Brian's eyes scanned the darkened parking lot with imminent dread. The attack he had been painstakingly protecting the senator from for months now, had arrived. He had felt it at dinner tonight, and then during the fundraiser, they had just departed from. They had been followed all night, not clever enough to evade Brian's notice, but enough so that Brian couldn't get a clear ID on them. As they moved toward the car, a long distance away, Brian knew his senses and reactions needed to be sharper than ever before. Brian knew they would be. He excelled in these moments. Brian held no fear of death, as far as he was concerned, that was a condition of the job.

His hand placed lightly upon the senator's back, Brian urged him forward, his own eyes flickering around, taking in everything; his free hand poised and ready to extract his weapon. A weapon he was more than certain he would be needing. Soon.

The senator peered back at him in concern. "Brian, is there a problem?"

Brian's ears twitched at the slightest sound he heard about fifty feet ahead of them. He quickly retrieved his gun, knowing the moment was almost upon them. He hissed between clenched teeth, "Not another word, Sir. When I give the word, fall to the ground, and roll beneath the nearest parked car. No questions, just do as I tell you."

In the dimly lit garage, Brian couldn't see the fear in his employer's eyes, but was able to pick up the silent nod that accompanied his well-placed words. Whether the senator fell victim to his own panic or not, Brian would still do what needed to be done in order to protect him. If it became necessary, Brian would push the man down to the ground and move on from there. Of that, he would hold no compunction whatsoever. Mere seconds later, Brian grated out harshly, "Now!"

As the senator fell to the ground, gunshots began buzzing past Brian's ear, his own gun extended with four shots sounding repetitious; the sound hollowing out as they clearly struck their target. Brian watched as the would-be assassin fell to the ground, the senator unharmed yet trembling upon the pavement. Brian forestalled the senator's attempt to stand to his feet, with a gruffly ordered, "Stay."

His peripheral vision taking in all angles, he pivoted around when he heard movement behind him; quickly identified as an innocent bystander moving through the area. Brian halted them with a brusque command. "Freeze." As they viewed the body on the pavement, his extended weapon, and the still trembling senator - they immediately complied. Brian picked up the phone, alerting the rest of the security team, along with the authorities - primarily in the intent of disposal of the body. Uncaring of proper investigation protocol, Brian informed the dispatching officer he would be taking the senator back to his hotel. Any further questioning would have to go through his security team at a safer locale.

An hour later, after the standard procedure had been satisfied, although Brian realized there would be further questioning later, he joined the senator in his hotel suite - for what he knew would be the last time. He had formed genuine respect for the older man during the time in his employ. He'd even verbalized such in calling him ‘Sir' on various occasions. That was not a typical Brian Kinney banter. However, now that the threat had been resolved, it was time to move on. Brian didn't stay in one place, or in one position. That's where he lost his edge, his objectivity. There was always a new assignment. It was the hazards of this world, and if a lag in positions were present - he was independently wealthy enough to be just fine.

Brian watched as the senator poured each of them a glass of brandy, his hand shaking, his nerves far from calm. As much as the man had understood the threat; coming face to face with such violence is something one is never totally prepared to endure. Brian had gone through the process, time, and time again. As much as he loved the rush of adrenaline when he foiled the killer, he fully accepted what an ordeal it was on the intended victim, regardless of the end result.

"How did you know?" was the expected question Brian had been certain the senator would be asking.

"He'd been following us all night. I just couldn't get a clear reading, but I always knew he was there, as I knew tonight would be the night. It was easy to determine he was working alone - it was just a matter of being alert and responding to his initial move," Brian replied, taking a long drink, his eyes narrowing as he watched the senator retrieve a padded envelope from the table.

Extending what Brian knew was to be his payment, and from the feel of the package a substantial bonus, he wasn't surprised to hear the senator's next words. "I'd like you to stay on, Brian."

"Thank you, Sir. But I'm no good in a permanent position. My feet go to sleep."

They each nodded to the other, both knowing that would be the result, but the senator was wise enough to decide that getting a possible, however unlikely, affirmative answer, was worth an attempt. Brian smiled, patting him on the shoulder, before setting his glass down and leaving the senator's suite to move to his own to collect the belongings he had brought with him on this assignment. A short time later, Brian slid into his Vette and began the three-hundred-mile trek from Albany to his home in Staten Island thinking he was due a relaxing vacation. For the near future, the only matters of business on his list - alcohol and fuckable ass; oblivious at how quickly his plans could be changed.

"So, like I told her - girl, you can't wear that. The guys will think you're a slut, and um, well, maybe she is - but damn, don't advertise it, you will pick up all kinds of trash..."

A slight pause, perhaps just for the insipid girl to gain her breath, before it continued on and on. "Then this guy drags me onto his lap, and starts grinding against me, and he was like, well you know, a total loser. I told Cindy, listen, I'm leaving. I mean, what do you think, sweetie? Don't you think she put me in a bad position - dragging me out everywhere dressed like a total skank?"

Justin rolled his eyes, barely able to muffle a yawn as his make-up artist rambled on about the events of her previous evening out clubbing with her friend. He wondered why as a millionaire, several times over, why he had to endure this. Why hadn't Daph hired a male instead? If he had to deal with this, at least if he had something hot to look at, it wouldn't be so very bad. God, she went on and on and had been for the past half hour. First, as she did his hair, and now his make-up. Speaking of that - where the fuck was his hairstylist? What was his name? George, yes, that's it. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. Not really caring about the answer, just needing to shut her the hell up. "Where the hell is George?"

"Huh - what?" she asked, her mouth gaping open, obviously only half hearing him.

"Uhhh, George, my hairstylist. I'm due to shoot a promo spot in..." Justin sputtered in aggravation, looking at the clock perched high on the wall, "fifteen minutes from now..."

"Oh, right, George. He was sick today, so I had to cover both, but it's all good, Justin. You're all ready now," Jessica beamed, standing back to admire her handiwork. She pursed her lips, looking at him inquiringly, before asking him, "Uhm, can I ask you a personal question, Justin? You don't have to answer - if you don't want to."

Justin fixed a bored expression on her, waiting for her to continue, knowing refusing would only delay their time together - something he most certainly didn't want to do. "Yes, what is it?"

"Well, is it true what they say in the press? Are you really g-a-y?" she whispered, spelling out the word softly and slowly, as not to be overheard, causing him to laugh incredulously.

"Uh, yeah, it's true. I am a devout lover of cock, but you work for me, shouldn't you be aware of this already?" Justin asked, shaking his head in confusion.

"Oh, I was. I mean you've never hit on me, so of course, that explains it, I guess. You just had to be gay," she said airily as if her reasoning explained everything.

Justin's eyes widened on her in disbelief, all at once stunned and speechless; he wanted to get away from this ditzy girl, sooner rather than later. He breathed out a sigh of relief, before issuing a glare at Daphne, for first arriving to save him from this nightmare - to be followed by his anger that she had ever placed this girl within his inner circle, to begin with. "Daphne, finally. We need to talk!" he snapped, tossing off the towel protecting his clothing, as he advanced to meet her halfway.

"There's no time for that, Justin. You're due on camera in under five minutes. We need you on the set - now. Are you ready, Jus?" she demanded, not waiting for an answer, as she moved to open the door, waving him toward it with a flailing hand. "Justin, why are you staring at me, let's go!"

"Fine," he clipped out, preceding her through the door. "We will talk about this afterward."

"Whatever, Justin. You can flake out on me later, for now, I need you to be the beautiful and brilliant superstar that you are," she told him sternly, her eyes not hiding the admiration she always held for her best friend.

Walking toward the stage, she snickered as she heard him mumbling, loud enough for only the two of them to hear. "Note to self: never hire your best friend as your business manager. They take liberties and run all over you..."

"Blah, blah. You love me, darling, you know you do," she smirked, as she turned him over to the camera crew. She looked at them sternly. "Take good care of him."

The crew rolled their eyes before one spoke up to answer, "We know what we're doing, Ms. Chanders." The director on the set shouted out to the cameraman at the back of the studio. "Bring that camera to the center stage. I want every angle covered simultaneously, then we can cut and edit later."

Justin took his place on the stage, the events to follow happening so quickly he couldn't even begin to process them all. In a split second, a large explosion was heard from the area of the approaching camera, with Justin's security team rushing to tackle him to the floor. Justin's breath began to accelerate as he was crushed beneath the trio of men, and not in the way he preferred to be squished between three men. He groaned, as their combined weight began to make him breathless.

His head of security, motioned the others off, removing his weight from Justin enough to look down at him in concern, "Justin, are you okay?"

"I think so, Ben, but I can't do this now. Can you just take me home?" Justin asked, as his eyes found the camera that had exploded not fifty feet away from him.

Daphne came rushing over, her eyes frantic with worry. "Justin, I just called the doctor. He's on the way to the house. We're leaving now."

"I'm fine, Daph. Let's just get out of here. Obviously, they are working with faulty wiring here," he said, giving the director a withering look.

The director rushed forward, his hands motioning wildly into the air. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Taylor. Nothing like this has ever happened before. We will call to reschedule, in the meantime, it will be investigated."

"See to it that it is, or Justin will not be doing this spot for you!" Daphne shouted back, outraged and trembling in fear at what had almost happened to Justin.

They were nearing the exit, when the make-up artist ran toward them, shouting out Justin's name. Justin groaned in dismay, asking Daphne, "Can you deal with her, please? Right now I cannot handle her again."

"Of course, sweetie. I'll be right out," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

She smiled tightly, watching as Justin was safely led out the back entrance, wanting nothing else than to get out of here and ascertain that Justin was truly unharmed. "What is it, Jessica?"

"There was an envelope left on Justin's dressing table. I don't know where it came from. I went back in to collect my supplies and it was there in bold lettering. I thought he should have it right away," she said, waving the envelope toward her.

Daphne frowned, seeing Justin's name not written upon it, but glued on with newspaper and magazine letters. Swallowing deeply, she took it feeling a foreboding chill running up and down her spine. She opened it, seeing that it wasn't even sealed, removing the contents, gasping as she read the words, and suddenly realizing what she held, knowing she'd been foolish in touching it and compromising any remaining fingerprints.

Her fear grew in leaps and bounds as the words jumped out at her: How did you like my calling card, Justin? This was just a warning. If I wanted you to die - you would be dead N-O-W. I'm coming for you, Justin. Soon, my immortal beauty. Soon.

TBC