LIBERTY
If ever a touch had reached into the depths of his soul and ignited such an intense inferno, it could not compare to the blaze that this kiss sparked. For long moments, their lips were locked in the most gentle yet fiercely passionate kiss. Methos' arms had wrapped around her form, and Amanda's had found themselves around his neck.
In their blissful moment, the arrival of another had gone unnoticed. Either what they had felt had covered the sensation, or the sensation had been what they felt. Only when Cain cleared his throat did they break the embrace.
Her eyes remained closed and her lips swelled. Methos whipped around to find the boy with a devil's grin standing inside the door. And suddenly, his head cleared.
"It's ten o'clock. Back, just like you said to be," Cain explained when Methos' face became filled with confusion. He lifted his arm to reveal the shopping bag he held. "I even bought some new clothes."
The feminine cough beside him turned his thoughts to the moment before. Methos was unsure that what had happened had been a good thing, if it was anything. Slowly, ignoring Cain, he faced her again. Amanda's head was lowered, her hands in her lap, thumbs twitching. Was she nervous, the most fearless woman he knew?
"I uh," she began, unsteady and unsure of what to say. Then she just gave up. "I guess I should go."
Cain protested. "Oh no. Don't leave on my account. I'll just shut myself up in the other room there and leave you two alone."
"No!" Methos suddenly burst. Calming himself, he continued more softly, "That won't be necessary, we were just talking."
She neither agreed nor denied his statement, but Amanda began to wonder about the kiss herself. Methos had never entered her thoughts the way Duncan would always remain; the object of her affection. Their kiss opened a door of promised enduring passion. The thought sent shivers down her spine.
"Whatever," Cain again broke the silence. He trod into the kitchen, dumping his bag on the dining table.
Methos ignored the boy. "Amanda, we've got to figure out who it was looking for you, and why he would be looking for you." There it was, he was in the middle of it, just like he knew he would be.
"I told you before, I don't know who would be after me. I haven't had a run in with another immortal for some time. Maybe he was there delivering the package," she whispered the last, sure that it was to have already been waiting for her.
Methos shook his head. "Do I dare ask what plans the package contained?"
For the first time that she could ever remember, slight guilt washed her soul. After making fun of Methos' insight into his past, she finally understood the point he was trying to get across. "It's not all for me, you see. I'm only suppose to get ten percent."
"Ten percent of what?" Methos demanded and was on his feet again. His temper had been tested for the last time.
That face, the weak smile, the scrunched eyes, even her unsteady hands were proof of the fear of a condemning response. Fingers wound with fingers in attempt to cease their shaking. "The Federal Reserve," was her weak, squeaking response.
She watched as the horrified face of the immortal she had thought of as friend transformed from an angry crimson to an unearthly white. The veins in his clenched hands bulged, and his temples screamed with outrage. "The Federal Reserve?" came from gritted teeth. "The Federal Reserve!"
He fell into a maniacal fit of laughter that caused Cain to emerge from the kitchen to see what he was all about. "Are you mad!?" Methos exclaimed. He wanted to throttle the insane woman.
"It wasn't my idea!" she threw back. "I need the money!"
"But, but," Methos sputtered for only a moment, "that's impossible! No one has ever broken into the Federal Reserve!"
"The Federal Reserve?" Cain broke in. "Who would want you to pull that kind of job?"
Amanda sneered at the boy. "Why don't you butt out of it, kido?"
Methos began to pace from the end of the sofa to the door. "No, I think the boy has something. Who is it that's getting the other ninety percent?"
Hands were thrown into the air in exasperation. "I don't know," every syllable enuciated.
Methos halted. "What I don't understand is how you could be so stupid to take a job and not know every detail about it. You were actually going to go through with it?"
She shrugged. "I haven't seen the plans yet, so I don't know. Like I said before, it's what I do, and I usually never get caught."
The snort was not stifled. Cain looked from one angry immortal to another. "I think it would be best if I did leave you two alone."
"No," again, Methos was adamant. "I don't want you running around out there. You never know who you could run into."
"I'm out of here myself," Amanda announced. "I can't take another minute of your lecturing. Oh, kido, why don't you come with me? I'm sure you could use a little fresh air."
From the glare that Methos was sending him, Cain decided to compromise. "How about I just walk you down to the front? I'll be right back," he promised.
Amanda grabbed her purse, gave Methos a very resounding hmph, and stormed out the door, not able to slam it because the boy was on her heels. "I'll be right back," he repeated over his shoulder.
Once outside, Amanda warned the younger immortal. "If I were you, I'd be careful about Adam. He's got a temper that won't quit, and as you can see, he's not so pleasant to be around."
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I can handle him. He's got a soft spot for me for some reason, and I won't tred on it. Don't worry."
"Who said I was worried? Later kid." Amanda strode down the street a little ways and then hailed a cab.
Cain watched until the taxi drove off out of site and then began to return to the immortal of discussion. But the sensation hit him suddenly, and he first thought that Adam had come to drag him back inside. "You've really got to trust me," he muttered.
"Well, well," came an unexpected voice from the shadows, "if it isn't our little runaway."
Cain spun in the direction of the chilling tongue. "Weldon?"
"Well done!" the hearty bellow matched the face that materialized from the darkness. The tall, bulky man attired in the pale maroon suit slapped the boy on the back. "Now I suppose the question of the day is, what are you doing here?"
Eyes darted left and right searching for a means of escape. "I live here."
But the bigger immortal disliked the answer. "Not good enough. Come," he ordered and latched onto the boy's shirt, "you're coming with me. There's someone who's been wanting to see you."
The best he could make out, he assumed he had been stuffed into the trunk of a small car. Although he was unable to see, the space was tight and the air stale. Claustraphobia had never been one of his problems, but situations like this were bound to spur the disorder.
After a rather bumpy and discomforting ride, fresh air greeted him with the creak of the lid being opened. Rough hands snatched him out and half drug him to their destination. He was shoved head first into blackness, but Cain saved his face by bracing the fall with his arms. Immediately, his skin was pricked by the unmistakable awareness of yet another immortal.
"You may remove the fold," he was instructed by a foreigner.
Dim light appeared once the cloth was withdrawn, and a moment passed before his eyes were back in focus. A table was before him, and three men sat regally behind it. The center occupant stood out from the others. He was the one in charge. Walter Ambrosi.
"Mr. Ambrosi!" Cain exclaimed, scurrying to his feet. "What are you doing here?"
The dominating immortal wore a suit that jumped right out of a thirties gangster movie. A gray, pin-striped number complete with hat gave the plump, gray mustached man the gangster appeal. As did his temper. "I do belive, my dear boy, the question should be what are you doing here. You know I don't take kindly to strays."
He hesitated in answering, and found that it was mistake number one. Taking him by surprise, Cain's arms were jerked behind him by Weldon and one of Ambrosi's cronies from the table came forth to give him a good punch in the stomach.
"Answer when posed with a question," the cronie directed.
It took him a moment to catch his breath, and he lifted his head. "I, I followed her here," he lied, hoping the answer would win him freedom from further beating.
Ambrosi stroked his mustache for a moment, then waved the other men away. "And who gave you permission to do that?"
With room to breathe, he had to work his brain overtime to come up with a good excuse. "It's just that I thought by accomplishing something this big would help me to move up in the organization. I didn't..."
"Ah yes," the crime boss interjected. "And what did you plan to do once you arrived and made contact with her? I don't think it was to inform me, now was it? Do you realize what an empire I have? You, of all immortals, should know how skilled my employees are. Experience is what you lack, and by running away from me, you lost your chance to earn it."
With another wave of his hand, Weldon and the other two cronies advanced toward Cain. The boy began to panic. "But I learned something new. They both know MacLeod, and there's a painting!" He shouted the last as balled fist met his gut again, and he doubled over.
Apparantly, the statement had meant something to the mobster. Once again, the cronies moved away, leaving Cain heaving for air on the stone floor of what he presumed to be a warehouse. "Tell me more about this painting," Ambrosi requested.
Finally having caught his breath, Cain revealed the information. "I hitched a ride here with another one of us, calls himself Adam Pierson. He kind of took me in, as a student I guess you could say. He works at the Museum of Art and there's this painting that MacLeod's in. And she knows Pierson too. They've been at each other's throats all day."
"Interesting." Ambrosi continued to stroke his mustache. This meant that he liked what he was hearing. "Why is MacLeod in this painting?"
"I don't know, they didn't know either. But I have a feeling that both of them have been looking for him, so that could be your ticket. And I can be of use to you still."
A sigh escaped the burly man. "Pray tell me how that is?"
Cain smiled conspiratorially. "I've earned his trust. If they know where MacLeod is, then I can find out and report to you."
"Then you would have accomplished the big job," Weldon sneered from behind.
"Silence!" Ambrosi shouted. He then turned his attention back to the young immortal. "But there is another matter at hand. She has stolen my plans, and I intend to get them back. You may interfere with that."
"But I beg to differ," Cain continued. "Amanda doesn't have the plans. Weldon here caused quite an uproar between her and Pierson. She thinks Weldon was delivering the plans."
"And how would you know about the plans?"
Cain gulped. He had stepped too far but could recover quickly. "She's been talking about the Federal Reserve. I just assumed that's what you were speaking of."
"Quite a bright boy you are. Perhaps I can use you after all. It would be a shame to waste such a quick brain," Ambrosi mused. "Go back to this Pierson lad. I'll take care of her and the plans. Weldon will keep an eye on you, at a distance of course. You will report to him any findings."
"Yes, Mr. Ambrosi. You won't regret this," Cain assured the crime boss, his boss. "You won't regret this."
If there was one thing that Cain hated, that was being blindfolded. The much larger immortal had not accepted the struggle that the frail lad had posed. Not being able to see where he was being taken was making him uneasy. Weldon was not the immortal he had been hoping to run into, and Cain knew full well who it was he was being taken to see.