Merciless 4: Aftermath Vi Moreau and Suzanne Herring Write the authors c/o Bridget Mintz Testa, btesta@houston.rr.com. RATING: PG-15 for language and one sexually-suggestive scene A few hours later, somewhere over the Atlantic For hours, Connor had been lounging, brooding, dozing, drinking in his luxurious private cabin on board the supersonic Russian/French Gospodonya jet. But now he sat up and called Duncan, again. This time, thank God, there was an answer. Duncan's gray face filled the screen, but he didn't say anything. Connor studied his kinsman briefly, reaching the only logical, but very bad conclusion possible, and finally said simply, "Duncan." "I got your message, Connor." Connor wanted to ask, but he was going to let Duncan tell him, in his own time. "I wish you didn't have to be involved in this," Duncan said bleakly. His voice was as gray as his face. "But I am involved, Donnchaidh," Connor said gently, "and I'm sorry." He paused, thinking that Duncan looked like the one who had died. "What are you going to do?" If Duncan heard, he gave no sign, and Connor wished he were already in Paris. "Donnchaidh," he repeated, even more gently, and this time Duncan did answer. "He was so full of hate. Blind fury. But we'd talked it over, Connor; we'd worked it out. After all these years ... I don't know what happened ... I didn't even know he'd become an Immortal ... I just don't know why, Connor, Christ, how this could have happened!" "How could you have known--" "I should have known!" Duncan interrupted savagely. "One of us should have seen it! One of us should have reached out to the boy again, talked to him! We should have told him, been honest with him! We should have told him!" "Telling them ahead of time doesn't work, Duncan," Connor said, sighing. And it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway. Nothing would have made any difference, at all. But the hell with Stephen. Elena was the problem now, but Connor dreaded mentioning her name, because Stephen Holz was Elena Duran's "son" -- of her heart, if not of her body. Elena Duran was not the type to let her child's death go unpunished. And Elena Duran was dangerous. "But it was over. We thought it was over -- the hatred of Immortals, his blaming me. And he gave no sign " Duncan said, quietly this time. Connor could see the tears dimming his kinsman's eyes, and his heart twisted inside him. Still, he had to ask. "Duncan. Does Elena know?" Duncan closed his eyes, a tear coursing down his cheek. He shook his head slowly. "What is she going to do when you tell her?" The younger MacLeod shook his head again. "I don't know." "What are *you* going to do? Duncan, what are you going to do if she comes for you?" "I don't know." Connor took a deep breath. He was frustrated, and he obviously wasn't getting through. "Duncan, I'm on my way to Paris. I'll be there in less than two hours." But Duncan had no comment for that either, and Connor thought how useless it might all be. By the time he got to Paris, Elena could have already tried to behead Duncan, in grief and anger. And at this point, Connor was sure -- no, he wasn't sure, but it was possible, maybe, this time -- that Duncan wouldn't fight back, wouldn't defend himself. "Duncan," he tried again. "Listen to me. Are you listening?" Damn the phone, damn the distance! He wished he were there with him, now, to touch him, reach him, make him understand. And, if necessary, to protect him. "Duncan, I want you to wait for me at Darius' church. I want you to go there right now and wait for me." "What? Darius' church? Now?" Duncan looked confused, dazed. "Yes. I'll meet you there. In two hours. This morning at..." he looked at his watch, made the calculation, "... three a.m. Duncan! Do you understand me? Darius' church. Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre. And I want you to go *now.*" "All right. All right, Connor. But I have to ... I have to call her ... I have to tell her. God help me, I have to tell her...." Connor's heart gave a little leap. "Call her? You have to call Elena?" "I should go to her. Take Stephen's ... his body...." "Wait, Duncan. She's not there with you? Elena's not in Paris?" Hope springs eternal, Connor thought, almost in desperation. Duncan shook his head again. "She's in Argentina. I have to ..." Connor let out the breath he was holding. She wasn't there, wasn't in Paris! God could show small mercies, sometimes, even in the midst of a tragedy. "You call her, Duncan. Do what you have to do." He appraised Duncan's pale face and decided that right now the safest place all around for his clansman would be Holy Ground. "Just go to Darius' church. I'll be there at three a.m. Meet me there." "Yes, Connor. At three. But Connor--" "We'll work this out, Duncan. We'll figure out a way."