Claudia Jardine possessed a gift.

Kyra watched from behind the heavy curtains of stage left as Claudia's fingers blurred over the keys, as she swayed in time with the impossibly beautiful sounds she coaxed from the grand piano. No, her music transcended beautiful; extraordinary, flawless, passionate more aptly described her gift. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra seemed to fade to the background in the company of her genius.

Kyra slowly shook her head, sure that she would not have believed this musical miracle had she not heard it herself. MacLeod had not lied when he had said Claudia was a treasure worth preserving. Then again, he also had been correct when he'd labeled her as stubborn, snotty and impossible to live with. MacLeod exhibited too much wisdom for his scant 400 years, which could prove bloody annoying at times.

He had instinctively known, for instance, that Kyra would appreciate this infant immortal, despite the two women's conflicting personalities. So much genius and so much arrogance in one small body. Claudia was a perversion of nature beyond her immortality, and Kyra found herself caught in a web of curiosity and fascination. She wanted to stay and learn more about what motivated this complex woman.

A dangerous desire? Yes. But also incredibly exciting.

Closing her eyes, Kyra let Beethoven's Second Piano Concerto flood her senses. She remembered the first time she had heard this music: Vienna, 1852. She also remembered, 25 years earlier, joining an ocean of tearful ranks mourning its composer's death because she had believed no one else could ever again play with such passion.

Claudia Jardine, however, came closer to capturing that passion than any other pianist Kyra had heard in the past 150 years. Claudia felt the music, and she allowed her audience to feel it as well. Oh, yes, this snotty, stubborn woman possessed a gift -- one perhaps worth dying for.

Then, Claudia hit a wrong note.

Kyra jerked back from her thoughts and drew her gun from under her loose-fitting, silky dress. Most of the audience probably had missed the mistake, but Kyra's trained ear picked up on Claudia's unease immediately. She had recovered and continued, but her timing was slightly off; something had upset her badly.

Then the source of Claudia's distraction reached her -- the lightheaded buzz that announced another immortal. She cocked her gun and scanned the auditorium, but darkness cloaked the audience in anonymity. She frantically turned her attention backstage. No one.

Some instinct drew her eyes upward, above the stage, to a slow movement outlined against a tangle of spotlights and wires. Oh, gods, she thought. He's on the catwalk. Light reflected dimly off something in his hand, but Kyra couldn't quite see what he held. A bomb? A sword?

She squinted at the shadowy figure, shielding her eyes from the spotlights' harsh glare. The figure pointed his hand at Claudia, directly below him, finally giving Kyra an unfettered view of his weapon. Long, black ... a gun!

"Claudia!" she screamed, ignoring the shocked looks of the stage hands and murmurs of the audience. "Claudia, move! Now!"

The pianist didn't react, her fingers continuing to dance across the keys. Kyra swore, dashed on stage and dove at Claudia, shoving her onto the floor. She landed with her stomach draped across the piano bench, and she started to roll off -- but not fast enough. Claudia yelled indignantly, the orchestra suddenly silenced and the dark figure shot two bullets into Kyra's back.

She grunted at the impact. A thousand screams erupted on stage and in the audience, but to Kyra, they sounded hollow, as if originating from the bottom of a well. Only one high-pitched scream rose above the others, clear and piercing to her ears, but it too faded as Claudia ran off stage.

Kyra hoped that she would revive before the immortal hunter, whose bullets had killed the wrong target, could finish the fight.

Three days earlier

Kyra Albright, ancient warrior, unemployed bodyguard and immortal extraordinaire, walked into Le Blues Bar at exactly 6 a.m., just as pre- dawn illuminated the sky with a promise that light soon would return to the world, just as it had for more sunrises than she could remember. This time of day was her favorite and usually found her wandering the streets, enjoying the sound of her footsteps echoing through the waking city. This morning, however, was unusual.

A midnight phone call, a short, urgent conversation, and Kyra found herself boarding an airplane for Paris and striding into this bar, into affairs that should not concern her. But she owed the caller, and she never welshed on her debts.

A presence invaded her senses as she closed the front door, and she drew her sword more from habit than any premonition of danger. She thought she knew the immortal, but one could never be too careful.

"Show yourself," she ordered, cautiously moving farther into the room.

"Easy, Kyra," answered a soothing voice. Duncan MacLeod emerged from a dark corner, a mug cupped in both hands. "Coffee?"

She relaxed, sheathed her blade beneath her coat and approached the immortal who only months before had helped her regain her memory, after Richard's death. Had it only been last year that Richard had been murdered? Time moved so slowly without her lover's constant presence, each day another wish that he might have lived to see Paris in the spring. To share it with her.

"I apologize for the call last night," MacLeod said, returning to his seat. He peered toward the faint light filtering under the front door. "Thanks for coming so early. Is the sun even up yet?"

"I think it be," she quoted softly, sliding smoothly into the seat across from the Scot, "but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day."

He nodded and half-smiled. "Shakespeare, Henry V. You're getting as bad as Walter."

She snorted. "Walter can recite the whole play verbatim, I'm sure, but he doesn't understand it. He did not stand his ground at Agincourt against hopeless odds, certain the next day would bring death. Of course, I don't remember the English being nearly that eloquent. It was more like, 'French bastards are going to rip us apart tomorrow.'"

"Why bring such dreary thoughts to the table?"

She smiled grimly. "That's your cue, MacLeod. You're the one who tracked me down with an emergency only I could handle."

"Ah, yes," he replied, pausing to sip from his mug. "Are you sure you don't want any coffee? Joe left a warm pot behind the counter."

She irritably brushed her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ears and leaned forward to stare at her companion. "The emergency, MacLeod?"

He sighed and met her expectant gaze. "It's actually a friend of mine who needs help. Claudia Jardine. Ever heard of her?"

"The pianist," she said, nodding. "What's her problem?"

"She's immortal, and she's being hunted."

"Nope," Kyra replied firmly. "Sorry, MacLeod, but I don't play bodyguard for immortals. Too dangerous."

"Claudia's kind of a ... special case."

"None of us are that different. Tell her to draw her sword and take her chances."

MacLeod shook his head, almost sadly, Kyra thought.

"She doesn't own a sword, and she doesn't know how to fight. She believes that to feel her music, she needs to fear death."

"Then she's a fool," Kyra said, shrugging. "She doesn't need a bodyguard. She needs a psychiatrist." She cocked her head and looked curiously at MacLeod. "Why ask me to do this? Why don't you help her yourself?"

MacLeod grimaced. "Things have happened in my life in the past year that I ... I'm having trouble dealing with. The way I am right now, I don't think I'd be able to give Claudia the protection that she needs."

Then his eyes met hers with a haunted expression that she recognized, had seen a hundred times in the eyes of a hundred immortals, in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror. It was the look of a man carrying unbearable loss and guilt. She knew it would handicap him until he had worked through his pain.

"Kyra, all I'm asking is that you meet her," MacLeod said softly. "She's playing a concert tonight at Albert Hall. Please, come with me to the concert, listen to her music, meet her and then make your choice. Don't dismiss her out of hand." He reached toward her and covered her hands, folded on the table. "Please, Kyra. Claudia is stubborn, snotty and impossible to get along with, but she's also a treasure worth saving. Give her a chance."

Kyra reclaimed her hands and looked away, anywhere but the plea in MacLeod's eyes. Why was he asking her to do this? He knew what had happened last time, with Richard, how she had stood helpless while several men had gunned him down in his own home. In their home.

"Kyra?"

She shook her head. "I can't do it, MacLeod. I'm sorry. It's not you or even your friend. I'm just not ready for this."

"You avenged Richard. It's over."

"Not for me. It will never be over for me."

"Please, Kyra. Do you think Richard would want you to tear yourself up like this? He's forgiven you. It's time you forgive yourself."

But I don't want this, she thought. I don't want to jump into a fight that isn't mine. I don't want to resurrect painful memories that are better left untouched. I do not want this.

But I owe MacLeod.

She sighed deeply and nodded. "All right, I'll come with you, and I'll meet this friend of yours. But I promise no more than that. Agreed?"

"Agreed." He held out his hand, which Kyra gripped, sealing the bargain.

"So," she asked, "when do we leave for London?"

Claudia sat before her dressing room mirror, absently running her fingers through her curly brown hair. Her other hand tapped against the dresser in time with the Chopin CD playing in the corner. She had performed beautifully at the concert, of course, as guest soloist for the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. And the audience had loved her, of course, giving her a standing ovation and thundering applause. She expected no less.

So why did she feel so uneasy and ... frightened? She had worried all day that her mysterious hunter would attend the concert, kill her in front of hundreds of fans and destroy her career. Her anxiety, however, had been for naught, and Claudia felt both relieved and disappointed that her hunter had left her to live in fear for one more day.

She had known when she had become immortal, when she had left Seacouver with no training and no weapon, that she would make an easy target. That knowledge had fueled her perfect playing with a heartbreaking passion that the critics fawned over. Simply the thought of an icy blade at her neck lifted her music to a higher level. Immortality had become a wonderful gift -- until he had come: her anonymous stalker, who faded in and out of sensory range and killed her bodyguards but never showed his face.

As if on cue, she felt a presence. Claudia's fingers froze as she glanced around. She pulled her gun from a dresser drawer with trembling hands and pointed it at the door. Someone knocked. Hunters didn't knock, did they?

"Who's there?" she yelled.

"Claudia, it's Duncan," answered a muffled voice.

She stood, pulling her robe closer around her shoulders, and cautiously cracked open the door. She almost sobbed in relief at the familiar face that peered back at her.

"Claudia," Duncan said, "please let me in."

"Oh, Duncan," she cried, flinging aside the door and pulling him into a fierce embrace. "Thank you for coming."

His arms tightened around her. "I couldn't abandon my favorite pianist, could I?"

Claudia just as suddenly pulled back, embarrassed by her unprofessional outburst, and studied MacLeod. Something looked different. The tuxedo certainly seemed out of place on her casual friend, but that wasn't the problem. She cocked her head and scowled. "Why did you cut your hair? It looked better long."

"Good to see you, too," he replied dryly.

"No, seriously, Duncan. You really should think about growing it out again."

He sighed with one of those half-smiles Claudia liked so well. He was just so ... Duncan, and the familiarity calmed her fears. She resisted the urge to hug him again and returned to her chair, setting her gun on the dresser.

"As much as I would enjoy discussing my hair with you all evening, that's not why I'm here," Duncan said, gesturing toward the door. "I'd like you to meet someone. This is Kyra Albright."

Claudia met the blue eyes of the slight immortal who entered. She looked tough -- the type to shoot first and ask questions later -- and her choice of wardrobe made Claudia feel nauseated; she had worn tight leather pants and a black leather jacket to a classical concert at Albert Hall. Claudia immediately disliked her.

"Really, Duncan," she said, "you can do better than her. I didn't think you were the type to go for leather-clad tomboys."

Kyra glared at Claudia in silence. She reached calmly into her jacket and pulled out a pistol, checking its clip and snapping it back into place with a soft click, never taking her eyes off the other woman. Claudia couldn't help but shudder, but she refused to look away, subconsciously fingering her own gun.

Duncan sighed. "Kyra is more than twice my age, and she has about half my patience, so I suggest you choose your words carefully."

"Why did you bring her into my dressing room?"

"She's a bodyguard."

"Oh, no, no, no," Claudia said, shaking her head. "I called you because I want you to help me, Duncan."

"This is one problem I won't be able to help you with," Duncan answered quietly. "I no longer carry a sword."

Claudia frowned. "Really? Why not?"

"It would take too long to explain. But when you told me about your hunter, I called the most qualified person I could think of to help you. That's Kyra."

"Duncan, you are not listening to me," Claudia said. "I don't want another bodyguard with a bad attitude. I've already had enough of those."

"Fine," Kyra said.

Claudia looked at her wide eyes, almost having forgotten she was still leaning in the doorway. She noted with satisfaction that Duncan, too, seemed surprised.

"What?" he asked.

"I said fine," Kyra said. "She obviously doesn't want my help, so I suggest we let her fend for herself."

"No." Duncan grabbed Kyra's arm as she tried to leave, only releasing her when Kyra glanced pointedly at his hand. "Both of you need to stop acting like children and listen to me for a second. Kyra, you're a bodyguard without anyone to protect. You can always go back to that art gallery security job in New York, but if you think about it for a minute, you'll figure out that you're not happy there."

Claudia snickered. She could just see Kyra, clad in black leather, standing guard among all those sculptures and paintings, glaring at every person who walked past. She'd probably scare away the patrons.

"And you," Duncan continued, turning to Claudia, "are in big trouble, and you need help. Sooner or later, your hunter is going to try for your head, and we both know who will win."

Claudia's laughter died. She scowled, her hands fidgeting with the tie of her robe. "I hate that you're always right," she muttered.

Duncan nodded curtly and looked at the other woman. Kyra rolled her eyes. "How many days do you have left in London?" she asked.

Claudia shrugged. "Three more nights of concerts. After that, I'm here on my own time."

"All right, then," Kyra said. "I offer a trial period. I will be your bodyguard for three days. Then, if this relationship is not working, we go our separate ways. Agreed?"

Claudia looked to Duncan for guidance, but his determined expression told her how he wanted her to answer. Still, she couldn't help but feel betrayed. She had called him for help, and he had saddled her with this immortal for three days. Well, she could endure anything for three days.

"Agreed," she said to Kyra. "But I still think I can take care of myself better than you can."

Kyra smiled and leaned back against the doorframe, arms casually folded across her chest. "If I had been your hunter, you'd be dead now."

"Oh, really?" Claudia picked up her gun and waved it around.

"Be careful with that," Duncan warned. "It might go off, and then we'd have a lot to explain."

"Oh, no chance of that, MacLeod," Kyra replied smugly. "The safety is on."

Exactly two hours ago, Kyra Albright had sauntered into her dressing room. Well, two hours and 15 minutes. That left approximately 70 hours until Kyra walked back out of her life. But who was counting?

"Stay here," Kyra ordered before walking into Claudia's hotel suite with her gun in hand.

"It's my room, and I'll go in if I want to," Claudia said haughtily. "I'm tired and cold and wet from walking through that damned rainstorm, and the last thing I need is to sit in the hall."

Kyra turned in the doorway and set her hand firmly against Claudia's shoulder. Claudia struggled in vain to break the hold, finally slapping away the hand with a disapproving look. The display had little effect on her bodyguard, though, judging by Kyra's indulgent smile.

In the silence that fell between them, Claudia could hear the soft drip, drip, drip of rainwater fall from her hair and clothes and soak into the expensive carpet. A drowned rat: That's what she sees, Claudia thought. Someone to toss around as she pleases. But I'm a world-famous pianist, dammit!

"Stay here," Kyra repeated softly. "Please."

Claudia rolled her eyes and grumbled about impertinent bodyguards, but she leaned against the wall without further complaint. Why had she given Duncan her promise? Do what Kyra says, he had ordered, and she, like an idiot, had agreed. It's not like her stalker was in her suite, maybe calling room service for some caviar. They'd have felt his presence. This whole situation was so absurd.

She ran her fingers through her tangled, wet hair and closed her eyes, wondering if maybe she pinched herself hard enough, she'd wake up and discover all this had been a nightmare. Maybe she had fallen down Alice's rabbit-hole and was bumbling through some bizarre version of Wonderland. Off with her head! and all that.

Well, I'll keep my head, if you please. Just let me wake up now.

"Do you plan on sleeping in the hallway?"

She snapped open her eyes and glared at Kyra. No nightmare, after all, but hellish just the same.

"If I do, you are in no position to question me."

"True," Kyra said, "but you might find it a rather uncomfortable way to prove your point. The room is clear."

With one more annoyingly smug smile, Kyra re-entered the suite, and Claudia had no choice but to follow. She felt herself falling farther down the rabbit-hole, the situation rapidly slipping through her fingers. Only two hours and 18 minutes, and already Kyra thought she controlled her. Time to make some changes in this arrangement.

Claudia entered and made a show of inspecting the suite, assuring herself that Kyra had not missed something important. She nodded in approval at her bodyguard, who had stretched out on the couch.

"Very well," Claudia said. "You may call room service and tell them I want my breakfast at exactly 9 a.m. Bagels, not English muffins. Tell them if they get it wrong again, I will complain to management. Then you may leave for the night."

Kyra smiled lazily, set both hands behind her head, and stretched out farther, eerily reminiscent of a big cat sunning itself on a window seat.

Claudia scowled. "I know you heard me, Kyra. Now get to work."

For a prolonged moment, Kyra did not move. Then she sat up, pulled off her wet leather jacket and flung it across the back of the couch.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said.

Claudia's jaw dropped. How dare this woman challenge a direct order! "For three days, you are my employee," she said, unable to keep her voice from becoming shrill. "That means you will do exactly as I say."

Kyra sighed. "I had hoped this would wait until morning, but I see we're going to have to clarify a few things now. First, I am your bodyguard, not your servant. If you want something from room service, you call them yourself."

"But..."

"Secondly," she continued, "I can't protect you if I leave you alone. I will take the couch for tonight, but I expect you to inform the hotel staff that you want a second bed brought in here by tomorrow night."

"How dare you..."

"And lastly, remember that you made a promise to MacLeod. You will do as I say. It's very important that you keep your promise because you might put yourself in danger by ignoring me. Understand?"

Claudia blinked, unable to formulate a response to such insolence. Kyra obviously did not have the slightest clue whom she was insulting. In fact, she probably wouldn't recognize genius if it bit her on that pert little nose.

"Well," Kyra said while approaching Claudia, who stood stunned in the center of the room, "I'll take your silence as agreement. I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to sleep. So, if you wish to discuss this further, we will do so in the morning."

Thump! Claudia hit the bottom of the rabbit-hole.

Kyra swept past her and into the bathroom, and Claudia remained immobile until she heard the lock click shut. She breathed out explosively and crossed to her bed, mechanically going through the motions of toweling dry her hair and preparing for sleep, her mind a turmoil of jumbled thoughts. Kyra had won this battle, but the war was far from over. She'd regain control soon enough, and then Kyra would learn that no one could best Claudia Jardine.

She locked the suite door, turned out the lights and fell into bed, pulling the covers over her head. Kyra emerged from the bathroom, and Claudia listened to her move catlike through the dark and settle on the couch. Her breathing slowed to a soft, even rhythm, but Claudia remained awake, forming her battle plan for the next day.

Kyra, she thought, had just met her match.

"...So, if you wish to discuss this further, we will do so in the morning."

Silence.

The blond man leaned back in his chair and chuckled, switching off the small speakers that had broadcast every word spoken in the suite belonging to Claudia Jardine. The little pianist apparently had attempted to find help and instead had flushed a tigress, more likely to turn on her than not.

Kyra. That is what Claudia had called her. Kyra, a bodyguard who thought she could waltz onto the scene and ruin his game. She soon would learn that her assumption was wrong -- or she would die. This match called for two players, and a third piece on the board would put a serious damper on his plans.

The game was so close to completion that he could taste victory, and no tigress bodyguard would stand in his way when he collected Claudia's head. Only a couple more days until checkmate. First, however, he had to eliminate this unwelcome intruder, one way or another.