Enemy Incognito

By Wynn

Chapter Twenty-Five: Breaking and Entering

"I'm going to ask you one more time," Tyler said as he moved into the main room of the dojo. He shifted the dagger in his hand, the fluorescent lights glinting off the curved blade. "Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in here?"

A wicked grin spread across Faith's face. "Oooh, sweet talk. I bet you drive all the girls wild, don't you?"

"If you don't tell me what I want to know-"

"You'll what? Call the cops? I don't think so." Faith shook her head slowly, mock disapproval shining from her dark eyes. "Someone's been naughty. I doubt you want the boys in blue in here searching through all your shit."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Faith turned and strolled across the room, stopping before the trophy case. She doubted Tyler had confronted Anya and Xander; there hadn't been any sounds of a struggle, and Faith didn't think that Tyler could take both of them out without making a sound. Why had he come back to the building? Had he forgotten something? Had they been set up? It didn't really matter to Faith. She would get what she came for. One way or another. She tilted her head and gazed at the award residing on the top shelf, mere inches from the ceiling. "Nice trophies. Who's Tony? His name is on all of these awards."

"Me."

Looking over her shoulder at Tyler, Faith said, "Funny. Thought your name was Tyler."

A flicker of panic flitted across Tyler's face. His eyes darted from Faith to the trophies then back again. "Tyler is my middle name. I won those under my first name, Anthony."

"Wow… you can't lie for shit. I hate it when people lie to me. It makes me feel bad… angry. Like I need to hit something hard."

"Yeah, well, I don't like finding strange broads in my dojo, so I guess we're both fucked."

"I guess so." Turning back to the trophy case, Faith inspected the wood structure, dark eyes traveling from the base to the top and back again. She moved to the edge of the case and kicked the base once, twice, three times, watching with an air of satisfaction as the structure cracked in two, the jagged pieces and multiple awards tumbling to the ground in a resounding crash. Glancing up, she saw the top plaque still perched a few inches away from the ceiling, now hanging by the cord of the delicate camera lodged inside it.

"That was a mistake," Tyler said as he strode across the room, holding the knife before him.

"But it was fun. Spying on the unsuspecting citizens of Sunnydale. That's wicked gross." Faith moved away from the demolished case, keeping her back to the mirrored wall and facing Tyler. Her eyes flickered over the dagger in his hand. "I'd lose the blade if I were you. Unless you feel like getting stabbed with your own weapon."

A cold smirk twisted Tyler's lips. "You think you can take it from me?"

"I don't think. I know." Faith stepped away from the mirrors and walked towards Tyler. She flipped her black hair over her shoulder as she moved into a fighting stance. "I don't usually do this but I'm feeling a little sorry for you, so listen up. Drop the knife and leave now. You will lose if we fight and you will lose bad. And fighting a fight I know I'm going to win just isn't any fun."

Moving in front of Faith, Tyler glanced down at the dagger in his hand and said, "Coming off a little strong, aren't you, honey? I mean I'm the one with the kni-"

Faith darted towards him, kicking at his hand holding the knife. Tyler danced away from her, backing up a few steps, before he twisted into her, bringing the dagger high into the air and plunging it towards her chest. Faith ducked, sweeping out with her right leg, knocking Tyler onto the ground. She kicked at his hand again, loosening his grip on the blade and sending it flying across the room. Jumping over his prone form, Faith scrambled for Tyler's knife and snatched it off the floor. She turned around and faced him, unable to stop the smirk from appearing on her face.

"Isn't this just amazing? Your knife in my hands… kind of ironic, isn't it, honey?"

Standing, Tyler said, "Doesn't matter."

"You still think you can take me on? Haven't you learned anything in the past few minutes? I told you to leave or you would regret it."

Tyler nodded. He lightly rubbed a hand across the back of his head as he said, "Yeah, I remember you saying something like that. But you know what I've learned? You're all talk and no action. 'Cause you have my knife and haven't attacked me with it yet."

"Want me to? Knives are sort of my specialty. I know all sorts of ways to make a man scream by using a blade. Care for a demonstration?"

"More talk. I know who you are. Took me a moment to place you, Faith." He grinned as a brief flare of surprise flickered across her face. "I got to tell you, from what they told me about you, I expected someone a little more… dangerous. You're too scared to even stab me with my own knife."

"I'm not scared."

"No? Too worried that you'd like it too much, the feel of the knife in your hand as it slices across human skin? That you'd start to lose control and begin to crave it, the smell of blood, the taste of death, the absolute power? That you'll turn against your friends and kill them before turning to innocent people to unleash the rage inside you? Am I worth going down that path again?" Tyler paused. He began to move towards Faith as he continued, "If you don't kill me, you know I'll tell them that you were here looking for the camera, that you know about me and about them. They'll be forced to kill you, then Buffy and the old guy and the rest of the bunch, saving that sweet, innocent little girl for last. So the question is, do you gut me with my own knife and let loose the darkness inside you, or do you wimp out and let me go, guaranteeing more attacks on you and your friends?" He stopped before her, a smug smile twisting his lips. Bending close to her, Tyler rested his mouth against her ear and whispered, "What's it going to be, Faith?"

* * *

Anya twisted the small brass key, attempting to force it into the lock on the office door. "Come on… fit you stupid key shaped thing," she muttered as she leaned forward, putting her body weight behind the key. It snapped in half, one part lodged in the lock on the door, the other grasped firmly in her hand, causing Anya to crash into the wall. Wincing slightly, she shoved the broken half of the key in the pocket of her pants and glanced over her shoulder at Xander and Faith, relieved to see that they hadn't noticed her tumble into the wall. She cursed softly as she saw Xander turn away from Faith and walk towards her. Anya turned back to the door, grabbing the handle and pushing against the wood surface; she felt it begin to crack, the wood splintering as it separated from the metal lock. She gave one final shove, falling into the office as the door swung free, the deadbolt left hanging in the doorframe. Anya jumped to her feet as Xander reached the door, quickly brushing the wood splinters off of her hands and plastering an innocent smile on her face.

"Damn evil people," she said. "Always booby trapping their doors, ready to catch completely guilt free demons off their guard. We're lucky the whole place didn't go up in a big ball of flames and smoke… all ka-bloey."

Smothering the grin on his face, Xander said, "Right. Those evil people are just so… evil with their wacky doors."

The office was narrow and crammed with furniture. To the right of the door, in front of the office window, was a small metal desk and grey chair on wheels; a gold lamp on the desk cast a cool glow of pale light into the office. A slim laptop computer sat next to the lamp, amid various stacks of papers and folders. Two bookcases filled with knick-knacks, awards, and trophies lined the right wall. A tall file cabinet, threadbare armchair, and small round table rested against the far wall opposite the door; a grey portable telephone sat on the round table.

"I'll take the desk," Anya said. "You can look through the file cabinet or just stand there. Doesn't matter to me." She pushed a strand of blonde hair off her face and moved to the desk, making sure to avoid looking at Xander. She could feel him watching her, the office becoming suddenly too small and cramped, the walls closing in on her, making her aware of just how close Xander was to her. Aside from their brief reunion at the Magic Box earlier in the day, she hadn't seen or talked to Xander in weeks. Not since their fight in the middle of the Espresso Pump. You love me, Xander, but you hate what I am… You wouldn't be able to comprehend the things I've witnessed over the past millennia. The things I've done. Anya grimaced as her heated words flashed into her mind. She drew in a deep breath, pushing aside the memories, as Xander moved into the office, shutting the door behind him, and crossed the length of the room to the file cabinet.

"So," he said, tugging on the handle of the top drawer of the file cabinet. "How have you been?"

Flipping through the papers on the desk, Anya said, "Fine. Great. Wonderful."

"That's good. Have you, um, performed any vengeance? Or is it enacted vengeance? Brought forth vengeance?"

"Why do you care? Fishing for information to tell Buffy? 'The evil demon is wreaking some wrath. Better go kill her before she filets us all.'"

"No. I'm asking you about your life. You are a vengeance demon. I thought you would be knee deep in the vengeance giving by now." He rifled through the contents of the top drawer, finding nothing but training certificates and insurance forms. Closing the drawer, Xander opened the middle cabinet and said, "I'm just trying to understand what it's like for you being a vengeance demon. I want to know more about your… job."

"It's not a job," Anya said as she searched the desk drawers. "More like a purpose in life. But one can't just jump headfirst back into the vengeance fold. It takes a lot of time and preparation, and I haven't had the time to devote myself fully to avenging wronged women. Too much going on with all the attacks and, um, other important things going on in my life. And there's nothing worse than half-assed vengeance."

"What-" A deafening crash from the main room cut off Xander's reply. Momentarily frozen, he glanced at Anya, who continued searching the desk, nonplussed by the sounds of destruction emanating from the exterior of the building. He moved toward the door, his hand closing on the shredded edge when Anya reached out and pulled him away from the door. "Why-"

"We need to find these tapes now," Anya said, releasing Xander and continuing her search of the desk. "We need to find something, some clue that'll point us in the direction of the attackers."

"But what about Faith?"

"She's probably indulging in some mindless destruction, which I for one am not going to stop. This ringworm deserves to have his place trashed for taping Buffy. And in the off chance that Faith is fighting someone she said to keep searching. She'll handle whatever's out there."

Nodding, Xander returned to the file cabinet. He tugged on the bottom drawer, his muscles straining to open the locked metal cabinet. Anya sighed and crossed the room, one hand grasping the drawer handle and effortlessly yanking the drawer open. She flashed Xander a bright smile before returning to the desk.

Shaking his head slightly, Xander peeked into the drawer and began to sift through the jumbled contents. Along the edge of the metal cabinet, he found a small tape recorder. He clicked on the play button, and the sound of fabric rustling filled the small office, followed by a door opening and closing.

"Here's your camera." A woman's voice. A bit muffled by the static, but still smooth and confident. "Try to mount it someplace high, preferably near the ceiling. Do you have any questions?"

"No." A male voice. Arrogant and gravelly. "This chick must have done something real bad to piss you guys off. What did she do? Beat you in the beauty pageant?"

"What she did is not your concern." A second male voice. Arrogant, cultured, with a British accent. "Just do what we told you and bring us any useful footage. We don't like to be kept waiting, Tyler, so I advise you to install the camera as soon as possible."

Xander pressed the stop button. He closed the bottom drawer of the file cabinet and turned to Anya, holding the tape recorder in the air. "Looks like Tyler did a little spying of his own. Got whoever ordered this little excursion into voyeurism on tape." A faint frown pulled at his features. He glanced at the recorder in his hands. "The guy sounds familiar."

"Which one?" Anya asked as she dug through the bottom drawer of the desk.

"The second guy. I can't remember…" Xander shook his head and pocketed the recorder. "I was in England way too long. Too many British voices bouncing around in my head. I can't tell them all apart."

Anya slid the desk drawer shut and stood. "No video tapes. I suppose he already gave the footage to the bad guys."

"At least with this recorder we know someone, a man and a woman, got Tyler to tape Buffy. Maybe the psychotic assassin guy was telling the truth about Lilah ordering the hit on us." Placing the tape recorder in one pocket of his pants, Xander moved towards the battered door and eased it open again. "I think our job here is done."

Anya nodded and maneuvered past Xander, stopping right outside the office as she heard a male voice speaking from the main room. Glancing at Xander, the pair moved toward the room, hugging the smooth white wall of the hallway. Anya craned her head around the edge of the wall and peeked into the main room. Faith had her back towards them, a slim knife clutched in her hand, and a tall muscular man with close cropped dark hair stood close to Faith.

"So the question is, do you gut me with my own knife and let loose the darkness inside you, or do you wimp out and let me go, guaranteeing more attacks on you and your friends?" He leaned towards Faith, his mouth close to her ear. "What's it going to be, Faith?"

This wasn't good.

* * *

Buffy glanced around the dark hallway, taking in the plush carpet, lush abstract paintings, pristine fake plants, and gleaming mahogany desks. Evil spared no expense in office furnishings. Everything was screaming with the fact that it was ridiculously expensive. She rolled her eyes at the décor, mulling over the fact that bypassing Wolfram and Hart's exterior line of defenses had been as easy as Angel had said it would be. Go up to the front door, pull it open, and walk into the building. The slightly more difficult part had occurred with getting her, Angel, and Spike up the three flights of stairs and into Lilah Morgan's office unnoticed by the remaining employees.

So far so good.

Slipping out of the stairwell into the third floor hallway, Buffy glanced over her shoulder at Angel and Spike. She nodded slightly, and the two vampires moved into the hall, passing her and continuing down the deserted foyer. She followed silently, watching Angel and Spike. The last time the three of them had been working together had been when Spike had returned to Sunnydale, drunk and delirious, determined to make Drusilla love him again. She and Angel had been 'not-quite-friends,' a fact that Spike had smugly pointed out to them as soon as he was sober.

Love isn't brains, children. It's blood, blood screaming inside you to work its will.

She couldn't rationally stop herself from loving Angel then. Her body had called to his, her blood had screamed its will of wanting him and only him. But now… now, she and Spike were 'not-quite-friends,' and Angel and Cordelia were 'more-than-friends,' a development that was as mind boggling to Buffy as Cordelia the Higher Being. The two brunettes had spent every minute together since Cordelia's return from the land of Glowy Higher Being people earlier in the day. Buffy grimaced at their mushiness. There were five floors of rooms in the hotel, and they couldn't find one suitable one for their love fest?

Buffy sighed. She was just jealous of the open, unrestrained, affection Angel and Cordelia had for each other. You could have it, too, the little voice in Buffy's head whispered. It's right there in front of you. Her hazel eyes darted to Spike. A small smile appeared on her face as she watched him glance over his shoulder at her and smile.

Mmm… pretty. Eyes widening, Buffy shook her head quickly, attempting to banish the crazy thoughts swirling through her mind about Spike. Rationally, none of this made sense. She shouldn't want Spike, and he shouldn't have wanted her. They were supposed to be mortal enemies. And Angel shouldn't love Cordelia, the Bitch Queen of Sunnydale High. But he did. Even if it was weird.

Angel and Cordelia. Buffy and Spike. It made sense, not in Buffy's mind, but in her heart and in her gut and in her blood. In her blood that rushed through her veins whenever Spike was near. In her blood that burned whenever she looked into his eyes and saw all that he had done, the bad and the good, and all that he was, the demon and the man. In her blood that pounded through her body, screaming its will, its desire, and its need for Spike.

Love wasn't brains, all stiff and formal and logical. It was blood, hot and messy and emotional.

And despite all of the logical reasons for her not to, all of the million reasons starting with the fact that she was a Slayer and Spike was a vampire and ending with their tortured, tangled farce of a relationship last year, despite all of her fears and doubts and insecurities and the overwhelming terror that seized her body when she calmly and rationally thought about it, Buffy loved Spike.

Buffy froze in the middle of the third floor hall of Wolfram and Hart as her brain repeated the phrase. She loved Spike. Buffy the Vampire Slayer loved William the Bloody Vampire. Oh god. Her head swam, the room beginning to sway as all of the blood disappeared from her head. She blinked a few times and attempted to suck in a breath but found that her muscles had seized up. Leaning back against the wall, Buffy stuck her head between her knees, forcing her lungs to fill with oxygen and the blood to return to her brain. Perfect timing, brain. Earth shattering revelation while breaking into evil law firm with former and current loves. A half-hysterical, half-elated giggle escaped her lips. Current love.

She was in love with Spike.

But what if he didn't love her anymore? Sure, he came back to Sunnydale to apologize to her, and Dawn said he was still in love with her, but what if he didn't? What if all he wanted to be was friends?

Buffy groaned as she felt the room begin to spin again.

"Buffy? Buffy?"

Snapping her head up, Buffy locked eyes with Spike, who stood before her, concern shining from his clear, vivid, vibrant cerulean eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked, tearing her gaze away from Spike, attempting to clear her hormone bombarded head.

"Are you Ok?"

Her eyes darted from Spike to Angel, noticing that the brunette stood at the end of the hall before an open door. He was looking back at them, a slight frown on his face. She looked at Spike again and nodded weakly. "Yeah, I'm Ok. A big bundle of fine is me." Buffy pushed off the wall and edged past Spike, keeping as close to the wall as possible out of fear of another attack from her overactive libido. She reached Angel and followed him into the massive office. A wide cherry desk sat off to the left, a manila envelope and brass lamp the only items gracing the smooth surface; a plush leather chair resided behind the desk. A few armchairs circled a low coffee table to the right of the door. The rest of the office was open space, the view enhanced by the wall of windows looking out on the nighttime Los Angeles skyline.

"Wow," Buffy murmured.

"Yeah. Crime certainly does pay," Spike said as he walked past Buffy, lightly brushing against her and causing her to jump. He tilted his head against the glass, peering through the flawless, smudge free window at the twinkling L.A. skyline.

Buffy forced herself to turn away from Spike and the window. She saw Angel standing next to the desk, the large manila envelope in his hands. Buffy moved towards the desk as she said, "Found something?"

"Maybe. It was sitting on Lilah's desk. There's no name on it." Angel opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of black and white photographs. Another frown crossed his face as he studied the pictures.

"What is it?"

"Pictures of Lilah. Looks like someone was spying on her."

"Is she in Sunnydale?" Spike asked as he pushed away from the window and walked towards Buffy and Angel.

Angel shrugged. "Maybe. She's coming out of some building. I don't recognize it though." He handed the stack of photographs to Buffy. She looked at the woman in the photograph. Lilah was tall, thin, dressed in a killer suit; she had gorgeous hair and an expensive leather briefcase. She was walking out of a massive brick building. Spike leaned over her shoulder, snorting as he took in the photograph.

"That's the building I saw your wanker of a boss go into," Spike said to Buffy, pointing at the building behind Lilah. "The one on Mulholland Drive. Seems like the assassin bloke told the truth."

Buffy gnawed on her lower lip. "Maybe."

"What is it?" Spike asked.

"I don't know. Doesn't it seem odd that Lilah would have these pictures of her in Sunnydale? And that she would leave them unprotected on her desk, out in the open, where anyone can find them?"

"Maybe someone planted them here," Angel said. "Expected us to come looking for something to tie Lilah to the attacks in Sunnydale."

"But that means-" The door to Lilah's office burst open and five armed guards entered, guns raised and locked on Buffy, Spike, and Angel. They were dressed in black, an odd assortment of weapons, knives, stakes, and other items, strapped to their body. Buffy slid the pictures back into the manila envelope as she said, "That means this is a trap. Great."

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