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Go ahead," William 'Spike' Devereaux instructed, his English accent more pronounced than usual. The caller ID told him that this was a call he shouldn't be taking. Though he'd retired from the FBI two years earlier, he kept getting pulled back in as a 'consultant.' He stared at the clock and lit a cigarette. Three in the morning. At least they let me get some sleep this time.

"Got a murder case you might be interested in," Jack Bevlin began without preamble. He was the Special Agent in charge of the FBI's Baltimore field office and Spike's former boss. "Man walks into a businessman's house, gives the youngest daughter five dollars to get lost. Sits down with the husband and wife and has a cup of coffee. Shoots the couple in the head, execution style. Has himself another cup of coffee. Waits around for the daughter to get back and shoots her, too. Then he writes the oldest daughter a note and sticks it on the refrigerator along with a note for the middle daughter telling her not to go in the living room when she gets home from school."

"Sounds like the plot from a bad cop movie, or like one cocky killer." Spike's interest was piqued. These were the kinds of cases he loved, with guys who took the time to plan out their murders. He relished the chase, the deep involvement required, and the look on the S.O.B.'s face when he got caught.

"I'm afraid it's not a movie. That's why I called you. I've got -," Jack started.

"Retired, remember? Find someone else to do your dirty work. Good night." Spike started to hang up. Jack loved to tease him with a doozie of a case like this one, and then make it damn near impossible for him to walk away when it was over.

"Wait, Spike, let me finish. The big man himself wants you in on this one. It's a very touchy case. That note I told you about? In it he directly threatens two agents and the director."

Spike sighed and ran a hand through his curly bleached hair. "Let me guess, I was one of them. Bloody hell, Jack, are you going to call me every time I get a fan letter?" He was used to the death threats. They were part of the job, mostly just empty words.

"This is more than just a fan letter. Three people are dead and you're on this guy's list. Just get your ass down here." Jack hung up without giving Spike a chance to say no.

"Bugger." Spike glared at the phone before using a dying plant as an ashtray. He pulled on a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt. After tying his boots, he grabbed his black leather duster, keys, and wallet, and headed out. Fifteen minutes later, he was at the Baltimore office. After checking in with security, he found his way to Jack's office.

Jack stood up and shook the younger man's hand. "Glad you made it so quickly. Coffee?"

Spike gratefully accepted the hot mug and followed Jack into a smaller room. "This is the victim's oldest daughter. The younger one has been hospitalized and sedated. She was the one to find the bodies. The doctor said we could speak with her tomorrow. We've got the room heavily guarded," Jack said as he opened the door, ushering Spike inside.

Jack leaned against the closed door and let his former Assistant Special Agent in Charge take control. Spike almost dropped his coffee when he saw the petite blonde curled up in a plastic chair. A thin dark blanket was wrapped around her body. Her head lifted slightly and her eyes widened in recognition. Quickly regaining his composure, Spike set the mug on the small table in the middle of the room and sat in the chair across from the woman.

"Hello Slayer," he greeted, reaching for one of her small hands, still not completely over the shock. Buffy Summers, his ex-partner and ex-best friend, was the victims' daughter. This explained why Jack was so adamant that he work on this one.

"Hey Spike," she whispered, her voice hoarse and strained. "I'm glad you're here. Maybe you can convince Jack to let me go home and change clothes before I get to work. I have a ton of paperwork piled up on my desk."

"I gave it to Henderson. He'll get it all straightened out for you," Jack spoke up. Ever since she'd been brought to the office all she talked about was her paperwork, using work as a coping mechanism. He knew she needed to move past the denial if she was going to be of any help to them.

"Henderson? The one who broke the copy machine four times in the same day? No thank you, I'll do my own paperwork." Buffy's voice was a little stronger.

Spike squeezed her hand and lifted her chin so she was looking in his eyes. "Don't worry about the bureaucratic bullshit, luv. Right now you and I are going to concentrate on catching the asshole that hurt your family." Although she could not officially be assigned to the case, Spike knew she'd be given enough time off to unofficially participate.

"Hurt my family? The bastard didn't hurt my family, he ripped it apart. I can't believe he had the balls to do what he did. He bought my sister ice cream, had coffee with Mom and Dad and then killed them all," she ranted, her voice breaking a little. "He took the time to write me a note and warn Dawn not to go into the living room. God, he knows that Dawn exists. I can't just leave her in the hospital. What if he tries to kill her there?" Buffy stood up and headed for the door, her eyes bright with tears.

Spike put his hands on her shoulders and forced her back into the chair. "Slow down, Slayer. There are guards posted outside your sister's room. No one is going to hurt her," he promised. "Let's start with this evening. Were you the first one home?"

Buffy shook her head, blonde hair covering her face. After that burst of adrenaline, she was starting to feel numb again. "I was supposed to pick Dawn up from school, but I was trying to get a few reports done and I lost track of time. By the time I left, traffic to Annapolis was hell, so she caught a ride with her friend Janice. Damn, if I had just forgotten about the stupid reports, I could have stopped her. She shouldn't have walked in there by herself," Buffy spoke slowly, her voice full of self-loathing and blame.

"It's not your fault, Buffy. You couldn't have known. You can't protect your family every minute of the day," Spike consoled, patting her back awkwardly. In all their years of working together, he'd never seen this side of her. She seemed so. defeated.

"It's my job to protect people, Spike. How can I keep the rest of the country safe when I can't even stop my own family from being murdered?" she demanded. "I read the note, it is my fault. He used them to hurt me, and it worked."

"Okay, the note, good, focus on that. What did it say?" Spike switched tactics. He hoped that the professional side of Buffy would take over soon so that they could make some real progress. So that he wouldn't have to see her so lost, so unlike the woman he knew.

"He said that I ruined his life and now he was going to ruin mine. He said I should keep Dawn out of the living room. He told me that I was going to watch Dawn die and that no matter where I hid or how many bodyguards I hired, he was going to kill me. He ranted about the FBI and then he said that he was going to kill my partner and my "jackass of a boss". At the bottom he left the number of a good carpet cleaner," she summarized in a detached voice.

"Don't worry luv, we'll keep Dawn safe. We'll send her away," Spike vowed. He'd spent a lot of time with Dawn and saw her as his own sister. The thought of someone hurting her made him see red.

"Where? I have no family left. I'm all Dawn's got," Buffy reminded him sadly.

"She could stay with my Mum and Da in London. They adore Bit and I know they'll keep her safe," Spike suggested.

"Great idea. If she's out of the country for a while he may switch his attention off of her," Jack spoke up.

Buffy looked at the two men and sighed heavily. "As long as you can promise me that Dawn will be safe, we can send her to London," she agreed.

"Now that we've settled the matter of Dawn's safety, let's talk about you, young lady," Jack proposed as he moved away from the wall to stand beside two of his best agents.

"I don't need any special treatment. I don't want anyone following me around, starting my car for me, or tasting my food before I eat it. I can take care of myself," Buffy insisted.

Spike let go of her hands and pulled out a cigarette, blatantly ignoring the "No Smoking" sign on the wall. "And what's Dawn going to do when she has absolutely no family left, you stupid chit?"

"Are you doubting my abilities now, is that what this is about? You think I'm a bad agent?" Buffy stood up and glowered at her ex-partner.

"When you get emotional, you get sloppy. You don't think clearly." Spike kicked his chair back, ready for a fight. The verbal sparring was what he'd missed most about Buffy. Only she could get his blood boiling this way.

"I don't think clearly? You're the one who was more interested in getting Drusilla in your bed and not a jail cell. At least I let my brain do the thinking, not my.," Buffy retorted.

Before Buffy could finish her sentence, Jack stepped between the two blondes. "Spike, I'm putting you in charge of Buffy's protection. Everywhere she goes, you go," he settled the issue. "Buffy, since your house is a crime scene, you are to stay with Spike. His place is your new safe house."

Buffy and Spike turned to look at Jack, their jaws dropping in disbelief.

"What!?!"





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