch. We'll take two of those."

"There's no cup holder," Mac complained, forgetting his self-assumed role.

"You can use a coaster and a table," Victor told him. "It's a chair. Not a womb."

"Hey, a good chair is important," Mac argued. "It requires some thought."

"Since we both know that, given the opportunity, you'd be happy with a folding chair and a card table, why don't you just let me worry about the chairs?"

"You two been together long?" Jack was smiling as he listened to the squabbling.

"No," Victor denied.

"Yes," Mac said at almost the same second.

Jack laughed.

"Depends on how you look at it," Mac said. "Some days, it seems like a long time."

"That's marriage for you." Jack made another note in his book. Victor carefully didn't look at Mac, knowing he'd see the same look of shock that his own face probably wore.

"What next?" Jack looked up.

"Kitchen," Victor said firmly. "I'm going to need some pots and pans."

"We want that coated stuff that just rinses off," Mac said, following Jack toward the corner of the store.

Victor was surprised that Mac even knew such a thing existed. "No way."

"There's always take-out," Mac offered. "And there are restaurants."

Jack and Victor ignored Mac's mumbling as they picked through the kitchenware display. They might be on assignment, but they also might be here for weeks and he didn't intend to get out of practice. He liked to think he was turning out to be a pretty good cook.

'What is so complicated about a few plates?" Mac complained. "Add a fork or two and we're in business, right?"

"He doesn't cook, I take it?" Jack asked.

"No." Victor glanced at his partner. "He just eats."

"What is this? Trouble in paradise?" Rollie's voice broke on the scene cheerfully. "Is that any way to start a honeymoon?"

"We're not on our honeymoon," Victor said carefully.

"Well, you should kiss and make up, anyhow." Rollie giggled. "That's the only good reason for fighting, isn't it?"

"We weren't fighting, RJ," Mac interrupted. He moved over to Rollie and smiled. "Just... debating."

Rollie giggled again. "Did you hear that?" he asked Jack. "I feel like such a stud when he calls me that."

"Shall we move on?" Jack seemed less than interested in the state of Rollie's testosterone.

"Don't tell me." Rollie grabbed Mac's arm and gave it a squeeze. "I'm just in time for the bedroom, aren't I? I have a knack for it."

"This way, gentlemen," Jack said briskly. He headed toward the other corner of the store. "I'm sure we'll have something suitable."

Whether his new attitude of professionalism was supposed to impress Rollie, or whether Jack was more interested in their bedroom arrangements than their living room furniture, Victor wasn't sure.

Predictably, Rollie tagged along. Even more predictably, Mac looked twitchy. Victor could feel another of his partner's over the top outbursts coming on. He made a mental note to stock up on aspirin. And alcohol.

"Now, you must go with the king-sized bed," Rollie insisted, surveying the selection, pointing at one with a heavy oak frame. "The last tenants had one and it fit perfectly into the room."

Bed. style='font-size: 10.0pt'> Singular. "Umm...." Victor started.

"Absolutely," Mac gushed. "I just hate being all cramped up in bed, don't you?" He rolled his eyes and moved out of Victor's reach.

"Well," Rollie giggled reminiscently. "Not all the time, sweetie pie. There's a time and a place, I always say." He gave Mac a coy nudge.

"We want the biggest bed you have," Victor said firmly.

"Ooh!" Rollie looked at Mac and then winked at Victor. "Sounds...athletic."

"And a double dresser," Victor plowed on stubbornly. "That's all."

"Not even a chair?" Rollie looked surprised. "There's plenty of room for a chair. Where are you going to throw things, my dear?"

"Victor doesn't throw things," Mac interrupted. He gave Rollie a confiding smile. "He's a neat freak. A place for everything, you know."

"Well, there's something to be said for that," Rollie suggested. He gave Mac a knowing look.

"Anything else?" Jack was watching Rollie and Mac tolerantly.

"Nothing." Victor pulled out his checkbook. "When can we get the stuff delivered?"

"Let's ring it up and I'll ask." Jack led the way to the cash register and started writing up the order. He accepted Victor's check and ran it through a verification scanner. He also called the warehouse in back of the store and arranged to have the entire order delivered the next afternoon. Maybe there was something to be said for dealing with smaller, local stores. Victor had expected to be told they'd have to wait a week for most of the lavish order.

Victor looked at the receipt when Jack handed it to him and smothered a wince, even though it wasn't his own money. Mac was going to pay for the next truckload.

In spite of Rollie's outrageous suggestions about silk sheets and how cozy a floral pattern looked in a bedroom, they didn't spend much time in the next store.

That done, Rollie tore himself away from them regretfully, saying that he was already late for an appointment. He blew Mac a kiss as he scurried off, telling him that they'd have another nice, long chat when they moved in the next day.

"What was all that about?" Victor demanded as soon as they were alone.

"I was asking him about the neighborhood," Mac said absently. He scanned the sidewalk and the storefronts around them.

So, Mac had remembered the case. "What did you find out?"

"There's a café about a block down that has good food. It's supposed to be open for breakfast and lunch," Mac said. "From what RJ said, it's sort of a gathering place for the neighborhood. Gossip Central, he called it."

"And he'd know." Victor fell into step beside Mac and they headed down the street. "Why do you call him RJ?"

Mac shrugged. "I thought he'd like it."

"He seems to." Victor lost interest in the conversation.

"He says Jack's one of his tenants," Mac volunteered.

"Could be useful." At the moment, Victor couldn't think of how, but you never knew.

He looked around as they walked, memorizing the layout of the stores and watching the people they passed. It always amazed him, the number of people who didn't seem to have jobs during the day and were free to roam around the streets, shopping, eating, or whatever.

"This must be it." Mac stopped outside a door with a black and white 'SO's Food Place' sign.

Victor sniffed. There was an enticing smell of fresh bread and something rich involving tomatoes.

"Wow. If it's half as good as it smells, we're in luck." His stomach complained suddenly, reminding him that he'd eaten nothing all day but two pieces of toast. "I'm starved."

"You always are when it's my turn to pay," Mac complained.

Since it was after two o'clock, finding an empty table wasn't a problem. Mac snagged them a couple of menus and the two men settled in to read the selections.

"Hi." A warm voice interrupted their discussion of the selections. "I'm Eddie."

Victor looked up and blinked. Standing next to the table, wearing a grin, was a vision of young male beauty that was blinding in the clean but drab surroundings. He was blond and definitely stacked, no matter what your gender preference, and he had a friendly, happy face that probably won him as many offers as his phenomenal body. The young man's order pad and pencil proclaimed his function.

"How can I help you?" Eddie smiled at Mac, then gave Victor a much warmer look.

"Do you have a special?" Mac asked, barely noticing Eddie's interest in Victor.

"It's all special." Eddie directed his response to Victor. "And it's all good."

"I'm sure." Victor forced his eyes back to the menu.

"Number two," Mac decided. He handed the menu to Eddie. "And number six. And coffee."

"I'll have the number twelve," Victor said. He waited until Eddie scribbled down the numbers. "And coffee. Black."

"Good choice," Eddie breathed. He gave Victor another glowing smile. "I'll have it up for you right away."

Victor waited for the waiter to get out of earshot before he turned toward his partner. "Not a word," he warned.

"Hey, did I say anything?" Mac started to add something, but Victor's expression discouraged him.

Eddie brought over two glasses of water and he seemed inclined to linger until someone from the kitchen called his name.

"Wonder if that's the cook or the owner?" Mac speculated, watching the muscled blond talking to Eddie.

"Does it matter?"

"Only in terms of getting to know the neighborhood," Mac reminded him.

Another group of late eaters showed up, laughing and talking. Eddie bounced over to meet the newcomers, talking excitedly as he followed them and helped them pull together several tables. Eddie slid into a chair with the group and settled in for the duration.

"I'm glad we got our order in first," Mac said. "I hope he doesn't forget us."

"You won't starve," Victor said absently, although his own stomach was complaining. He watched the laughing group. "They probably live around here," he mentioned. "Any of them could be candidates for whatever it is that's happening."

Mac looked the newcomers over. "I doubt it. Didn't the Director say that all the guys who have disappeared have been between twenty-five and forty? Those guys are all too young."

"True," Victor admitted. He lost interest in Eddie and his friends when the kitchen door swung open and someone loaded with plates headed toward their table.

"Ahhh...food." Mac gave the server a cannibalistic smile that should have frightened him.

It was the same blond surfer type who had been talking with Eddie earlier. Victor noticed that the cook or owner or whoever he was had put on a cleaner apron before appearing in the dining area. It looked as though serving standards were high in the small café.

Almost as high as the cooking standards, he decided, after the first bite. His vegetarian pizza was incredible. The sauce was rich and tasted of fresh tomatoes and the crust was perfectly cooked.

"This is great." Mac took a bite of each item on his two plates in quick succession.

"I don't understand how you can eat like that." Victor shook his head at the display of cholesterol and saturated fats. He had always had a tendency to put on weight, no matter how much he worked out. Mac, on the other hand, ate like a pig and never gained an ounce.

"Metabolism," Mac said indistinctly, through a mouthful of breaded chicken. "I have a very high metabolism." He took a drink of coffee and made a face.

Victor tried his own cup, then shrugged. The food was good enough to let him forgive being served the usual black mud that passed for coffee in restaurants.

The cook, back in his dirtier apron, stuck his head out and called to Eddie who pried himself away from his friends and disappeared into the kitchen reluctantly.

"Suppose they'll fire him for fraternizing with the clientele?" Mac shoved french fries into his mouth, watching the kitchen door and Eddie's abandoned friends.

"Not in a place like this." Victor downed the last of the pizza. "Can't hurt to have staff that's popular with the customers."

"Cute little number, wasn't he?" Mac grinned at him. "Do anything for you?"

"We're on a case." Victor refused to rise to the bait for what felt like the ten thousandth time since he'd met Mac Ramsey. "We're supposed to keep our minds on the job."

"We're supposed to be lovers, too," Mac reminded him. He finished off the french fries. "But that's okay. I'm not the jealous type."

"Bullshit," Victor said.

"What?" Mac looked surprised. "I'm not."

"I've seen you in action, Mac," Victor reminded him. "And she wasn't even your fiancée."

"Li Ann was different." Mac waved aside the example.

"Different, how?" Victor pushed back his plate and decided that the meal was too good to ruin the moment by pouring the so-called coffee on top of it.

Mac pushed the food around on his plate. "Let's not get into that this time," he said finally.

Victor was surprised that Mac was able to pass up a chance for another argument about the main bone of contention between the two of them. "Okay. Truce?"

Mac glanced up. "Truce?"

"While this case lasts," Victor qualified the offer. "Li Ann's off-limits."

Mac nodded. "Truce." He picked up the last of his second sandwich and raised it to his mouth, then froze. "Huh?"

"What is it?" Victor glanced around the room and then stared. Standing next to the kitchen door, talking to Eddie was not one, but two men wearing dirty white aprons over skimpy tank tops. The muscular blond cook was...twins.

"That's weird." Mac was still staring.

"Try to control yourself," Victor advised. "Haven't you ever seen twins before?"

"Both gay?" Mac raised his eyebrows. "Besides, they're not twins. Not quite."

Victor looked again and realized that Mac was right. The two men were the same height, had the same shaggy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. They also had the same well-developed shoulders and arms that signaled many long hours at a well-equipped gym. Add identical outfits and it took a second look to realize that you weren't seeing double. .

He shook his head. "Gym bodies, the hair, the clothes, the attitudes. It's an age thing or something. They all look that way these days."

Mac finished his sandwich. "You sound like quite the expert."

"Not quite." Victor waved to Eddie. "Let's get out of here."

Eddie hurried back to the table with a beaming smile. "Dessert?"

"No, sorry," Victor smiled at him. "We're full. But the food was great. Tell the...chefs that for us, okay?"

Eddie glanced toward the kitchen and giggled. "Stan and Ollie? They own the place and they know the food is good. But I'll pass it along." He handed Mac the check and turned his attention back to Victor. "You new around here?"

"Just moved in," Victor explained. "This is our first day."

"Maybe you know the place," Mac interrupted. "It's kind of...." He hesitated.

"Must be Rollie's place." Eddie's face lit up.

"You live near there?" Mac seemed unusually interested in Eddie all of a sudden.

"A friend of mine does." Eddie flashed Victor a wink. "Downstairs, in fact."

"Has he lived there long?" Mac probed.

Eddie shrugged. "About a year. Long enough. Rollie is a nice guy."

"Pay the bill," Victor ordered Mac. He smiled at Eddie. "Thanks for everything. Maybe we'll see you around."

"Oh, I'm sure you will." Eddie accepted the money for the bill and a generous tip with an indifferent smile for Mac. "I'll keep a look out for you," he said to Victor.

"Boy, you're Mr. Popularity, today, aren't you?" Mac glanced behind them as he and Victor left the café. "Broken hearts everywhere you go."

"I'm not the one who was giggling in the corners with the landlord," Victor snapped. "I don't think I'm the only one gathering admirers."

"Yeah, I get a fifty-year old interior decorator with no taste, and you get a budding porn star." Mac shook his head. "Maybe I need to try a new look."

"Couldn't hurt." Victor slid on his sunglasses. "Come on. Let's walk around and take a look at the neighborhood."

They walked up and down the streets, memorizing intersections, watching the traffic flow as it grew heavier with what was obviously the area's scaled-down version of "rush hour" traffic. After that, the streets cleared.

"They're probably all home having dinner," Mac suggested. "Let's go back to the motel. We can catch some sleep and then come back out in a couple of hours and see what the night life around here is like."

Getting some rest sounded like a good idea. After their adventure the night before, they'd had time for about four hours of sleep before they'd had to be back at the Agency.

Was that last night? Victor shook his head. It felt like a week since yesterday's meeting in the Director's office.

"Sounds good," Victor agreed. He looked around. "It's this way, I think." They walked a few blocks until they saw the glowing neon sign of the motel.

Mac stopped. "Hey, this is what we need."

Victor looked at the store. "Haven't we had enough to drink in the last twenty-four hours?"

"I thought we'd grab a six-pack to relax with," Mac offered. "My treat."

"Your treat and the Director's money," Victor reminded him. He followed Mac into the liquor store. And the motel rules say 'no drinking,' remember?"

"She owes us," Mac said. He grabbed a cold six-pack from the cooler and paid for it. "You know, I don't think that guy liked us."

"You," Victor corrected. "He didn't like you. He thought you were obnoxious."

"He was a jerk." Mac paid for the beer and led the way back out onto the street.

Victor couldn't figure out any reason Mac had for having taken a dislike to the desk clerk, but Mac always hated it when people refused to play his games.

The sun was beginning to set, and a warm summer twilight was settling in around them. Tempted by some impulse, Victor draped one arm around Mac's shoulders. "Establishing our cover," he said casually, in response to Mac's startled glance. He waited to see what his partner would do.

"There's no one here," Mac objected, but he didn't pull away.

"The walls have ears and all these houses have windows," Victor told him. "Word will get around."

Mac glanced around. "Maybe it will." He slid his arm around Victor's waist and tugged him to a stop. "Guess we'd better make it look good, huh?"

Victor didn't like the gleam in Mac's eyes. He almost always regretted giving in to the temptation to tease his partner. "What are you talking about?"

Mac held out the brown paper bag and Victor took it automatically. A dumb move, because now Mac had both hands free.

Both arms around Victor's waist, Mac leaned close to him with a wicked grin. "Add a little atmosphere, partner. Gotta give the folks something for their money."

"Maybe you think of this assignment as a circus sideshow, but I'm taking it seriously."

"Don't change the subject." Mac stepped closer and Victor could feel the heat of the other man's body. "Maybe we should get in a little practice up front?"

"Fuck you." Victor tried to pull away. "I'm not going to...."

"I don't think we have to go that far. Not right here on the street," Mac assured him, grinning quickly. "Anyhow, I think we should start a little slower." His eyes wandered down Victor's face and lingered on his mouth.

"Like what?" Victor clutched the bag in sweaty fingers and wondered what in the hell his partner was trying to prove.

"How about a kiss?" Mac's arms tightened and his eyes danced as he waited for Victor's response.

"Let go of me," Victor ordered.

"Just a little one," Mac wriggled his eyebrows theatrically. "For our cover, you know?"

Victor stared at him. "You don't really expect me to kiss you?"

Mac pulled him closer. "Well, you can just stand there if you want, but it's not as much fun that way."

Victor made another half-hearted attempt to pull away, telling himself they couldn't get into a fight in the middle of the street.

"Don't you think?" Mac asked. His eyes caught Victor's and held them as the distance between them shrank.

"You know? You kissing me." His mouth brushed Victor's lightly. "Me kissing you. All very professional, of course. Just in the line of duty."

Victor tried to swallow. "I see we can add another item to the list of your criminal pursuits. Professionally speaking."

Mac looked startled, then laughed. To Victor's relief, he also backed off. "Wrong profession, and you know it."

"You always said you were willing to try anything once," Victor countered. "I just figured...."

He tried not to laugh as Mac rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's get going." Victor started down the street again.

"It was worth a shot." Mac fell in beside him cheerfully. "Anyhow, I wanted to know."

"Whether or not you could get on my nerves? Next time don't work so hard at it," Victor told him. "All you really have to do is show up."

Mac made a face. "Well, I guess that answers today's burning question."

"What?"

Mac took the paper bag back and motioned ahead of them to the motel across the street. "Your intentions. I was just checking to see what they were." His expression didn't give anything away.

"If you're worried I'm going to make a pass at you, forget it." Victor moved another foot away from his partner. "You're not my type," he insisted.

"Sure, you say that now, but what about tonight?" Mac clutched his shirtfront and looked suspicious. "How do I know my virtue is safe?"

"Virtue. Right." Victor smiled in spite of himself at Mac's campy behavior. "You haven't had any of that since you were about ten years old."

"Twelve," Mac corrected. "I'm disappointed in you, Vic." He leaned against Victor's shoulder and smiled. "And here I was all ready to spend the night getting chased around the bed."

"Forget it." Victor slid his key into the flimsy lock and jiggled the door open while Mac breathed down the back of his neck.

"You're telling me I don't have to sleep with one eye open?" Mac dumped the beer on the dresser and kicked off his shoes. "It's no trouble. Honestly."

"If you wake up in the middle of the night and find me in bed with you, it's because I'm dreaming that I'm killing you," Victor told him. He flipped on one of the small lamps. "Whatever virtue you might still possess will die with you."

"Now I'm really disappointed in you. You know your problem, Victor?" Mac grabbed a beer and stretched out on the bed with the remote control. "You're just not open to new experiences."

"I offered to strangle you with my bare hands," Victor reminded him.

"That old thing." Mac waved his statement aside. "You've made that same offer a dozen times since we met. Why not try something different?"

"Twenty-one," Victor corrected.

Mac looked startled. "What?"

"I'm counting." Victor took one of the beers, toed off his shoes and collapsed onto the second bed. "Find some news."

While Mac flipped around the channels, Victor's brain worked away at Mac's previous words.

Not open to new experiences. Mac was trying to push Victor's buttons again. Victor took a drink and stared at the television screen.

They watched the news and had a couple of beers each. When they turned off the television, Victor reached over and flipped off the lights before he undressed and slid into bed. He heard Mac's chuckle, but his partner didn't say anything.

Just exactly when he dozed off, Victor wasn't sure, but he woke up around ten o'clock that night feeling better than he had all day. Mac was still asleep and Victor took advantage of the opportunity to grab a shower.

He was digging in the two suitcases that held his clothes, trying to decide what might work for the evening, when Mac spoke up from behind him.

"Nice ass."

"Keep your mouth off my ass." Victor held up a red shirt, then rejected it as too flashy.

"Was I offering?" The bedsprings creaked as Mac sat up.

"You know what I meant." Victor glared over his shoulder. "Keep your eyes off and your mouth shut."

Mac gave him a sleepy grin, looking about sixteen years old. "Just establishing our cover."

"Why don't you take a shower and wake up?" Victor tried to keep his voice from gentling, reminding himself that this innocent-looking cherub was an hardened criminal under a death threat from a powerful Hong Kong crime family.

As always, the memory of Victor's, and Li Ann's, danger, gave Victor a twinge. It didn't matter how he felt about Mac. They were partners. If anyone was going to kill Mac, it might be Victor, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be the Tangs. Mac's family wasn't even on the 'A' list for the job.

Mac stopped behind him and his hands came down on Victor's bare shoulders, heavy and warm.

"Knock it off, Mac," Victor warned, glaring at his partner's reflection in the mirror. Their cover had had enough establishing for one day.

"Relax." Mac's expression was oddly cautious. "I've been thinking about this."

"What? A black eye?"

"No." Mac frowned at him. "We're posing as a couple."

"I remember." Victor didn't move. He was still watching Mac in the mirror.

"It's not going to be very convincing if every time I lay a hand on you, I wind up with a black eye," Mac pointed out.

"We'll worry about that when it happens."

"That's not very professional," Mac argued. "Let's just agree that, for the purposes of this case, we'll...relax around each other."

Victor always hated having to admit that Mac was right. "Yeah. Okay."

"This, for instance," and Mac's hands tightened on Victor's shoulders. "This isn't much, is it?"

"Why do I feel like you're thinking about strangling me yourself?" Victor asked him.

"Not until we finish this case." Mac grinned at him. "New truce?"

"Sure." Victor shifted. "You done now?"

"No." Mac sighed. "You're still doing it."

"I'm not doing anything," Victor denied.

"You're still standing there like you're expecting a knife in your back at any second."

Victor took a look at himself in the mirror. A knife, or.... Mac was right. Again. Damn it. Victor made a conscious effort to relax. A few slow, deep breaths and the tension began to ease from his shoulders and spine.

"See?" Mac looked pleased. "I knew you could do it."

Before Victor could agree, Mac upped the ante. His hands slid down Victor's back, tracing a careful path along Victor's naked skin. Victor could feel every callous, every rough patch on Mac's hands. A shiver of reaction tried to work its way down his spine and he suppressed it.

Victor kept his eyes on the mirror, but it revealed nothing but the same unconcerned expression on Mac's face. Victor took, another deep breath and stayed relaxed.

Mac's hands stopped at Victor's waist, then circled around and pulled Victor back against him. "Still okay?"

Victor wasn't about to admit to any problems. "Sure. Why not?" He could feel the crisp prickle of chest hair against his back. It took concentration to keep his body from betraying any reaction to the loose embrace.

"This too much?" Mac rested his chin on Victor's bare shoulder and Victor could feel the other man's breath against his skin.

"Not a problem." Victor still hadn't moved.

"How about that kiss?" Mac's eyes gleamed wickedly at him from the mirror. "Just for practice."

"Now you're pushing it."

Mac raised his head and stepped back, letting go of him. "Good enough. I'm going to grab a shower. Let's go find something else to eat and then we'll check out the bars, okay?"

"Works for me." Victor waited until Mac disappeared into the bathroom before he stepped away from the concealing edge of the dresser and slid into his jeans. He grabbed a shirt at random, pulling it over his head quickly. He'd been ready to.... No.

It had been an unusually sensible move on his partner's part to establish some ground rules for their behavior. If it had almost gotten out of hand...well, that was Mac.

By the time his partner got back into the room, Victor was sitting on his bed, flipping around the available television channels. He kept his eyes on the television as Mac dressed.

As it turned out, it was anything but a hot party night in the neighborhood.

Mac leaned against the bar in Peter's Place, the sixth on their list of bars to check out. "What is it with these guys? I mean, there is, like, nobody out tonight."

Victor looked around. Not only were the bars they'd visited almost deserted, the few people they'd found weren't interested in talking. They were either involved with their dates or, in one place, listening intently to the off-key efforts of an amateur rock band.

None of them had seemed to be interested in being grilled about the disappearances of some guys they'd never heard of and they lost interest in Mac and Victor as soon as it became obvious that the two of them were only interested in talking.

"You should have worn one of those shirts the Director gave you," Mac said moodily. "We need to attract some attention."

"I should have...." Victor stared at him in disbelief. "I thought I was a little old for that," he said sarcastically. "That's what you thought yesterday."

"Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong." Mac took a drink of his beer and grinned at Victor. "C'mon, I've seen the way some of these guys have been looking at you."

"Are you working on a merit badge for being an asshole or something?" Victor shook his head. "Do you have to spend a certain number of hours acting this way every day? Do you have a quota or something?"

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed." Mac laughed. "The redhead in the last place practically had his tongue hanging out. When you said you were going to the bathroom, I thought he was going to come in his pants."

"You mean he thought I wanted to go in there with him and...." Victor thought about it. Shit. It had been too long since he'd been out this way. Not that that was what they were doing. Exactly. Anyhow, he hadn't noticed anything. "No way."

"Absolute way," Mac insisted. Victor could tell he was trying not to laugh again. "Why did you think I dragged your ass out of there so fast?"

Victor was insulted. "You know, I can take care of myself. Even in this neighborhood."

"I don't doubt it." Mac turned to look around the room again. "But I'm the one who's supposed to be your lover. If you're turning me down, I'm sure as hell not going to let you go dancing in the corners with everyone else who asks."

There had to be a good answer for that, but Victor couldn't think of anything that wouldn't take the conversation some place he didn't want to go.

"Can we get back to the case?"

"Sure." Mac turned and smiled at the bartender. "Hey, buddy, is anything happening around here tonight?"

The man shrugged. "Most everyone has to work tomorrow. Don't get big crowds this time of the week."

Mac drew the bartender into conversation, trying and failing to get him to talk about any strange disappearances in the area.

Victor stood by, half-listening. The rest of his brain was busy not to think about what Mac had just said.

Eventually, Mac gave up on the bartender, and the two men moved to a different bar, and then another.

Victor kept his eyes open. He didn't notice anyone paying him any special attention, but he did notice the number of interested looks that followed his partner through every room.

It was getting late, though, and all around them, people were leaving, presumably going home. Victor and Mac gave up too, around one o'clock. They headed back to the motel, discouraged by their lack of progress.

As he fell asleep, Victor hoped they'd find a neon-lit clue the next day and solve the case. The less time he had to spend pretending to be the gay lover of his not-quite-friend and partner, the simpler his life would be.

. . . .

They slept in the next day, then enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the brightly lit café, discussing their options for the day.

After they ate, Victor drove them to the grocery store. He should have known better than to take Mac with him.

Mac was patient enough in the meat department, probably because he was looking forward to eating the steaks. The fresh produce section, though, was too much for him.

Victor was able to ignore his partner until he noticed the stares and smiles of everyone around them. He glanced over his shoulder to see what the hell Mac was doing and his heart dropped.

Mac was trailing along about three feet behind him, holding a cucumber up to his mouth and talking into it.

"Boys and girls, we are now approaching the lettuce," Mac said tensely. "The moment of truth approaches. Will it be iceburg, or...romaine? He looks, he squeezes, he compares prices, and...ladies and gentlemen, it is the romaine!"

"Could you give your mouth a rest?" Victor said in disgust.

"Next on today's schedule, boys and girls, we have mushrooms!" Mac continued. "You've got your buttons, you've got your portobellos, you've got your shitakes, and you've got your morels! The tension here is phenomenal! I only wish our listeners could all be here to share this moment with us today!"

Victor walked back to him. "Knock it off." He grabbed for the cucumber and Mac pulled it away. "Could you just...."

Mac stepped back. "Oh my god!" he yelled at the vegetable, "We have an unexpected turn of events in our arena today! Our contestant has left the field of play and commenced an unprovoked attack on the announcer! Unheard of behavior in the civilized sport of grocery shopping as we know it!"

"Okay," Victor refused to laugh. "Okay, I'm done. We can leave."

"Promise?" Mac looked suspicious.

"I promise," Victor assured him. "Just...just put the cucumber down, and we can go."

"I'm taking it with me," Mac insisted. He circled around Victor toward the door. "Don't make me use it again."

"No, I won't." Victor grabbed the cart and followed his partner toward the check-out counter.

They passed a display of cookbooks. Mac glanced away and Victor snagged two of them at random. He ignored Mac's glare and went on to check out.

"You're taking that whole 'get a hobby' memo of the Director's way too seriously," Mac bitched, waiting beside the car.

Victor stuck the last of the groceries in the back seat and climbed into the car for the one-block journey to their new apartment. Mac had insisted on driving them back. "Be careful. There's a dozen eggs in one of those sacks."

"I know that." Mac started the car and headed toward the street. "I was the one standing next to you, getting closer to retirement by the minute while you took an hour to pick out the perfect carton, remember?"

"Fresh ingredients are the key to good cooking," Victor recited. "When the Director asks you what your hobby is, what are you going to tell her?"

"She won't ask," Mac said positively.

"She might. What are you going to say if she does?"

"I'll tell her I'm working out the perfect scheme for breaking Fort Knox," Mac claimed. He pulled the car up next to the curb in front of the lavender house. "There. You and your eggs are here unscrambled."

"Do you ever stop complaining?" Victor grabbed two of the bags and headed toward the door. "Come on. Let's get this stuff in the refrigerator so we can get to work."

"So, you do remember we're on a case?" Mac followed him, still bitching but in a quieter voice. "I was beginning to have my doubts."

"You know, you are never going to get an A for 'plays well with others' on the Director's report card." Victor juggled his bags and got his door key into the lock.

"Were you under the impression that I was trying to?"

It took three trips to get all of the food into the house and up the stairs. Mac seemed to think that his share of the work was done after that point.

"If you're not going to help put this stuff away," Victor suggested, eyeing the small closet that doubled as a pantry, "maybe you can do something else to make yourself useful."

"Like what?" Mac looked bored. "Just shove the stuff in the cabinet and let's go."

"I don't have any tools with me," Victor told him. "And these shelves are about to fall down. Why don't you go see if you can find our landlord and borrow a hammer and some nails from him?"

"I could do that." Mac didn't move until Victor glared at him, then he shoved himself off of the barstool with a sigh.

The chrome and leather stools were the only furniture that had come with the apartment, left behind by the previous tenant. Victor hoped t