He'd had worse, but it was still a bitch to get through.

The car was on its way. A third man inside, possibly more. Certainly well-armed.

Damnation. He was too vulnerable and weak for any chance of success against them. If he called for help, the club bouncers patrolling the outside would either throw their lot in with Alejandro's men or bring police, medics, and other unwanted complications. Richard despised the idea of retreat, but saw no other alternative.

His bad leg dragging, he crawled toward the darkness edging the boundaries of the club and prayed the hunters had no flashlights.

He found brief cover between two cars. It felt like the knife was yet cutting him with each jarring move, but he kept going, not daring to stop. He got over a curb into a patch of dried-out scrubby grass littered with empty beer cans and broken glass. A neglected lot between buildings. It stretched on for several yards, the grass growing higher with distance, until interrupted by the thick posts and crosspieces of an old wooden fence. He scrambled toward it, hearing activity behind him. The car had arrived. Men clustered about the fallen.

They'd start casting about for him and would not easily give up. Alejandro had no tolerance for failure.

Richard made it to the fence. The crosspieces were set very close together, making it almost easy to climb, but they were shoulder-high. The landing on the other side was singularly unpleasant. He bit off a cry and had to waste a precious moment before the agony released him enough to move again. To his dismay, he found himself trapped in a small enclosure. A cattle pen. From the look of age and neglect on the weathered fencing, it'd not been used in decades, a relic from the city's early years when beef on the hoof was money in the bank and this area was a true stockyard, not a tourist trap. Though decrepit, the enclosure was yet strong enough to keep him in place. The overgrown patch of iron-hard ground within offered no concealment. He crept to the opposite side, not wanting another climb and drop, but found one of the lower slats was cracked across. He broke through, gaining another dozen feet of distance between himself and pursuit.

The next pen was in even worse repair with part of one side gone. The opening led to a narrow alley running between sections. Here, long ago, cowboys could drive the cattle in single file toward the slaughterhouse.

"He went this way; Hub tol' us-not over there!"

A man's voice, unexpectedly close, froze Richard. He had the visual advantage at night, but it was of little use when he couldn't stand to see.

"Hub also tol' us Nick nearly chopped his leg off, so no way could he climb that," another man countered. "He'll be along here, not in that mess."

"Then you tell the boss."

"No way."

The first man clambered up to survey the area. He had a flashlight. Richard rolled against the near side of the fence, face into the dust, pale hands under him, hoping his dark clothes would blend with the general gloom. He went absolutely still.

Was it fancy, or did he actually feel the beam of the light playing across him?

It danced and flickered along the fencing, making harsh shadows. Confusing ones, he hoped. He held his breath, listening for the least sound of movement from the hunter.

The man was thorough, his search lengthy. Richard's time sense distorted as the minutes stretched to infinity. He forgot his pain in the waiting.

"Aw, hell." The voice of defeat. The man jumped down-on his own side-and trudged off.

Richard sagged, sweating with relief, but remained in place. They might decide to swing back. At least this forced respite offered him a chance to heal.

And thirst. He'd bled quite a lot from both wounds. He swallowed dry, his throat aching.

They kept at it for twenty minutes, twice coming his way. There was some argument about searching the pens.

Most were reluctant to venture in. They paused, uncomfortably near, their voices carrying well in the motionless air.

"Place'll be fulla rats," said one. "Or snakes."

Now they tell me, Richard thought.

"Nah, they's a lotta cats get dumped here; they eat the snakes," came another.

"All they gotta do is miss one. Ain't worth it to me to step on some rattler what got missed."

"You gonna say that to the boss's face?"

"Don't matter to me; I ain't gonna say it. Not worth it to do this."

"Huh. Don't like playing with the big boys?"

"Nope. Grabbing some ass inna titty bar is one thing, but chasing down some fucker who should be dead is another. I saw Nick stick him. Where he got it, he shouldn'ta got up again, but he did, an' he got away after decking Nick and Hub. That ain't anybody I wanna meet out here inna dark. What about the rest of you? Think it over."

They did. One by one, they departed. Richard thankfully marked their retreat as they crunched their way over the trash in the lot.

The threat of rats and snakes aside, he decided to remain a while longer. The burning in his leg and back was beginning to cool. It meant recovery, but was tedious. So bloody... damned... tedious...

He jerked awake, disoriented and strangely cold. He peered at his watch. Past midnight. He'd been out that long?

Or that short? With the damage he'd suffered he could have lain unconscious until dawn.

With great caution, Richard slowly got up, using the fence to keep his balance as he tested his leg. It hurt like hell, but he could walk-make that limp-on it. Shivering, he made his way along the alley until finding a break in the pens that allowed him real escape. From the look of the buildings fronting the lot, he judged himself to be just a little south of the club. His car would be close by, just off the main street. All he had to do was avoid drawing attention. Not easy, given the state of his bloodied and torn clothes.

God, but he was thirsty.

The walk was not amusing. The new-healed tendons were stretched tight and diabolically sore. Each step over the uneven ground was needed physical therapy for them, but it was much too soon to press himself. And it was all his own fault.

Damn it, why had he charged in like that? He could have waited for a better moment to take out Alejandro.

But the sight of that bastard laughing, enjoying himself, positively gloating over his success had been beyond endurance. Richard accepted that he was far too emotionally involved for common sense to rule, but that had been pure insanity.

And yet in reproachful retrospect, given the time to think, he knew he'd do the same thing again. Richard would not have been Richard if he'd stood by, stoically marking time until a reasonable opportunity presented itself.

Had Alejandro not been so drunkenly resistant to hypnosis, the whole business would have ended quite differently.

He'd been sober enough to eventually recognize Richard, though. Disturbing, that. Was the New Karnak sanctuary compromised?

Alejandro would have been well aware of Luis's job at Arhyn-Hill, but Richard kept a very low profile there. Some of the employees had heard of him, but his name wasn't listed on any company directory. One of the reasons he'd chosen the job for Luis was its lack of an obvious connection.

Ingrained caution dictated that he not underestimate Alejandro's resources.

A desire to conclude things dictated that he turn this possible breach in his defenses to his advantage.

All I need do is go home and wait for him to find me.

Not the best of strategies. But then he was hardly at his best right now. Later-he would plan something out later.

The pavement resumed behind the buildings, beginning with an access drive for delivery trucks, the lighting sparse.

He hobbled across to an alley that led to the brighter areas of the main street and the parking annex. The eateries were closed or closing, the shops dark, only the bars showed activity. And a police car was parked right in his path opposite the alley mouth. They'd see him going to his car, and at the moment he certainly looked to be a highly suspicious character.

He paused well back in the narrow space between aged buildings. Hidden by shadows, he leaned against the indifferent red brick, wearily wishing the officers would take themselves elsewhere before he collapsed.

Then he came abruptly alert, sensing another presence nearby. Just a few paces ahead he made out the form of a petite woman pressed into a doorway set in the opposite wall. She was also keeping a wary eye on the patrol car, shifting uneasily on her too-high heels, waiting for it to leave.

Well, well. If it wasn't Gail like-a-tornado-but-spelled-with-an-i. Her blonde friend Stormee was nowhere in sight.

Perhaps busy with a customer. Gail was losing business with the cops in the way. Perhaps he could amend that.

"Hallo, Gail," he called in a soft low tone, hoping she wouldn't run away. "Remember me?"

She gave a violent start, whipping around to peer into the general darkness. "Who's that?"

"It's all right. We met earlier. Stormee was with you."

This reassured her. Slightly. "An' who're you?"

"Just a lonely man looking for some southern comfort." He noticed she had a small object ready in one hand.

Pepper spray. In her line of work a girl couldn't be too careful.

"Why you hiding?" she demanded.

"I got into a scuffle tonight, and those policemen might wonder why my clothes are in a less than pristine state. I'd just as soon avoid official notice, if you know what I mean."

She chuckled once, relaxing somewhat. "I sure do, honey. You said you were lonely?"

"Exceedingly so. You may recall that I was too busy earlier." With a quick look over her shoulder at the car, she cautiously stepped across to him. "You got some time now?"

"Oh, absolutely. Do you think we could come to some mutually advantageous arrangement?"

"Depends what you want, honey." Gail gave him a hard look, for all the good it did her in these dense shadows.

"An' I'll tell you first off I use protection no matter what you want. You don't like that, then too bad."

"Not at all. I quite approve."

A big smile. "Then we should get along just fine."

"This is hardly the place, though."

"Yeah. If one of those cops decides to take a leak, it could get embarrassing. Come over this way." Gail took his arm.

He tried to disguise his limp, but she noticed anyway. "You hurt?"

"Not much. You should see the other fellow."

A short laugh. "You men. Get a drink, have a fight, get laid."

He had to agree. In his fifteen hundred years' observation of human nature, nothing much had changed about that particular male ritual. He planned to shortly modify the ordering of the pattern for himself, though.

"Jeez-are you all right?" Her voice rose with alarm.

They'd come to a place with light, the outer nimbus being sufficient to reveal his severely disheveled condition to her. She gaped exactly one second at the dirt and blood and turned to run.

He caught her just in time, lifting and hauling her back.

"Lemme go!" Her voice was climbing to a full-blown shriek. Before she could vent it, he clapped a hand over her mouth and pressed her to the building to minimize her struggles. He did not want to do it this way, but had no other choice.

She brought up the pepper spray. He was expecting that and took it from her.

"Just hold still," he whispered, trying to catch her gaze.

Her eyes were wild and staring, flushed with fear and anger. She fought as best she could, kicking, clawing, screaming under the pressure of his hand. Very little noise of it came out.

"Gail, it's all right, I'm not going to hurt you."

She'd heard that one before, to judge by her frenzied reaction, and why not? Didn't killers and rapists always make such empty promises to their victims?

He had to get her attention, to put a quick end to her terror. Toward that goal, he gave her a good shake, not so much as to snap her neck, but enough so she'd know that he was very much in charge. With her feet dangling a foot off the ground it was easy for her to take the point. "Be still," he ordered in a no-nonsense tone.

He got an anguished look from her.

Eye contact. All he needed.

He focused the whole of his will upon her. "Hush now and listen to me. I won't hurt you. Listen to me, Gail..."

Fear could be almost as potent as alcohol as an impediment to hypnosis. She had strong resistance to suggestion, and did not readily accept his soothing persuasion. Some of them were like that, especially if they were on guard to start with, so he never forced the issue if he could help it. Much better for them both that he take what he needed from a willing woman, much simpler, much easier on his battered conscience.

He kept at her, counting each moment that she did not try to bolt as a victory, until at long last she went under and truly relaxed. Her desperate fight forgotten, she stood quietly-waiting and oh, so willing. Thank the Goddess for large favors.

His velvet soft words to Gail now had the effect of foreplay. He caught the gradual change in her scent, heard the quickening of her breath. He would never tire of it, never. She soon lifted her face to him as she would to a lover, wearing a smile of pure trust, eager, with demands of her own.

Southern comfort, indeed.

Some crates had been left stacked by a delivery entrance. He sat on one to rest his leg, drawing her toward him. Richard hungered, but took time to kiss her ardently, his hands roaming her body, not restraining it. She responded in kind with an expert's skill, her touch making him hard with need. He lifted her easily onto his lap. She giggled, wrapping her legs around him, pressing her hips and breasts close.

His corner teeth budded. He wanted her, wanted to strip the clothes from her well-muscled body and thoroughly lose himself in her. She offered love and solace and release from his cares and griefs. Only momentarily, though. It was ever thus with all of them.

Damnation.

He'd have liked nothing better than to be able to properly take her, to really make love with her. But this was not the time or place. He had to hurry, to feed his hunger rather than his desire. Not fair, but often what he had to settle for when circumstances were unfavorable. In instances like this, the lady always came out ahead of him in pleasure.

But not too far ahead, he thought, nuzzling the taut skin of her throat. He bit down, holding her tight. She made a long, gasping cry at this, then another as the first rush of blood left her. He drew strongly on its healing fire, so different from the burn of injury. The red heat instantly relieved his countless aches and bruisings. It was miraculous stuff. His wretched hunger fled; his torn flesh painlessly renewed.

Gail murmured something, arching strongly against him. For a second he thought she'd resumed her struggles, then realized she was climaxing. Her whole body shuddered in reaction. It was quite lovely, holding her as he was, feeling what was happening to her, knowing he'd brought it about. He drank deeply, drank until she finally wilted with exhaustion.

He pulled away, the small wounds he'd made still bleeding a little. He kissed them clean until they closed, then inspected her face. Her eyes were half shut, drowsy. She would sleep very well tonight. Perhaps she'd feel light-headed for a day or two, but nothing more serious than that. Good. He'd promised he wouldn't hurt her and preferred to keep his word.

As for those very visible marks on her sweet neck... well, the blood donation story would not suit. This time the blame must be placed on insect bites. The ruse went over rather better in Toronto, for even Texas mosquitoes were no match to their Canadian cousins when it came to size and sheer viciousness.

Richard primed Gail with that unlikely explanation after wiping the reality of their encounter from her conscious memory. He substituted a more mundane one in its stead, then raided his wallet. Knowing that she might not be recuperated enough to work the following night, he was generous, covering whatever earnings she'd lose, and putting an extra hundred on top. He felt badly for having scared her so much at the beginning.