It was close to dawn when Ian teleported to the back porch of Roman's townhouse on the Upper East Side. He punched the button on his Smart Key wireless remote to disarm the alarm before unlocking the door. The kitchen was dark, except for the backlit digital keypad next to the door. He punched the code to reactivate the alarm.

"Hold it right there," a gruff voice warned him. "Turn around slowly."

Ian turned and spotted the gleam of a Highland dagger, held by a large Scotsman by the kitchen door. "Dougal?"

"Aye." Dougal Kincaid flipped on the light switch. No recognition lit his eyes till his gaze dropped to Ian's kilt. "Is that you, Ian?"

"Aye, it's me. Do ye want to see my ID card?"

"Nay." Dougal smiled as he sheathed his weapon beneath a knee sock. "I recognize yer plaid more than yer face. We dinna expect ye back for another week."

"I was bored." Lonely was more accurate, though Ian didn't want to admit it. "How's everything been?"

"Fairly quiet." Dougal retrieved a bottle of synthetic blood from the refrigerator, then popped it into the microwave. "Are ye coming back to work then?"

"No. I still have a week of vacation." A week when he could concentrate on his search for the perfect mate.

Dougal tilted his head as he studied Ian. "I'd heard ye'd gotten older, but 'tis amazing how different ye look."