<b><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0000">“We monsters tend to make our own laws.”</span></i></b><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Colin sighed and rolled his eyes at that comment.  Way to make the resident lawman feel warm and cozy, Jim.  He didn't say it, though he wanted to.  Hazel's response was the correct one.  But was it the right one?  He'd often wondered about the monster he'd become after being turned on the battlefield.  It churned up his bile every time he thought about those brave men, dying in the no-man's land between the two armies, while bloodsuckers feasted upon them.  He could feel the glass crack in his grip, so he hurriedly finished the scotch and threw the glass in the trashbin behind the bar before anyone could notice.  And then poured himself another scotch while trying to get his anger under control.  <br/>
<br/>
Watching her knock down her three little soldiers, Colin wondered at the significance of that number to Hazel.  It seemed a bit obsessive.  But who was he to talk about obsessive?  He'd been chasing a group of ghosts from his past since 1815, knocking them off, one by one, like her little soldiers.  Actually, from his perspective, vampires were ghosts taken form.  They were dead, but just didn't know it yet.  How apropos to be called the undead.  It was like being stuck in that no-man's land between the armies once more, except one army was the living and the other the dead and he wanted so desperately to be one or the other.  But not until his vengeance was finished.  And once again he could hear the cracking of the glass in his hand.  "Damn!" he muttered as he downed that drink in a gulp and threw that fractured glass into the trashbin as well.  <br/>
<br/>
He needed a distraction from his thoughts, so he turned his gaze toward Chance once more.  But her serene look of amusement had been replaced by anger at something Set had said.  Something he'd missed in his musings.  </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">But even in her anger, she was a far sight better to look at than Jim's desperate attempts with Hazel.  The man was over-compensating for something, hence all his self-flattery.  It was so painful, Colin almost missed Chance's admission that she wore nothing under that dress that fit her like a glove.<br/>
<br/>
NOW he had the proper distraction to assuage his earlier anger.  The stresses that dress were already under from her voluptuous curves, added to the fact that, IF a few threads gave out, all would be revealed, set his mind racing.  He chuckled to himself, wondering if he still had his small Swiss army knife with him.</span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><br/>
But as he feared, Brock had picked up on that comment about monsters by Jim, only strengthening his determination to learn everyone else's secrets.  Yes, it was part of a detective's job to learn people's darkest secrets.  But not after duty hours.<br/>
<br/>
"Brock, aren't you off-duty at the moment?  Why the third degree when you're not on the clock?"<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
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