Tessa checked her reflection in the mirror again. She couldn't decide if she liked her blouse. It was a silly thing to be worrying about, but she wondered if she should change again. Perhaps the blue silk one would be better -

"Tessa, we're going to be late!" Richie yelled.

"I'm coming!" Tessa called back. She kept the blouse but changed her earrings. She slipped on a pair of white pumps, smoothed her skirt, and looked for her purse. It wasn't there. She went down to the living room, where Richie was eating a sandwich. He was always eating something. He looked pointedly at the clock.

"You said you wanted to be at the airport by one," he said. "We're not going to make it."

"You can drive fast," she said, distracted.

"I'm sure Mac will love that. If there's so much as a scratch on the T-bird he's going to hang me up by my thumbs."

Her car was in the shop getting a new alternator. Duncan had an important meeting with a client, and Richie had been drafted to drive because Tessa hated airport traffic. Her purse wasn't on the kitchen counter. Not on the table. She checked Duncan's office and came back empty handed. "Where's my purse?" she demanded.

"I don't keep track of your accessories, Tessa. Come on, let's go. I've got homework I need to do, you know?"

"Do your homework tonight," Tessa told him. "You shouldn't wait until the last minute anyway."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Richie said. "Thanks for the advice."

Tessa paused for a moment to scrutinize his ripped jeans and green T-shirt. "Are you wearing that?"

Richie glanced down. "What's wrong? I always wear this."

"Put something nice on."

"This is fine. What is she, a French princess? They don't wear jeans in France?" Tessa went back to her bedroom, muttering in French. Richie suppressed an exasperated sigh. So what if her niece was coming for a visit. He wasn't looking forward to some snotty French girl taking over his bedroom, but figured he could put up with anything for a week.

He headed for the kitchen to make another bologna sandwich but Tessa appeared triumphantly, waving her purse.

"Come on, we don't have time for your hunger pains," she said. "We're going to be late."

Richie scowled, but followed her obediently to the car in the alley. Thirty minutes later they were in the airport parking lot, circling for an empty space. Tessa-Marie Charbonnier was due on the 2 p.m. flight from Paris via New York. By 2:30 the plane hadn't landed, and Tessa was driving Richie nuts.

"The plane is fine," he soothed for the twelfth time. "It didn't get hijacked. It didn't crash in the Andes and they won't have to eat each other to stay alive. Will you quit it? And do you have any quarters? There's a soda machine over there. Want one?"

Tessa shook her head but gave him three quarters. She wished he'd put on more decent clothes. Tessa-Marie probably wouldn't even notice - teenagers had no style these days - but it was the principle that bothered Tessa. Tessa-Marie was the first of the family to come all the way to Seacouver to visit, and Tessa wanted the visit to go well.

Tessa went back to Paris at least twice a year, if not on business then to see her older sister Elise and Elise's family in Pontoise. Tessa-Marie was Elise and Marc's only child, sixteen years old, and Tessa had always found her to be smart but lonely. Six months ago she'd still been in the awkward, teenage-girl stage, hiding behind bangs and glasses and bulky sweaters. Elise said she'd changed since. How much she'd changed remained to be seen.

Richie came back with a soda and a bag of potato chips. Tessa nibbled on one of the chips but didn't taste it. What if the plane was on fire, hurling through the sky like a giant torch? The international terminal, which stretched the length of a football field, was so crowded and loud and hectic that she missed the garbled announcement from the speakers.

"There it is," Richie said, pointing to the updated monitor hanging overhead. "That's her plane."

It took another thirty minutes for the passengers from Tessa-Marie's flight to start streaming out the doors from Customs. Richie parked himself on a railing, ignoring Tessa's admonitions to get off, and scanned for the white hat Tessa-Marie would be wearing. Tessa stood on her toes, peering anxiously.

Tessa spied her first, let out an exclamation in French, and then weaved through the crowd to embrace the teenager in a hug. Richie hopped down to join them. Tessa-Marie was at least four inches shorter than he was, a round and pretty girl with brunette hair in a pageboy cut. She was wearing a white travel suit and small white hat. He suddenly wished he'd changed his ripped jeans and cruddy sneakers.

The two Tessa's jabbered at each other in French, laughing and grinning, and finally the adult Tessa remembered him. "Tessa-Marie, this is Richie Ryan. Richie, my niece."

"Pleased to meet you," Richie said, shaking hands. She wore gloves. He didn't know anybody who wore gloves on an airplane.

Tessa-Marie smiled at him. Killer smile. Perfect white teeth, blue eyes that crinkled with pleasure. "It's so nice to meet you. Tessa's told us all about you."

He wondered if that included his juvenile record. Before he could retort, Tessa said, "Get her bags, will you, Richie?"

"Sure," he said. He'd expected nothing less. Chauffeur and luggage-handler. No wonder Mac claimed to have a business appointment. Tessa-Marie's four black suitcases of varying sizes were heavier than he expected, and he had to go find a cart to haul them to the T-bird. The two girls kept talking in French, oblivious to his efforts.

Finally the car was loaded. The airport traffic was horrendous, though, and they got stuck in a ten minute jam on the highway ramp. He had the hood down, open to the muggy, overcast August day. T-birds didn't come with air conditioners. His passengers kept talking in French until he couldn't stand it.

"Hey, now," he said, forcing a smile. "How about some English around this place?"

His Tessa turned apologetically. "Sorry," she said. "It's easier when I'm all excited. Tessa-Marie was telling me about school. She gets excellent grades."

And he'd failed his last term in high school, and was trying to make up two classes at summer school to get his diploma. Richie didn't think Tessa intended it as a dig and decided to overlook it.

"That's great," he said, looking at Tessa-Marie in the rearview mirror. "What's your favorite subject?"

Tessa-Marie shifted forward. Weariness pulled at her eyelids, and Seacouver's humidity felt like a soggy blanket against her skin. She didn't know if she liked the American boy - he was cute, but something in his eyes said he wasn't glad to meet her. She decided to give him a chance. "I love music and history," she said, "but I really love literature. French literature, of course."

"Like . . .what? A Tale of Two Cities?"

Cute but dumb, Tessa-Marie decided. "No, that's by Charles Dickens. He wasn't French."

"But part of it takes place in France, right?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But it's not French Literature."

Richie racked his brain. "How about Les Miserables?"

"You read that?" the French teenager asked, willing to revise her opinion.

"No, Tessa and Mac took me to the show here last month."

Tessa-Marie asked, "Did you like it?"

"He said it was very loud," Tessa said, putting her hand fondly on Richie's arm.

He grinned. "It was. But I liked the barricade scenes. And the sewers."

"Paris has many, many sewers," Tessa-Marie said, and told him about a tour she'd gone on at night beneath the dark city streets. Richie wasn't sure if he'd like to do that. As if he'd ever get to Paris anyway. The adult Tessa shifted the conversation back to school, Tessa-Marie's grades and awards, her tennis skills.

"You play basketball?" Richie asked, as they pulled into the alley behind the store.

"No," Tessa-Marie said.

He decided there had to be something she wasn't perfect at. "We'll have to give it a try," Richie smiled.

***

Jet lag knocked Tessa-Marie into bed early. The next day she and Tessa chatted for hours, poring over presents and pictures the teenager had brought from Paris. That night, Duncan MacLeod had the extreme good fortune of dining with not one but two lovely ladies that evening. Richie had homework to do and stayed home. Duncan took the two Tessa's to his favorite restaurant on the water, where they ate seafood and steak and watched sailboats return from the sea against a sunset sky.

He'd last seen Tessa-Marie when she was twelve, and marveled at how she'd matured. He'd long ago figured out there was something in the water in France that transformed little girls into beautiful woman. Tessa-Marie's body still carried childhood chubbiness, but the planes of her face were hardening into a woman who would one day be able to walk into a room and command every man's attention and every woman's envy.

Of course, she would never be as gorgeous as his Tessa. Duncan reached under the table and squeezed her knees. Without a change in conversation or expression Tessa moved his hand up to rest between her thighs.

Tessa-Marie was still jet-lagged, but she disciplined herself to sound enthusiastic about a dozen things she wanted to do in Seacouver. There was, in actuality, only one thing she wanted to do, and she hadn't figured out yet how to put her plan in motion. Across the table, Duncan couldn't imagine that Seacouver could be so exciting to someone who lived just miles from Paris. Then again, he wasn't a teenage girl of the twentieth century.

"Tell me about your mother," Tessa said at one point, over desert and coffee. "How is she? She sounds tired on the phone."

Tessa-Marie's face clouded a little. "She and Papa fight a lot more these days. I think they're thinking about divorce."

"I'm sorry," Tessa said, reaching out to hold her niece's hand. Elise and Marc had always had a volatile marriage, shaken by infidelities on both sides and a lack of common interests. "It must be very hard for you."

Tessa-Marie studied her water glass. Talking about it in English, in this country far from home, was more difficult than she'd thought it would be. "Sometimes I wish they'd get it over with. End the suffering for everyone. Surely being apart can't be more painful than being together."

Tessa tried to comfort her, but Tessa-Marie didn't buy her aunt's words. Duncan stayed out of it. The dinner ended on a down note and they were back at the store by midnight. The Tessa's crept off to their bedrooms quietly, as not to disturb Richie sleeping on the couch. Duncan slipped the textbook from Richie's hands and went to drape a blanket over him. Richie woke with a start, his eyes momentarily wide with panic.

"Easy," Duncan said. It had occurred to him before that someone might have molested Richie when he was younger. If touched in his sleep, he would wake in a panic. But Richie never mentioned anything, and Duncan didn't feel comfortable asking. The Highlander finished draping the plaid blanket over the teenager. "Go back to sleep."

But Richie was wide-awake now. He sat up and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "How was dinner?"

"Good. Leftovers are in the fridge for you." "Great," Richie said, and padded off immediately in his shorts and bare feet. Duncan shook his head in wonder at his unending appetite and then glanced down at the textbook, still open to an illustration of a long dead king.

"I thought you had to make up American history," he said when Richie came back clutching a crab's leg.

"I did, but they're not offering it for summer school. The principal signed a waiver if I pass World History instead. That, and Algebra, and I get my diploma next Thursday."

"And you're reading about Richard III?"

"Murdered his way to the throne. Had his nephews killed and buried in the Tower of London."

"No, he didn't," Duncan sighed. "It's a fabrication. Richard was actually one of England's better kings. Had a lot of problems in his kingdom. War of the Roses is what they call it now. Sort of like politics today, with murder and treason thrown in."

"Shakespeare said he did it."

"Shakespeare wasn't even around then. Besides, he was writing in the court of Queen Elizabeth I, whose grandfather Henry VII actually did the killing."

Richie sat down to eat the leftovers. Without meaning to, Duncan found himself explaining the whole story of how Richard had been framed and slandered after his death, and how Henry had done it. Duncan hadn't been there, of course, but Darius had been a good friend of Richard's, and for centuries had raged against the defamation of Richard's name and memory. By the end of the story Richie was half-asleep, under the blanket. Duncan didn't know how much good it had done, but Darius would be happy someone was still trying to set the record straight.

"That's cool," Richie mumbled. "Don't always believe what you read in books."

"That's right. Don't always believe what you read in books. Now go to sleep," Duncan said, and turned off the lamp.

Tessa took her namesake to an early lunch the next day at the top of Seacouver's finest hotel. Once a month Tessa got together with her friends Natalie and Ellen, for lunch and shopping and gossip. Natalie was an old classmate from the Sorbonne who worked at the downtown stadium. Ellen was an artist like Tessa, although she worked more in plastics and in avant-garde venues. After twelve years in Seacouver, Tessa still found it hard to make and keep American friends. She considered herself close to both Natalie and Ellen, although neither of them knew about Duncan's secret, and hopefully never would. Tessa hadn't even been able to confide in her parents or sisters about Duncan's true age or Immortality. The only one she could talk to about it was Duncan himself, and he wasn't always eager to discuss it. He was especially close-mouthed about the dangers he faced. When Connor MacLeod had dropped in four months ago - actually, Slan Quince had done the dropping - she'd pumped him for any information she could get. Connor seemed to take the game and its danger much more seriously than Duncan did. She supposed it was because Duncan was always trying to protect her.

She didn't need his protection. She didn't know how to make him understand that. She chose to be with him, Game or no Game, children or no children, and he had to accept that.

It sometimes annoyed her that after twelve years of keeping Duncan's secret, of hearing how she was the only one he'd trusted, he'd gone and told Richie about Immortals as if it was no big deal at all. Duncan said Richie had to be told after witnessing the fight with Slan Quince on Soldier's Bridge and Connor's resurrection from the bay. Duncan had also persuaded her that letting Richie stay with them was a good idea. Well, that idea had worked out all right, but it was impossible for her to have a serious conversation with Richie about Immortals. The teenager thought the whole idea was cool, as if Immortals were Saturday morning cartoons with super powers.

"Earth to Tessa," Natalie said, tapping her hand. "What are you thinking about?"

"Sorry," Tessa smiled. She abandoned thoughts of exactly how nice it would be if there was just one person in the world she could talk to about Duncan. She gazed fondly at her friends and niece. "I was lost in thoughts about desert."

"Chocolate mud pie," Ellen said. "I eat it all the time. Can't you tell? It goes straight to my hips."

Tessa-Marie decided Ellen was joking. The redhead was extremely thin. All of Tessa's friends were always thin. The teenager folded her hands in her lap.

"We'll split one," Natalie proposed. "Get two forks."

Tessa glanced at her niece. Tessa-Marie said, "No, thank you." Phillipe had already commented once on her weight - in a joking way, of course, but the memory of it still stung.

They were paying the bill before Tessa thought to check her watch. Too late she remembered she'd offered Richie a ride back home from school in return for his help at the airport. She swung by the school, but he must have already taken the city bus home. When they returned to the store, Tessa found Duncan and Richie out back. Duncan was unpacking a crate and Richie was ranting about something or other.

" - all I know," Richie was saying, "is that thanks to you, Mr. History Expert, I'm going to fail World History."

"Just because you had an argument with your teacher doesn't mean you're going to fail the class," Duncan retorted.

"What's going on?" Tessa asked.

"I listened to him, that's what's the matter," Richie said. "Seven days left of school, that's all I had. Now my teacher hates me. We got into a big argument over this dead king Richard and now he's going to flunk me on our final exam."

Duncan gave the teenager an exasperated look. "He's not going to flunk you. You can disagree with your teachers, Richie."

"Not me. Not these teachers. I'm hanging by a thread as it is. He says Richard killed those kids, the book says Richard killed those kids, I better put that as my answer, or I'm out of there."

"So put it," Duncan said. "You know it's wrong. Put it down anyway."

Richie glared at him suspiciously. "And it doesn't matter if I know the truth? Or the truth as Duncan MacLeod calls it?"

Duncan smiled sweetly. "That's up to your conscience to decide."

"I don't understand the fuss," Tessa said, "and I don't want to. Richie, are you busy tonight?"

He hedged his answer. "Maybe. Why?"

"Tessa-Marie wants to go to the Willowbrook Mall. Will you take her?"

"The mall?" Richie groaned. "Tessa, malls are out. Doesn't she know that? No one goes there anymore. I never went there in the first place. Monochrome decor, elevator music, clerks who think you're shoplifting - "

"You probably *were* shoplifting," Duncan put in.

Richie gave him a warning look. "Thanks, Mac."

"It will just be for a little while," Tessa said, "and you can take the T-bird."

"Says who?" Duncan asked.

Tessa gave him a dazzling smile. "My car is still in the shop."

"If you guys bought me a car for my graduation present," Richie said, seizing the opportunity, "we'd all have our own cars."

"In your dreams," Duncan answered. "You'll be lucky enough to get that little piece of paper with your name on it."

Duncan was teasing, of course. He and Tessa had discussed a present for Richie in depth. Richie knew something was up, but Duncan denied everything. Tessa knew that Richie was expecting nothing more than dinner out at a restaurant, maybe a gift certificate somewhere.

"That's not as funny as you think it is," Richie grimaced. He turned to Tessa. "Yeah, all right. If the squirt wants to go to the mall, I suppose I can stand a few hours of Muzak. But you owe me for this, Tessa."

"Of course," she said, and kissed his cheek.

***

Tessa-Marie scanned the mall map. "Why don't we split up?" she asked. "I'm sure you don't want to go through all the women's stores. I can meet you back here in . . . two hours?"

"Yeah, okay." Actually, two hours was more than he'd hoped they'd stay, but Richie wasn't going to argue. Maybe they didn't have malls in France. Tessa-Marie had at least proven she could look American. She'd changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and put on much more makeup than he'd seen her wear before. His Tessa had frowned but said nothing at the amount of make-up. So Miss Perfect could be less than perfect, after all

"See you later," Tessa-Marie said, gliding away.

Richie wandered around the stores, looking for something for Mac's upcoming birthday. He had no idea what to buy another guy. He had no idea what to buy a four hundred year old guy. Somehow he didn't think cologne or a tie were going to fit the occasion. It wasn't as if he had much money anyway. Mac paid him $100 per week for 40 hours work plus free room and board, but the money went as fast as Richie got it. Clothes, movies, junk food, music CDs - he wasn't sure exactly what he was spending it on, but it didn't seem to stay long in his pocket.

Giving up on the birthday gift for the moment, he wandered to arcade and played pinball for an hour. For some reason he could never manage to score past "Commander" on the Star Trek game. He ate fried dough, Pepsi, a hot dog, and half a dozen Mrs. Fields cookies. Walking by one of the restaurants, he thought he spied Tessa-Marie in a booth. He backed up, then ducked out of sight. She *was* there, sitting with a guy, holding hands across the table.

And he thought *he* moved fast.

Tessa-Marie was fifteen minutes late returning to the mall map at the appointed time. Richie had been considering going to look for her when he saw her saunter over with a shopping bag in hand. It only took a few seconds for him to mark the smear of her lipstick, and the tag on her collar, the flush in her cheeks.

"Have fun shopping?" he asked cheerfully.

"I got what I needed," Tessa-Marie said.

"So who was the guy?"

Tessa-Marie didn't even break stride. "What guy?"

"Oh, you know," Richie said as they walked. "The guy in the restaurant."

She shrugged. "I don't know who you mean."

"Oh. Maybe you have an evil twin or something. She looked just like you. Chumming it up with some Joe College guy, dark hair, big ears."

"Must have been someone else," Tessa-Marie said, feigning interest in a store display of mannequins dressed in outrageously expensive clothes.

"Must have been," Richie agreed. "By the way, you put your sweatshirt back on inside out."

Tessa-Marie didn't answer. Out of the corner of his eye, Richie saw her inspect the seam on her sleeve. She stopped, put her bag down, cursed in French, and then yanked her sweatshirt over her head to put it back on the right way.

"Much better," Richie said, from where he'd plopped down on the edge of a fountain. He was having fun. "Tessa will never notice now."

"Did you ever date someone your parents didn't approve of?" She asked.

Richie's enjoyment dimmed considerably. He'd never had real parents. He'd never had anyone who seriously cared about the details of his life, not until Mac and Tessa. And figuring out his relationship to them was sometimes enough to give him a headache. He said, "I can't say that's ever happened."

Maybe they didn't have sarcasm in France, because Tessa-Marie ignored his tone. "My parents don't like Phillipe."

"Phillipe?" Richie asked. "His name is Phillipe?" "You mustn't tell Aunt Tessa. She'll tell my mother."

"Let me get this straight," Richie asked incredulously. "This guy flew all the way from Paris to meet you in a mall? Half the time I don't even pay for the movie."

She made an impatient noise. "No, of course not. He's attending a summer study-abroad program at a university in San Francisco. He came up this week because I'm here." Tessa-Marie turned in the seat and looked at him imploringly. "You'll help, won't you?"

Richie dug a penny out of his pocket to drop in the fountain. "Help you? You want me to help you?"

"We only have this one week," Tessa-Marie said. "I don't have a car. He took the bus up, and now he's sleeping on the floor at a friend's house. I can't let Duncan or Tessa see him. Can't you just help us a little?"

"Excuse me," he said. "In case you haven't noticed, I practically have to sign my life on the line just to get the keys to this baby. I live on buses. I go through a pair of sneakers every month. What do you think I can do to help?"

"They'll let you borrow the car if it's for me," Tessa-Marie said. "Phillipe and I want to meet tomorrow night at South Street. Please, Richie?"

"What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?"

"I don't know. No, wait. I'm not going to lie to Duncan and Tessa. You have to tell them the truth."

"I can't," Tessa-Marie protested. "Richie, I'm begging you."

"Oh, well, if you're *begging* . . . " Richie started walking away. Tessa-Marie caught up to him in a few strides. Richie didn't look at her, but let his gaze wander across the store fronts. "No," he finally said. "I'm not going to lie to Mac and Tessa."

Tessa-Marie snagged his arm and turned him around to face her. She gave him a look that Tessa sometimes used - full of charm, and a secret smile, and a little pout.

"Richie, you don't have to lie. Just don't volunteer any information. There must be some way I can make it worth your effort."

Richie slowly returned her grin. Mac might think he was an idiot sometimes, but he hadn't survived living on the streets by being dumb.

"Make it worth my effort, huh?"

Tessa-Marie nodded and smiled more brightly.

Richie took her by the arm with a smile of his own.

Half-asleep, but definitely in the mood for something other than sleep, Duncan reached for Tessa across the silk sheets of their bed. Morning light through the windows told him he'd overslept. Tessa was gone, and water was running in their shower. Duncan squinted at the alarm clock and rolled over, snuggling back into the pillows. Sometime later Tessa came in, dripping water beneath a large terrycloth robe. She pinched his backside.

"Up, you," she said. "Unless you don't want to open the store today."

"Keep it closed," he murmured. "Let's stay in bed today."

Tessa smiled. Toweling off her hair, she leaned over and put a kiss where she'd pinched him. Duncan shifted on the sheets with a groan of pleasure. "Not today," Tessa laughed. "I promised Tessa-Marie we'd go the museum today."

"She's probably not even up yet," Duncan protested. "They were out late last night."

Richie and Tessa-Marie seemed to be getting along very well. He'd taken her to the mall Tuesday night, South Street on Wednesday night, and last night they'd gone to a movie double-feature. Tessa was glad to see her niece get out with someone closer to her own age and make the most of her visit to America. "Teenagers don't need sleep."

"Richie would sleep all day long if we let him," Duncan said. "Sleep and eat and watch T.V."

Tessa traced the outline of Duncan's back. She couldn't deny the urge to get back under the sheets with his sleek body was very tempting. As if sensing her desire Duncan rose up lazily and lavished a string of kisses on her chin and throat.

"Not now," she said.

"Yes, now," Duncan grinned between kisses. "You know you want to."

His warm hand slipped into the robe and began a slow exploration. Suddenly annoyed, Tessa pushed him down on the pillows. "I said, not now," she insisted. She headed for the bathroom. "I want to get to the museum. Get up or stay in bed all day, I don't care."

"Tessa?" he asked, hurt crossing his eyes. She didn't answer. She bent over the sink and began to carefully apply her make-up. She didn't understand herself why she'd snapped at Duncan, and was ashamed of her outburst. But she didn't say anything. She heard the mattress creak as Duncan rolled out of bed. A few seconds later he appeared behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his expression solemn, his eyes dark and cautious.

Tessa allowed herself a little sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm worried about Tessa-Marie."

"Why?"

"We had a long talk yesterday. Marc and Elise aren't getting along at all these days. Elise hasn't said as much over the phone, but I should have realized from her tone and her letters. I can just imagine how they're tearing her between them - like property, not a daughter. She relays messages between them. She plays peacemaker. She takes care of Elise."

"What do you propose to do about it?"

Tessa turned around with a new anger. "I don't know! But why is it men always talk about fixing things? Can't you just listen without offering a suggestion?"

Exasperated, Duncan stepped away. "I'm sorry," he said, "for trying to be helpful."

"You can be helpful just by listening," Tessa snapped. She took a deep breath and forced some steadiness in her voice. "I think maybe she should stay with us for longer. Not go back to France on Sunday."

"Fine," Duncan said, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Where's she going to stay?"

Tessa narrowed her gaze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Duncan said, "where's she going to sleep? Or do you intend to delegate Richie to the sofa indefinitely?"

"Richie doesn't mind giving Tessa-Marie his room," she answered. "Besides, if it comes to living arrangements, it's different. She's family."

Duncan blinked. He didn't say anything. Looking at him, Tessa realized the full implications of what she'd said.

"I didn't mean it that way," Tessa said.

Duncan's face was unreadable. "Maybe you did. Let's just not tell Richie, though. He doesn't need more rejection."

Duncan left the bathroom. Tessa turned back to the mirror and started brushing out her hair with short, angry strokes. She felt all mixed-up inside, regretting the things she'd said, but at the same time not regretting them. Tessa-Marie *was* family, her own sister's child, sharing the blood and burdens of the Noels. Richie Ryan had breezed into their life one day and might breeze out again at any minute.

If they were living in France, she would see Tessa-Marie more often, be able to help her niece. She would be able to help Elise with her rocky marriage. She would be of more comfort to her aging parents. Coming to Seacouver had been a good idea once, but maybe it was time to go home.

Tessa-Marie hadn't asked to stay - not yet, at least. But maybe Tessa just wasn't ready to let her go.

***

Richie wished he'd brought toothpicks to prop his eyes open. He propped his head on his hand and stifled a yawn. Time slowed down into some weird Twilight Zone schedule in summer school - the four hours he went, from 8 a.m. to noon, stretched out into weeks, sometimes. Algebra wasn't too bad. World History was interesting when Mac talked about it, but incredibly boring in the hands of Mr. Walden.

He knew why he was in summer school. Karmic debt. He was in this hell because he'd stolen car radios. Not a fair trade, but no one said life was fair.

On the brighter side, Tessa-Marie had made arrangements to meet Phillipe tonight at the downtown collection of arcades, stores and amusements known as Mallory Square, and he was going to get a new set of jeans out of the deal. She'd already gotten him two CD's and a Seacouver sweatshirt. He was glad that French Visa cards worked in America, and that her parents didn't care how much she was spending.

Ten other students were stuck in the class with him, all of them restlessly shifting in their seats. The sunshine and breeze through the propped-open windows promised far more excitement outside than in this dusty classroom. It was Friday, and after the weekend they'd only have 5 days of wrap-up before summer school ended.

"This is your final take-home exam," Walden said now, as he passed out sheets of paper. "Rules are on the front. Each essay should be thoroughly answered. Don't let me down."

Richie stuffed the exam into his textbook without looking up. When the bell finally rang he was first to the door, but Walden's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Ryan," the teacher called. Richie gritted his teeth and turned around. He faced the tall, lanky teacher in the empty classroom.

"Yes?" Richie asked cautiously.

"The brief reign of Richard III is one of your essay problems. I hope we've cleared up your misunderstanding from the other day."

Richie didn't want to relive the argument, but he wasn't about to cave in, either. "I remember what we talked about," he said stubbornly.

Walden's eyes lit up with smug satisfaction. "I'm glad we're clear on it."

"Actually," Duncan's voice said from the doorway, "it's not clear to me. Significant historical research has substantiated the lack of evidence in the murder of the princes."

Richie's stomach sank to his toes. He didn't know what had possessed Mac to come to the school. The last thing he wanted to see was his sword-wielding Highlander of a friend take on his high school history teacher. He tried to blend into the chalkboard.

"Who are you?" Walden asked.

"Duncan MacLeod," he said, coming over to shake the teacher's hand. "Friend of Richie's. I deal in antiques, and take a very active interest in history."

"Well, Mr. MacLeod, when it comes to history, I'd like to think I have some experience."

Duncan smiled in secret amusement. Richie cringed.

"There's experience," Duncan said, "and then there's experience. You weren't perchance around in 1485?"

Walden smiled. "No more than you."

"Then I guess we'll have to go by the accounts of those who were there. You realize most of the evidence against Richard comes from the accounts of Sir Thomas More, who was only 5 years old when Richard rightfully took the throne?"

Walden held up his hand. "Mr. MacLeod, I'm not about to enter into a historical debate with you. I'm aware some researchers and so-called historians have tried to re-interpret the murder of the Princes of the Tower. But in the end, there's only one approved curriculum in this school system. We can't have students just making up answers they prefer."

"History isn't black or white," Duncan protested. "It's not yes or no. It's about people, written by people, and influenced by politics, religion, money - "

Walden shut his briefcase. "I'm sorry, I have to go. It's too bad we don't have time to discuss this further. Richie knows the correct answer for his test. Goodbye."

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he watched the teacher leave. Richie wondered exactly what he was thinking, and hoped it wasn't violent. "Nice try, Mac," he said, patting him on the back. "Now you see what kids have to put up with these days. Incompetent teachers, and an unfair grading system. The whole system is corrupt. So what are you doing here, anyway? I could have taken the bus home."

"I didn't want you to take the bus home," Duncan said. Something shifted in his eyes and he unexpectedly smiled. "I came by to see if you wanted to go to a baseball game."

"A baseball game?" Richie asked suspiciously.

"Yes. You know - a green field, men with bats, hot dogs?"

"Hot dogs I could do," Richie admitted. "And some nacho's. I'm starving."

"That's a surprise," Duncan teased as they walked down the hall. Empty green lockers stood silently. Forgotten graduation banners and party flyers from June hung on the walls. The place sounded empty and hollow, and Duncan was suddenly glad he'd decided to come.

Richie was too wary to believe in instant good fortune, however. He asked, "What about the store?"

"Closed it down."

"Closed it down?" Richie asked. "Tessa's not going to be real happy, is she?"

Duncan slid his sunglasses over his eyes as they exited into the bright hot sun and parking lot. "No," he said, and allowed himself a small smile that wasn't for Richie to see. "Probably not."

Tessa's first reaction when she saw the closed sign on the store was that Duncan was trying to spite her. She was careful not to show her annoyance to Tessa-Marie. Then she thought another Immortal might have come by and challenged him. Living with a man who was the recurrent target of murderers put an undercurrent of fear in every single day. Duncan said it wasn't exactly murder - something about the Game, the Quickenings, the thrill of honest battle - but the way Tessa saw it, killing was killing was killing.

Duncan's note on the refrigerator said he and Richie had gone out. Tessa crumpled the paper. She wondered if he realized how obvious he was, sometimes. She'd been thinking about Richie all day, regretting her words and thoughts more and more. If she and Mac weren't his family, who was? He was a handful sometimes, impetuous and foolhardy. They didn't always get along. The harsh words they'd exchanged over Felicia Martins proved that. But he was an eighteen year old kid with a lot of lessons to learn, and sometimes unexpected lessons to teach.

Duncan and Richie came back just after seven o'clock, laughing over some shared joke. Tessa was clearing away the dinner dishes she and Tessa-Marie had used. "Hello, you two," she said, in her best cheerful voice.

"Hi," Duncan said, smiling but a little cautious, and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. "How was the museum?"

"Fine."

"For you," Richie said, presenting Tessa with a tiny Seacouver Sox pennant on a blue plastic pole. "It was a great game."

"I didn't know you were going," Tessa said, arching her eyes at Duncan.

He smiled, giving away nothing. "Last minute. Change of plans. You know how it goes."

Tessa-Marie came into the kitchen before Tessa could answer. "I'm glad you're back," she said. "Richie, you promised - Mallory Square tonight."

Richie looked at her, hesitant, and for a minute Tessa thought he might refuse. "Yeah, right, I remember," he said. "Tessa?"

She gave him her car keys.

"Give me a few minutes," Richie said, heading for the bathroom.

Duncan reached into the refrigerator for a beer. Tessa said to her niece, "What's at Mallory Square?"

The teenager shrugged. "It's in all the tour books. I thought it might be interesting."

Duncan decided to go for a peace offering. "We haven't been down there since their renovation," he said to Tessa. "Want to go?"

Tessa-Marie said, "Actually, I was hoping we could all go out tomorrow night - my last night, and everything. Tonight I was going to just hang out with Richie."

"Is that so?" Duncan asked amiably. Richie had been cautious on the topic of Tessa-Marie all day. He didn't seem to dislike her, but he didn't like talking about her, either. He couldn't resist asking, "Is there something going on?"

The look of horror on Tessa-Marie's face almost made him laugh on a mouthful of beer. "Heavens, no!" she exclaimed. "He's just . . . you know. Closer to my age."

Richie and Tessa-Marie took off shortly thereafter, and Duncan munched on leftovers from dinner at the kitchen table. Tessa sat across from him, wanting to be with him but unsure of exactly what to say. She played with a red cloth napkin.

"I'm sorry about closing the store," Duncan offered. "I just had to get out."

"You had a sudden urge to go to a baseball game?" Tessa asked, without bitterness, lifting her eyes to him. No matter how much they quarreled sometimes, she couldn't imagine a life without him. She didn't like the uneasiness that came when they were out of synch, out of sorts.

Duncan shrugged, giving her a puppy-like look. "Did you talk to Tessa-Marie about staying?" he asked.

"Yes. She'd like to. I told her I would have to talk to Elise, and for her not to say anything to Richie until it was all set." Tessa reached over and took Duncan's hand. "I also told her that she'd have to move to the spare storage room off my workshop. That we'd fix it up for her this weekend, and that Richie should have his bedroom back."

Duncan smiled.

After dinner, feeling a little more comfortable again, they settled on the sofa and channel-surfed the Friday night line-up. Duncan fell asleep in her arms sometime during a Michael Beihn movie on HBO. He woke alone, nestled between the cushions with a blanket over his body, the television dark and silent but the living room lights still on.

Groggily he dragged himself upright and squinted at the clock. It was almost one o'clock. Richie and Tessa-Marie had a curfew of midnight. Richie had chafed at the curfew when he first came to live with them, but Duncan had explained that it was his and Tessa's house, his and Tessa's rules. They weren't a motel, available for his 24 hour convenience.

"Tessa?" he croaked out.

"They're late," she said, appearing in the doorway. She hadn't undressed yet, and a pencil in her hand gave away the fact she'd been sketching. Her eyes were tired. "Teenagers!"

"I'm sure they're fine," Duncan said, running a hand through his hair. He went to the bathroom and then to his own bed. Before he could fall asleep the phone rang, and he listened to Tessa pick up. He fumbled for the extension and propped it between his ear and the pillow.

"We're just running a little late," Richie said, his voice curiously strained. "But we're fine, okay?"

"Where are you?" Tessa demanded.

"Still downtown. Don't worry about it."

Tessa's voice came out so cold and precise that even Duncan winced. "It's my car and my niece, Richie. I reserve the right to worry. Get home now."

"It'll be a little while, Tess, but I promise - we'll be home. Okay? I've got to run now - see you soon."

A click told him Richie had hung up. Duncan replaced the receiver and decided he'd go to sleep and let Tessa handle the kids when they got home. If he could take on sword-wielding Immortals after his head, she could handle the harder task of Richie and Tessa-Marie.

He could hear Tessa swearing in French in the kitchen. With a groan, Duncan covered his head. He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew Tessa was shaking him and it was almost two o'clock in the morning.

"Up, you," Tessa ordered, fire in her eyes.

"Where are we going?" he hazarded.

"To find them," she announced. "Where else?"

***

Tessa-Marie flung her arms around Phillipe the minute she saw him and squealed with delight. Richie grimaced at the squeal. It made her sound like a very large mouse, and he personally didn't think Phillipe was worth the infatuation. In Richie's humble opinion, Phillipe was a major-class jerk. But no one was asking him.

The two French teenagers embraced and kissed passionately beneath the landmark clock in Mallory Square as the evening tourist crowd detoured around them. Richie watched, bored, from the small brick wall that surrounded a patch of green and flowers at the base of the clock. He was tired from a day spent in the sun, and didn't feel like watching Tessa-Marie and Phillipe suck each other's face all night long.

"Hello, Richie," Phillipe said when they broke apart, flashing his usual cocky grin and traces of Tessa-Marie's lipstick.

"Hey there," Richie said. "So what's on the game plan for tonight?"

Tessa-Marie said something long in French to Phillipe, then turned a sweet smile on Richie. "Dinner first. Then maybe you could. . . go to a movie by yourself?"

"Whatever the lady pays for," Richie said philosophically. Actually, he was tired of playing her games, even if he did gain from them, and comforted himself with the knowledge she'd soon be gone.

Dinner was at T.G.I.F's, courtesy of Tessa-Marie. Richie came back from the bathroom to find them necking in the booth. It reminded him, rather unpleasantly, that he hadn't had a date in weeks. "Okay, you lovebirds," he said. "Back here at 11:30, right? You know how Tessa and Mac get."

"We'll be back," Tessa-Marie promised, and gave Richie money for the movies. When he was gone she nestled back against Phillipe. "Isn't it great I can stay longer?" she asked, having already informed him in French.

Phillipe kissed the top of her head. "Marvelous," he said, although his enthusiasm didn't quite reach his eyes. "And this," he added, dangling the keys to Tessa's car, "is even better."

"Where did you get those?"

"Richie's jacket," Phillipe said. "Come on, let's go. We have a party to . . . how do they put it? Smash?"

"Crash," Tessa-Marie corrected. She gazed doubtfully at the keys. "We can't just take Tessa's car."

"Of course we can," Phillipe said, kissing her impishly. "We'll be back right on time and Richie won't know any different."

Reluctantly she went with him to the parking lot and climbed into Tessa's Mercedes convertible. She fretted that Phillipe didn't know how to drive in the States and certainly didn't have a license, but he laughed and squeezed her knee. He certainly seemed to enjoy driving the convertible. A half hour later they pulled up to a house she didn't know on a ramshackle residential street. The porch was full of college boys drinking beer, and music blasted from the yellow-lit windows of the first floor.

"It's a friend of Anton's," Phillipe explained. "We'll only stay a little bit."

Tessa-Marie clung to him as they went up the walk, intimidated by the noise and flowing alcohol. She was accustomed to her parents' parties, in which carefully attired guests chatted politely over drinks and h'or'deoves. Twice she'd been to parties given by her classmates, which had been smaller than this and with people she at least knew. Phillipe escorted her into the house, embraced his friend Anton and Anton's friend Carl, and then found Tessa-Marie a beer and a spot on the sofa before disappearing into the crowd.

She sat surrounded by strangers, sipping tentatively at the strange tasting beer and munching on a bowl of pretzels and stale popcorn. She didn't like this party. She would have preferred cozying up to him somewhere in Mallory Square, or just sitting and talking someplace where the music and conversation weren't quite so loud.

After an almost unbearably long time he came back with a gleam in his eyes. "There are some rooms upstairs," he said.

Tessa-Marie forced a smile. She wasn't quite as interested in sex as Phillipe was. Her friend Celeste said it could be very good, but all Tessa-Marie had gotten out of it so far was soreness and a painful itchiness. Nevertheless she went upstairs with him to a guest room filled with heavy oak furniture. The bed was covered with a brown bedspread and the wallpaper bore thick, dark green leaves. Phillipe pulled down her jeans and bore her to the bed, and was done with his part before she could even peel off her shirt.

He collapsed across her, murmuring thanks, and Tessa-Marie counted the leaves on the wallpaper until he recovered enough to push himself up on one elbow.

The second time went even faster.

With a dopey grin on his face Phillipe stumbled off to the bathroom, and Tessa-Marie pulled her jeans back up. Maybe she was missing some essential part of the love-making process. Maybe she could ask Aunt Tessa. Thoughts of Tessa made her check her watch. It was almost ten o'clock. She went back downstairs with Phillipe to the party and hung on his arm for awhile before going to the ladies' room and losing him for awhile. Carl and Anton kept pressing beers into her hand, and as a good guest she obliged accordingly. At eleven she reminded Phillipe they had to leave to go meet Richie. At eleven-thirty they were still there, and Phillipe was involved in a long discussion with Anton. By midnight her eyes were too tired to think very clearly, and she went back upstairs to the bedroom to take a short nap.

Someone else was in the bed, though, and Tessa-Marie hastily backed away from the sight of a naked, writhing couple. She found a corner of the downstairs couch instead, and closed her eyes for a respite. The music had gone to something slow and sweet and soft, and the murmur of people talking lulled her asleep.

When Phillipe woke her, she had no idea where she was or what time it might be.

"Almost two o'clock," he announced, kissing the top of her nose. "We should probably go."

Tessa-Marie stiffened with alarm. "Two?" she demanded. "Two o'clock in the morning?"

He kissed her cheek and murmured yes. He smelled of alcohol, but his eyes were clear.

Tessa-Marie thought for a few frantic seconds. Richie was going to be pissed, but maybe Tessa and Duncan had already gone to sleep. Maybe she could say they'd had a flat tire, or some other unavoidable delay.

Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy. She ran her fingers through her hair, realized both it and her clothes smelled of tobacco smoke, and wondered how awful she looked. She found the bathroom again, gargled with something that tasted like mint, and dragged someone's comb through her hair. In the car, the fresh and cold air cleared her head a little. The street was very dark, and the house had gone silent.

"You know how to get back downtown?" she asked Phillipe.

"No problem," he grinned, and floored the accelerator through an upcoming red light.

Tessa-Marie braced herself against the dash and warned him to be careful. He just grinned wider. She took a closer look and realized, with a jolt, that Phillipe was drunker than he looked.

That they were racing down a highway, with him drunker than he looked.

In Aunt Tessa's car.

Richie pulled his jacket tighter and swore under his breath. Summer days in Seacouver could be unbearably hot and humid, but the nights were downright chilly. He was tired, and cranky, and alternating between real fear over Tessa-Marie's whereabouts to grim fury at the girl. He'd been halfway through the double feature when he realized the car keys were gone out of his pocket. Racing to the parking lot, he'd discovered Tessa's convertible gone as well. He was ninety percent sure Tessa-Marie and Phillipe had borrowed it, and when they didn't show at eleven o'clock he figured, angrily, that they were out joyriding somewhere and laughing their asses off at him.

For two hours he'd waited, drifting between the arcades and restaurants to the parking lot, back to the Mallory Square clock, over to the arcade again. He knew Tessa and Duncan would be pissed. He'd broken curfew once, and experienced exactly how angry and worried they could get. He'd never liked having to be in by a certain time, but it was strangely comforting that they were looking out for him. At one o'clock he dared to call Tessa.

He didn't want to tell her that her niece was out sleeping with a boyfriend somewhere, and certainly didn't want to admit to his own part in the scheme all week long. So he skirted the issue as best he could, stretched the truth just a little, and got off the phone even angrier with Tessa-Marie than he'd been before, for putting him in this position.

Of course, he'd been the one to put himself in this position.

He wouldn't make that mistake again.

He hoped nothing had happened to her.

By two o'clock the arcade and restaurants were closed, and he was freezing cold. Richie paced before the clock, muttering, but remembering enough of his life before the antique store to stay within the pool of light from the streetlamp and watch for any lurking shadows. He loved the city at night - the sharp sketch of buildings against the skyline, the secret sense of owning everything in sight - but he could have just as easily loved it from beneath a blanket or two, in his own soft bed.

It had been such a great day, he thought with a wince. The baseball game - the sun, the crowds, the crack of the bat, the announcer's voice booming through the stadium - all of it an unexpected gift. Mac wasn't always that spontaneous. But as usual, just when Richie thought things were getting better, he'd end up in trouble again. Like tonight. If Tessa found out what was really going on, she was likely to hang him.

He didn't know why he kept screwing up. Years of practice, probably.

All he wanted was to go to sleep.

He went to the parking lot. No sign of the car. Went back to the clock. Nothing. Paced some more. Rubbed his hands briskly, stuck them in his pocket. Ruefully he decided the only thing to do was call Mac, not Tessa, and come clean on the whole scheme. Maybe - not likely, but maybe - Mac would cover for them. Tessa-Marie was too late, and too many things might have happened, for him to keep pretending any longer.

He found the row of telephones in a dark corner, fished a quarter out of his pocket, and was about to dial the store when he heard the scrape of a footstep behind him and a hand landed on his shoulder. Richie jerked, banging himself up against the phone, and found himself glaring into Duncan's dark eyes.

"Scare you?" Duncan asked mischievously.

"Yes!" Richie said vehemently. Duncan always seemed to know how to find him. Richie took a breath against the rapid pounding of his chest and tried to calm down. "Don't do that!"

"Where's Tessa-Marie?" Tessa demanded. From her tone, Richie instantly surmised she wasn't finding this as amusing as Duncan was. She added, "What are you two still doing here?"

Richie hedged his answer. Maybe there was a way to salvage this after all. "Well, you see -" he started, and then abruptly gave up. There was a time, it seemed, when it was better to come clean. "She took the car, I think," he sighed. "Her and her boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Tessa asked in a shrill voice. "What boyfriend?"

"Some Phillipe guy," Richie offered. "They took the keys. Must have been while I was in the bathroom. I swear I don't know where they are."

Tessa started ranting in French. Duncan shrugged deeper into his coat and jerked his head for Richie to follow them to the parking lot. Duncan said something in French, Tessa responded, and Richie wondered if they were talking about him.

"Honest, Tessa, I'm sure she's okay," he put in.

"Quiet, you," Tessa ordered. "I'll deal with you later."

"Deal with me?" Richie asked indignantly. "*Deal* with me? Hey, you told me to help her, look out for her, be nice to her - so I did, okay? Like I want to spend all my time baby-sitting. I've got better - "

"Richie," Duncan warned, "there's a time to keep quiet and that time is now."

"But Mac, I didn't - " Richie started to respond, then stopped as a squeal of tires cut through the night air and Tessa's convertible swung into the parking lot, sideswiped three plastic cones, and screeched to a stop inches from a concrete barrier.

Tessa-Marie stumbled from the car, crying and cursing at the same time, her face red with anger. Tessa and Duncan went to her immediately, leaving Richie watching from the sidelines. Phillipe blinked up at the streetlight and then the adults, a stupid grin plastered on his face.

"Nice wheels," he said, and threw up all over the dashboard.

Tessa-Marie went to her aunt's arms, weeping. Duncan hauled Phillipe out from behind the wheel and made a face. "You're drunk," he said.

"I'm fine," Phillipe protested.

Tessa was still furious at her niece and Richie both, and let them know it. Richie tried to blame Tessa-Marie. Tessa-Marie blamed Phillipe, and then tearfully explained her parent's objections to him. Phillipe, who should have shut up, persisted in asking Duncan if he could take the car out for another spin.

Throughout it all Duncan managed a long-suffering look but said little. Only when their voices escalated into shouts did he look at his watch and start herding everyone to his Thunderbird.

"It's too late and too cold to be debating all this," he said. "Let's go home, and get some sleep, and work it out in the morning."

Tempted though he might be to dump Phillipe in a garbage dump somewhere, Duncan shook the boy's temporary address from him and took him home first. Richie, in one corner of the back seat, merely glowered at the passing scenery and pushed Phillipe on Tessa-Marie when the boy tilted towards him. Tessa-Marie, tears abating into disgust, kept pushing Phillipe back. They took him to his friend's house, dropped him off on the porch, and started back to the store in grim silence.

Tessa-Marie finally asked, in a small voice, "Does this mean I can't stay?"

"Stay where?" Richie demanded instantly.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Tessa said, her voice still angry.

At the store, Duncan watched Tessa-Marie head for the bathroom and Richie go towards his bedroom. Tessa went to the master bedroom, muttering under her breath. Although Duncan wanted nothing more than to crawl under his covers and finally, finally put an end to this day, he was curious as to what Richie was doing. He went and found him angrily stuffing a gym bag with clothes.

"I thought I'd go stay with Angie," Richie said curtly, before Duncan could ask the question. His face was closed and unreadable, much like in the first few days Duncan had known him. "Maybe this isn't such a great place for me to be right now."

"You're going to go wake up Angie at three o'clock in the morning?" Duncan asked, trying very hard not to sound sarcastic. "Don't you think it's a bit late?"

Richie shrugged as he grabbed a fistful of socks. "She'll understand. Don't try and stop me."

"You're eighteen years old, you can do whatever you want."

"Damned straight."

"I just didn't think you'd run out this easily, that's all."

Richie's eyes drew into narrow slits of anger. "Run out? I'm not running out."

"It's easy to run away when people are angry," Duncan continued. "No one likes to confront problems or sort out difficulties. But that's what you do with people you care about. I just thought we meant more to you than total strangers."

Richie slammed a drawer shut. "Mac, you heard Tessa, she's furious at me. If I leave now, I don't have to wait for her to kick me out in the morning."

So that was it. Reject or be rejected. Duncan put his arm on Richie's shoulder, in an affectionate gesture he rarely allowed himself. "Richie, no one's kicking you out," he said, as clearly and sincerely as he could. "Sure, Tessa's angry, but you would be too if you were her. She probably thinks you deceived her and betrayed her trust."

"I didn't mean to!" Richie said, his voice breaking. Vainly he struggled for control. "I mean, I know it was wrong, but at the time it wasn't so bad - oh, crap, Mac. I know I screwed up. But I wasn't the only one, okay?"

"I know," Duncan soothed. "But I'm not the one you should be telling. Tell Tessa, in the morning, after you've all had some time to sleep and calm down. I promise you, whatever happens, she's not going to kick you out. You belong here."

For a moment Richie just stared at him, searching his expression, obviously weighing in his own mind the Highlander's words. "Okay," he said, finally, bowing his head. "I'll stay."

"Good," Duncan said. "Now, can I finally get some sleep?"

"You and me both," Richie sighed.

And Tessa-Marie, who'd watched the whole exchange with rapt fascination, slipped back into the shadows of the hall and waited for both men to leave before she took herself to bed and got no sleep at all.

***

Tessa went to sleep angry, and woke up depressed. She stared at the bedroom ceiling and wondered how it was she'd failed Tessa-Marie and Elise so thoroughly. Then she grew angry, at the thought of how the girl had deceived her all week. She was less annoyed at Richie, although he certainly hadn't helped matters. And Duncan - well, Duncan was content to let her handle the affair as she saw fit, but she'd caught him with a smug expression that said he was glad Tessa-Marie wasn't *his* niece. For a few minutes she distracted herself with how Immortals faced centuries of life with no one they could ever truly call family - no grandparents or cousins, no aunts and uncles, no natural children. Even those Immortals who married and adopted had to face the very real possibility they'd outlive everyone else. She and Duncan had discussed children and she accepted that it was a danger they didn't dare risk. But sometimes, in the middle of another sleepless night as Duncan went off to fight evil, she would press her hand against her stomach and ache for her unborn sons and daughters.

Duncan was still asleep. Tessa slipped out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. It was just past ten a.m. Richie was nowhere to be seen. Tessa-Marie was sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in her robe, face pale and drawn over a cup of tea.

"Did you boil enough water for two?" Tessa asked lightly, crossing to the stove.

"For three," Tessa-Marie said glumly. "But Richie won't take any coffee or tea. He won't talk to me."

Tessa shrugged philosophically. "You'll have to work that out on your own."

Tessa-Marie hunched further over her cup. "Are you . . . still furious?" she managed in a small voice.

"Not furious," Tessa conceded. "Disappointed. Severely disappointed."

Tessa-Marie looked up sharply, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm so sorry! For not telling you about Phillipe, for lying to Mama, for taking advantage of your hospitality - "

Tessa waited calmly as the girl rattled off her crimes. When Tessa-Marie was done, Tessa said, "I suppose I was sixteen once, and in love. Or what I thought was love. But being in love does not permit you take advantage of those who love you, like your family."

Tessa-Marie sniffed miserably. "How can I make it up to you?"

"First off," Tessa said, "when it is a decent hour in France, we'll call your mother and father. You can tell them exactly what happened - "

"But they hate Phillipe already!" Tessa-Marie cried.

" - and then," Tessa said, as if the interruption never happened, "you and I will discuss your future here. If your parents let you stay, we'll have to have some new rules."

"You're not sending me back tomorrow?" "It depends on your mother and father," Tessa said evenly. "Now get dressed, and we'll go down and get my car."

The sound of Richie clearing his throat made them both turn around. "You don't have to," he said, pink tingeing his cheeks, as he put Tessa's car keys down on the kitchen counter. "Guess I won't be using these for awhile."

Tessa scowled at him, then went past him and outside to find the Mercedes neatly parked behind Duncan's Thunderbird. The dash had been scoured clean, and the car smelled strongly of disinfectant. He must have taken the bus downtown to fetch it.

"You didn't have to," Tessa said.

Richie picked at his fingernails and wouldn't meet her gaze. "Yes, I did," he said. "You trusted me with it."

Tessa considered him in the shaded light of the alley. "Yes, I did," she said. "But you're not the one who took it to a party and then nearly got themselves killed coming home."

Richie glanced up, met her gaze, and then found something interesting to look at by the dumpster. "I'm the one who didn't tell you what your niece was doing," he said. The words were obviously not coming easily, and Tessa took a little pity on him.

"Why didn't you?" she asked, with a glimmer of a smile. "Suddenly altruistic, are you?"

Richie's expression caught somewhere between confusion and sheepishness. "I'm not sure what altruistic means, but she bribed me. I ... let myself be bribed."

"Money?"

"CD's," he admitted. "New pair of jeans. Dinner. Stuff like that."

Tessa bit down on a smile. Just when she wanted to strangle him, he would surprise her. "Do you still have the receipts?"

"Um . . .yeah. I guess."

"Take them back."

"But Tessa - " he automatically protested, and then shut himself up. "Yes, ma'am," he said, with no trace of sarcasm, and Tessa shook her head fondly and ushered him back inside to eat breakfast.

Elise and Marc's fury nearly blistered the phone connection from Pontoise to Seacouver. For an hour Elise was determined that not only was Tessa-Marie coming home, she was coming home on the very next available flight. Tears failed to sway her. Then Marc took his daughter's side, probably to spite his wife, and said she could stay. Finally it was decided that Tessa-Marie could continue to stay for as long as Duncan and Tessa could stand her. Two hours later, during a marathon heart-to-heart talk, Tessa made the appalling discoveries that not only did Tessa-Marie know little about sex itself but that she and Phillipe used protection sparingly at best. And, judging by her symptoms, it was very probable that the girl had some kind of infection.

Tessa's anger returned, not only at her niece's foolishness but at her woeful lack of information. Was Elise too busy conducting her own affairs to pay attention to the burgeoning sexuality of her daughter? Tessa made her an appointment at the doctor's office for Monday, and sent the girl to her room for the rest of the day to contemplate the future of her relationship with Phillipe.

Richie remained subdued all weekend, and she found him on Sunday afternoon huddled in his newly reclaimed bedroom, chewing his fingernails over a History take-home test. She'd heard him discussing it with Duncan. She didn't understand the whole problem, only that it involved a dead British king and honor.

"Do you want some cookies and milk?" she asked, teasing, from the doorway.

Richie glanced up. "No, thanks," he said, sounding dispirited.

"Is that your test?" Tessa sat on the edge of the bed and looked sideways at the scratched out essay he'd started.

"Yeah. What would you do? What would you do if you knew the answer the teacher wanted, but it wasn't the right one?"

Tessa sat and thought about it for a moment. "Is it that important?"

"I didn't think so," Richie admitted, pink coloring his cheeks, "but after this week, I'm trying to stick to the truth. Which I know, about this king Richard, because Mac told me. He even gave me these books that talk about how Richard might have been framed, but my teacher doesn't believe those theories." Richie gloomily considered the stack of books. "I don't know why it's so important to him."

"Mac has a very high sense of honor," she said. "Recalling history correctly is very important to him."

"I know. And I know he'd put down the answer he knew was right and not worry about the teacher," Richie fretted. "But if I don't pass this exam, I don't get my diploma."

Tessa squeezed his shoulder. "Stop worrying about what Mac would do. He never even went to high school. Which answer do you want to give?" He screwed up his face. "I don't know."

"Why don't you compromise? Give the answer the school expects, but also put what you know to be true."

She left Richie to think over that one. He flopped down on his bed and rubbed his eyes. Mac made everything so hard. Trying to live up to what Mac expected made everything so hard. If only the Highlander could lower his standards by a tiny little fraction of an inch . . .

With a sigh, he picked up the essay and a pencil and started to scratch out his answer. It was a relief, in a strange way, to know that he wasn't going to graduate. Mac would yell, but it was his fault in the first place. Richie supposed he could always go to night school in the fall for his GED. Or something. He passed in his test the next day without looking at Mr. Walden, and spent the rest of the day depressed. After school, Mac asked him how things were going. Richie answered in as few words as possible, because he didn't want to lie. Mac didn't push him, and seemed to show very little interest at all in his academics.

Tuesday marked the final exam for Algebra, which the teacher graded while they were still there. Richie got a B, not too bad at all. Wednesday he almost didn't bother going to school at all, but dragged himself in only because he couldn't bear the idea of moping around the store. Walden gave him an odd look when he passed back the tests.

Richie turned his over to see the F emblazoned on the front, but found A- written in blue ink instead.

"You all did a very good job," Walden said before dismissing them. "Keep up the good work."

Richie was extremely tempted to slip out the door unnoticed but his conscience forced him to the front of the classroom. It was better to correct Walden now then face the consequences later. "I think you made a mistake," he said, offering the test back weakly.

"No, you made the mistake," Walden said "Richard was killed at Bosworth Field, not Agincourt. The War of the Spanish Succession was in 1701, not 1714. And the Germans did not get to attend the 1919 Paris Peace Conference in Versailles. Other than that, you did a very good job."

"But what about . . ." Richie started, then stopped as the teacher pulled out a piece of fax paper.

"You might be interested in this," Walden said.

Richie scanned the letterhead - it was from an organization called the Richard III society - and as he read through the paragraphs and the attached principal's note, he found it hard not to laugh. "It seems your friend MacLeod talked to a few friends of his. Enough so that I decided that it couldn't hurt to reconsider some so-called facts in history. I don't approve, mind you, but there's room for discussion."

"Thanks, Mr. Walden," Richie grinned. "I mean it."

"Keep up with your studies," Walden said, with a glimmer in his eyes. "You never know what you might become some day. Maybe a king like your namesake."

Richie walked home clutching the exam, and barely felt his feet on the ground. He'd done it! For the first time in too long he'd actually accomplished something. The store was strangely quiet when he let himself in, but he found Mac on the phone in his office.

"I've got great news -" he started to say, but Mac waved him away.

"Richie?" Tessa called, and came out of her workshop. "I'm glad to see you. Some vandals got into the dumpster last night, and the alley is a mess. Could you clean it up?"

For a few seconds he considered telling her about the test, but she looked hot and irritated and had obviously been laboring over some metal-working. "Sure," Richie said, hiding his disappointment, and tossed his backpack in his room before cutting through to the alley.

Immediately outside the back door was a Vespa motorbike, parked beside the Thunderbird and decorated with white balloons and bright red, yellow, blue and green ribbons. Richie stopped to stare at it, and he felt his heart start to pound in his chest. A white card had been taped over the speedometer, with his name written on it.

No. It couldn't be.

Richie edged closer, afraid the bike would disappear like some weird hallucination, and then reached out and touched the long black seat. Touched the silver handlebars. Touched the white card, and wondered why his fingers were trembling. He wasn't sure he was breathing, and suddenly his vision wasn't so clear either.

"You can open your card," Duncan's voice said behind him. "It won't bite you."

Richie turned to see Duncan and Tessa watching him with silly grins plastered on their faces. Behind them, keeping a low profile, stood Tessa-Marie. Richie managed a smile of his own.

"You know, don't you?" he asked.

"That you passed?" Tessa laughed. "Of course we know." She came to him and gave him a hug and a kiss. Duncan shook his hand and slapped him on the back. Tessa-Marie managed a peck on the cheek, and then scampered back to the kitchen. Richie shook his head as he further examined the bike, amazement and excitement pouring into his words.

"Where did you guys get this?" he wanted to know. "This is a 1981, the last year they were allowed in the States. There are people who would kill for this. I mean, they have clubs for this bike. And calendars. And newsletters."

"I know," Duncan said.

Richie stopped himself, wondering exactly how much Duncan and Tessa must have paid. Vespa's didn't come cheap. "Are you sure?" he asked, doubt creeping into his voice. "You really want me to have it?"

"Yes," Duncan said, "we really want you to have it. As long as you wear a helmet."

"No problem!" was Richie's answer.

Tessa didn't know why exactly the Italian motorbike was so coveted, so much so that Duncan had to haggle three owners before he could buy one from a mechanic in the valley. She did know they could have bought a Harley or a Honda or something less expensive, but Duncan had only shrugged at the thought.

"You have a Mercedes, I have a Thunderbird, and this is an antique store," he said. "Let's keep some quality in the family, okay?"

Richie fell in love with the bike immediately, of course, and after a small but enthusiastic graduation ceremony the next day Duncan took him down to sign up for a motorcycle and motorbike safety course. Richie didn't even complain about going to school for a week. He had to take an eye test and a written exam before they let him do a road test. Richie passed the road test with flying colors, of course. Tessa had no doubt he would.

As the weeks passed Tessa-Marie pulled out of her gloominess and the two teenagers reconciled one night over hot fudge sundaes. It helped that Tessa-Marie had dumped Phillipe. She vowed never to date again, especially after the physician had to treat her with antibiotics for chlamydia. Tessa saw Tessa-Marie begin to blossom with more self-confidence, and was glad that they'd let the girl stay.

Glad, that is, until an Immortal friend of Duncan's showed up.

***

Working in the shop was fun. Tessa-Marie liked greeting customers, and then watching them drift past the display cases. She tried to imagine what was going on in their heads as they gazed at a twelfth-century Inca mask of gold, or a 17th century map of Italy. On this particular Thursday afternoon she was watching two women admire a suit of armor when the door opened and a very handsome man came in. He was short but stocky, and wore a dark, expensively cut suit despite the heat of the day.

Tessa-Marie felt her breath catch at the icy-blue of the man's gaze, the firm set of his features, the swirl of dark hair on his head. He looked at her the way Gregory Peck looked at Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, one of her favorite movies.

"Good afternoon," he said, in a wonderfully deep voice. He had an Austrian accent. "I was hoping you could help me. I'm looking for a gentleman named Duncan MacLeod."

"May I ask who's calling?" Tessa-Marie said, trying to sound as mature and suave as he did.

"Certainly," he said, and flashed her a charming smile. His long fingers pulled a crisp white business card from his pocket. "Friedrich Gurston. I'm an old friend of Duncan's. A very old friend."

Tessa-Marie felt like melting under his smile. "I'll get him," she promised.

Duncan must have been expecting a visitor, though, because he came out of his office wearing a funny expression. Before Tessa-Marie could announce his guest, Duncan's face lit up and he called out a long greeting in German. Friedrich came over and threw his arms around Duncan with a long diatribe, also in German, only switching to English at the end.

"And this beautiful young woman must be your daughter," Friedrich said with a glint in his eyes.

"Not exactly," Duncan smiled, as Friedrich caught Tessa-Marie's hand and kissed it extravagantly. "Come on in the back. You have to meet Tessa."

Tessa-Marie had to watch the front, but she lingered near the workshop as Friedrich met Aunt Tessa. Friedrich and Duncan disappeared into his office for the rest of the afternoon. Friedrich left before dinner, though, with another kiss - on the cheek, this time - for Tessa-Marie. Over dinner, Duncan announced that Friedrich had invited them to his rented estate any time they wished to visit.

"I think a day in the countryside would be wonderful," Tessa said. "It's time to get out of the city for a day or two."

Duncan shook his head with a small smile as Richie passed the baked chicken. "I don't know," he said. "Friedrich doesn't have enough money to rent an estate. He must be swindling someone out of it."

Tessa-Marie thought it was horrible for Duncan to talk that way about an old and dear friend, but Tessa didn't seem to mind. Richie said, "So the guy's a con artist?"

"A very good one," Duncan said.

Tessa-Marie didn't care if he was a crook, like Gregory Peck in To Catch A Thief. Or was that Cary Grant? She thought he was adorable, just the same.

Two weeks later, in the middle of an unbearable heat wave, Duncan took Friedrich up on his offer to visit for the weekend. Richie wanted to ride his Vespa, but after Duncan pointed out it was a four hour drive in 100 degree temperatures, the teenager decided he would ride in the Thunderbird. Even with the top down the sun was unbearable, and Richie and Tessa-Marie bickered for at least twenty miles before Duncan put a stop to it.

Tessa was glad for the peace and quiet, but couldn't help looking at the rearview mirror and wondering if this was what her life would be like if she'd had children with Duncan. Of course, Richie and Tessa-Marie were a trifle too old to be hers, but she got the general picture. She wasn't sure she liked it, but that didn't mean she didn't miss it.

By noon they'd reached the turnoff for Friedrich's estate, and the sky had clouded up with rainclouds. Duncan paused at the edge of a large pond and quaint bridge that led to a long, sweeping drive. The French-style white chateau sat perched above beautiful lawns and a rose garden in full bloom. Friedrich was on the front doorstep when they pulled in, looking tan and relaxed in khaki pants and a polo shirt.

"It's so good to see you all!" Friedrich boomed, and proceeded to kiss both Tessa's. Duncan and Richie settled for handshakes. Friedrich gave them a tour of the house, ending with the empty kitchen.

"It's the cook's day off," he said apologetically. "I'll have to run into town and pick up something for dinner."

Tessa-Marie didn't miss Duncan's raised eyebrows. With a look on his face that said he knew exactly the source of Friedrich's woes, Duncan said, "Richie'll go with you."

"I will?" Richie asked, surprised.

"Yes, you will," Duncan said, slipping the teenager some money from his wallet while Friedrich found something interesting to occupy his attention.

"May I go too?" Tessa-Marie asked.

Tessa, who hadn't failed to notice her niece's crush on Duncan's friend, said, "Why don't you stay here with me and help me unpack?"

Tessa-Marie sighed but did as told. Later she inferred from the way Duncan and Tessa were looking at each other that the adults would rather be left alone. She went for a walk on the grounds, enjoying the slight drizzle and the glide of ducks across the pond. For all of Seacouver's charm and Tessa's love, she was beginning to feel homesick for France. For her schoolfriends and her dogs. Even for her battling parents.

She sat by the edge of the pond for awhile, then walked the long way around the water's edge. The twin roar of car engines from the road snapped at her attention, and a series of pops like firecrackers carried through the air. Tessa-Marie focused on Friedrich's blue Volvo gunning up the lane with another car, a black sedan of some type, attempting to run it off the side of the road. The driver of the black sedan had a gun and was firing at Friedrich's car. With a scream of wrenching metal Friedrich took the turn on the bridge, and then crashed through the wooden supports. His car sailed into the air and then slammed down into the pond and began settling in the murk.

Tessa-Marie watched, frozen in place, as the black sedan paused, then reversed and raced off back the way it had came.

Help. She had to get help.

But the broken bridge was closer than the house, and Duncan and Tessa must have heard the crash. Tessa-Marie broke into a frantic run. She reached the edge of the pond half a minute later, and scanned the water for some sign of Richie or Friedrich. She kicked off her shoes and waded into the lukewarm water and shouted their names. The water was deep enough that the car had completely disappeared beneath a swell of bubbles.

She dove into the murk, straining to focus on the faint silhouette of the car. The impact had kicked up mud and the dirty water stung her eyes. She kicked downward, realizing the car had landed on its side with the driver's side pinned below. She grabbed the passenger door and yanked. It stuck. She maneuvered to the windshield, but it hadn't broken.

Her chest burning, Tessa-Marie surfaced. No sign of Tessa or Duncan. She couldn't panic. Dragging as much air as possible into her lungs she sliced downward again, found the passenger door handle, braced her bare feet, and heaved with all her might. The door wrenched open. She reached in for Richie, and found his arms floating in the murkiness. He was stuck inside somehow, unconscious, maybe dead. Tessa felt for his seatbelt, fumbled with the release, and pulled him free.

He was bigger and heavier than she was, but she'd worked as a lifeguard the previous summer and put him in a secure hold. It took an incredible long time, nevertheless, to haul him to the muddy shoreline and roll him on the bank. His face was lifeless, his lips blue. Tessa-Marie pinched his nose and blew air into his chest. He choked, vomited water, and began to gasp for air.

She left him there and went back for Friedrich, but failing strength and the murk prevented her from even finding him. He might have been thrown clear, and be pinned under the wreck. She dragged herself back to Richie, who was lay gasping on one side, shivering despite the warm air, blood flowing from a cut on his forehead.

Tessa-Marie pulled his soaked T-shirt over his head, wadded it into a ball, and pressed it against his head. By the time the bleeding had stopped Aunt Tessa and Duncan were there, trying to help, their voices muddy in her ears.

"It's all right now," Tessa soothed, pulling Tessa-Marie against her chest while Duncan examined Richie.

"Friedrich - " Tessa-Marie said, trying to get past the huge lump in her throat. "Mon Dieu - he's still there - "

"It will be all right," Duncan soothed, his voice firm and strong. He helped Richie sit up. "You two see if you can get Richie up to the house. Keep him awake and get him warm. I'll take care of Friedrich."

Tessa-Marie's eyes filled with tears, but she obeyed. Tessa watched Duncan wade into the corner and tried to keep her anger in check. Of course he could take care of Friedrich. Friedrich was another Immortal, and wouldn't need much help at all. But Richie could have been killed in the wreck, and Tessa-Marie in her rescue attempt.

Richie managed to walk back to the house under his own power, but he wasn't very steady and sounded vague when he answered Tessa's questions. By the time Tessa had him settled on the sofa in the living room and was applying antiseptic to the cut on his forehead he was more lucid. He told them that some men had accosted Friedrich in town over loaned money.

"They followed us back," he said, huddling beneath the blanket Tessa-Marie had found for him. "They shot at us. Where's Mac?"

"He'll be here very soon," Tessa said. She didn't think Richie needed to go to the emergency room, but she resolved to keep a very close eye on him. "How do you feel?"

"Waterlogged," he said, coughing. He looked up at Tessa-Marie with awe in his eyes. "You saved my life."

Tessa-Marie shook her head, suddenly shy, but Richie wouldn't desist. "You dragged me out of there."

"It was . . .the least I could do," she said, and gave him a hard hug.

Duncan showed up at the house a few minutes later, looking grim. Tessa couldn't tell, looking at him, what had happened with Friedrich. "The police will be coming out," he said. "I think it's best if you three head back home, and I'll catch up with you later."

"But shouldn't we stay and talk to the police?" Tessa-Marie asked.

"I can take care of it," Duncan assured her. Tessa guessed there would be no police. Duncan just needed Tessa-Marie away before Friedrich could reappear. Tessa looked at the teenagers sitting on the couch - Richie still pale and shivering, and Tessa-Marie still quite shaken. She felt another stab of anger at the predicaments Duncan and his friends put them in.

"I'll get our things," Tessa said, and stalked upstairs.

Duncan made sure Richie was all right, instructed Tessa-Marie to keep an eye on him, and then followed Tessa. "I'm sorry," he said in the privacy of the upstairs bedroom. "Friedrich's sorry. He had no idea those men would come after him."

Tessa stuffed clothes back into her suitcase. "Riche could be dead, thanks to him."

Duncan didn't immediately answer. Tessa didn't know Richie would someday be Immortal. It was the biggest secret he'd kept from her. Tessa didn't give him much of an opportunity to respond, anyway. "Tessa-Marie could be dead," she continued icily. "Does it ever occur to you and your people that the rest of us aren't quite so durable?"

It was the second time in three months that she'd referred to his "people" as if Immortals were some strange alien race descended upon the earth. Duncan knew it was anger and fear talking, but turned away at the sting anyway.

"Take them home," he said quietly. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Tessa grabbed the suitcase and went downstairs without him.

***

Four days later, Tessa-Marie went back to France. Her homesickness was one reason. The sudden tension between Tessa and Duncan was another. She heard them arguing two nights ago about how dangerous it was for Tessa-Marie and Richie both. She didn't understand that, because Friedrich was dead and what had happened at the pond was obviously a fluke. She asked Richie about it. He'd taken to bed, laid out by a headache and numerous bruises and aches from the car crash. But all he would say was that Duncan's friends sometimes had unsavory sides, and that Tessa was maybe just overreacting.

Tessa decided to take Tessa-Marie to the airport herself. Richie and Duncan had both done enough. Tessa-Marie's eyes were wet by the time they left the store, and she and Richie even promised to write each other. Duncan kissed her cheek and told her she was beautiful. In the airline departure lounge, between hugs and kisses, Tessa-Marie finally screwed up enough courage to ask Tessa why she was mad at Duncan.

Tessa didn't want to admit that she wasn't sure herself. The incident at Friedrich's was only a small part of it. She wanted to be on the plane, going back to France with Tessa-Marie. Not for a business trip, not for a two-week visit, but to actually live again in the country of her birth. But she didn't know how to tell Duncan, and was afraid he might not want to go with her.

So what she said to Tessa-Marie was, "It will be fine. I'm just going through a little bit of a hard time, and I'm taking it out on him. I'll apologize tonight."

"Good," Tessa-Marie said, and offered her a shy smile. "He loves you very much."

"And I love him," Tessa said.

She thought about all the things she was going to say to Duncan when she got back to the store. How she would say them. The look he'd probably wear on his face. Stopping at a payphone, Tessa found a quarter and called her friend Natalie.

"Do you remember that job you mentioned last month?" Tessa asked. "At the Bureau of Arts and Monuments in Paris?"

"What, the traveling exhibition one? I didn't think you were interested," Natalie answered. Tessa heard the rustling of papers. "Luckily you have until the end of the month to apply. Then they'll probably take at least a month to decide. You want an application form?"

Tessa hesitated. If she was offered the job and took it, it would mean working in France for at least six months. She would have to consult Duncan, because it affected them both. And Richie. What would happen to him? The possibilities seemed bleak, but the lure of home was too strong to ignore.

She might not get the job, after all.

"Yes," Tessa said. "I'll come by your office and pick up the form." And since they probably wouldn't pick her, there was no need to tell Duncan.

THE END

Author's Note: So in the next episode, Natalie gets attacked in "See No Evil." Then Tessa witnesses a murder in "Eyewitness." Then, at the beginning of "Band of Brothers," Tessa is offered the Paris job. (And Richie thinks he'll never get to Paris!)*** Richie's bike is probably not a Vespa but let's have some creative license here, okay?***Mallory Square is a popular tourist fixture of Key West, and there really is a Richard III Society dedicated to restoring his good name.***Thank you to Janette(Ode to a Lurker!)92 and Rachel Shelton for beta reading!**And for those who wrote, I should have the zine addresses to you very soon. :-)Sandra