Author's website: http://www.zianet.com/jsager

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately. No money being made. The boys and Frannie just came over to play in my head again.

Author's Notes: I was quite surprised to discover I'd failed to archive this story here - number 2 in the Game's People Play Series! Awk! Color me embarrassed as this is more than a little late, having been completed over a year ago. Major thanks again goes to Voyagerbabe, shadow-maker and bouncing board extrodinaire!

Story Notes: Set Post COTW, so everything goes. The NC/Rape warning on this one has to do with the fact that we are dealing with the aftermath of a gang rape. I assure you I do my best to treat the subject matter, and you the reader, with as much respect as possible. There are no graphic flashbacks. For those who like dark, dark, stygian-dark fic, you may want to read "Playing Hardball" first; but I've been careful to write this story in such a way that doing so isn't strictly necessary. If you don't want to read it, but are interested in this sequel, there should be enough explanations to keep you from being completely lost.

This story is a sequel to: Playing Hardball

It was a sound that first intruded on the sweet oblivion which enfolded her mind: a soft hum that refused to fit into the fractured puzzle of vague nightmare that danced at the edges of sleep. Her mind resisted acknowledging it, shying away from consciousness and... whatever it might hold: fear, pain, some unknown horror she didn't want to know or understand. Sleep was safe, a welcome escape from...

Fear teased her heartbeat faster, shredding the shroud of sleep she desperately sought to wrap about herself again. Her dreams became disjointed, vague meanderings, shadowy nightmares of barely glimpsed memories she fought to escape. Waking meant confronting...

...them.

Faces flitted through her mind, voices laughing and taunting. A memory of pain and terror--

She turned her head on the pillow and reality intruded further. It wasn't her pillow, wasn't her bed. Fear raised its ugly head again. Nightmare and reality fused as her arms twitched, struggling against remembered bonds, the cold metal of the handcuffs biting into her flesh as--

No! Sleep! She had to sleep. It wasn't real. It was just a nightmare. As long as she slept, it was only a nightmare!

Ben turned from the window as Francesca stirred. It had been three days since her surgery; three days since Muldoon and his men had kidnapped and brutalized her, using her as an innocent pawn in a sick game of revenge; three days since she'd lost her unborn child and nearly died as Ben watched the paramedics struggle to save her life.

She'd been heavily sedated for the first two days as her doctors sought to give both her body and mind a chance to heal. Someone had been with her the entire time, even so. Physically, she was doing well, or as well as could be expected having been beaten and viciously gang raped. The bruises were slowly making their way through the more colorful stages of healing, red to blue to green to yellow. The swelling around her left eye and lip was almost gone. He knew she'd suffered a concussion and broken ribs as well.

And a hysterectomy. He bowed his head as he stood beside her sleeping form. That was perhaps Muldoon's greatest crime, not only killing Francesca's unborn child but stealing her future children as well. Being a man, Ben didn't pretend to understand what such a loss might mean to the small woman in the hospital bed before him; but he knew it would be devastating. He also knew Francesca would recover. Her brother was wrong to think that this would destroy her. Change her, yes, but not destroy her.

Her mother had told him that she'd woken briefly this morning, but she hadn't recognized Ma. The older woman had stayed at her daughter's side all day. The doctor felt it best, given the traumatic nature of Francesca's assault, if someone she knew was with her in case she woke. Maria had come in for a short time after Tony got home from work, but it was only after Ben arrived that he and her eldest daughter had been able to convince Ma to go home and get some rest.

Actually, they'd insisted that Ray needed her. He'd been released from hospital yesterday and was heavily medicated. The piece of shrapnel which had caught him in the back of his thigh had been easily removed but the damage to the muscles would take more than two days to heal. It was quite painful for him to sit or stand for any length of time, and the medication he was on impaired his ability to use the crutches he'd been given. According to his mother, Ray had managed to stay with his sister for a couple of hours yesterday, and spent the rest of the day in bed because of it. Getting Ma to go home to him had been fairly easy. Ben knew that Tony and Maria would take care of Ray and make sure Ma got the rest she needed before allowing her to return to the hospital tomorrow morning. It was a routine that the family had been through before, but now they had Ben and Kowalski to help. The two men were taking turns with the night shift; Ben, 9 pm to 2 am, and Kowalski, 2 am to 8 am. Ma and Maria relieved him after dropping the kids off at school. Both Lieutenant Welsh and Inspector Mitchell were aware of the arrangement and made no comment if the men were a little late to work. At least not yet.

Ben's tongue swept his bottom lip as he regarded Francesca pensively, watching her toss her head as a frown graced her bruised and battered face, but her eyes remained closed. He wasn't sure if she were waking or just suffering through a nightmare. He reached out and gently took her hand in his, hoping to calm her. "Francesca?" he called her softly. She turned her head toward him in answer and opened dazed, unfocused eyes--

He was lunging at her, laughing as she struggled beneath his weight. Oh god, no! No! Not again!

Ben was taken completely by surprise as Francesca screamed and swung at him, ripping the IV from her arm as she did. She literally threw herself from the bed in a blind panic, climbing over the safety bar before he could even think to stop her. The monitors attached to her suddenly came to life, sounding the alarm as they were torn free, the high pitched demands easily overpowered by Francesca's screams. She collapsed, but her cries were of terror not pain as she stared at Ben, scooting herself backward across the bare tile floor away from him until she ran up against the wall and could go no further.

"What's going on in--" Several nurses and the on-call doctor appeared at the same time.

Francesca transferred her gaze to the doctor as he approached her and screamed again, tears streaming down her face as she slid along the wall seeking any escape possible. The doctor froze and glanced at Ben.

"She woke, saw me and panicked. Some kind of flashback I think," he explained.

The doctor nodded and turned back to his patient who was now huddled in the corner in a tight sobbing ball of fear and anguish. He glanced at one of the nurses. "Get me some Ketamine and Midazolam standing by and call Dr. Davidson. She's probably torn stitches." He turned back to Francesca and squatted where he was, making no attempt to approach her. "Miss Vecchio?" he tried talking to her first. "Miss Vecchio, can you hear me? I'm Dr. Kennedy. I want to help you."

At least she'd stopped screaming and now lifted a tear-streaked face to stare around her in confusion and fear. Her gaze collided with Ben's. "You!" she whispered in apparent recognition even as she continued to stare at him in terror.

"Miss Vecchio?" the doctor tried again, daring to move closer. "Miss Vecchio, can you hear me?"

Her eyes darted to him and she cringed back into the corner.

"It's all right, Miss Vecchio," he spoke clearly, calmly. "You're in a hospital. I'm a doctor. I want to help you. Do you understand me?"

Her eyes darted back to Ben in confusion and question.

"Francesca?" he asked, not sure if she actually saw him or not.

She continued to stare at him as her hands moved to her lower abdomen and she shook her head. "You--I--I shouldn't have--They--said it was a boy..." she whispered harshly. "They--they killed your son..." In the next moment, her eyes rolled back and she was sliding sideways to lay in a limp heap against the wall.

"Your son?" the doctor echoed even as he moved forward to kneel at Francesca's side.

"I wasn't the father," Fraser answered, standing aside as a nurse hurried forward with the requested medication.

She was waved to stand by as the doctor quickly bent and lifted Francesca back to the bed. "Get the IV back in," he ordered, immediately pulling her gown up to do an emergency assessment of her condition. Fraser instantly spun on his heel and turned his back on the bed.

"She seemed to think you were," the doctor commented, ignoring Ben's obvious discomfort as he worked. He ordered the Midazolam administered as soon as the IV was re-established and frowned as he gently palpated her abdomen. She had ripped several staples free, but it was the possible internal damage that had him worried. "I want a CAT scan, stat. We may have to go in again. Did you get hold of Davidson?"

"He's in surgery," one of the nurses answered. "I left a message."

Dr. Kennedy nodded and glanced back over at the man who seemed to have precipitated the emergency. "What's your name?" he asked, putting his stethoscope in his ears and ordering vitals with a silent nod to the nurse across from him.

Ben turned his head slightly but resisted the urge to turn around. "Constable Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to--That's not important. I'm a friend of the Vecchio family."

"This is ICU, Constable," the doctor commented off-hand. "Family only."

"Yes, well, I've been pretty much adopted by the family," he explained. "Both myself and Detective Kowalski have been taking turns staying with Francesca at night so the family can get some rest."

The doctor merely nodded. It wasn't something he was particularly worried about as long as the family approved. "And you're sure you weren't the father?" he repeated as he listened to his patient's bowel sounds.

"I'm quite sure, Doctor."

"...'Cause you know, condoms do break and the pill isn't one hundred percent--"

"--It's not physically possible, Doctor," Ben interrupted the man, feeling his face heat slightly.

"Ah," the man nodded. "You and Miss Vecchio never had sexual intercourse?" he asked bluntly, needing a direct answer.

"No," Ben answered simply.

"Do you or the family know who the father was?"

"No."

The doctor paused and listened as the nurse rattled off Francesca's vitals. Fraser knew enough about such things not to be alarmed by what he heard.

"Okay, let's get her started on a Propofol drip. I want her kept under until after I see the CAT scan," the other man decided. "If surgical repair isn't necessary, we'll start weaning her again, slowly. I don't want her jumping out of bed again. And let's just do a wet dressing on the incision until we know what's going on inside." He glanced up at the clock, noting the time. "I don't want it left open more than an hour unless we're going back in so light a fire under X-ray."

A moment later Fraser found the man at his side, directing him out of the room. They paused outside the curtain as one of the nurses drew it shut. "You say you're a friend of the family. How good a friend?"

"I'm not romantically involved with Ms. Vecchio, if that's what you're asking," Ben stipulated quietly.

"It's not," the other man responded, donning a distant and professional mask. "How much do you know about her rape?"

Fraser glanced away uncomfortably. "Everything that can be known at this point," he forced himself to answer. "I helped with the investigation and rescue."

"Is it possible that the father of her child was involved?"

Fraser met the other man's gaze in sudden alarm as the possibility played around in his mind. It would explain Francesca's obvious terror--"She said 'they' killed his son," he realized, thinking aloud. "Not knowing who the father was, it is possible he was involved but I think it unlikely given her choice of words."

The doctor nodded, frowning at the curtain. "Did she ever address you by name, right or wrong, before we arrived?"

Ben shook his head.

"Okay, well, it's quite possible that something about you triggered a psychotic episode: your hair, eyes, the way you were standing. It could be as simple as the fact that you're a man. Flashbacks are not uncommon in cases such as hers. The sedatives have a calming effect but tend to blur the line between reality and dreams.

"It's also possible that the attack has caused serious mental and emotional disturbances that will require further medical intervention. And... she lost a lot of blood. We could be dealing with brain damage as well. It's too soon to say yet.

"If you're here the next time she wakes up, I want you to keep your distance. Tell her specifically who you are. Speak calmly and clearly. If she shows any signs of anxiety at all, leave immediately and call a nurse. I don't want her trying to jump out of bed again. Make sure the rest of the family knows what to do as well. Her psychological state right now is quite precarious. We need to keep her as calm as possible."

Ben nodded, glancing downward as he offered a silent prayer for Francesca. He hadn't considered the possibility of brain damage. The memory of Muldoon taunting him and the one chance he'd had to kill the man flashed through his mind again.

"They're going to be taking her down to X-ray in a few minutes," the doctor continued. "We may need to operate again to repair any damage done when she jumped out of bed. In any case, it's going to be several hours before we start weaning her from the sedative again. I'm not going to risk letting her wake up until I know what's going on physically. You might as well go home and get some rest."

"Thank you, Doctor," Ben answered stoically, "I'd rather stay, if you don't mind."

"You won't be allowed to accompany her to X-ray." Ben again nodded his understanding. "Okay, well, it's your choice, but you won't do her a lot of good later if you wear yourself out now."

"We've set up a rotating schedule," Ben explained. "I'll sleep later."

The doctor nodded pensively, then turned and re-entered Francesca's room.

Ray frowned as he lay on the couch and turned on the TV, quickly lowering the volume so as not to wake the rest of the house. He sighed in disgust as he clicked through the channels. There was nothing on. At quarter to one, he really wasn't surprised. He should have been asleep long ago but, having spent most of the day in bed already, sleep was impossible.

"...United States Federal Prosecutor, Joe Kelley, today confirmed that Holloway Muldoon, a Canadian national convicted of international terrorist acts against both the United States and Canada at the beginning of this year, will be facing the death penalty now that he is in US custody."

His thumb froze as the news story unfolded. A picture of Muldoon appeared in the upper right corner above the newscaster's head.

"Muldoon, who was recaptured two days ago in downtown--"

Three days, Ray thought irritably, get your facts straight!

"--Chicago, escaped in late July of this year from a maximum security prison in Canada where he was serving a sentence of three hundred years plus life without chance of parole for, among other things, stealing a Russian nuclear submarine and trafficking in biological weapons. His recapture, much as his original arrest had been, was the result of a joint task force involving FBI, RCMP and local police forces."

Yeah right, Ray rolled his eyes, of course the FBI was going to take whatever credit they could... even if they hadn't shown up until twelve hours after Muldoon's arrest!

"US charges against Muldoon are still being compiled. He is expected to stand trial sometime in late May, 2000."

"May?!" Vecchio exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the late hour. "That's seven months from now, you..." He lowered his voice as the silence of the house finally penetrated his anger, "...jack asses!" he muttered softly.

A moment later the silence was broken by the sound of the phone ringing. Ray frowned and glanced at the device across the room, knowing there was no way he could lever himself off of the couch and over to it before Ma picked up upstairs. Damn, but who in the world would be calling at...? His frown shifted from irritation to concern as he realized that it could well be the hospital calling about Frannie. He'd never thought to find himself praying for a crank call in the middle of the night!

The phone stopped announcing the call in the midst of the third ring, meaning that his mother had picked up. He quickly muted the television and glanced at the ceiling, straining his ears to hear her voice in the silence, knowing it to be impossible. He quieted even his breathing as he fought to hear anything. She'd be calling for Tony or Maria in a moment if the news were bad and they needed to get to the hospital. The silence continued to stretch. Two... three minutes... He heard only the faintest of occasional soft murmurs. No alarm was raised. He dared offer a silent sigh of relief as the murmurs ended and total silence descended once more.

A moment later, he glanced up again with a sharp frown as he heard bedsprings followed by the squeak of a floorboard. His mother was getting up. The call might not have been an emergency but something was obviously up. He reached for his damn crutches and forced himself off of the couch. He hobbled out of the living room at the same time his mother made it to the bottom of the stairs.

"Ma?" he asked in concern.

"Raymundo?" she greeted him, cinching the belt of her heavy terry cloth robe tighter. "You should be in bed, Caro."

"Who was that calling?" he asked, still concerned as he followed her into the kitchen and watched her prepare two cups of warm milk. He knew the second was for him.

"Benton," she answered. "I made him promise to call if there were any change in your sister's condition. She woke while he was there and was frightened. Somehow, she fell out of bed. They were worried they'd have to operate again but the X-rays were negative. He says she's fine now."

Fell out of bed? he thought. No one just fell out of a hospital bed! His mother put the cups down on the kitchen table and helped Ray over to a chair. He tolerated the help only because he knew it made her feel better. "Did he say why she was frightened?" he wanted to know as they both sat down.

His mother shook her head. "I imagine she was confused from all the different medicines she is on," she decided sadly. "She did not know me when she woke this afternoon."

Ray nodded, having heard about that earlier. His mother may have put up an understanding facade when she told him of it, but he could tell that it had hurt and worried her, no matter what logic might dictate otherwise. It was going to take time for Frannie to recover from everything. If she could. Blaming it on the drugs was just an excuse to help hold onto their hopes for her eventual recovery.

Ray very much feared that such hopes were nothing more than wishful thinking. The baby sister he'd grown up with and fought to protect --failed to protect-- was gone forever. And it was his fault. She'd been attacked because of him.

He stared down into his warm milk and saw the face of Holloway Muldoon as displayed in the news broadcast only minutes ago. His free hand closed into a white knuckled fist beneath the table and he closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he fought to hide the depth of rage and frustration that assailed him at the memory of the other man's laughter. He was assaulted by the brief glimpse he'd gotten of Francesca as the paramedics and Fraser swept by with her on the gurney...

Three days ago and Ray was quite certain the man was still laughing: facing the death penalty... and still laughing. Ray knew what the bastard's chances of actually getting a death sentence were. He suspected Muldoon knew it as well. He was right back where he'd been eight months ago when he'd first been convicted. Another country, another trial, another jail. Another chance at escape...

Hell, the crimes against Francesca hadn't even warranted a footnote in the news! Muldoon had taken his revenge and no one cared. At best, he'd get a few more years on a ridiculous sentence, if the FBI even bothered to prosecute him for it amongst all the other charges he was facing. What did it matter? Nothing. Less than nothing! And there wasn't a damn thing Ray could do about it.

"Drink your milk before it gets cold," Ma's voice interrupted the laughter in his mind. "It will help you sleep."

Ray opened his eyes and stared down again at the mug on the table before him. He nodded wearily and forced himself to lift it to his lips, sipping the warm liquid for his mother's sake. It tasted like chalk. He glanced up at her and forced a tired smile. "Thanks," he whispered, refusing to let her see his pain.

She waited until he was finished and then stood, patting his shoulder before taking both cups to the sink. Together, they left the kitchen. Ray feigned a yawn and hobbled toward the guest room on the ground floor where he'd taken up residence until his leg healed a bit more. Ma reached up and kissed his cheek before she turned and left him. Ray closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, closing his eyes as he listened to his mother make her way back up the stairs to her own bed.

He was completely oblivious to the single tear that slipped slowly down his face.

Fraser was waiting on the sidewalk in front of his apartment, Dief at his side, when Kowalski finally drove up, ten minutes late.

"Sorry," he apologized as he reached over and popped the door open. "Ma and Maria were running late and then I had to explain, you know, about calling the nurses if Frannie got upset or anything."

Fraser reached in and held the seat forward for Diefenbaker. The wolf hopped in back with no difficulty despite the bright blue cast that still encased his right front leg. Fraser let the seat fall back again and removed his hat before sliding into the passenger seat beside Ray. "Did she wake again after I left?" he asked, setting his Stetson on the dash as he deftly buckled his seat belt and Ray pulled out again.

"No," Ray answered simply and sighed. He was quite happy to help out the family and sit with Frannie but doing so was emotionally draining. It was hard to see the little spitfire looking so helpless and hurt. "So, what's on your plate today?" he asked changing the subject.

"Acting as chauffeur for the Canadian Minister of Finance," Ben answered. "He has a meeting at the Spanish Consulate this morning then boards a plane later this afternoon for talks in Washington, DC."

"Boring," Kowalski offered with a sympathetic shake of his head.

"You?"

"Gotta lead on the Henderson case if I can ever break away from the stupid FBI." He rolled his eyes. "I swear, they expect me know what Muldoon ordered on that god damned pizza of his!"

Ben was not surprised. Unfortunately, his opinion of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigations was not improved by the bureaucratic maneuvering that he'd witnessed over the last two days. As a member of the RCMP, he knew that he was treated a bit better than Ray; that was when what he had to say wasn't completely dismissed. He was as happy to have his interviews over with and be able to claim consulate duties as an excuse to escape further harassment, at least for today. It wouldn't last. He knew Inspector Mitchell was going to be acting as liaison between Canada and the US State Department as the FBI developed their case against Muldoon. He also suspected there would be those in Ottawa demanding Muldoon's extradition back to Canada. Extradition was extremely unlikely, but the forms had to be adhered to, especially in a case where the 'suspect' was a Canadian facing the death penalty.

The two men fell relatively silent after that, each immersed in their own thoughts about what had transpired three days before and trying to come to grips with it. Traffic proved to be surprisingly light so that Ben was only two minutes late as they pulled up before the Consulate.

"Call when you get off," Ray told him as Ben stepped out of the car and held the seat forward again for his lupine companion. "We'll grab a bite to eat and I'll let you bore me to death with the details of your day while I regale you with the Henderson case and try to forget the feds."

Ben awarded his friend a small, amused smile for his purposely provocative word choice and merely nodded, slipping his hat in place before turning to the Consulate steps and what (Kowalski was quite right) was sure to be a very boring work day. He welcomed it, however, after all that had happened over the weekend. Actually, he would have preferred a mountain of mind numbing paperwork to keep his thoughts occupied, but perhaps the Minister would prove to be a gregarious individual requiring small talk and answers to mundane questions. Ben could only hope so.

Kowalski watched Ben and the wolf hurry up the steps, offered the statue of Turnbull standing sentry a friendly wave, and then continued on his way to the twenty-seventh. He heaved a huge sigh of relief when he failed to see the expected set of three of four black, glossy sedans in the parking lot screaming FBI. If he could check in and grab his notes, he might just get out of here before they showed up!

As yesterday, the station seemed a bit subdued without Frannie's overly energetic presence to light the spark. Part of the announcement's wall had been dedicated to her, with her picture and an update of her condition. There were a few cards pinned there as well, more for color and as a kind of 'we're thinking of you' memorial. Someone had even made a small angel and stuck it next to her picture.

Ray moved past it quickly. The picture was too happy and full of life, contrasting painfully with the reality of what he'd just left at the hospital. He knew she'd be all right, he refused to believe anything else, but he wasn't sure they'd see such a carefree grin on her face again for a very long time. Huey and Dewey stopped him on the way to his desk, wanting the latest, just as they had yesterday. He suspected it would become a routine. He told them that she was doing fine, sleeping comfortably, and hurried away, leaving them to feed the gossip machine of all those who were concerned about Frannie. He didn't bother to tell them about Fraser's little incident. That was nobody's business.

He stopped and frowned at his desk. It was exactly the same organized mess as it had been when he left it yesterday, except for the in-house mail awaiting his attention, but his alarm bells were going off. Something wasn't right here. He quickly reviewed his memory but no, he saw nothing out of place. No one had messed with his stuff or...

Vecchio's desk, next to his: there was a large manilla envelope sitting on it. On top of the envelope was his notes on the Henderson case.

He knew damn well he hadn't left them there.

Kowalski's alarm bells screamed. The envelope made no sense because Vecchio was on medical leave and all of his in-house mail should have been rerouted. Add to that the fact that it was the same kind of envelope as had held the pictures of Frannie that Muldoon had sent...

He was very tempted to yell for a forensics team, but instead reached into his pocket for a pair of latex gloves... only to find them missing. Damn. He quickly rounded his desk and opened the bottom right-hand drawer. No good detective was ever without a supply of latex gloves but he hadn't stuffed any into his coat pocket yet. He noted off-hand that he was almost out, then turned his attention back to Vecchio's desk.

"Ray?" Lys asked in confusion, pausing on her way past with some files for one of the other detectives.

"I'm just being paranoid," he explained himself and nodded at the envelope. "You put that there?"

"No," she answered. "It was like that when I came in. I thought maybe you didn't want it mixed in with your other stuff or forgot it there on your way out last night."

"Nope," he said simply, snapping the gloves on and moving forward to bend over the papers. He didn't see anything that looked like it could be a booby trap or anything.

"Do you want me to call Welsh?" Lys offered.

"Not yet." It could simply be that one of the night shift had been looking for a file or something on his desk and had moved the notes and envelope to Vecchio's desk. Given that nothing else on his desk had been touched, and that he didn't remember the envelope, he didn't buy that idea for an instant... but he was going to check it out himself before calling in help. He picked up his notes and thumbed through them. Nothing missing. It was a hit and run case he'd only been given yesterday. He should have locked the notes in his desk but it was too soon for anyone to be interested in them anyway.

No, it was the envelope that was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wasn't surprised to see it addressed to him. He knew instinctively that the return adress was fraudulent. It was already open so he didn't have to worry about triggering a letter bomb or anything. Damn, but that was two times in less than a week that someone had managed to sneak an envelope into the bullpen without getting caught. He looked in the opening and slid a single typewritten sheet out onto his hand. A picture of Stella followed to smile up at him. He felt his stomach clinch and forced himself to read the note.

The game's not over. Batter up!

Fraser's tongue swept his bottom lip a moment before his teeth raked the same surface in an obvious indication of apprehension as he regarded whatever it was he held in his hand. The receptionist frowned, taking in his body language as he stepped up to her desk. She knew instinctive that something was wrong.

"Jasmine..." He managed to force a tight, polite smile for her and indicated the manilla envelope and unknown papers he held. "...Did you put this on my desk?"

She reached up and bent the tan envelope down so she could see the front and nodded as she recognized it. "It arrived this morning by special courier. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Yes," he answered cryptically. "Can you describe the courier?"

"Oh, let's see..." She frowned in thought. "It wasn't the usual guy. We deal with Intercity Courier Services all the time. This guy was new. Kinda young, maybe early twenties? Blond hair, kinda shaggy; glasses; maybe five ten or so, average build. Nothing special, I'm afraid. Why? Do we need to file a complaint with the company?"

"Wearing a uniform?"

"Yeah, but it seemed a little big now that I think about it."

"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

"I doubt it," she admitted. "I had about four calls going at the same time when he came in. Sorry."

Fraser nodded, clearly disappointed. He glanced at the office door beside her. "Is the Inspector available?"

She glanced at her phone and saw all the lights dark. "He just finished a call with the Finance Minister," she told him. "Last minute changes. He should be calling for you any--"

"--Jasmine?" the intercom beside her phone suddenly interrupted her.

She offered Fraser an 'I told you so' look and clicked the intercom open. "Yes, Sir?"

"Could you ask Constable Fraser to come in here, please."

"He was just asking for you, Sir," she answered, nodding toward the door. He nodded his thanks in turn and stepped toward the office. "Fraser?" she stopped him before he disappeared. "You might ask Turnbull if he saw the guy. He was on sentry and has a better eye for faces than I do."

He offered her another nod and this time the smile that accompanied it was a bit more genuine, then he turned and closed the door behind him.

Agent Ford read the note within its clear protective sleeve and shrugged. "And you think Muldoon sent this?"

"No, I think PeeWee Herman sent it!" Kowalski replied sarcastically. "'Course Muldoon sent it! Who the hell else do you think sent it?"

"Someone who reads the papers and wants to jerk you around maybe?" Ford replied, slapping the document back against Kowalski's chest.

"'Batter up!'" Kowalski quoted the short note even as he caught it before it slipped to the floor. "He's referring to his original note about 'playing hardball'. That wasn't in the papers you pea-brained nitwit!"

Ford shot Welsh a look that had the lieutenant, though he agreed with Kowalski about the epitaph, reluctantly rolling his eyes and issuing a verbal warning in the form of, "...Detective..."

Kowalski spun on Welsh. "He's whitewashing this, Sir!" He slapped his hands against the desk before him and leaned in over his arms, not attempting to hide his anger. "He's going to ignore this and get Stella killed, and you know it!"

"And how the hell is he going to kill her, Kowalski?" Ford interrupted him, letting his own irritation flare. "We've got Muldoon in maximum security lock down. He doesn't blow his nose without us knowing about it."

"He's still getting orders out to his underlings, probably though his lawyers!"

"And how the hell do I prove that, Kowalski?" Ford pushed a finger into his chest. "All you've got here is an unsigned note and a picture of your ex. The note isn't even explicit enough be considered a threat. No witnesses to it's delivery. No fingerprints. No nothing! Shall I use your Mountie friend's tactics and politely ask them, 'Say, is Mr. Muldoon asking you to act as a conduit between himself and his henchmen in an attempt to kill Assistant State's Attorney Kowalski?' Yeah, that would be real effective!"

"You could throw his butt in isolation and slap her into protective custody!"

"You forget: I've met your ex. I don't think she'd be very appreciative of our methods. Nor do I think I could get clearance for it based on nothing more than your rather dubious misgivings. This is nothing more than some psycho looking to make you jump through hoops. You might want to perform for him, but I don't." And on that note Ford turned to leave. "I've got a hell of a lot more important things to worry about with leads concerning his international arms dealings to follow up on. Call me if someone actually takes a shot at her or if you happen to stumble on anything even remotely resembling evidence."

As the door shut behind Ford, Kowalski slammed his fist into the wall beside one of the windows... and then had to wonder if he hadn't broken his hand!

"You were generous in calling him a pea-brained nitwit," Welsh decided softly. "His brain's not that big."

Mitchell put the magnifying glass down and regarded what he held with a pensive frown. "There's a calendar in the background, Constable," he noted. Ben had already seen it. "This picture was taken two days ago."

"Yes, Sir."

"Have you called her yet?"

"She's out on patrol, Sir."

"But she did report in this morning?"

"Yes, Sir. They will pass on my warning when next she calls."

Mitchell regarded the other man's stoic face. After six months of working with the rather unorthodox Constable, he was beginning to be able to read him. "You don't expect her to take it seriously."

Ben continued to stare straight ahead while offering a small despondent shrug. "Not seriously enough, Sir."

Mitchell nodded and put the picture down next to the short note on his desk. He offered a small sigh and steepled his fingers as he debated what he could do. "Muldoon's friends went to a bit of trouble to get this here so quickly. Unfortunately, he's not stupid. Except for the 'batter up' reference, there's nothing here to tie him to it. I'll contact Ottawa and the US State Department; see if I can at least make them sit up and pay attention, but frankly I don't think there's a lot anyone can do. If Muldoon's smart, he's already set the wheels in motion on this. It's not him we have to worry about."

Ben continued to hold his position of relaxed parade rest and kept his gaze focused on the wall behind Inspector Mitchell's head. "With your permission, Sir, I would like to contact Detective Kowalski. It may be possible to trace the plot back up the chain of command if we can find the courier who delivered this."

Mitchell nodded. "Rather unlikely but it's the only lead we have. Given your history with Muldoon, and your report concerning his attack against Miss Vecchio, I am taking this very seriously." He drummed his fingers upon his desk. "Very well. You have my permission to liaise with local and federal police forces to pursue this case as far as they will permit. I will do what I can from my end. Turnbull will take over chauffeuring duties for the Minister of Finance. See if you can get a better description out of him and then send him in. The Minister's flight was delayed but he's still expecting someone to meet him at the airport at noon."

Fraser nodded and drew himself to attention.

"Keep me appraised, Constable. Dismissed."

Fraser spun on his heel and quickly went in search of Turnbull, thankful once again that Thatcher's replacement hadn't been another diplomatic toady like Moffatt.

"Geez, I think we've gotten more mail in the last two days then we did at Christmas," Tony groused as he came into the living room bearing a pile of mail he was sorting through even as he approached Ray on the couch. "Frannie, Frannie, Frannie... here." He tossed Ray an envelope. Ray caught it in mid-flight and had to react fast as another came sailing his way. "Bill, Frannie, stupid ad, stupid ad, Frannie..." Another white envelope sailed toward Ray. They were obviously cards.

Maria, who was passing by suddenly spun on her heel and entered the sunlit room. "Mail? Did my Cosmopolitan arrive yet?"

"Cosmopolitan?" Tony rolled his eyes even as he continued thumbing through the stack of letters and junk mail. "Don't tell me you actually subscribed to that damn thing!"

"Hey! It was fifty percent off the store prices," Maria informed him as she craned her neck to see over his shoulder, trying to spot her magazine. "Don't complain. I actually saved you money."

"Yeah, right! So hows come my wallet is cryin', huh?"

A large manilla envelope was the last to be thrown Ray's way before Tony turned to head for the kitchen. Ray shook his head as he listened to the two of them continue their bickering and then frowned down at the envelopes he held. The manilla envelope drew his attention first as it obviously wasn't a get-well card. The address was typed on a plain white sticker, as was the return address which he didn't recognize.

He felt a cold shiver run down his spine, remembering a very similar envelope that he'd received at the station only last Friday: an envelope that had contained pictures of--He shoved the images of his sister away. There was nothing about this envelope to tell him that it too was from Muldoon. Muldoon was in prison, his every move monitored, including his mail. So what if it was the same kind of envelope? So what if the address labels were similar? There were tons of such envelopes delivered everyday across the nation. There was nothing--

--No stamp or post mark.

Oh, crap.

Ray felt his heart climb into his throat even as he tore into the envelope. To be on the safe side, he should have taken it out to the backyard and called in the bomb squad. Most letter bombs were larger than this; but with today's technology, and him being a cop, it wasn't impossible to pack a deadly little something inside such an envelope. He was not surprised when nothing went 'boom'. Muldoon would never stoop to anything as mundane and direct as a bomb. Swallowing around a dry throat, he prayed he was wrong as he reached inside and drew the single sheet of paper out.

The game's not over. I'll get back to your sister later.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, fighting the urge to scream his rage and fear to the heavens. Oh god, no, no! This couldn't be happening. Not again!

It was only long experience as a police detective that kept Ray from shredding both the envelope and note. He forced himself to take several calming breaths, praying again: this time that none of the family would come in and find him in such a state. He had to calm down and get control. Muldoon was still playing his mind games, he was still threatening Ray's family. Ray had to think if he was going to fight him, had to think if he wasn't going to fail again.

No. He wouldn't fail Frannie again. Not again.

He forced his eyes back open, swallowing the tears of sheer frustration that had threatened for a moment, and with shaking hands carefully opened the envelope again to reinsert the note before he further contaminated possible evidence. He needed to call Kowalski, get him over here to pick this up and take it to forensics, file a report and get a guard on--

There was something else in the envelope.

Dreading what he was going to find, Ray carefully tilted the envelope, being careful not to touch the five by seven photograph that slid--

"Oh, god," he gasped, feeling as if he'd been stabbed in the gut and someone was twisting the knife. Frannie would have been bad enough. Frannie he'd been expecting. What he saw was his mother's face smiling up at him.

That son of a bitch! That god damn, sick, son of a--! Pain stabbed the back of his leg as he hobbled about the living room on only one crutch, interrupting the litany of vulgarities he was hurling at his unseen antagonist.

"Ray?" Maria paused on her way pass the living room again. "What do you think you're doing walking around without--"

Ray glared at her. It was a feral look. One that even Maria, who was used to his melodramatic tendencies, recognized instantly as being deadly serious. Something had happened. She lifted a hand to her throat as she realized her brother was on the phone.

"Ma?" he asked, his attention instantly refocusing on the voice at the other end of the phone.

"Raymundo? I was just going to call. Your sister is starting to wake up. Would you like to talk--"

"Ma!" his voice snapped sharply, interrupting her happy tones. "Ma, shut up and listen to me. And for god's sake don't let Frannie know what I'm saying!"

"Raymundo?!" she replied, shocked to have him address to her in such a manner.

"Ma, smile!" he ordered.

"The children? Something has happened to one of the children?"

"No!" Ray forced himself to take a deep breath and beat back the rage and urgency trying to destroy what little control he had left. "No, Ma," he assured her, "the kids are fine. Maria, Tony and I are all fine. No one's been hurt--"

"--Then what is this with telling your mother to shut up? How dare you speak to me in this way!"

Maria finally found her voice. "What the hell's going on, Ray? You telling Ma to shut up--" He offered her another glare, but this one only got a scowl before she turned to yell for Tony over her shoulder.

"Is that Maria I hear shouting in the background?"

"Ma-aaa!" He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Listen! Please. I need you to listen... and smile for Frannie, okay? I got something I have to tell you but I don't want Frannie to know. She can't be upset, remember?"

"Francesca is not awake enough to know what it is I am saying."

Ray sighed in exasperation and realized that his own sense of urgency had overridden his better sense. Yeah, he needed to warn his mother, but he didn't want to frighten her to death! Unfortunately, he knew perfectly well that he already had. And he also knew something of how the drugs that Frannie was on worked. He had to do something to minimize the damage. "She hears more than you think, Ma. Smile and pretend I made a joke, then go to the nurses' station and call me right back. Okay?"

"Raymundo, I am not in the mood for one of your games," his mother told him quite firmly. "Now, tell me what it is that has happened and stop scaring me like this!"

"Ray!" Maria demanded, storming up to him and facing him with her hands on her hips.

Oh, man, he thought, directing his frustration at himself now. He'd really messed this up! He had to get control back and he had to get it back now. He quickly covered the mouth piece. "Are the kids inside?" he hissed at Maria.

"It's Wednesday, Ray," she replied and rolled her eyes. "They're in school!"

Right. Of course. He knew that. "Go get them."

"What?!"

"Raymundo? ...Raymundo?" his mother's voice called. "Have we been disconnected?"

"No, Ma," he assured her. "Just a minute."

He ignored the spat of exasperated Italian that his words were awarded and covered the receiver again. "Go get the kids. I'll explain when you get back."

"Like hell you will," Tony appeared beside his wife, holding a sandwich in one hand. "I'm not yanking the kids out of school just cause you got some wild hair up your ass."

"Tony!" Maria jabbed an elbow into his ribs for cursing in the house.

"Raymundo!" Ma snapped sharply, demanding his attention.

"I'm here, Ma." Ray didn't have the patience to try and to explain it to both Tony and his mother at the same time. He spun on his heel and grabbed up the note and photograph, thrusting them at his brother-in-law. Even Tony should be able to figure it out! He turned his attention back to his mother. "Okay..." He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had to calm down. More importantly he had to keep his voice calm. Keep her calm. "Okay," he said again. "First, there's nothing to be scared about." *Yet,* he thought. "I'm probably just being paranoid but I--"

His mother interrupted him again with a voluble spat of irritated Italian. "Base santa di Christo! Regalo mi la pazienza!"

"Ma. Ma!" he interrupted her in turn, fighting to keep from snapping again. Calm. He had to stay calm. "I'm probably being paranoid," he started again, lifting his voice to talk over her, "but I'm not taking any chances either, okay?"

"You are giving me gray hairs, you know this?" she muttered. "I have enough gray hairs without you adding more."

"Oh, my god!" Maria hissed as she read the short note and put it together with the photo.

"What?" Tony asked, completely lost.

Ray ignored them. "Your gray hair is beautiful, Ma," he assured her and hurried on. He was probably giving himself more gray hairs than he was her!

Maria grabbed Ray's arm. "Is this from that Muldoon character?" she demanded.

"Muldoon?" Ma heard the name and repeated it in shock.

"Ma!" Ray exclaimed even as he nodded at Maria. "Frannie can hear you! Trust me, I know!"

"Of course," Ma offered, her tone a little strained as she forced a small laugh. "I am being ridiculous. He is in jail. He cannot hurt us or anyone else ever again. Mi preziosa bambina Francesca is perfectly safe."

"That's right, Ma, that's right," Ray told her solemnly. "I'm not going to let that bastard hurt any of us ever again. He's just playing his mind games; but we're not going to take any chances even so."

Ray turned his back on where Maria was in the midst of explaining it to Tony in an urgent hiss.

"Games? What games?"

Ray sighed. There was no easy way to say it. He didn't want to scare her but he knew that ignorance in this situation could be deadly. "He sent me a threat,"

"Dio de cielo, proteggerli! Mi cara figlia--"

"--It's not Frannie he's after, Ma..." He sighed and bowed his head, forcing the words out. "It's you."

"Me?!" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Look, I don't want you to get upset or anything. There's really nothing to be worried about. I just called to make sure you were okay and warn you. Don't be talking to strangers and don't leave Frannie's room until one of us shows up. It's probably nothing, but I'm going to call Welsh and get some protection for all of us anyway. Muldoon's in prison so he really can't do anything but try to shake us up. We just gotta find whatever penny ante little twerp he has running his errands for him and I'll send him up to join his boss."

He turned to find Tony gone and Maria pacing the room, hugging herself in obvious worry even as she hung onto every word he spoke to their mother.

"Uh, yes, I see. Do not worry, mi caro. I'm stronger than you think. I'll, uh... I'll help Maria get the decorations down when I get home." Decorations? he thought... "I'm sure Francesca wouldn't want us to skip Little Tony's birthday because of her."

"Ah! Good one, Ma. Keep her calm and happy. She don't need to know anything about this."

"Of course. We will show them what the Vecchios are made of. I will see you soon?"

"Soon, Ma. Be careful."

"I will. You too, Caro."

Ray sighed as he hung up and found that the calm he'd been able to maintain with her was a very fragile thing. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to heaven, feeling the fear and rage threatening to overwhelm him again. He paused to offer up a silent prayer for his mother.

Then he quickly lifted the phone again: time to call Welsh.

Turnbull's photographic memory and ability with a charcoal pencil had paid off again. He'd managed a 'fair' likeness of the courier before Kowalski showed up to get Ben. The two had then returned to the twenty-seventh. They were standing behind Lys as she scanned it into the system when Welsh appeared at his office door.

"Kowalski! Fraser!" A sharp gesture indicated they were to join him immediately.

"Let us know as soon as you've got a match," Ray told the newest civilian aid. She offered only a nod, concentrating on the job as Ray and Ben headed across the bullpen to disappear within the Lieutenant's sanctum.

A sharp glance from Welsh had Fraser closing the door behind him before turning back to the man who was angrily pacing about his office. "I just got a call from Vecchio," he explained curtly. "Seems Muldoon isn't satisfied with trying to kill Francesca, now he's threatening Ray's mother."

Both men stiffened. It wasn't surprising that Vecchio had also gotten a threat, they should have been expecting that, but the thought of anyone going after Ma...

"Vecchio's on the verge of losing it," Welsh continued, his voice dropping as it often did when he was truly upset about something. "Muldoon's got him dancing on a razor's edge. First Frannie and now this..." He shook his head. "There's no telling what he'll do if anyone tries to hurt his mother. I want the two of you to get over there and keep him from freaking out. He says he has some evidence he wants you to pick up for forensics anyway. I'm guessing another envelope like both of you already got. Any luck with that composite Turnbull drew up?"

"Lys is running it through the system now," Kowalski answered succinctly.

"Good. Tell her to call you if she finds anything. Vecchio was talking about uprooting his family and how if the FBI can't take care of Muldoon, he will. I've told him I'm assigning a couple of men to provide twenty-four hour protection for the family but that won't last if I can't get clearance from upstairs and I can't get clearance if the FBI keeps sweeping this thing under the rug. Ford's dodging my calls. I may have to ask for volunteers. Get over to the house and get Vecchio thinking straight before he does something stupid. If he comes unglued, Muldoon wins."

The two men nodded gravely and turned to hurry from the office.

It was a voice that invaded her dreams this time, a voice that she hadn't heard in more than eight years. "Look what you do to your mother," he observed irritably. "Sittin' there watchin' over you while you sleep, lookin' so innocent. 'Bout as innocent as a whore."

Frannie turned her head on the pillow to discover her father glaring at her from behind where her mother sat knitting. She should have been surprised, her father had died in a drunken car accident years ago, but she wasn't. She should have been shocked and maybe even frightened, at the very least confused. She felt nothing.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked calmly, noting that her mother made no response to her voice.

"Well, what do you know? She finally sees me."

Frannie frowned pensively as her mother continued her knitting, quietly humming a lullaby as she worked. "She can't see me. Haven't figured out why someone can or can't." He shrugged. "Don't even know why I'm here. Stickin' around watchin' my kids make a mess of their lives... I'm ashamed to call you my daughter! Don't be expecting no sympathy from me, girl," he told her. "You brought this on yourself."

"I did?"

"Just a matter of time." Pop Vecchio shook his head in disgust. "What do you expect? Prancing around half naked in those little mini-skirts and shorty-tops of yours. Might as well have been wearing a sign saying, 'Sex toy: take me, I'm yours'!" He scowled at her.

Frannie remembered the kidnapping, the beating, the terror and... It didn't touch her. Weren't trauma patients supposed to have amnesia of the event or something like that? She remembered it all quite clearly. It was almost as though she were seeing it from another person's perspective. She heard Muldoon taunting her, saw the blows, the rape, saw the camera and then the other men... Her hand drifted to her lower stomach. Only then did she feel anything, but even that pain was a distant and nebulous thing.

"They killed my son."

"You mean, you killed him."

Frannie offered her father a distant frown.

"If you'd been a good girl, there wouldn't have been a son to begin with!"

True...

"Always looking for fun, that's my baby girl," he sneered. "How you made it through high school without gettin' knocked-up, I'll never know. Always wantin' to be the cheerleader or fashion model. You had your nose in those fashion rags more than you did your books. Your idea of popularity was spreading your legs for every Tom, Dick or Harry that smiled at you!"

Frannie offered another distant frown. He was exaggerating. But did that really matter? She'd heard the same accusations all through high school. She was the youngest daughter of a taxi cab driver. She should have disappeared into the woodwork and been a quiet little wall flower, but obscurity was the last thing Francesca Vecchio had ever wanted. In point of fact, she hadn't lost her virginity until her senior prom... Once or a hundred times, it was still a sin. She'd gone to confession and done the assigned penance, but she'd never really repented. Was God punishing her because of that? And for all the other times? She couldn't quite remember how many other times...

"That's probably how you hooked Gino, isn't it?" Pop decided. "He was a good man, but you wouldn't settle down would you? Wouldn't stop wearing those tight little dresses and bright red lipstick and be a lady like your mother." He indicated the woman who still sat quietly humming a lullaby as she knitted something. It looked like baby booties... "Oh, no, not you! You knew what it did to the men around you. You liked the attention. You might have stayed faithful to Gino, hell I don't know, maybe one man was just too boring for you! Doesn't matter if you did or not. You humiliated him by dressing like a prostitute all the time! Then you had the gall to get mad when you drove him into another woman's arms."

Again, the distant frown as the last several months of her marriage tripped through her mind in perfect detail. Was Pop right? Had she driven Gino into the affair that had ended their marriage?

"And you wonder why that Mountie friend of Ray's won't give you the time of day." He shook his head and laughed. "Nobody marries a trollop, girl! He's like me at his age. He's looking for a lady, not a piece of used, dirty trash."

Used... Dirty... True...

"It's a good thing you lost the kid," he decided with a nod. "You ain't fit to be a wife, let alone a mother."

The sound of footsteps rushing into the room startled her. Ma glanced up from her knitting and released a small sigh of relief to see Ray sweeping forward. He quickly bent and gave her a hug, during which time she was able to recover from the momentary panic that his sudden appearance had triggered which was something she didn't want her son to see. He leaned back again, his hands on her shoulders.

"You okay, Ma?"

"I am fine, mi caro," she assured him and offered a smile for the two men who followed her son. "Benton. Ray."

"Ma," Kowalski nodded a polite greeting.

Ray closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanks for his mother's well being, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly before he opened his eyes again. "So, um..." He glanced at Francesca, knowing he couldn't say any of the things he wanted to say around her, "how's Frannie doing?" He was surprised the question came out sounding as normal as it did.

"Frannie's tryin' to sleep here," the woman in the bed muttered in answer, surprising them all. She blinked heavy-lidded brown eyes open. Actually, she'd been awake for sometime but simply had no desire to open her eyes. Her gaze collided with Ben's.

"Frannie!" Ray's form intervened. He offered a gentle smile and reached up to sweep a few loose strands of hair from her forehead. "Hey, Sis. Good to see you awake."

"Muldoon?" she asked simply, without batting an eye.

The question alone told Ray she remembered what had happened. "He's in jail and this time he won't escape. You don't have to worry about him ever again," Ray promised her emphatically. He was going to stop Muldoon's sick games if it was the last thing he did!

Frannie nodded, staring into her brother's eyes and seeing the silent vow behind his words. She knew Ray would die before he let anyone hurt her again, but she didn't believe him about Muldoon. She'd heard Ma talking to Ray earlier. Ma always was a lousy liar. Frannie knew something was going on. She should be frightened, but she wasn't. It simply didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

"Hey, Frannie," Kowalski greeted her with the same gentle smile. "How you doing? Feeling a little better?"

"No," she answered bluntly and turned her gaze again to where Ben stood in the background.

He returned her silent gaze and stepped forward. "Francesca," he greeted her with a gentle smile as well.

"Get out."

All four people exchange confused glances as the smile was replaced by a pensive frown. "Francesca?"

"I said, 'Get out'," she repeated herself more firmly and turned her head away.

"Hey, what's wrong here? It's Benny. Remember? Constable Benton Fraser--" her brother offered only to be silenced as Frannie gazed up at him.

Her eyes were dead. There was absolutely no emotion in her gaze.

"I know who he is," she assured him. She looked again at Ben, meeting that concern and... "I said get out!" she shouted and grabbed her pillow to throw at him.

Ben avoided the pillow easily and stepped back in shock. Despite the shouting, there was still no emotion in the soft brown eyes that stared into his. Two nurses and a doctor instantly appeared, summoned by the shouting. For Francesca's sake, Ben ducked out of the room and stood outside, listening. He heard the doctor questioning her, but she made no answer. Ray followed suite, but again she remained silent, refusing to speak.

Ben bowed his head, fighting his emotions as he struggled with the fact that she'd basically thrown him out. What had he done to cause her--Did she blame him for the rape? For the fact that he hadn't killed Muldoon when he had the chance? For arresting him in the first place, precipitating his need for vengeance?

He'd been hoping for a second chance with her, a chance to break down the barriers he himself had erected... only to find she couldn't stand the sight of him.

Maggie paused outside the door to the Outpost to stomp the snow from her mukluks. There wasn't a lot but it was the wet, sticky type. No need to be tracking it across the floors inside. She smiled in the twilight as she watched it fall from the reddish fur to the rough wood of the porch, then kicked it aside so it wouldn't freeze into a lump to trip the unsuspecting in the dark. It had actually been a very nice day, at least for Inuvik in mid-October.

She stepped inside the welcoming warmth of the small Outpost and quickly shed the heavy RCMP issue coat. In another month, she'd be digging out the parka.

"MacKenzie." She glanced up to see one of the civilian aides addressing her. The local woman pushed her mid-night black hair behind an ear and then jerked her head to the back. "Sergeant wants you."

Maggie nodded and offered a friendly smile to the little Inuit boy who sat at the front desk coloring. "Thanks." She headed back to the sergeant's office wondering if there'd been a break on the Kelly case. The door was open so she simply leaned through the doorway. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"MacKenzie." Sgt. MacPherson glanced up from his paperwork and waved her in. "Patrol go all right?"

"Fine. Quiet day."

"The Tuttersons okay?" he asked, referring to a domestic violence call he knew she'd gotten.

"Yeah, the boy got liquored up and spouted off to his mother. It didn't amount to anything but a lot of yelling. She refused to press charges and I saw no sign of physical abuse so I simply warned them I'd have to bring the boy in for disturbing the peace if the neighbors called us in again."

The sergeant nodded and waved her to a seat before his desk. "Sit down," he told her. "I got a message from your brother earlier today. He's worried again."

"Ben?" Maggie frowned, remembering his warning from last Saturday as she took the proffered chair. "I thought Muldoon was back in jail?"

"Yeah, but apparently he's not happy to just sit quietly in his cell. Your brother got another threat."

Maggie shook her head. She was very glad to be able to call Benton Fraser her brother, but she had to talk to him about this over-protective streak he seemed to be developing.

"There was a picture of you with it," the sergeant added, his somber tones cutting through her mild amusement. She glanced up at him. "It was taken through that window," he pointed to his left, "two days ago." Maggie frowned at the window. Two days ago? How could they know--

MacPherson pointed to the wall on his left. "The calendar is in the background." She glanced at the Blue Pine calendar with it's distinctive Inuit artwork, each day past carefully x'd through. A chill went down her back. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to get that shot, get it developed and shipped down to Chicago and your brother in only two days."

They certainly hadn't done it via regular mail routes, Maggie agreed. Someone would have had to take the shot, then almost immediately hop a plane to get it down there in time. That took money. And money spoke of serious intent.

"Inspector Mitchell, your brother's boss, is also worried. Apparently, the woman Muldoon kidnapped last Friday very nearly died. He's made some phone calls."

"Did he say how Frannie is?"

"Frannie?"

"The woman who was kidnapped," Maggie explained. "I met her when I was in Chicago last year."

"No, I'm sorry, your brother didn't say... and neither did the other two men who called me from Department Headquarters. Inspector Mitchell called Ottawa with his concern."

Oh, dear...

"They agree with him that this is a serious matter. Muldoon is a very powerful and dangerous criminal. Your brother was responsible for his original arrest. He was also instrumental in his re-arrest. You're the perfect target for revenge against Constable Fraser, so they're not taking any chances." He offered her a hand written note. "I haven't had to de-crypt a message since I came up here."

De-crypt!? She lifted a brow in surprise and took the note, quickly reading through it.

Oh, shit...

"I'll get the car," he said, standing and reaching for his own coat. "A plane is standing by to take you... well, where ever you're being transferred too. I'll drive you myself."

"But... my stuff. My dogs!"

"--Will be taken care of, Maggie," the sergeant assured her emphatically. "I'll take care of your team myself. Look, I know this is sudden and extreme, but orders are orders; and mine say that as soon as you show up, I'm to take you immediately to the airport. I've already bent that as far as I can by taking the time to explain everything here. It won't be forever," he added gently, taking in her confused and shocked expression. "Your brother's already trying to track the courier who delivered the threat, and Muldoon is facing the death penalty. They kill him and any contract out on your head dies too. You'll be back here before the spring thaw."

Spring thaw was more than six months away!

"The orders come from Ottawa," MacPherson repeated sympathetically. "They may be a bunch of bureaucrats panicking over nothing, I know you can take care of yourself, but I can't argue with them... and neither can you."

Damn it, Ben, why'd you have to get Mitchell involved! The man had a lot of clout to pull something like this! She sighed and bowed her head.

"Come on." MacPherson reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "I gotta get back here and start screaming for your temporary replacement. And don't worry, the position will be open when you're ready to come back."

Fraser stood at the sink and finished up the few dishes he'd used that day. He rinsed the last one and set it in the drainer. Then sighed and allowed himself to slump against the countertop.

(((whine)))

He glanced over to where Dief lay watching him from the doorway. "I am not sick," he assured his friend.

(((wuff)))

"I'm not depressed, either."

(((Humph!)))

"I'm not," he said firmly. Dief merely frowned, as only he could, and looked away. Fraser rolled his eyes and sighed. "All right," he admitted reluctantly. "Maybe a little. Francesca..." He shook his head and stared down into the now empty sink, watching the lingering soap suds fade. "She wanted to ask me something last Thursday," he remembered, glancing back over at Dief. "Ray interrupted us and... I forgot it until now." He sighed, remembering it all too clearly now.

She'd had that 'look'. The one that... Frankly, it had always frightened him; or... it was more that he was frightened of his own reactions when she looked at him that way. He wasn't blind. Nor was he a monk, and... She was Ray's sister. He knew perfectly well how her brother felt about any relationship between himself and Francesca. For both their sakes, Ben had chosen to keep her at arm's length.

It wasn't until she'd nearly died that he'd realized how foolish he was to let her brother dictate such boundaries. And what he'd nearly lost.

He didn't know if he and Francesca were suited for... well, for more than friendship, but he'd finally admitted that he wanted to find out. She'd never made a secret that she wanted more, even if he had pretended to be oblivious to even her most blatant attempts. She was quite tenacious, he had to give her that, which was hardly a bad quality.

She'd changed over the years he'd known her, and... he liked those changes. He liked who she'd become. He'd actually flirted with her once or twice, and enjoyed the subtle, teasing by-play. She'd proven to be a loyal and steadfast friend with greater depth of character than her carefree, distracted facade led most to believe. She had a unique way of looking at life that was half innocent-daring and half warrior-courage. Nothing would stop her, not even this. But...

"She's angry at me," he told Dief and ran a thumb over his eyebrow as he turned to lean his lower back against the counter. "I don't know why. Maybe... maybe she thinks it's my fault she was kidnapped in the first place. If I'd let Dad..."

No. No, he was right to stop his father. He wasn't at all sure how a ghost could shoot a ghost gun and kill someone, but he'd been quite certain of the outcome if he didn't stop him. Muldoon would have died, and his father... His father and mother were together now. His Dad had made the right decision.

That didn't mean Francesca would agree.

Another possibility occurred to him. "Maybe while she was sleeping, Ray told her I could have killed Muldoon and didn't..."

That was something a part of him still regretted. It would have been the same decision his father had made more than thirty years before when he thought he'd killed Muldoon by pushing him into Six Mile Canyon. Only, Ben would have succeeded. He closed his eyes as he again saw Muldoon across the parking lot...

*"Hey, Fraser! Was it your kid, huh? You banging Vecchio's sister? Did I manage to kill your son, Fraser?"*

It was almost as if he were there again as the pain and rage that Muldoon's words had triggered rose to choke him.

The memory of Francesca after she'd thrown herself from the hospital bed suddenly replaced Muldoon.

*"You--I--I shouldn't have--They--said it was a boy...They--they killed your son..."*

The pain surged even greater. His son. A part of him wished it had been; that he'd been able to love and protect Francesca, and know the joy of holding their child in his arms...

But it wasn't his son. And wishing it had been, didn't even make sense! The loss of a child wasn't a pain he ever wanted to know, but... but Francesca did, and it was a pain he would have gladly taken from her if he could.

"She won't let me help her, Dief." He bowed his head and folded his arms. "I should be sitting with her now, taking my turn..."

*"...your son..."*

His head snapped up. Was it possible she actually thought the child was his? The doctor's concern about possible brain damage whispered through Ben's mind again. He'd thought her words a product of confusion due to the drugs she was on. Was it possible that, even now as the drugs were being withdrawn and cognizance was returning, that... Did she, in some strange logic known only to her--believing him to be the father--blame him for failing to protect his unborn son? Was that why she shoved him away?

It didn't make sense to him, but he knew it might to her.

He shook his head again, dismissing the speculations. He lacked information to form even an hypothesis, let alone an explanation. Francesca was the only one with answers, and she wasn't ready to reveal them.

"The doctors have recommended that I stay away, at least for the time being." He glanced down again, seeing the evening stretch out before him...

He would likely read or perhaps go for a walk. He might check in with Mr. Dallancy down the hall. He was an elderly widower who'd just moved in. He'd complained that his kitchen window didn't close properly. The management knew about it, but it sounded like they were stalling. Ben could go down and offer to take a look at it. It would be something to do to take his mind off Francesca, not that he expected it to work.

Perhaps there was something he could do at the Vecchio house that would help ease the family burden?

It would have to wait until tomorrow, after work. The data base had given them a name for the courier, one Tim Weber; but his last known address was in New York. Ben and Kowalski were going to canvass the areas surrounding the police station and consulate with the courier's picture in the hope of picking up a local lead. Ben seriously doubted he'd leave town before Muldoon was finished with his 'game'.

He sighed again and leaned his head back. Time. It was going to take time to track the man down, if they could. Time to track the conspiracy back to one of Muldoon's lawyers. Time to fight and protect those Ben cared about.

If only he'd killed Muldoon! ...But he'd already missed his chance. Logic and duty said he'd made the right choice. His heart screamed otherwise. If only he'd taken the shot... Now, he was forced to hope the American justice system could find some way to keep Muldoon from terrorizing them further. But it would take time...

It was also going to take time for Francesca to heal, both physically and emotionally, for the words and explanations to come. He prayed her anger was just the result of the drugs, just a confused dream or misunderstanding. He could think of no reason she would suddenly hate him.

He was just going to have to be patient. He had to accept that this was one time he was helpless to help a friend.

He didn't have to like it.

"Come on," he told Dief. "We need to fix a window."

Maggie was not particularly enamored of airplanes. She'd had to work too many search and rescue operations when one went down. Now, she made a point to tune in the weather advisory channel on the radio as Sargeant MacPherson drove the benighted 14 km to the airport. Fortunately, there were no warnings up at present. 'Course that could change rather quickly up here at this time of year. Nor did it tell her anything about wherever she was being shipped off to. All her orders had said was that she would be met at the airport and briefed by her contact as to her re-assignment.

Damn it!

She hoped she wasn't being yanked down to Ottawa or Toronto to disappear in the masses. She could survive there if she had too but, damn it again, she hated big cities! Inuvik, with a population of about thirty-three hundred, was plenty big enough. And it was home. Once a year, she'd head down to Yellowknife to pick up a few extravagances that were too expensive or hard to come by in Inuvik but, for the most part, she enjoyed a simple life style. Hell, her one-room cabin outside of town wasn't even connected to the city utilities. She preferred it that way. Simple. Basic. Natural.

She remembered the first time she'd gone to one of the bigger cities. It had been ten years ago when she'd gone to the academy down in Regina. She'd suffered a bad case of culture shock. Some of the cadets from back east had thought it rather humorous that she was so 'uneducated'. The sentiment had nothing to do with her schooling. She'd known nothing about the movies or actors they talked about and couldn't care less about fashion. She was uncomfortable with gossip, and inane chatter confused her. And partying... She enjoyed a drink once in a while but the idea of going out to get drunk was simply repugnant. She'd gone with a group of fellow cadets once and wound up policing them the entire night. She'd been pretty much ostracized after that... until she kicked their asses in survival training and hand to hand combat. She smiled at the memories now, but some of it had been rather hard to stomach at the time.

She'd graduated with honors and been posted to Toronto. Her superiors had immediately realized it was a poor choice and shipped her off to Yellowknife where she served her first year under the guidance of a twenty-two year veteran of the Force, Sgt. Haines. Since then, she'd pulled a number of different assignments, including Vancouver and Ottawa, and she'd learned to adapt to the various environments. But her home was still Inuvik. Finally, after about five years, her superiors had decided her experiences were 'well rounded' enough to let her transfer where she belonged.

Now, she was being yanked away again. Damn it! She was going to have some choice words for that brother of hers the next time they met up.

"Here you go," Sgt. MacPherson sighed as they pulled into Inuvik International Airport. The airport might be small compared with those farther south, Maggie knew, but it was a modern facility and a customs' point of entry for Canada, handling some twenty thousand take-offs and landings per year. The sergeant found an empty spot under one of the tall halogen lamp posts and pulled the Range Rover to a stop, but didn't turn off the engine as that would mean having to plug the engine block and oil pan into the provided electrical system to keep them from freezing.

"How much money do you have with you?" he asked her suddenly.

"I'm fine, Sergeant," she assured him with a smile. "Thanks."

"That's not what I asked, Maggie." The older man frowned at her, digging out his wallet. "Those stupid bureaucrats didn't even allow you time to pack a change of clothes or stop by the bank. If you're going into hiding, they won't let you use your checking account or credit cards. You're going to need some cash but they won't have considered that. Here..." He emptied his billfold, quickly counting the money and then forcing it upon her. "Take it, Maggie. There's not that much but it'll help. You can pay me back when you get home again."

"Mac, really, I--"

"--That's an order, Constable," he told her firmly. "I won't have you disgracing the detachment because those idiots in Ottawa didn't think things through. If they really screw this up, call my mother's place, and we'll figure out someway to help you. Now, get going. There's a plane waiting on the runway and it could be yours for all we know. 'Don't want to aggravate your contact by keeping him waiting." He quickly tucked his billfold back in place and turned around, ignoring her attempt to hand him back the money.

Maggie sighed and shook her head, pausing long enough to quickly count the money so she'd know what to pay back and then tucking it deep into her hip pocket. "Thank you, Sir."

"I'd do the same for any of my men, Constable. Keep safe."

Maggie nodded silent acknowledgment of the truth behind his words and his kind wishes. Without another word, she pulled up her hood and silently slipped out of the warm interior of the SUV into the sub-zero night. The snow crunched noisily beneath her boots as she made her way across the pavement toward the main terminal. The lights of the Range Rover swept over her, casting her shadow against the large squat building for a moment as the sergeant turned the vehicle around and headed out again. She glanced up at the control tower nestled directly behind the terminal, it's surrounding tinted windows glowing green in the night as the men within went about their jobs. The sky beyond was crystal clear and black, sprinkled with a million diamonds. New moon, she realized.

Damn, flying was bad enough but did she have to do it at night?

She turned back to the main terminal and hunched deeper into her coat as she continued toward the steps and the welcoming glow of the double-paned glass doors at their top.

There were three people in the waiting area: two men and a woman. Maggie knew instantly who her contact was.

The other woman stood and nodded a greeting as Maggie came up. "Constable."

"Inspector Thatcher." Maggie nodded in turn. Then remembered Ben telling her about Thatcher's transfer to the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service. "Or, um, 'Agent Thatcher' is it?"

"Let's try 'Meg'," she answered with a small smile and a glance at the two men across the room, apparently ignoring the women. With a nod, she indicated a door to her left. "Plane's waiting. I'll explain everything en route."

Maggie nodded in turn and proceeded Ben's old boss through the door. CSIS. Damn, what had Ben gotten her into?

The waiting plane was a small military transport. A crew member saw them coming and quickly opened the forward door. Maggie grabbed hold of the mounting ladder and scrambled upward, knowing how quickly heat from inside the plane would escape. Meg followed her and the door was again dogged shut. The idling engines were quickly revved and the plane was rolling even before the two women had found a seat... but then, Maggie realized, there weren't any seats! The plane was loaded to the gills with cargo.

"Just hang on here!" Meg shouted to be heard over the engines, indicating a support column and some straps. "We won't be here long!"

Maggie was more than a little confused and frustrated. How in the world was Meg going to explain anything over all this noise? She grabbed at a strap and fought to keep her balance as they maneuvered over the runway and taxied into position for take off. As soon as they were in place and had come to a stop, the crewman again opened the door and gestured to the women. Meg waved Maggie to follow and scrambled back down the ladder into the dark of the night. Now even more confused, Maggie shook her head and followed, jogging after the other woman as she hurried across the tarmac toward a nearby hanger. Behind them, the transport started forward again and was soon lifting into the star-spangled sky. Meg opened a door in the hanger and the two women entered the pitch black interior.

"Who's there?" a voice called.

"Thatcher," Meg called back in a normal voice. "Door's shut, you can turn on the lights."

The lights of the hanger snapped on revealing a typical tube-like enclosure and two bush planes equipped with skis. Two men in burnt orange cover-alls and heavy winter parkas were obviously expecting them.

"What's going on here?" Maggie finally voiced her exasperation, unable to keep silent any longer.

"A little subterfuge," Meg answered. "It's called breaking the chain. Anyone who was watching you or the airport will assume that you're on the transport that just took off. It's en route to Yellowknife where a look-alike will board a plane for Ottawa and vanish upon landing. In reality, you're not going that far." She turned to smile at the two men. "This is Terry and Michael Pratchet. They run a courier and supply service up here while helping to keep an eye and ear open to possible drug smuggling operations. They were scheduled to make a run to Paulatuuq this afternoon but had some 'engine trouble'."

"So they were delayed long enough for me to get on board, is that it?"

"Exactly." Meg turned to some boxes to her right and deftly pulled out a bundle of some sort. "Here," she handed it over. "You need to change clothes."

"This is ridiculous!" Maggie sighed. "I'm a Mountie, for heaven's sake! We don't run!"

"You're not running, Constable MacKenzie," Meg corrected her firmly. "You're buying us time to track Muldoon's associates down. Until we do... You're not the only one in danger."

That got Maggie's attention. "Who else is he threatening?"

"For now, Stella Kowalski and Ray Vecchio's mother. He's also promised to come after Francesca again. He won't be satisfied until everyone close to Fraser, Vecchio and Kowalski is dead. Then, he'll go after them."

"He's in prison already," Maggie noted with a concerned frown. "How do we stop him?"

"We destroy his network," Meg answered simply. "Like destroying a spider web, one thread at a time, tracing them back to his lair. It takes money to buy revenge. We find his assets and where the money is coming from and... SNIP!" She made a sissors-like motion with her fingers. "He's powerless to hurt anyone ever again."

Maggie nodded. That made more sense than waiting for his execution. "In the meantime, I disappear in Paulatuuq?" She shook her head and protested, "I've pulled duty there before. It's within the Inuvik sphere of responsibility! People know me. Or... am I acting as bait?"

"No," Meg answered quickly. "We have people elsewhere who are trained for that sort of thing. --Did Ben ever explain to you about Ray Vecchio and Ray Kowalski?"

"You mean about Kowalski pretending to be Vecchio while Vecchio was undercover?"

"Exactly."

"You mean... I'm going to--You're--Someone else is going to pretend to be me?"

Meg nodded.

"And I'm..." She stared at Thatcher for a long moment, and then frowned down at the package she'd been handed. There was a patch of some sort sewn on one of the sleeves... She pulled it out so she could see it better. "Parks Canada?" she asked in confusion.

"Assistant Warden Margaret Hoagland, assigned to Tuktut Nogait National Park," Meg nodded, confirming her suspicions. "Paulatuuq is a very small community. Less than three hundred people. As with Kowalski, the people you'll be working with will know who you really are, but it won't matter. No one's going to be looking for you in Paulatuuq. And if anyone does... Well, strangers stick out like a sore thumb there."

"This was your idea, wasn't it?"

"It's the best I could do," Meg frowned. "I didn't think you'd want to be dragged down to Vancouver to rot in a nameless hotel until this was all over?"

"Ah, no," Maggie admitted, taking the hint. She had absolutely no desire to windup in protective custody until Muldoon's assets could be seized and his power base broken. If they were lucky and got the right break it could all be over in a couple of weeks, but she also knew it might take years. Sgt. Haines was being completely unrealistic in thinking the Americans would be able to try and execute him in six months!

"Good. Michael will show you were to change."

Maggie sighed but offered not further protest. The powers-that-be were locked on a course of action and she suspected that the only way out of it for her was to resign. Frankly, she wasn't ready to do that; nor was she prepared to have her brother appear on her doorstep ready to lay down his life to protect hers. She knew damn well Ben would do just that if she refused to cooperate.

She quickly changed and was not surprised to find the new uniform a good fit. Margaret Thatcher had always struck Maggie as being surprisingly efficient. The puppet masters in Ottawa might not have thought things through, but Meg had. Maggie was then given a duffle bag of clothing and 'personal effects', including paperwork, credit cards and ID in the name of Margaret Hoagland.

"The credit card is only good to five hundred dollars and you'll be expected to pay it back out of your pay as Margaret Hoagland. You're supervisor will explain about pay, duties, etcetera. I'll be copying and switching your medical records over here in Inuvik in case of emergency. I'll also be your liaison to anyone outside of Paulatuuq and that includes Ben, but it's going to be very limited, for everyone's sake. My number is written on the inside cover of your 'diary'."

"Wait," Maggie interrupted, having a hard time trying to absorb everything at once. "What about you? Aren't you afraid Muldoon will send someone after you as well? I mean, I don't know how close you two were but--"

"--Margaret Thatcher disappeared two months ago. I was specifically recruited to help with covert operations abroad, but there's an intensive probationary training period. My bosses felt this would be good experience. Do me a favor and don't make me look bad."

"You? A spy?" Maggie whispered in surprise, although why the idea should be surprising she didn't know.

"We like to refer to it as 'intelligence gathering', thank you," Meg corrected her drily. "Michael's got the plane warmed up. Let's go."

Ten minutes later, Maggie was finally allowed to move from the floor of the plane where she'd been hidden for take-off to a somewhat more comfortable seat. Glancing out the window, she managed to find the scattered lights of Inuvik quickly retreating behind and below them.

Damn it, Ben... Though she knew none of this was really his fault, she was still irritated by the entire blown-all-out-of-proportion quality of everything. She felt like a leaf caught up in a tornado, striped of all control and with very little idea of where she was going to land. She had to blame someone for it...

Frannie turned her head on the pillow and blinked her eyes open, expecting to see Ma or Maria at her bedside.

"Hey, Sis," Ray offered quietly, making no move to rise from the visitor's chair he occupied three feet away. "You feeling better?"

Better? She wasn't sure she knew what the word meant any more. 'Feeling'... She knew that one. She didn't want to feel. She refused to feel. She wished Muldoon had killed her so she didn't have to feel ever again...

"Get out."

Ray lifted a brow in mild surprise and regarded her in pensive silence for a long, hard moment. "You gonna throw a pillow at me like you did Fraser?" he asked calmly, refusing to let her intimidate him. "I guess you like being sedated."

Frannie stared back at him in silence and he felt a frisson of fear race up his spine. Her eyes were dead. Cold, distant... A stranger without feeling stared out of his sister's eyes. It was as if someone had turned off a light switch. He'd expected... He'd expected pain. He'd expected tears and anger and horror, screams and accusations, demands and unanswerable questions of 'why?', suffering and anguish...

It wasn't there.

She closed her eyes and turned away... It had to be shock, he knew. He knew what that cold numb void felt like; knew that she probably didn't remember everything that had happened, probably didn't want to remember everything that had happened.

"Was Fraser the father?" he heard someone ask and was amazed to realize it was himself. Ray hadn't even realized he was questioning Benny's assurances otherwise until he heard himself speak. He knew Benny would never lie about... But he'd asked anyway. He had to. His voice was cold and calm, a mirror reflection of what he'd seen in Frannie's eyes.

She blinked her eyes open again and turned her head back to her brother, her gaze unreadable.

"Is that why you threw him out?" Ray heard himself ask. His voice might be coolly dispassionate but his feelings most certainly weren't. He met her distant and unwavering regard with a silent and unwavering demand. He remembered too clearly the time Benny had told him about Frannie coming on to him after Zuko's goons had beaten him to a pulp. More specifically, he now remembered how Benny had refused to say whether he and Frannie had done anything or not, citing some antiquated code of honor nonsense. But he was having no such qualms now! Was it simply because the situation was so much more serious or... No way could Benton Fraser be afraid of 'fessing up to the truth, even if he had to know that Ray would kill him for it!

"No," Frannie answered after a very long moment.

"'No, he wasn't the father,' or 'No, that's not why I threw him out'?" Ray specified.

He finally saw the first real hint of emotion in her gaze as she frowned at him in distant irritation. "It's none of your business."

He was surprised by the instant raise of bitter bile and rage that answered her words. It required all his control to keep from shouting at her. "My baby sister has lost her unborn child because of me and you say it's none of my business!?" he hissed angrily.

Her distant irritation was joined by distant confusion.

"Muldoon attacked you because of me," he answered the look. "Because 'Armando Langustini' took him for a ride; because I helped set him up for the fall. Because I wasn't smart enough to go into the Witness Protection Program like the Feds wanted. Because I wasn't smart enough to realize that Muldoon was more dangerous than the Iguanas were. Because I didn't protect you! This is my fault; my fault, Frannie! My fault that you were kidnapped and almost killed. My fault that you lost the baby! And you're telling me it's none of my business?!"

His anger and pain were met with... nothing. Frannie's eyes were empty. And that was his fault too...

Frannie shook her head and looked away. Ray was wrong but she didn't have the energy or desire to argue with him. He wouldn't hear her anyway. It wasn't his fault...

It was hers.

"Fraser was not the father," she answered his question and closed her eyes, seeking escape from her own pain and guilt. She couldn't deal with Ray's as well.

"Who was?" he wanted to know. The question didn't surprise her. It was painfully predictable. Neither did the intensity of the pain behind it. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She just ignored him.

"If Fraser wasn't the father, why did you throw him out, Frannie?" he demanded next. She felt her bed shift and knew that he'd stood to lean over her, supporting himself on the safety rail. "Why? You've had the hots for him ever since--Is that it?" He suddenly stood back. The surprised understanding in his voice caught Frannie's attention enough that she had to turn and look up at him, wondering if he'd somehow divined her ugly little truth. "You're afraid of Fraser because of what those monsters did to you? Because you're afraid he might do the same thing?!"

Afraid of Fraser? Frannie shook her head in disgust. No, he didn't get it. And that was fine as far as she was concerned. "Go away, Ray," she sighed, turning away and closing her eyes once more. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"So tell me!" he hissed. He reached out to grab her by the arm, wanting to shake her, make her wake up from whatever emotionless cocoon she'd retreated into, make her turn and talk to him, keep her from tuning him out, tuning life out--

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, jerking from his hold and suddenly curling into a tight, protective ball. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"

"Frannie?" his whispered, horrified to realize he'd frightened her! Two nurses and a doctor were instantly there. "Frannie, my god. I'm sorry! I--" He turned to the doctor. "I --I got angry. I touched her arm--"

"Out!" The doctor didn't wait for explanations, he merely grabbed Ray by the shoulders, propelled him from the curtained cubical and drew the drapery shut. A nurse stayed with him, knowing the doctor would need to hear his side of the incident as well... and because he looked like he might faint, he was so distraught.

Ray stumbled away from the supporting hands to the wall opposite the curtained area and leaned his arms and head against the hard surface. His fault! His fault! She was a lifeless, terrified husk and it was his fault! How could he have been so stupid to get angry with her?! How could he have been so thoughtless as to grab her like that! A shudder wracked his form but he was oblivious to the tears that rolled down his face.

In his mind, he heard the never ending echo of Muldoon laughing...

Park Warden Marie-Andr,e C"t, frowned at her watch. Again. It was going on 1:30 am, which was quite literally the middle of the night here. Sunset had been at 7:34 pm. Sunrise would be at 9:45 am. It was minus eigthteen degrees Celsius with a gentle breeze off the frozen bay, which sent the wind-chill factor plummeting another ten degrees. She should be at home, curled up in bed, dreaming about a trip back to Quebec and her mother's tourtires, not standing around waiting for some RCMP constable in need of nurse-maiding!

Why the hell couldn't they have just assigned her to Paulatuuq doing the job she was trained to do? Inuvik was responsible for providing peace keepers to the area after all. It wasn't like she was in hiding or anything, not really. Well, M-A allowed reluctantly, she supposed it would be more difficult to trace the woman if they threw her into a new job as well as a new name, but why the hell couldn't they have done that down in Regina or something? Yeah, make her a teacher at the academy, training the wet-behind-the-ears recruits. No one would think to look for her there. Instead, they send her four hundred kilometers from home and saddle Warden C"t, with protecting her ass!

Sometimes, she questioned the sanity of government officials. Correction: she always questioned their sanity!

You'd think they could have at least waited until tomorrow morning after the sun came up to do this, but no... She shook her head in disgust and thought, 'That makes too much sense, C"t,!' She sighed.

She should be thankful the woman wasn't from Toronto or something! M-A had never met her, but had certainly heard of her. She had a rather colorful reputation for being over-zealous, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing up here. At least she was familiar with the area and wasn't likely to get herself killed on her first patrol of the park. And as an RCMP constable, she should at least know some of the laws they were charged with enforcing, even if she didn't have a clue as to anything else the job entailed.

The sound of a single engine plane taxiing by the portable building that served as the tiny airstrip's 'waiting area' barely penetrated the heavy insulation but was quite distinctive in the silence. 'About time!' she thought irritably. The Paulatuuq airstrip was billed as a 'modern facility' but was in fact little more than a couple of portable buildings and a single runway. Still, it served its purpose, allowing regular, scheduled flights to and from Inuvik three times a week even in the winter.

Such flights were rarely scheduled at night, however, except during December!

M-A shook her head irritably, shoving the emotions aside. It wasn't the woman's fault the government busy-bodies had yanked her over here at such a god-forsaken hour. M-A wasn't even sure it was the government people's fault. Pratchet had reportedly had engine problems. Knowing the two brothers, however, M-A seriously doubted either of them would have made the trip at night unless someone was pressuring them. They weren't flying in any perishable commodities or time sensitive supplies that she knew about. The fact that she was the only one here to meet the plane, confirmed that. In any event, the constable-turned-Park-Warden-trainee didn't deserve M-A's ire.

Damn but she hoped she wasn't one of those 'better-than-thou' types who thought all a Park Warden did was sit around and hand out pamphlets all day!

Maggie followed Terry Pratchet as he hurried across the packed snow of the landing field toward one of the gray and brown portable buildings to their right. The night had turned a bit colder than normal for this time of year and the wind had a definite bite to it. Ten to fifteen minutes in it would see the beginnings of frost bite in any exposed areas. Hardly an environment even those accustomed to it wanted to be standing around idly in.

She appreciated the courtesy as he held the door open for her and they entered the small but warm interior of the building. A young woman dressed in heavy pants and cream colored cardigan over a dark blue long-sleeved shirt turned as they entered to greet them. "Margaret Hoagland?" she offered with a wry smile that bespoke her knowledge of Maggie's real name even as she held out her hand. Maggie shifted the duffle bag she was carrying further onto her shoulder and accepted the extended hand with a nod. "Marie-Andr,e C"t,," she introduced herself. "Your boss. Call me M-A, everyone else does."

"M-A?" she questioned as they shook hands.

"My name's not Marie and it's not Andr,e, and Marie-Andr,e is a mouth full," she shrugged. "Or you can just go with C"t, if you prefer. I'm easy." She glanced beyond Maggie and gave a sudden scowl. "Don't even think it, Pratchet!"

"What?" the young pilot behind Maggie assumed an overly-innocent expression and spread his arms in a show of nonaggression.

"You buying that look?" M-A asked Maggie, then again scowled at her friend. "Get your mind out of the gutter and keep it out."

"I'm not the one who said you were 'easy'," he shrugged.

The dark haired woman winced and shook her head, refusing to rise to the bait at 1:30 in the morning! "This all her stuff?" she asked instead, indicating the duffle bag.

"Looks like it, 'though Agent Thatcher might have me bring a few more things out in a week or two when no one's paying attention. Maybe not. I don't know." He offered another shrug.

M-A ignored his lack of knowledge and turned to her ward. "Well, we'll get you settled tonight and figure out what you don't have that you need tomorrow," she decided. "I was specifically told that you're not to stay at the Bed and Breakfast, so I guess you're bunking with me for now. I have a cabin to the south of town and we maintain a patrol cabin at the park, actually four of them. We'll be moving to the one closest to town tomorrow and beginning your training. I hope you don't think that you're going to be allowed to sit around and do nothing while your friends try and hunt down whoever it is who's after you. There's a real job here, and a real need for someone to do it."

This actually came as welcome information to Maggie. "Oh, no, ma'am," she assured the other woman, and frowned as she realized that could be misinterpreted. "That is, I want to be of assistance. I'd get quite bored if all I did was sit around all day."

"Good," M-A nodded. "Because Tuktut Nogait National Park is 16,340 square kilometers and one person cannot patrol and manage that much area alone, even when the park is closed as it is right now. I plan on keeping you busy."

Maggie nodded. "You have difficulty with poachers this time of the year?" she asked, knowing the blue-nosed caribou used the area as a calving ground in the summer, but they should have started migrating south to their wintering grounds by now.

"Poachers are only a small part of what we have to deal with up here constable--Excuse me," she corrected herself, "Ms. Hoagland. You've got a lot to learn. Come on. It's been a long day for me and I want to get to bed." She turned and scooped up a parka from one of the padded folding chairs that lined the room. "Terry, want me to drop you at the B&B?"

"Nah, I gotta get the plane in a hanger and secured for the night. I'll just sleep here."

"Suit yourself." She glanced at Maggie and nodded toward the door. Maggie paused to thank Mr. Pratchet and then quickly followed Warden C"t, into the night.

Stella Kowalski frowned at her answering machine. "Stella, I know you're still there. You never leave the house before 7:30. Well, except for that time you were dating Orsini, but that was one of those -what do you call it? -aberration type things and--"

With a disgusted shake of her head, Stella picked up the receiver. "My dating habits are none of your concern, Ray," she snapped irritably. "This better be good. I've got a meeting first thing this morning with the Mayor and am walking out the door. Damn!"

"Stell?" he asked in sudden alarm.

"Don't panic, Ray," she offered in further irritation. "I didn't know it was raining, that's all. Where's my umbrell--Here it is. Is this about Muldoon again?"

He could hear Stella juggling the cell phone as she wrestled the umbrella open and headed out the door again. "Let me drive you to work!" he offered quickly, his overly paranoid brain suddenly seeing her car go up in a ball of flames as she turned over the ignition.

"No," she answered curtly.

"I can be there in five minutes?" he added hastily. "Come on, Stell. This guy's not playing games. I'm worried about you."

"You always were a worrier. It's going to give you ulcers." This was offered almost kindly but in the next instant her armor was back in place. "Oh crap! I left the windows down last night! Damn it, this is just what I nee--"

Her words were interrupted by an explosion.

At 7:42 Thursday morning, Ray Vecchio should have been sleeping. He wanted to be sleeping. He wished he were sleeping! Unfortunately, he was wide awake, fighting the routine of a lifetime that said he should have been up an hour ago. It was useless. Here he was, two weeks paid medical leave, the house was empty and blissfully silent -the kids at school, Tony at work, Ma and Maria at the hospital -and he couldn't force himself to sleep in!

The groan he offered when his cell phone rang was merely an act of conditioning as well. He was actually grateful for the excuse to stop staring at the ceiling.

He grabbed the insistent device from his bed stand and keyed it on. "Vecchio," he sighed, running a hand over his face and debating whether he wanted to lay here another ten minutes or if he really needed to go to the bathroom badly enough to struggle with his damn crutches now.

"They got Stella."

Kowalski. Stella. Ex-wife. Muldoon... Any thought of sleep was instantly banished. "Got her?" he asked as he jerked upright in bed, hearing the pain and anguish hidden in the carefully leashed tones of his partner's voice and fearing the worst.

"Car bomb," Kowalski explained.

The memory of Gardino going up with the Riv three years ago suddenly flashed to mind as though it were yesterday. Vecchio closed his eyes in pain... and the certain knowledge that such a bomb could have just as easily been planted on his mother's car.

"It went off before she got to the car but it still threw her across the parking lot. Bomb boys'll attack the wreckage after the fire department gets the fire out. Paramedics are in route to the hospital and I'm right behind 'em. Damn!" He suddenly swore. "I gotta stop and get her Mom 'cause there's no way the docs'll tell me anything. This is just what I--" There was a very long pause before he whispered, "--need." He hung up without further word, leaving Vecchio to frown at the phone in confusion.

It was quickly replaced by concern for his own family.

Muldoon's goons had made a move against their first target. A second move was sure to follow. Damn Ford! They'd told him. They'd told him to protect Stella Kowalski! He'd blown them off with his all too typical FBI arrogance and snobbery. Well, he couldn't blow them off now; though Vecchio had little doubt the weasel would manage to wriggle out of any blame, slinging it about him with a blind self-preservation which refused to acknowledge his own culpability. Hell, he'd probably try to convince everyone that it was a freak accident!

And he'd get away with it. Vecchio knew too well how the system worked. Blame would be dodged and Ford would over-react, bringing down a protection net 'a gnat couldn't get through'... but an assassin would consider a neon target!

Vecchio wasn't going to wait for the idiot to louse things up! A call to Tony first: get the kids in. Call the hospital, warn the guard there and Ma... No, he'd talk to Maria. A call to Welsh, though he probably already knew what had happened and was already bucking to double the protection on Ray's family... which meant someone would be calling Ford. Damn! There was no avoiding Fed involvement!

Ford would only help Muldoon get his family killed, if Ray didn't do something. Well, Vecchio had learned how to play in Ford's sandbox when he went undercover with the mob for over a year. He'd also learned how to play outside it.

He knew what to do, even if the Feds didn't.

First, he'd protect his family. Then... Well, if Muldoon wanted to play hardball, Ray would have to prove he had the harder balls --and he knew how to use a bat to smash Muldoon's.

Ford frowned at the clock: 8:04 am. A little less than two hours 'til he had to be at the airport to meet one 'Ms. Harrelson', from State. He'd gotten a call at 9:30 last night telling him he would be there to personally greet her and answer any questions she might have concerning the Muldoon arrest and investigation.

Damn, but this was not what he needed! He had enough to worry about what with trying to crack Muldoon's 'associates'. They had the big fish, they had the little fish, they needed to get all the fish in between and seize the moneys that Ford's counterparts in the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service up north were too stupid to trace when he was first arrested. Ford was busy enough without having to deal with some paper-pushing, knee-jerk skirt from State poking her nose into his job. He was 'Special Agent in Charge' for crying out loud, not some baby-sitter for a woman who'd probably learned her Miranda rights from watching Law and Order! But orders were orders and, try as he might, he couldn't twist these around enough to permit him to fob the job off on an underling. The bureaucratic broad was expecting him personally. Damn, but sometimes he wondered at the intelligence of his own bosses!

With a sigh, he grabbed a last cup of coffee and turned on the radio in an attempt to quiet his nerves. A car would be here in about half an hour to take him to the airport, where he and his men would double-check last minute, thrown together security measures (not that he was worried: she was only a high paid secretary after all, no matter what her title was) and then stand off to one side of the receiving gate looking important and intimidating until she arrived.

"...north side of Chicago was awakened by the blast of a bomb hidden in the car of Assistant State's Attorney, Stella Kowalski."

Ford choked on his first sip of coffee, spilling the scalding liquid all down his front before he could jerk forward to prevent it. He slammed the cup onto the breakfast bar, burning his hand in the process; and grabbed his shirt with his other hand, pulling the material with the hot liquid away from his skin. Several sharp obscenities escaped the agent's control.

"Speculation as to who and why are rampant; as one of the state's most powerful prosecuting attorneys, Ms. Kowalski has made a number of enemies over the years. One name in particular, however, keeps surfacing here: Halloway Muldoon. Apparently, Ms, Kowalski's ex-husband, a detective with the Chicago Police Department, received a threat earlier in the week against his ex-wife which is believed to be from the high profile criminal. Detective Kowalski was instrumental in the original capture and recapture of Muldoon. Ms. Kowalski was not in the car at the time of the blast but was taken away by ambulance to Cook County hospital. Her condition is unknown at present. We will update this story as information becomes available.

"Elsewhere in the news, the Chicago Bridge and Iron Company announced further layoffs in the wake of--"

Ford clicked the radio off and turned on his heel to head for the bedroom. He would have to scramble to change clothes and be ready when the car arrived. Damn! It was just his luck that someone had to go and make an attempt against the stupid broad. He didn't believe for an instant it was related to the so-called threat Kowalski had gotten. Ford had ordered background checks for Muldoon's lawyers, who were the only ones who could possibly carry messages for their client. They'd come up clean. Now everyone, including this bureaucratic bitch from State, was going to be jumping to conclusions -evidence be damned! That god damned Kowalski just had to spout off to the reporters... Ford was going to have a few words to say to Lieutenant Welsh about that.

Quickly then, he scrambled into a change of clothes. His second best coat didn't fit as perfectly as he liked. The pants didn't have a knife edge crease. The shirt showed evidence of having hung in the closet too long. The shoes were dusty. Damn it! He didn't have time to worry about any of it. He was fumbling to shove the contents of his previous pockets into the new pants even as the door bell rang. A glance at the clock... 8:30 on the dot. He rolled his eyes. When he wanted someone to be late, they were on time; when he wanted them on time, they were late! Crap! He quickly spun and grabbed up his gun, shoving it into his shoulder holster as he hurried to the door. He was hardly at his best, and he knew it.

Still, he shoved the raging emotions aside as he swung the door open, presenting the younger agents outside with the carefully stoic and professional facade that he'd cultivated over the years. His eyes raked their forms, seeking any flaws with which he might find fault. Nothing. Damn it. "Let's go," he ordered simply, masking his irritation with difficulty as he strode down the walkway.

What a way to start his day.

"Back off, Ray," Stella ordered with a mild glare for her ex. She had a pounding headache and was in no mood to deal with his overly-solicitant presence. The bright red serge standing at his shoulder wasn't helping the headache any either.

Ray, who'd been tempted to take her arm and guide her to a chair, raised his hands in surrender before he touched her. "You look like hell, Stell," he offered in concern.

"Gee, thank you, Ray," she snapped sarcastically, well aware of what she must look like. She had been lucky that the bomb went off the moment she triggered her remote to turn off the security system -while she was still a good ten feet away from her car. She'd been thrown twenty feet by the blast and suffered a mild concussion, lots of cuts and bruises, and a broken wrist. Had she been a few feet closer, she might not have survived. She didn't need Ray commenting on what she looked like! "The blown to bits look is all the rage in Ireland these days. Don't you like it?"

"Stella." Her mother's voice cut across the angry tones in clear censure.

"I'm sorry," Stella sighed. She always tended to be overly-defensive around Ray, overly harsh and irritable, especially with strangers watching. She glanced at the two plainclothes cops in the background. Ray still had the ability to get under her skin, and it wasn't something she wanted anyone else to know. They'd been good together, they'd been very good together, but 'they' were over. Just his smile was a temptation to a way of life she'd rejected when she divorced him. She wasn't about to change her mind about it, but he seemed unable to accept that. "I have a headache and I missed my appointment with the mayor. Can someone just take me home already?"

"No way, Stell," Ray dared interject. "Someone just tried to kill you!"

Stella rolled her eyes, and then winced because of it. Closing her eyes, she lifted a hand to message the bridge of her nose. "Really? I wouldn't have realized that if you hadn't told me," she rejoined. As she opened her eyes again, she caught her mother's 'look' but she wasn't up to being nice and charming at the moment, even for her sake. She sighed and waved at the two shadows. "I'm under police protection, Ray," she stated what he must already know. "The DA called the Police Commissioner, who in turn called Welsh. I'm just going to pick up some of my stuff then disappear into a safe house, all right? It's not the first time someone's threatened me, Ray."

"Yeah, but this is the first time they got so close."

"I think your forgetting Mr. Weston," she groused.

"Weston?"

It was Fraser who answered. "I think she's referring to Dwayne Weston, the deranged young man who blamed her for his wife divorcing him and who attempted to blow her up, not once, but twice: First with a champagne bottle and, later, at her apartment where I was forced to throw the device into the air and let it detonate harmlessly above the parking lot of her apartment complex. Well, relatively harmlessly. As I recall, a young man did have to go to the hospital when a burning piece of--"

"--I remember, Frase," Kowalski interrupted the monologue. "Orsini. 'De Cara A La Pared.' Psycho. Got it. But she wasn't hurt in that one. And Weston ain't in the same league as Muldoon."

"No. No, of course not," Fraser agreed readily.

"Muldoon's in jail," Stella interjected with a weary and irritated sigh. "It might be one of his henchmen, it might not--Why the hell are you hanging around here, anyway? If you want to help me, Ray, get out there and find the stupid asshole. I don't need another nurse maid."

"Stella!" her mother objected yet again.

"Oh, please..." Stella rolled her eyes again in sheer frustration

"I will, Stell," Ray answered, ignoring Mrs. Cox because--Well, because there was nothing else he could do. "As soon as I'm sure you're safe."

"I'm safe, Ray!" she exclaimed angrily. "I got a small army of cops watching me, thank you kindly." She offered Fraser a small glare as she realized what she'd just said. God, he was rubbing off on her too! She turned the glare back to Ray, knowing that the only way she was going to get through to him was to be painfully blunt. "I don't need you here, Ray. I don't want you here. Go do your job already and let these guys do theirs."

"Stella Kasia Cox Kowalski!" her mother gasped.

"Damn it, Mom!" She grabbed the older woman's arm and hurried away, not caring in what direction she was going as long as it was far, far away from Ray. God, but she hated it when her mother called her that. She didn't even realize the sexual connotations that could be put on it and she had to say it in front of a bunch of strangers! Stella only hoped Ray hadn't seen the blush she'd felt raising before she turned away!

Ford hated O'Hare International Airport. It was particularly a nightmare where security arrangements were concerned. Too big. Too busy. Hard to isolate the protectee. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't dealt with it a hundred times before. If this were a high profile protectee, they'd be taken off the plane first, directly to the tarmac and a waiting car. That was easy. However, Ms. Harrelson didn't rank that kind of treatment. A detail of five men and two cars was quite sufficient for their needs. More than sufficient. A single agent would have been sufficient, but she had to insist that he be there. He hated putting on the dog and pony show for some bureaucratic bitch, but she'd walk all over him if he were to meet her alone. The show was needed to impress upon her just who was in charge here.

A young punk wearing army surplus camouflage pants and a black T-shirt with some heavy metal band's logo on it, flopped down in a chair next to the departing gate. Which was next to the receiving gate. It was too close as far as Ford was concerned. A simple nod from behind mirrored sunglasses sent a subordinate to harass the boy. They didn't need his type anywhere near the area.

At least the flight was on time, so Ford and his men weren't forced to stand on ceremony for too long. When the receiving door opened, Ford quickly scanned the detail. Their attention immediately shifted outward, scanning the crowd and passengers waiting to board. He nodded slightly and turned his own attention back to the gate. He hadn't been told what Ms. Harrelson looked like, but he wasn't concerned. She'd be one of the first off the plane and would undoubtedly announce herself by zeroing in on them.

Tammy sighed as she gathered up her single carry-on bag and swung her purse onto her shoulder. It was time to get to work. She was not looking forward to it. There was trouble in the FBI's Chicago Field Office and she suspected it had a name: Ford. She'd read through his file before coming here and, not surprisingly, it read like a who's who of the FBI. He wouldn't be 'Special Agent in Charge' if it didn't. The file also smacked of being 'sterilized'. There were no black marks against him, no demotions or disciplinary actions. More significantly, there were also no commendations or letters of recommendation. The lack of black marks didn't surprise her. She wasn't FBI. She was used to receiving carefully cleansed documents. The lack of commendations or recommendations, however, was very telling.

If she had the time, she'd do some heavy digging. She didn't. There were people above her asking questions. It was her job to find the answers. She had two days to do it.

She very nearly rolled her eyes as she stepped into the terminal to be confronted by five carbon copies of 'Men in Black' waiting to greet her. She'd been expecting Ford and a driver. They'd be talking interagency business so she didn't expect a taxi, but this... 'Pompous bastard' was her first impression. She slipped a smile into place and decided to see just how he wanted to play this little scenario he'd set up for her.

The first thing she noted was that he made no move to come to her, even after it became obvious she was heading for him and his little group. He watched in silent and stoic disregard as she joined them, then forced her to make the opening statement. "Mr. Ford?" she asked quietly, purposely ignoring his correct title and laying on a thick southern drawl sure to disarm him.

A muscle in his jaw twitched before he spoke. "Agent Ford, ma'am," he corrected her as he pasted a carefully correct smile in place. "Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office for the FBI." Without asking, he reached out and took her bag, tossing it to another agent. Her hand was then taken and tucked firmly into the crook of his arm. He smiled as he turned and all but manhandled her into walking at his side. It betrayed an extremely arrogant and chauvinistic attitude. The man actually had the audacity to pat her hand! "Did you have a good flight, Ms Harrelson?" he asked patronizingly.

So, that was the game he wanted to play, did he? The oh-so-important Agent in Charge condescending to meet with some empty headed little secretary he could feed his bullshit to and have it come out smelling like a rose. Fine, she could play that game -she was a master at that game -if he expected an empty-headed know-nothing, then that's what he'd get, but he wasn't going to like how it ended.

"Tolerable, Mr. For--I'm sorry!" She corrected herself with an embarrassed little laugh. She was really laying it on thick. "You said, 'Agent Ford', is that right? The flight was rather borin', actually, but then they all are, aren't they? I've never been to Chicago, though. Is it as windy as they say it is?"

She allowed the small talk and banter to go on until they were in the car and headed into town, where no doubt he intended to drop her at some high priced motel and have as little to do with her while she was here as was humanly possible. He even suggested having one of his men drive her around to go shopping while she was here! Unfortunately for him, she had no intention of being that accommodating.

"Now, Mr.--Agent Ford, I am here on business, you know," she told him with a smile and heavy drawl. She even dared bat her eyes at him. Any of her friends would be rolling on the floor laughing by now, but this bozo seemed to be eating it up with impatient relish. "I have a few questions I'm afraid I have to ask you, do you mind?"

"Not at all, Ms Harrelson," he answered graciously, his eyes still hidden behind those ridiculous sunglasses. "That's what I'm here for." Again, the patently insincere smile.

She enjoyed watching him squirm under the quiet lash of her oh-so-gentle drawl. He had to be thinking she was an absolute dizt, but she was about to disillusion him on that score. "Thank you. As you know, I am here in regards to the Muldoon investigation. I have reviewed the case history and your report concerning his arrest. A very nasty case, there."

She paused a moment to search for her note pad and pen, waiting to see if he'd make any comment.

"Yes," he took up the conversational ball and ran with it. "Yes, very. Holloway Muldoon was a notorious international arms dealer and terrorist. I am proud to have been instrumental in taking him off the streets."

"As you should be," she agreed. If you really were 'instrumental' in it. She mentally reviewed the various reports she'd read concerning Muldoon's recapture. They all said that 'agents had been present for the arrest', but none of the agents were named. There were no notes about the investigation before the arrest, no notes concerning the kidnapping and efforts made to find Miss Vecchio. It made her want to laugh at his 'instrumental'! But she didn't. A little digging would confirm her suspicions and provide that much more rope with which to hang him. How the hell such a buffoon had risen to SAC was beyond her!

"I hope you aren't going to ask me about those stupid threats," he offered, lazing back in the seat as Chicago sped by outside the mirror tinted windows.

Tammy froze for an instant. 'Stupid' threats? Was this idiot about to hang himself for her? "Threats?" she asked innocently.

"You hadn't heard? I'm afraid it was on the news this morning," he explained and offered a sigh. "Someone planted a car bomb in the ASA's car. She happens to be the ex-wife of one of the men who originally helped arrest Muldoon last year. He and a couple other guys claim to have gotten threats from Muldoon, but there's no evidence whatsoever that the notes are from him. Doesn't seem to matter though, half the town is jumping to conclusions. I was afraid you might do the same thing."

"Well, I would hope not, Agent Ford. Though... it does seem a bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"It's just some copycat hoping to get a thrill ride out of the Muldoon publicity or something." He shook his head dismissively. "Muldoon is in maximum security lockdown. No one but his lawyers have been to see him and I ran a security check on both. They're clean."

"What about Muldoon's associates?" she asked, careful to keep her eyes on the illegible notes she was taking. She'd developed her own form of short hand years ago and was the only one who could read it. "I assume some of them are housed at the same penal institution as Mr. Muldoon?"

"Yeah, but they're all penny ante wannabes. Local talent for the most part. We're hoping to crack a couple of them and get something that might lead us to one of his front men or gun suppliers. CSIS up in Canada only nabbed a fraction of what this guy's gotta be worth. This arrest could lead to hundreds of arrests and indictments, and millions of dollars in seized arms and property! We're talking the biggest bust in the last hundred years!"

"Sounds big," she offered, carefully masking the sarcasm she felt.

"Darling, you have no idea!"

Darling? Had the idiot just called her 'darling'? "Actually," she proceeded carefully, swallowing her pride for the time being, "I was thinking that maybe one of Muldoon's friends could be arranging the threats for him, you know, going through his lawyers instead of Muldoon's or something."

Ford was shaking his head before she'd finished. "I've been in this business for fifteen years. Muldoon's too worried about keeping his ass out of the electric chair to worry about attacking anyone -sorry about the language."

Too bad he wasn't sorry about the 'darling'. He would be...

"So, you haven't checked into it." She did not make it a question.

"Not yet," he hedged, "but what with the attempt against Kowalski's ex, I'm sure I'll have too. It's going to mean having to pull men who could be tracking down Muldoon's movements to deal with it." He shook his head in disgust.

"You're not going to be placing Ms. Kowalski in protective custody?"

He shook his head. "The local police have already taken care of that," he answered. "Unless I'm officially requested to, we're not going to get involved. I have enough things to worry about without pulling even more of my men to deal with a stupid copycat!"

"What evidence has lead you to conclude that you are dealing with a copycat, Agent Ford?"

"Lack of evidence, Darling," he corrected her. "There is a total lack of evidence to suggest it's actually Muldoon behind the threats. No motive, no opportunity, no lin