The grief had been buried, tamped down so that it couldn't be felt, much less seen. The Watcher's hands had loosened, relaxed against the fabric of her slacks. Two steps forward, one step back. Slow progress, but still progress.

"Who can say what really happened?" Julianna asked, her shoulders lifting slightly. "I wasn't there. I'm sure the authorities will investigate properly, but as I said, this is a dangerous city. Houses get burgled all the time. And we agree Duncan was a bad man. Bad men have bad associations. That was the risk he signed up for, hmm?"

Rhiannon wasn't going to admit having killed the man, and perhaps that was best. As long as Julianna wasn't certain as to what had happened, there was nothing to tell. And no reason to get in touch with Cyrus Claymore. If the Slayer had done it, she couldn't say she approved, but she could understand, and perhaps that was enough.

"The Council won't bother you over this," the Watcher said, forcing the words past the part of herself that couldn't condone this. "Not because of me. As far as anyone at headquarters knows, you're not even in Nevada anymore. So you'd be the last suspect."

Julianna shrugged again, a gesture of acceptance. "I'm a Watcher," she said evenly, maintaining the eye contact with Rhiannon. "A woman just past the cusp of sixty. I read, go to films, cook because I enjoy it, although clean-up is something I loathe. I have a man I like and a career I love. I am not the devil. I rather suspect that neither of us are as bad as the other would believe, but I don't need proof of that if you don't."

It was as close to extending an olive branch as she could get, all that her pride - and guilt - would allow. If they could make even an uneasy peace, she'd settle for it.