(1997 - New York City)

Two heavy set men moved along the deck of the barge floating serenely in the East River. A third man kept a lookout from the lumber pile near the rickety gangway that precariously linked the old barge to the dock.

"Hurry it will ya'? I mean, damn, it's not like she's that big."

"Yeah, but she sure is a squirmer."

The first man snickered. "I hear she squirms a lot with the right person. Too bad we won't get a chance to find out."

"Knock it off you guys," hissed the lookout. "Just pick the damn broad up and carry her to the edge if that's what it takes. Even with her new overshoes you can do it."

There was a grunt. "Gimme a hand." The two men lifted a slight struggling figure and moved slowly to the barge's side.

"What the hell's with all the chain wrapped around her? This is just a woman and a little one to boot.""

"You weren't there when we caught her. She threw Big Stan across the room and damn near shoved Tiny's head through the wall. It took six of us to hold her and the chain seemed like a damn good idea. Good thing all Feds ain't this strong."

"Oh well, won't matter in a moment." The two men set their burden down. The figure teetered alarmingly on the edge of the splintered wood deck. The first man pulled a strip of heavy tape from the woman's mouth.

"Any last words doll?" He grinned.

"Sure. What time is it?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected request, the first man looked at his watch.

"Its 3 AM."

Okay. So why don't you kiss my ass then you ugly over-grown..." the rest of the words were cut off when the man pushed the woman backwards. Bottom heavy because of the tub of cement her feet were encased in, she rocked back and forth twice before toppling into the murky water.

The two men had stepped back to avoid the expected splash as the woman hit the water. They both leaned over the edge and waited. In short order an explosion of air bubbles came and then the water grew placid again.

"Damn, they usually hold their breath longer than that." observed the second man.

"Probably was still cussing me." replied the first one.

"If you two are done, let's get out of here." commanded the watcher. The three dark shapes walked down the gangway and disappeared into the night. A short time later a car engine started and then faded away into the distance.

"Well, this is another fine mess you got me into, Robert!" were my thoughts as I hit the water and sank to the bottom of the river. I KNEW I should have stuck to the spy business. But when the Deputy Director of Operations for the Agency and one of the most senior Deputy Directors of the Bureau are both asking for help, well, just the sight of the two of them in agreement over anything was nearly enough to persuade me without hearing anything about the case. I mean, do you have any idea how long its been since the upper leadership of those two organizations agreed on the time of day, much less the need for inter-service cooperation?

But it was Robert who convinced me. Special Agent Robert A. (for Alan) Dale, whom I have known since the early 19th Century. The man just exudes the concept of Duty with a capital "D". A few words from him and I signed on. He always could convince me to do pretty much anything. Not THAT kind of anything. Well, come to think of it, yeah, that kind of thing too. But he had been the first to show me that a vampire could be legitimate, an actual respected member of a government organization. It was working for him during the Napoleonic War that had led me to the Union Secret Service and eventually to the CIA.

I had been tracking a large shipment of arms headed towards the United States. This wasn't your everyday run-of-the-mill AK's and MAC-10's. This was serious stuff. I'm talking C-4 in large quantities, RPG's, AT-4's, Claymores. Stuff you use to fight a war.

I had picked up the first hint of this in Berlin and the trail led me, to my surprise and pleasure, to Budapest. I caught the first night flight into the city and started following my leads down the back streets. Partly I was nosing about, but partly I was simply happy to be there for the first time in a couple of generations. The city was so different from what I remembered it being during the Turkish occupation and yet in some ways it was exactly the same. It was still vibrant, exciting, a place where East mingled with the West, North with South. Its personality had survived wars, revolutions, conquering hordes and massive bombing raids. I loved it here.

I had wandered the city's underside, which was as rough and as uncontrolled as it had been when I first visited here going on four hundred years previously. I had been back here before, the last time being between the First and Second World Wars, but I always remembered my first visit here.

I had been picking up more and more bits and scraps of information dealing with this arms shipment. I couldn't pin down where it was coming from or what the intended final destination was, beyond that it WAS the US and the probable entry point was going to be the Port of New York. I need to sit down and organize everything so I headed back to the place I was staying.

Here was one thing that never ceased to amaze me. While the building that had stood here back in the early 17th Century was long gone, the site remained a seedy, low-class dive with rooms to let on a short or long term basis, no questions asked. Just my kind of place. I could sit in the back of the smoke-filled bar room and hear all sorts of things. If I squinted my eyes I could almost see Susanna bringing me my drink, with Yusef watching her from the corner of his eye.

I sighed. Dust for three hundred plus years I knew. For a moment I let my thoughts linger in the dark corners of my mind. How many lovers, bed-friends, buddies and people I simply knew had gone over the years? Too many. When you care, immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I shook myself out of my mood. We all have issues, even vampires. You deal with them. Some vampires, the longer they lived the more they smothered their humanity, distancing themselves, becoming arrogant, feeling they are superior to humans in every respect, except perhaps for their tans. Some live simply for pleasure. I've spent time in that group myself. Of course I still enjoy a good roll in the hay. There are a few who attempt to live pretty much as they did before they were turned. Then there are the ones who, like me hopefully, turn their attention to actually DOING something beside holing up in abandoned buildings and crumbling castles and pouncing on stray travelers.

I had started for the stairs and the room I was renting on the second floor. I changed my mind and headed for the bar. A few crumpled bills slid across the counter and I settled myself in a corner booth with a glass and a bottle of what claimed to be Irish whiskey. The first sip convinced me that it actually was dry cleaning fluid but it tasted enough like alcohol to be acceptable.

I sat there nursing my dark mood for perhaps an hour. Then out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a familiar face. A face that had no business being here. A face that was studiously paying me no attention at all, so carefully in fact that it was obvious to me that he was looking for me.

Gunnery Sergeant Don Viscotti of the Marine Embassy Guard Detachment was the type of guy who would stand out in a crowd of other Marines. Here, in this dingy, smoke filled dive, he might as well have been wearing a sign reading "US Marine". He was tall, well muscled and still the "lean, mean fighting machine" of myth and legend. Heck, his close-cropped hair alone would give him away.

I knew that not all Marines, even those who came up through Force Recon, were always "Charge straight at the machine gun on the beach" types when it came to subtlety. But he was good. Our eyes met for only an instant in the dusty mirror that hung over the bar. Thank goodness the idea that vampires don't cast a reflection is a myth. I slipped out of the booth and casually strolled down the corridor that led to the alleged "Rest Rooms". He followed me.

I was wondering how we were going to get close when he surprised me. He threw his arms around me and pulled me into an embrace that would have half crushed me if I had been human. It certainly must have made it appear to any observer just why he had tagged along after me.

It took a minute, or two, or perhaps three for him to whisper why he had sought me out. After all, a couple embracing that close should be kissing. So we did. He was quite a kisser. I enjoyed it enough that the first time he tried to break it I refused to release the hold my tongue had on his. Finally though, I let him come up for air.

I was pleased to discover that no matter how contrived the embrace was that my body was having an effect on his. I could tell that from his slightly glazed eyes and even more so from the erection that was mashed against my thigh. Still, business before pleasure and all that. His whisper drove any thoughts of sex away. Well, immediate sex anyway.

"Bridget, Mister Emerson sent me." That set off alarm bells. Jorge Emerson was the Assistant Economic Attache. He was also the CIA Station Chief and not the "Nervous Nelly" type who would send someone to find me on a whim. I waited for the rest of the message.

"You've been blown."

Oh FUCK. Not that this hasn't happened to me before, but it's not something I brag about. And for Jorge to send a messenger instead of waiting for my routine check-in, bespoke more than casual trouble.

My mind raced. No point in going upstairs to my room. I kept all my notes in my head, my memory having been one thing that had improved as the centuries had drifted past. Sometimes I wish it wasn't so good but...

"Get hold of yourself Bridget," I scolded myself. This was no place or time for memories, or anything else, since I could still feel Don's erection against me. Noises came from the bar area. I picked up a guttural voice asking in pretty bad Hungarian "Where is she?"

Maybe the voice wasn't talking about me. Yeah, right, with my luck. I considered and discarded ducking into the Women's Room. First place they'd look. Then I heard the barkeep say "Back there" and I knew we were out of time. I grabbed Don's hand and drug him into the Men's Room.

His reactions were fast. Ignoring two men standing there with their mouths and their flies open; he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me to the window. I leaned back, depending on his strength to hold me up, and lashed out with one foot. The window shattered and he tossed me up into the opening. I reached down and grabbed his wrist as he vaulted up after me and the two of us dropped into the alleyway.

What IS it with me and alleyways? I get chased down them all the time. And escape is never easy. Figures filled both ends and rushed towards us.

I never carry a gun. I hardly need one after all. I'm inhumanly strong and fast. Not quite as fast as Kate Beckinsale appears to be and I don't look near as good in skin tight vinyl and leather, but faster than any human. All I could do was wait for the attackers to get close. And there were a lot of them. I suppose I should have been flattered someone sent a dozen guys after little old me.

Don, on the other hand, was armed and let everyone know it as he snapped a shot first one way, then the other with I saw was a Colt 1911A1. No sissy 9 mils for him, he was to explain later. Apparently he had troubles convincing someone to lie down and realize he was dead once and it soured him on the Beretta.

The two flashes and the roar of the 45 had everyone ducking. I took the opportunity to twist the lock and chain off a loading door on the other side of the alley. We jumped into the open door and I eased it closed behind us. My night vision allowed me to see a bolt on the inside and I locked us in before leading Don through the gloom of a mostly empty warehouse and out the far side.

Don smothered more than one curse as he bumped into things I could see that he couldn't. Fortunately, none of them made noise enough to give our location away. I heard someone rattle the door behind us once and then nothing. We came out through a door on the far side and slipped from that alley to one of the bigger streets.

"I don't suppose you have a cell phone?" Don asked, breaking the silence.

"Nope. I don't suppose YOU have one either?" When he shook his head I sighed and began to search for a pay phone. We had to get a little more exposed than I liked under the circumstances but I found one, fed it some local coinage and dialed the emergency number for Jorge at the Embassy. I was confident he would be manning the phone, a confidence that was confirmed when he answered during the first ring.

After a brief conversation, I hung up and turned to Don.

"Want the good news or bad news?" The look of resignation he gave me was all the answer I needed. "Well, the bad news is, there's no point trying to get to the Embassy. Too many people seem to be watching. The same goes for the airport and pretty much every mode of transportation out of town."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Just exactly what have you stumbled across Bridget? That's an awful lot of manpower, and by the way, what's the good news?"

"Well, first, most of the watchers are just hired muscle. Jorge is making nice with the police and he may be able to get some of the bad guys scooped up and start back-tracking them to their employers. But the good news is that I know a way out of the city I bet they aren't covering."

Don smothered a groan. "I don't know you all that well Bridget, but somehow I suspect I'm NOT going to like your way out."

"Gheshhhh Don, think of it as an adventure. Be all you can be."

"That's the Army," he grumbled. But he followed me, his hand staying close to the butt of the pistol he had tucked behind his waistband.

It turned out to be not as bad as he thought, he confided in me later. It was worse. I made arrangements with the owner/operator of one of the barges that still plied their way up and down the rivers. We spent the day huddled in the bilges. Don held his temper the entire time, even when dirty water and the occasional rodent made the darkness even more miserable.

In what seemed like no more than a week or two we emerged in Vienna. I figured we had probably lost any pursuit, but I didn't want to take chances. So we stayed away from the airports and any contact with the American Embassy here. Instead, I accessed funds of my own, drawn from one of the accounts I had set up over the centuries. I, unlike a certain brooding TV vampire, HAD established an investment portfolio. I bought us each several complete change of clothes and reserved a compartment on the train heading towards Paris. One compartment of course.

My plan nearly blew up in my face when Don got a look at what I had bought for him.

"No, absolutely not. Not even No but HELL NO."

I suppose I couldn't blame him. After all, the trousers were pegged so tightly they clung to every curve of his legs and butt, as well as outlining a quite nice package. And the shirt was all glitter and half-see through. But then so was mine and my skirt barely covered the bottom curves of my ass. He was also looking askance at the long blonde wig I was thrusting at him. Mine was coal black and hung down to my waist.

"I thought we were trying to be stealthy."

"There are two ways to not be noticed. The first is to be as inconspicuous as possible, to blend in, to be invisible. Its great but that is exactly what our foes, whoever they are, will be looking for. So we go the other way. We stand out. We're right in the middle of the front row. Nobody expects that. The eyes that do examine us will look at the flash and show and not at us."

He finally gave, after I gave him my solemn promise that as soon as the train left the station we would lock ourselves in our compartment and he could get out of the outfit. And I meant it. After all, I didn't want to cross the rest of Europe wearing 4 inch heels myself. Growing up in Ireland I only wore shoes during the winter and to church. Yes, I like how high heels make my legs look but I still think they were invented by the first podiatrist to drum up business.

We got on the train, drawing a fair amount of attention, especially when I clamped my hand onto Don's ass and squeezed. Those pants WERE tight. I hoped the circulation to anything important wasn't being cut off. A glance at the front of those pants reassured me. So we got on the train and into our compartment and waited uncomfortably until the station was behind us.

The train ran clickety-clack over the rails. It was always a different sound in Europe than in the States. Had something to do with the gauge of the tracks or something I guess. But it was still as soporific as ever, lulling me to sleep. I would have dozed off completely if Don had not suddenly stretched and yawned.

"Bridget, as much as I want to go to sleep, I desperately need a shower first. And," he grinned, "So do you. Ladies first."

I had no intention of arguing. I undressed in the small shower compartment and took a lovely, although too short, hot shower. I promised myself when we got back to the States I would treat myself to an hour long one. Wrapping my towel around me, I opened the door and announce to Don, "Your turn big boy."

I heard the shower start moments after he closed the door. I should have been falling asleep, but instead I found myself imagining that strong firm body with the water cascading off it. By the time the shower noise stopped, I had arranged myself on the lower bunk, on my knees with my arms resting in the window I was looking out. I knew the towel was not covering any more than the upper half of my butt.

I heard the door open behind me. There was a pause, and then it closed. I sensed Don standing close behind me. He didn't move, didn't say anything. I suddenly wondered if I made a mistake. Maybe he wasn't interested in me. Then two hands, calloused but gently firm, slid up my hips and under the towel. A quick flick of his wrists and I was nude. I leaned back slightly as the bunk shifted as he joined me. I leaned back even more when I felt the tip of his cock against my leg.

Don gave a soft chuckle. "Don't be in such a hurry Bridget. We have all night before we get to our destination."

His love-making matched his words. I figured, you know, Marines. Charge the beaches and charge the ladies. Instead he almost drove me crazy by taking his time and showering me with gentleness.

He turned me around so we were facing each other, both still kneeling on the bed. He kissed me. At first it was just a brushing of lips, then it became deeper and more passionate. His tongue invaded my mouth, then he sucked my tongue back into his. His hands remained still, holding my hips firmly.

He broke our kiss and showered my face and neck with quick little kisses and licks. As always, when my neck is nuzzled, I get the shivers. Hey, makes sense doesn't it? I AM a vampire after all, even though I'm smart enough and discreet enough to draw blood from a lot more places than just the neck. Not that I expected Don to bite me.

Of course then he did bite me. Not drawing blood biting, just wee little nibbles up and down my neck and shoulders that would have produced a massive crop of Goosebumps had my body still been capable of them. What it did do was turn me on and make me helpless all at the same time. I'm not much of a surrenderer but this time I relaxed, as much as I could anyway, and let Don have his way with me. And his way was very good.

His arms were around my waist now and his lips were at my throat. I leaned back, allowing him full access to my body. His kisses ran down my collarbones before his lips swept over the tops of my breasts. His hands stroked my back, probing and exploring and continued as I leaned back further. His flattened tongue slid between my breasts. I realized he had somehow found time to shave; no bristles rasped against my skin as he licked there before sliding his mouth to my right breast.

He teased the nipple, rolling it around with his tongue tip. I gave a deep gasp when his teeth closed on the hard nubbin. He was wonderful, using enough pressure to send electric shocks through my body and stopping just a hair-breath this side of hurting me. While I enjoy that sometimes, right now I wanted the pleasure to be gentle and caring. Oh Lord, it was just that.

He shifted to my left breast and repeated his ministrations. His tongue was everywhere, running along the sides, underneath and then once more his face pressed between my little orbs. I would have fallen to the bed had not his hands, one at the top of my spine and the other in the small of my back, not held me prisoner to his will.

My Marine started kissing again, trailing down along my still flat tummy. He did let me lean farther back as my skin stretched tightly along my ribs. Now my hair brushed the bed as his lips found my navel. He sucked lightly as his tongue explored there. Then he went side to side, kissing and suckling on my belly.

God I was lost. I braced myself on my hands and feet, arching my body to allow him to do anything and everything his heart desired. One of the perks of living forever is having a lot of opportunities to have sex with a number of different partners. Don was right up there with the best of them. Of course I usually think that of whomever I might be with but in this case it was true.

Realizing that I was supporting myself, Don shifted his hands. One slid back up to cover my breast. The other trailed a finger between my tight little ass cheeks and began to tease my puckered hole. His lips moved further, down over the sparse fine hairs of my mound and then onto the triangle of red between my legs.

I lifted my hips even more, pushing myself against his mouth. His tongue entered me, and at the same time gentle pressure relaxed my anal ring and his questing finger slid up my ass. From the feel of it all, he was striving to have that finger meet his tongue somewhere inside me. I thought that was a wonderful idea and hoped it would happen. I have no idea if my continual bucking up and down helped or not, but just as my first orgasm swept over me I had a dim thought that he had succeeded.

Don never slowed. If anything, he picked up the pace. Now I don't produce a great deal of moisture, whether Cumming or just being aroused, but I had a much better than usual flow tonight. That was good, because when he suddenly released me and fell forward onto me, his cock slid right up inside me smoothly and easily. That was a relief, because he was pretty determined in that thrust. I know he wouldn't have hurt me on purpose, but sometimes that happens.

Regardless, that one stroke pinned me to the bed; and very happily so I might add. Now he was a true Marine, doing his pushups one after another. If the manual didn't depict a skinny red head with her legs around his waist while he did his exercises, well, who cared? Maybe it should.

I proceeded to have a second orgasm, then a third. My pussy was dripping, and that says a lot. Vampires don't have a lot of bodily fluids. We don't sweat and the other secretions are reduced too. I have remembered in my prayers every day for a long time the inventors of artificial lubricants. But tonight I didn't need them.

Don rose all the way on his arms. Arching his back he attempted to drive his cock far enough into me that I was expecting to feel the head lodged in my lower throat. And then my wetness was dwarfed as he proceeded to pump what seemed like a gallon of cum in me. Yes, I know that a teaspoon full is probably how much it really was, the normal size of male ejaculate but DAMN, it seemed like it.

When we got off the train in Paris we were both walking on rubbery legs. I was tempted to suggest a stay over at an apartment I had kept since the 1930's so we could recover, but who was I kidding? If we had we probably would have had to crawl to the plane. Not a civilian airliner by the way but an Air Force Special Missions jet that whisked us to Andrews where a car was waiting to carry the pair of us to Langley. We were informed there would be a meeting in a couple of hours and urged to get some rest. I was sorely tempted but Don took off for his own room without a backwards look. At a later date he was to confide in me he was afraid I was going to try to wear off a couple of inches.

Regardless, I took the opportunity to take a shower that may have lasted for an hour and then napped until a knock on the door summoned me to the meeting. Don looked a lot brighter-eyed too when, gentleman that he was, he opened the conference room door and ushered me inside.

"Please sit over there Bridget," directed the Deputy Director of Operations (DDO). He turned to Don. "Gunny, you really aren't cleared for this but you have been dumped in the middle and everything we know about you indicates you are probably more trustworthy than half the people here, including me." He indicated the chair next to mine, which of course Don didn't sit in until after he had pulled out mine for me. I was a liberated female centuries before it became fashionable but I still enjoy being treated like a lady.

I looked around the room. There was a lot of brass in here. Not the appointed heads but rather the deputies and assistants who come up through the ranks and have spent a lifetime in their chosen profession. Besides the Agency, there was Customs, ATF, Coast Guard, NYC Port Police and, of course, sitting right across from me, Deputy Director Robert A. Dale of the FBI; my long-term ally, sometimes partner, occasional lover and always my favorite target to pick on and be reprimanded by in return. Well, when you've known each other for over a hundred and eighty years, as Robert and I had, you're bound to have a history.

The meeting kicked off. I gave my verbal report and passed around copies of my notes as I had written them down on the plane ride home. Others spoke in turn, contributing their information, and we proceeded to fill half a dozen whiteboards as we all tried to piece together what was happening. We took a break, reassembled and worked late into the night. Finally we staggered off, too tired to think clearly.

The next day the pieces started to fall into place. We determined the source of the weaponry and the probable shipment method. Thanks to Robert (God bless the FBI, I really do admire a lot of them although I could no more work for them than I could fly) the name of the coordinating boss of the entire Stateside operation was agreed upon.

"This is Eliott Graham," Robert projected a picture onto a screen. "He's a huge player in the Underworld, fingers in everything, both domestic and international. We're sure he has the information we want at his New York headquarters." Here Robert changed pictures to a large building that practically screamed "Corporate". He continued. "We never have been able to place an agent successfully there. We don't know why."

"However, due to good observation and luck, we have the opportunity to slip someone into the organization. It won't be easy. There's no time to make up a complete background and train the agent in it. Rather, we need someone who can assume an identity on short notice and is adept at improvisation when things get bumpy. Someone who's real background is spotty and downright vague."

Have you ever been nodding along with a crowd over what seems like a good idea when you realize that everyone is looking at you? Well, that's what was happening. Crap. I tried to wiggle out of the spotlight though.

"Well, that's a great idea. If it wasn't that my vacation is starting yesterday and I need to be on my way I would volunteer myself..."

Oh well. It worked about as well as most of my attempts at wiggling out of the things Robert comes up for me to do.

I do have to admit it. I look pretty neat all decked out in black. Black leather boots, tight black jeans, a black leather jacket over a black t-shirt and dark sunglasses in, of course, black frames made up my outfit. Even the pistol that I had in a shoulder holster draped over the back of the chair I had turned around and was sitting in was black as I faced the reason I was here.

How Robert and company managed to bring me to the attention of Eliott Graham or whichever one of his underlings was responsible for picking employees I don't know but they had. I was now the official night bodyguard for Annie Riceland. I didn't understand at first why what appeared to be the operation's resident computer jock needed a bodyguard. After my initial briefing and a couple of days of observation I figured it out. Annie was not being guarded against an outside threat. Annie was being guarded to keep her under continuous observation, lest she try, well, something. Eliott had been pretty vague about it but his instructions were clear on the fact that she was never to leave the building except under heavy escort and was not allowed any outside contact.