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A time and a place

Summary:

Fraser gets more than he bargained for when he helps a stranger

Work Text:

TITLE: A TIME AND A PLACE

AUTHOR: ANNA McLAIN

RANDOM: DUE SOUTH GEN

PAIRING (S): A little implied Fraser/Thatcher

TEASER: Fraser gets more than he bargained for when he helps a stranger.

SPOILER: WATE, This story takes place between WATE and Starman.

DISCLAIMER: Due south and its characters belong to Alliance. All original characters are copyrighted to the author and may not be reproduced.

Please, ask before archiving. WWOMB, RSY and DuSC have permission.

Thank you, Birgitt, my very good friend, for your honesty, help and support for this and my other stories!

* * Denotes emphasis.

 

A TIME AND A PLACE
By Anna McLain

Tess paused by the trees and closed her eyes, savoring the scent the crisp cold wind carried from the tiny vendor's cart; apples, cinnamon and the clean, wet earth of springtime from the misting rain. It gave her a sense of serenity and took her back. She was a little girl, watching Daddy work at the cider mill in Michigan. The mill was always toasty and comforting, in direct opposition to the sharp snowy winter evenings. She smiled, took a bite of warm, fresh cinnamon donut and sipped her hot spiced cider. She sighed in contentment and gazed around the gaily lit park. It reminded her of Christmas, since the city had decided to brighten up the tiny park with festive lights year-round.

I'll never miss a night here again, she told herself contentedly and pulled her coat tighter against the chill.

Movement near the trees caught her eye. A teenage girl with waist length blue-black hair looked at her then quickly away. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she shivered. She sipped the hot cider and saw another teenage girl behind the vendor.

They're wearing the same jacket, she thought. Curious, she hid her face behind her paper cup, pretending to drink and surveyed the park. There were four more girls wearing the same jacket.

Circling us, she thought nervously, like lions or wolves.

With a glance at the old vendor, she finished off her donut, took another sip of cider and tossed the half-full cup into a nearby trash can. They're going to rob him, she thought, how do I warn him? She took a few nonchalant steps toward the old man. Another girl met her eyes and looked away, turning to the girl with the long hair. They exchanged nearly imperceptible nods.

Tess froze as the shock of realization struck her.

Not him, she thought, me.

~~~@ 2 @~~~

The streets of Chicago were slick. The light rain had been falling for two days and didn't look to let up soon. Outside the Canadian Consulate, the dark street was a concert of big cars, people, fancy dresses and brightly colored reflections. The wet pavement mirrored the festive lights and colors in a dance that seemed in time with the recorded music emanating from the festively lit building.

Cars pulled up to the door and stopped, deposited partygoers, then pulled away quickly. Opening the doors to the cars and building was a tall, dark-haired man in the impeccably creased Red Surge uniform of the RCMP. Despite the steady misting he was not even damp, his uniform and spit-shined boots perfect, not a hair out of place, a gracious smile and greeting for every partygoer.

Constable Benton Fraser loved his job, whatever it might be at the moment. He felt an overwhelming sense of duty. Tonight, that duty was doorman, dictated by his immediate superior officer, Inspector Margaret Thatcher. He smiled slightly at the thought of her, dark hair hanging loose about her small shoulders. Tonight, she wore a short velvet gown the color of her nearly ebony hair, with sparkles like stars sprinkled through the night sky. A shiver passed through him at the thought. There was nothing like a harmless infatuation to make you feel alive, he thought and looked up and down the street with a content smile, even if it wasn't reciprocated. He hadn't told her how he felt both from a sense of duty and because he was unsure of her feelings.

Briefly, he recalled the week prior, when the two of them had been trapped inside an egg incubator while pursuing criminals. She had seemed to want to tell him something. Something important, he suspected, but she didn't actually say anything. He wasn't experienced in reading women's body language. So, he decided whatever she wanted to say must have had to do with the case and let it drop. She'd tell him in her own time. He touched the brim of his Stetson and smiled 'hello' to a passing woman with a baby and surveyed the street for diplomatic vehicles, humming Rachmaninov.

She was past thought, past pain, past fear. The mind-numbing certainty of what would happen to her if she stopped was all encompassing. She ran as fast as she could, squeezing every ounce of adrenaline out of her tired body. The cold air chaffed her lungs and her breath came out in harsh foggy puffs. The air whistled past her ears, pinched with cold and whipped her ponytail out behind her in a frenzy. The footfalls of her pursuers echoed in the darkness behind her. She couldn't see them but knew they were like a pack of wolves, coordinated, sleek, easily pacing her while letting her tire, biding their time until they could pounce when she weakened. She could imagine them flowing around her like ghosts just out of sight in the shadows, swarming over her like bees and drowning her with their bodies.

She willed extra speed from her burning limbs. She was in excellent shape, but she was unaccustomed to sprinting for so many blocks and the high-heeled boots threatened to break her ankles if given the chance. She vaulted a fallen trashcan and cursed as her boot heel slipped on the wet pavement. She recovered quickly but heard a laugh and a whoop behind her. She didn't risk a look over her shoulder. It was clear she had lost at least twenty feet of her lead with that slip. She threw herself around a corner onto the main avenue. Immediately, sights, sounds and the exhaust fumes of a busy city street assaulted her. She dashed through traffic to try to slow her pursuers. The blaring of horns behind her told her she was only partially successful.

Half a block away she saw a minor traffic jam of big cars, a cluster of people on the slippery sidewalk. Amid the suits and fur coats she glimpsed flashes of red cloth, like a beacon in a tunnel of darkness. She had an idea and began to pray she had enough time.

~~~@ 3 @~~~

Fraser stepped away from the building to open the door of a glimmering black Rolls Royce. Out sauntered a prominent local businessman and a statuesque redhead in a skin tight gold floor-length gown. Fraser pointedly looked away from the woman. It was rude to stare, afterall. His grandmother had taught him better manners. He escorted them through the foot traffic on the sidewalk and ushered them through the open Consulate doors. He kept one blue-grey eye on the passersby. Part of his duty was to ensure the Americans didn't decide to invade the Consulate or crash the party.

Two Limousines pulled up at once, both bearing diplomatic flags. He opened the door to the first. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement coming toward himfast.

His instincts made him instantly wary. Politely, he tried to get the Ambassador from Spain and his wife out of harms way; nearly pushing them up the steps to the Consulate as a woman plunged through the small crowd. He took in several things simultaneously; she was young, blond, and her pursuers were all teenage women who fanned out, flowed around and through the crowd and cars in the street like water flows smoothly past rocks in a stream. They merged again farther down the street. Fraser turned to watch them go, noting that they hadn't yet registered that their prey had actually stopped. He took two paces to the side of the Consulate steps and stuck out his hand.

"Please," he said, "take refuge inside."

The hand that took his was ice cold and small, but the grip was firm. He helped her inside quickly, glancing down the street. The group had reformed and stopped, looking around for signs of their prey.

"Wait here. I will be back in a few moments." He gave her an encouraging grin and stepped back out into the rain.

He watched the group of girls converse a block away as he escorted the other couple to the door. The girls split into pairs. Two came back toward him, one in the street, one on the sidewalk. They scanned the area with predatory thoroughness, checking between cars and in alleys.

He had long ago mastered the art of observation while looking completely disinterested. He absorbed information about them as they approached. All were teenagers wearing gang colors. All looked well fed, so he ruled out the possibility that they were runaways. Nothing about them suggested the reason for their pursuit. The non-verbal communication and ease with which they coordinated their search suggested they were used to hunting together. The two that passed him had long hair and muscles evident beneath their jeans and jackets. Their behavior reminded him of a pack of predators hunting a weak animal.

The girl on the sidewalk scanned him with a hard, thorough gaze as she slowly strolled past. It was not the type of appraising look he was getting used to from women in Chicago; rather it was the look wolf would give a wounded elk. Fraser felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Watch out for that one, son," the ghost of Robert Fraser whispered beside him. "I've only been dead a year but I can still tell she's got the Devil's eyes."

Fraser didn't acknowledge him as he smiled at another guest. Experience taught him that talking to someone only you could see wasn't wise to do in a crowd.

"Jump you in a heartbeat."

"Good evening, Ma'am," Fraser said to the girl, tipping his hat as she passed and smiling politely.

"Tear you to shreds as soon as look at you. I mean, look at her; probably has a gun under that jacket. Most Americans do, you know, son."

She held Fraser's gaze for a moment then slid away, dismissing him. He suppressed a shudder. Her eyes were bottomless, swirling with anger, hatred and distrust. Her movements were clipped and quick.

"Ah, good. She's gone." Robert Fraser stood in the middle of the sidewalk, hands on hips and watched the two girls continue down the street. "Close call if you ask me. Hunters, they're a pack if I ever saw one. Object lesson in teamwork, son."

"No one asked you," Fraser whispered from the corner of his mouth. "Now, I'm busy, so go off and do whatever the dead do when they're not bothering people. The Inspector will fire me again if she sees us conversing."

Robert Fraser scowled at him. "Moody," he muttered, adjusted his Stetson, smoothed his uniform and strolled off into the rain, humming Rachmaninov loudly and smiling at the colorful reflected lights.

The Mountie watched him for a few seconds, annoyed yet dismayed that he'd been so abrupt. His father was only trying to help.

Another Rolls Royce pulled up. Fraser glanced at it then back to his father. He had vanished. Shaking his head, Fraser helped the next guest from the car. When they were safely ensconced in the Consulate, he looked up and down the street. There were no more diplomatic vehicles in sight, so he dashed inside to find his charge.

She stood off to one side, out of sight of the street and the main lobby. She had her arms wrapped around her chest, hugging herself and shivering. The heat was on low inside the building, despite the cold spring night. They expected enough guests to warm the Consulate with body heat alone.

Without thinking, he assessed her; late twenties, 167.64 cm and 58.97 kg with ample curves. She resembled a young Rita Hayward, observing the party guests from behind a potted plant, with wide, worried eyes.

He cleared his throat.

"Hello, miss. I am Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and you are?" He extended a hand.

She shook it firmly. "Tess Parish," she said in a slow drawl. She met his gaze with deep chocolate eyes, dark honey hair clinging lightly to her damp, reddened cheeks. She looks like a little girl, he thought, well, her face anyway.

He held her gaze for a moment, then cleared his throat again, shaking his head slightly. "They're gone. They went on to the south." He grinned politely.

She let out a breath and visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Constable. You've no idea where I'd be if you hadn't given me asylum." He cocked his head slightly to the side. He'd never heard anyone with a drawl like that; a very slow, silken drawl reminiscent of Mae West, intelligible, dripping like honey in a sultry alto.

"You're welcome," he said. "I take it from the timbre of your voice and your accent that you are from the southern United States?"

"Why, yes, Darlin'," she drawled with a smile. "'Lanta. You know it?"

"Atlanta? Uh, mm, no," he confessed. "But I am aware that accents such as yours are southern."

She nodded imperceptibly, looking amused and slicked the hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

"Do you mind if I ask why those girls were after you?"

"Well, it wasn't for my beautiful singing voice, son."

He looked at her blankly. "You're a singer, then?"

"In the shower. Look," she said, reached out, took one of his hands in hers and patted it, "thanks again for helping me, Darlin', but you don't want anything to do with those piranhas. If they notice you, they own you. Would you be a dear and check to be sure they're really gone. Then I'll be out of your hair."

"It's rather cold out. Perhaps, you should catch your breath, dry off. There's a Ladies Room directly over..."

"FRASER!" a woman's voice cut him off.

He snapped to attention. High heels clacked on the tile floor. From the corner of his eye he saw the look on Inspector Thatcher's face and it crossed his mind just why his friend, Ray, dubbed her the Dragon Lady. She could be very intimidating when she wanted to be.

Moments like these made him wonder if she cared for him at all or if he were imagining everything. Moments like these, when she was the epitome of duty were the reasons he didn't reveal his feeling for her. Her entire slim body emanated power even without a uniform. Her dark hair swung crisply in time with her stride. He forced himself to keep his eyes from the sway of her hips.

"What are you doing in here, Constable?"

"Well, sir"

"Why aren't you at the door? You're duty was to open the door for the dignitaries and that was all. Explain yourself!" she snapped, arms crossed over her chest.

"Well, sir"

"Never mind that." She waved a hand dismissively in front of him. "A crisis has arisen and you are to fix it."

"Sir?" He tugged at his earlobe and frowned.

"The singer for the band has fallen ill and gone to Hospital. Find us another. Get Turnbull to watch the door." She started to turn but noticed the woman beside him for the first time and scanned her from head to foot. Her face took on the icy look Fraser was beginning to equate to being fired. She'd already fired him several times, later to recant. "Are you rescuing the homeless again, Constable?" she growled, leaning close.

Fraser glanced at the sodden woman. Water dripped from her ponytail and the hem of the short, flowered dress that clung to her as though painted on. "Uh, no, sir. She's the...uh..." He swallowed hard and thought quickly. "She's the singer, sir."

"Singer?"

"For the band, sir." He smiled. "This is Miss Tess Parish, the replacement singer for the band."

Tess and Inspector Thatcher blinked several times in surprise. The two women glanced at each other. Tess wiggled and smoothed her rain soaked dress with a small smirk.

At times Thatcher swore Fraser was psychic. Look at him, she thought, he looks like a choirboy, all wide-eyed and genuinely innocent. And absolutely beautiful. She shook herself imperceptibly.

"Oh, and how did you...never mind." She frowned and gave the other woman a critical eye. "I do hope you have more...appropriate attire to change into. You have thirty minutes."

She turned on her heel and strode off. Fraser watched her leave, her hips swaying in the knee-length party dress, dark hair sweeping her shoulders. The black velvet draped smoothly and the twinkling sparkles accentuated the sensuous sway in her walk. He was slightly hypnotized by tiny flashes of light.

"Is your wife always so moody?" Tess interrupted his thoughts, determined to sing just to spite the other woman.

Fraser blinked. "She's, uh, my...uh...superior officer. I'm not married."

"Ah," she said and flashed him an amused look from the corner of her eye.

He frowned, uncertain what she was alluding to, then spied Constable Turnbull crossing the lobby. He pointed at the younger man. "Excuse me, I have to--"

He jogged over to the other Mountie, happy to be away from the blond woman and her innuendoes. He instructed Turnbull to the door. Turnbull nodded and gave Fraser a wink. Fraser watched him smile and head for the door and shook his head in wonder.

"Does he always wink at other men?" Tess drawled when he returned, a half-smile on her face, making a pronounced dimple.

"What? Uh," Fraser blinked several times, at a loss for words, he ran a finger over his eyebrow. "The, um, band is this way." He motioned her ahead of him.

As they walked he swore he heard her chuckle deep in her throat.

She stopped him with an upraised hand outside the door he led her to and turned to face him.

"Wait. I know I'm not dressed appropriately." She indicated the short flowered dress that clung to her and dripped rainwater on the carpet, and the knee-high boots. His eyes were drawn to the curves accentuated by the dress. He licked his lower lip reflexively and decided to play it safe. He forced himself to stare at her forehead. The words 'hourglass figure' flitted through his mind. "But, do you think this looks okay for such a fancy party?"

"It's, um, very flattering," he said, trying not to look down. Her bodice was fairly low-cut and he was a bit taller than she was. "Mm, but definitely not requisite attire for this function. It is rather a formal affair."

"Hmm, I wonder--" She reached out with long fingers and touched his buttons, then slowly ran her thumb and forefinger down the front of his tunic. "What do you suppose they'd think if I sang wearing your tunic?"

"My tunic?" He met her eyes, surprised. "Over your dress?"

"*Instead * of my dress. It's longer than my dress."

A lost, horrified look crossed his face. "Ah." He swallowed and ran a finger over his eyebrow. "I do believe your dress is the better choice." He nodded emphatically.

She sighed. "Too bad." She whirled and faced the door. Her long, damp ponytail smacked him on the chin. "Let's meet my back up."

He reached around her and opened the door.

The room was very small, crowded with five men in baby blue suit jackets and black pants and musical instruments. They stopped talking and looked up when the door opened. The man nearest the door, the only one with grey hair, broke into a broad toothy smile when he saw them.

"Tessa!" he called as he reached for her hand and kissed it.

"Armand! Rafael, Julio, hey boys!" she drawled.

Fraser watched her, amazed. She worked the room with grace, elegance and a Southern drawl like honey, saucy and seductive, but not too sweet.

"Miss Tessa will you marry me?" Armand asked, kissing her hand again.

"Why, Mr. Leal, your wife would cut off certain parts of your anatomy." Her chocolate eyes flicked down to his trousers then back up to his face. He laughed.

"It would be worth it to possess a gem like you." He grinned lasciviously.

"Beauty fades. One day I'll be old and gray."

"I'll be dead long before then."

She slid a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a small flask of whiskey. "You just may." She winked at Fraser. "So, what happened to Maria?"

"Sick. Food poisoning, maybe," Rafael said, giving her a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, holding her hand as he spoke to her. "Paulo took her to the hospital."

"I do hope she recovers. But, right now I need a dress or that woman out there will tan my hide into a seat cover." She turned to survey the room.

Behind her Rafael cleared his throat. When she turned he held up a jade and gold floor-length silk gown, with a boyishly dimpled grin. "Maria left the shoes, too."

She smiled at him broadly. "You always come through, Rafe." She ran her fingers along his jaw lightly.

He shrugged modestly. A lopsided smile transformed his choirboy look into a sexy, yet innocent display. Tess felt herself shiver. Why did he always do that to her?

Fraser spoke up. "You can change back in the Ladies Room, Ma'am."

"There isn't time, Darlin'." She looked around. "Come over here and hold up this blanket, if you please."

He glanced around the room quickly and nodded once. "Understood." He stepped over, unfolded the dark blanket and held it out, arms spread. She took the dress and shoes and slipped behind it.

"Miss Tessa, I can hold the blanket for you."

"That's all right, Armand. Your heart couldn't take it."

"I'm as strong as an ox, seniorita."

She laughed shortly. "The Mountie's the only one I trust not to look." She quickly undressed. Fraser kept his face turned sideways and tried to ignore what was in his peripheral vision. "You won't *look * will you, Ben?" she said so softly only he could hear.

"No, Ma'am," he whispered.

She smiled, stepped into the dress and pulled her hair up into a quick French twist. She secured it with a pair of gold colored ballpoint pens she found on the desk beside her, then touched up her makeup with supplies from her tiny purse.

"Ben," she drawled.

"Yes, Miss Parish?"

"Will you zip me? I can't reach it."

Fraser hesitated. "Uh, of course." He paused. "What shall I do with the blanket?"

She gave a soft, wicked chuckle. "We don't need that anymore. They can't see anything important."

He tossed the blanket aside and leaned over to zip her up. The sight of her bare back made his breath catch in his throat; so much skin, creamy and uninterrupted. It had been several months since he had been with a woman, and years before that. He shook away the unbidden image of a flushed, raven-haired woman smiling in his bed while planning to betray him. This was no time to dredge up the pain, loss and longing of his former relationship with Victoria.

So, he thought of Tess. He was surprised a woman with her endowment wasn't wearing a bra. His hand hesitated over the zipper. It started at the top of her lacy panties. It wouldn't be appropriate for him to touch bare skin, even if he wanted to. He took hold of the zipper with two fingers and pulled it up quickly.

She turned and faced all the men, pulling gently at her bangs to create a small spray of loose strands of hair. She glanced down at the dress. The jade made a rich background for the delicate gold threads woven in a gossamer spiderweb pattern. It was sleeveless and the neckline reminded her of the old pictures of the Greek togas. It clung and draped in all the right places, accentuating her ample curves. The half circle skirt swirled and swayed and glimmered when she moved, showing off her narrow ankles and gold ankle bracelet.

"Well." She held her arms up. "This is the best I can do on short notice."

The band whistled. They were all smiles. Fraser suddenly felt like her bodyguard. He frowned as the men edged closer.

She glanced up at him playfully. "Honestly?"

"That dress looks like it were made for you." He smiled and offered her his arm.

"Thank you." Her lips curled into a small smile. She took his arm and allowed him to escort her to the stage.

"Will you watch the show, Constable?" she asked before stepping out onto the stage.

"Of course, Miss Parish."

"Tess."

"Tess." He flashed her a slight, lopsided grin.

~~~@ 4 @~~~

Constable Benton Fraser stood by the entrance into the ballroom. From that vantage point he had a clear view of the dining area to the left, the small stage and dance area to the right and of most of the partygoers. The Consulate was elegantly decorated with crimson draperies, white roses and clear miniature Christmas lights. The scent of hot food and burning vanilla candles filled the air with warmth and a festive spirit.

Habit made him scan the crowd for troublemakers. Someone slapped him on the arm from behind.

"I thought you were doorman tonight?"

"Ray, I was waiting for you!" Fraser smiled and clapped his friend on the arm.

"Yeah? I told you we'd be here at seven. Still, can't believe the Dragon Lady let you invite us. So, you baby-sitting now?"

"No, Ray. A change in circumstance has made me an attendee." He grinned.

"Whoa! We better hide you from the Dragon Lady, then. She'll stick you on K.P. or something."

"We don't have kitchen duty tonight, Ray. We have a caterer."

Ray rolled his eyes and smoothed the little bit of hair on top of his head. "Lucky you."

"You guys talking about me?" a woman's voice came from behind them.

They both turned.

"Yeah, Franny, we were saying what a pain in th"

"Good Evening, Francesca," Fraser interrupted. "I must say you look smashing tonight. Um...is that a wedding dress?"

"Thank you, Benton." She took his arm and leaned against him with a predatory smile. "Yes, it was a wedding dress. Ma shortened it to tea length, but it can easily be converted back." She turned and looked at the ballroom. "Wow! Classy!" Her huge rhinestone earrings glittered in the dim lights. Fraser glanced at the delicate rhinestone heart-shaped necklace that accentuated her cleavage and immediately forced himself to look at Ray. She was his best friend's sister, afterall.

Fraser's eyebrows flew up and his eyes met Ray's. "Well." He cleared his throat and tried to extricate his arm.

Franny saw his reaction and smiled. She hugged his arm tightly. Her musky perfume struck his overly sensitive nose like a wall of humidity. Suddenly the room felt hot to him. He moved away from her as delicately as he could.

"Isn't that...uh, Ray you're in a tux!"

Ray glanced down at his black Armani suit, white shirt and tie. "Not really. I keep this for special occasions. You said this was fancy shmancy."

"Yes, it is. There are no less than 200 diplomats, politicians and wealthy merchants here."

"Y'see Franny, you can stop pawing Benny. The room's full of caviar."

Franny shot him the evil eye. "I like a quality steak." She ran her fingers down Fraser's sleeve.

Just then, the stage lights came up slowly. The overhead lights in the ballroom went out and white Christmas lights sparkled to give the entire room a festive, romantic ambiance. Soft music wove through the room. Then the spotlight came up on Tess. It sparkled off the golden web in her dress and made white highlights in her golden hair. She looked comfortable.

Ray's mouth dropped open. He nudged Fraser. "Wow, look at the"

"Ray!"

"Shoes! I was gonna say tall shoes!"

Fraser cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah," Franny quipped, "those shoes just jump right out there."

"What? I can wear Armani but I can't notice a woman's shoes?"

"What color are they?" Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. "Ah! Without looking, smart guy."

Ray frowned at her, raised his eyebrows, and glanced at Fraser for help then back to his sister. "Jade and gold," he said.

"Lucky guess."

Ray looked proud of himself as he turned to face the stage. "And why can't I admire some of God's finer handiwork?"

Fraser and Franny exchanged shrugs.

Ray let out his breath in a low whistle and murmured, "dangerous curves."

"It's the dress," Franny muttered at his shoulder.

"The dress? You're just jealous cuz you'd have to have silicone implanted to ever"

"Jealous of what? Hey, I don't want hips that almost match my bust size and more than a mouthful's a waste, isn't it, Benton?"

Fraser's eyebrows raised and he inched away from them. "Uh...I...hum, Ray?"

Ray snickered but kept quiet.

Franny hit Ray on the arm. "Okay, Mr. No-women's-fashion-sense. The way the material drapes accents certain parts of a woman's anatomy."

Fraser shrugged one shoulder and nodded. "She's right about that, Ray," he whispered in Ray's ear.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Y'know, maybe I was wrong, you two do have a lot to talk about. Maybe I should go and leave you alone."

Fraser's eyes widened and he clutched Ray's arm.

On the stage, Tess began to sing 'Crazy' by Patsy Cline. Both men turned toward the sound of her sultry voice. She had the perfect voice for slow love songs, Fraser decided.

"Where'd you find her?" Ray nodded toward the stage.

"In front of the building, Ray. She was being pursued."

"With shoes like that, I'm not surprised."

For the next thirty minutes the two men stood, transfixed. The songs she sung were by Patsy, Sarah MacLachlan and others, fast and slow, old and new. The dance floor was full for them all.

Franny stood beside the two men, fidgeting. She kept sliding impatient glances at Fraser, then the dance floor, then back. She decided he would probably never ask her to dance and dropped her gaze to the thick carpet with a heavy sigh. Fraser glanced over and frowned.

"Excuse us, Ray," he said and stepped in front of Francesca, hand extended. "Miss Vecchio, may I have this dance?" he said formally.

Her mouth dropped open in shock, then a radiant smile lit up her elfin face and eyes. She nodded, unable to speak. Finally! Maybe this night would follow her plan afterall. That would certainly make wearing this itchy corset worth it, she thought.

As he led her to the dance floor he saw Ray frown and shake his head. He wanted to tell his friend he would be careful with his sister, but knew it would do no good. Ray and Francesca fought all the time, but Fraser knew how deceiving appearances could be. They only tease the ones they love, grandmother used to say.

Ray stood there, watching, thinking of his sister's obsession with the handsome Mountie and all the problems it had caused in the past. "I sure hope you know what you're asking for, Benny," he whispered. Nightmare visions passed behind his eyes: Franny camping out at Benny's apartment, Franny taking snapshots of Benny and wallpapering her room with them, Franny clubbing Benny over the head, tying him to a bed and...and...Benny enjoying it! Ray shook his head and forced himself to unclench his fists. He tore his gaze from the dancing couple and stared at the woman on stage.

So, Benny rescued her. Ray wasn't surprised. The Canadian Superman would rescue a mouse from a trap if he had the chance. Ray smiled. But that was his best friend and he liked him just the way he was. He'd done well this time, too. She was pretty, but looked like somebody's sister, not a supermodel. And she was a knockout singer.

The song playing was "Walking After Midnight" by Patsy Cline, a sweet danceable waltz. Ray was sure he would have to endure thousands of hours of Franny singing it after this night. He sighed. At least it was a pretty song and they danced well together.

The music ended and Tess announced a break. Recorded dance songs emanated softly from the hidden speakers around the room. Fraser led Franny through the crowd of dancers returning to their tables. Ray shook his head as they came up and returned the smile Franny beamed at him. He couldn't recall the last time that he saw her look so happy. He decided not to yell at Fraser.

Fraser let go of her hand when they stopped at Ray's side, but she clung to him possessively.

"Thank you kindly, Francesca, you're a fine dancer."

She nearly bounced with joy. "And so are you, Benton."

With a quick glance at his sister, Ray leaned over and whispered in the Mountie's ear, "You're in trouble now, Benny."

Fraser ignored his remark and turned to watch Tess make her way toward him through the crowd. He smiled and took a step toward her. Franny yanked him back.

Tess stopped so close to him that he could smell her shampoo, mingled with the faint sweet smell of sweat and lavender perfume. Still smiling, he turned his body toward her, twisting the arm Franny clung to behind him.

"You sing beautifully."

"Thank you, Constable." She inclined her head and lowered her eyes briefly in demure acknowledgment.

Inspector Thatcher chose that moment to cut in.

"Constable," she said in a strict tone that belied her inner torment. Every time she saw him with a woman it annoyed her immensely. That loss of control annoyed her even more. She flicked an icy glance at Franny's hand then up over the two women. What was that homeless singer doing standing so close to her Mountie?

"Sir?" Fraser stiffened to attention, staring at a point above her head.

Franny dropped his arm as though it was on fire, terrified she'd get him in trouble. If he got in trouble he might never invite her to another ball. No ball, no dance. No dance, no...well...no ring. She stepped back in mock-concession and crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them up slightly to make her cleavage more competitive. Not that she had competition from the woman who touched Fraser lightly on the arm and tried to lead him off like the Pied Piper, but the singer might be a problem.

The Inspector motioned him to one side with a crisp nod of her head.

"Shanghaied by the Dragon Lady again," Ray muttered. Franny gave him a quizzical look.

Fraser sidestepped and waited expectantly, hands clasped behind his back.

"Dance with me," the Inspector said, indicating the couples whirling to the recorded music. She flushed at the memory of the women in the Ladies Room laughing at the 'Ice Woman' who had no date for the party she, herself, had orchestrated. Anger coursed through her veins as they continued like schoolgirls to berate her choices in everything and to speculate on her sexual orientation, unaware that she occupied a stall behind them. She had debated storming out there and giving them what for, but decided not to give rise to their childish games and maintain her dignity. Still, the criticism hurt and she felt spiteful. Thus, she sought out the best looking man in the building; a man who would make Adonis himself run to cover himself in humility. She stared up into Ben's vibrant blue-grey eyes and smiled inwardly. Screw them!

"Henri is getting pushy," she lied.

Fraser looked startled. "Of course, Ma'am," he acquiesced. "But, I had thought you'd resolved that issue several weeks ago."

She took his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor, stepping easily into a whirling dance. "Not as resolved as I'd hoped. Though, your participation last time was of immense help. I thought you wouldn't mind playing the ruse again."

He spun her. "Of course not, Ma'am."

He glanced down at the woman in his arms, dark hair swinging to the rhythm of the dance, alabaster skin flushed at the cheeks from the exertion. A fine sheen of sweat glistened from her neck and cleavage. He swallowed hard. She was watching the dancers around them. Ignoring him. He could see her mind working, trying to decide if she was acting inappropriately. He saw her glance at him, then quickly away, as if afraid to meet his eyes. Meg's dancing skills rivaled his own, but their movements were stilted, formal, tense. Perhaps, if they were alone on an ice floe or in his father's cabin...he let the thought drop. She danced with reservation, not passion, as though she wished she were somewhere else.

His eyes sought out Tess over the Inspector's head and he gave a small sigh. He really wanted to dance with Tess, for no reason he could fathom. Maybe it was her overpowering pheromones or maybe he needed to have his inner ears checked. Possibly, it was the need to be with someone who wanted to be with him. He wasn't sure.

He felt conflicted. He was definitely attracted to the Inspector, to Meg, but knew that she shunned all public displays of affection. She might never actually acknowledge his feelings for her, nor any feelings she might have toward him. He suspected she did have feelings for him, had almost admitted them when they were trapped in the egg incubator less than a month before, but all he had were suspicions. He had no confirmations. The last thing he wanted to do was inappropriately attribute emotions to his superior officer.

On the other hand, Tess was Meg's antithesis. She was golden, dripping with sultry vibrant energy, unafraid of her feelings. Free. Joy of life and living seemed to emanate from her every pore. Fraser was drawn to that energy like a moth to a flame. A little voice inside him told him he might not survive a relationship with her, but part of him wanted to try.

He calculated the amount of time left of the dance and of the thirty-minute break. There would be three or four more songs. He might still have a chance to dance with Tess. A couple twirled close to them. He saw Ray flash him a wide, toothy smile as he spun Tess again. He looked incredibly happy and charming, the way he always was around a beautiful woman. The song ended and Fraser started back toward his friends.

"Constable, wait. I need to speak to you concerning the security detail."

So, she was going to try to monopolize him. Inwardly, he sighed. Duty came first. Duty obscured all else. At the moment he wanted to do anything else, but schooled his features to seem to pay attention. He let his eyes stray to Ray and Francesca, chatting happily with Tess.

"I will need you to coordinate with Turnbull and verify the locks on the doors and the safety of the Queen's"

"Tess!" a loud male voice interrupted the Inspector. They both started and turned to look. Tess smiled and wove through the crowd to join the man who was obscured by darkness.

A lone trumpet's sweet sound announced the next song. Meg frowned as she looked past him. Fraser turned. The only two people on the dance floor were Tess and a dark-haired, well-built Latin man.

"Who is he and what exactly are they doing?" Meg asked.

"It's a Spanish courtship song and I believe he, is Rafael, a member of the band," Fraser told her. The origin of the song and its typical uses tumbled through his mind along with a hundred other trivial facts about the situation. He ignored them, drawn into the siren song of the trumpet.

Rafael had removed his baby blue jacket and stood beside Tess in a loose white shirt and baggy dark trousers, one arm outstretched, right hand lightly holding her left hand. He flashed her a wicked grin.

Fraser knew the dance would be fast, sensual and exhilarating for the dancers as well as the audience. It lasted four minutes and ended with Rafael's hand cradling Tess' upraised knee, holding it against his side, while she arched her back and dipped her head as far toward the floor as she could. As she arched back, his face slid down her body, two inches from it, stopping below her breasts. As she straightened up she slipped one hand into the back of his hair while he slid one hand up her still upraised and now almost completely bare thigh. They weren't professionals, but they did well together. The dance ended with their faces so close together they were almost touching, staring into each other's eyes. It was all part of the dance, Fraser knew. It normally ended with a kiss. At the last moment Rafael smiled, closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead for a long moment.

The room exploded in applause.

"Is there anything else, Ma'am?" Fraser asked, distracted.

The Inspector stared, openmouthed at the couple on the dance floor. Numbly, she shook her head. "That was the most..." She shook herself. "Dismissed."

Fraser nodded curtly and strode toward Ray. The Inspector glanced after him then hurried to follow. Her eyes locked on the sexy figure of the dance, Rafael, Fraser called him. I'd love to dance with that one, Meg thought, just once.

Tess reached Ray right before they did. Ray shook her hand. "Man, that was *great *! Where'd you learn how to do that?"

Tess smiled, still catching her breath. "Church."

"No way, not *that * dance."

"Well, not that particular one." She shrugged and grinned knowingly.

"Who *was * that incredible man?" Franny gushed, her dark eyes glowing with barely restrained excitement.

"Yes," the Inspector added.

Fraser and Ray turned toward her, eyebrows raised. She flashed them a look that said, 'mind your own business.'

"He looks like Antonio Banderas in that movie 'The Mambo Kings.' Whew!" Franny fanned herself.

"The Mambo Kings?" Ray snorted. "What happened to Donny Osmond?"

"I save him for Sundays."

Tess blinked at Franny, surprised. "Rafael?"

"Wow, can he *move * or what? Kinda like Elvis."

Tess laughed softly. "Want to meet him?" She always got a kick out of watching Rafael try to run from women. It even crossed her mind he might be gay.

"Are you kidding? He won't mind?" Franny was practically bursting with excitement.

The blond shook her head. "He's one of those men who, when you look in his eyes, you forget your name, and he doesn't even realize it. He's too humble."

"I've got one of those," Franny said as her eyes swept over Fraser.

"We'd better catch him before the next song." Tess took Franny's hand and pulled her into the crowd. "Rafe!" she called. When he turned she motioned him over.

"This isn't cool, Benny," Ray muttered, scowling at the young man speaking to Franny. "My sister with the Latin lover? I don't think so."

"Oh, he looks like a perfect gentleman," the Inspector whispered, a distant look on her face.

The two men stared at her. When she noticed she snapped her mouth shut and cleared her throat.

"Carry on, Constable." She turned on her heel and walked away.

"He looks like he knows what he's doing to me," Ray said with a frown.

"I'm sure Francesca can control herself, Ray."

Ray didn't turn. "You really believe that?"

"Mm, no."

Rafael kissed Francesca's hand lightly and led her to the dance floor. The young woman wore an expression of pure joy on her elfin features. Tess returned as the first strains of the next song broke through the crowd noise.

She smiled up at Fraser through lowered lashes. "Constable," she drawled. "Do you waltz?"

He nodded and took her hand. "Yes, actually my Grandmother taught me when I was quite young. I can still remember the soft strains of Patsy Cline and the firelight. One of my Grandmother's favorite waltzes was actually 'Waltzing Matilda', do you know it?"

Ray rolled his eyes as the sound of Fraser's voice faded into the music. Leave it to his best friend to talk about his grandmother when he was about to hold a pretty woman with an hourglass figure and eyes like a baby-seal's in his arms.

The waltz was slow enough for them to talk.

"So," Tess said when he'd finished his story. "What do you do? Are you one of those men who stands on guard all day and isn't allowed to move, like a toy soldier at Buckingham Palace?"

"Yes. I used to have sentry duty primarily. Now it's only when I upset the Inspector."

Tess glanced to where Inspector Thatcher stood glaring at them and ignoring the man in the tuxedo who drooled on her arm. When she saw them looking she spun to face the man with a big smile on her face.

"Well, Darlin' I think you have guard duty tomorrow."

Fraser followed her gaze and sighed. "You may be correct."

"And what do you guard against? Invasion?"

He shrugged. "Theoretically."

"And does that happen often?" Her eyes were amused.

"What?"

"The Consulate, does it get overrun often?"

"No. In fact," He furrowed his brow, deep in thought, "I don't recall as any of them have ever been overrun. At least, not in this country."

The waltz melded into a slow dance. Fraser pulled her closer, gently, until she leaned against him. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. They danced without speaking. Unconsciously, he sniffed her hair. It smelled of soap and honeysuckle with an undercurrent of musky sweat from her sprint down the street. The song ended a few minutes later and she pulled away, smiling.

"May I have the next dance?" he asked.

Tess reached for his wrist and looked at his watch. "I wish I could, Darlin'. I have to get back on stage."

"Will you have another break?"

She shook her head. "One intermission per gig, standard."

"Understood. Will you let me escort you home?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"For protection, of course," he said quickly, gesturing mutely.

One corner of her mouth tilted in a smile. "Yes."

"May I escort you back to the stage?"

She smiled broadly. "Thank you, son, but I'd hate to get you guard duty for two days."

"Ah. Thank you kindly for the dance."

"You're welcome and thank *you *."

He nodded and watched her weave through the crowd to the backstage door, hands clasped behind his back.

He made his way back to Ray to find his friend grinning.

"Yes, Ray?"

"I saw you."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Her. You and her." He nudged the Mountie on the arm. "You *like * her."

"Ray, I was simply being polite. You know I have no desire to get involved with anyone. Not after..." he broke off and Ray could see pain cross his face. Then the unfazed Mountie facade returned.

"She ain't Victoria, I can tell you that. But she is outta your league."

Fraser met his eyes. "What do mean?"

"She's got class. She's just playing with you. So you gotta be careful." Fraser gave him a blank stare. Ray continued, "Tess is one of those women who gets a rise out of making guys drool for her. You felt it. I *know * you felt it. I felt it from across the room. She's a lust magnet. It comes outta her like the bass waves from a stereo rattle the walls. You can hold your hand out and almost feel it."

"Are you referring to pheromones, Ray?"

"Fairy what?"

"Pheromones. It's a chemical excreted by animals to attract members of the opposite sex and influence their behavior. In humans this is most often accomplished by smell. That is why woman's perfume so often attracts a man, they attempt to reproduce female pheromones."

Ray gave him a strange look.

"And, yes, she does seem to have them en-mass."

"And what nice mass they are," Ray quipped.

"Ray!"

~~~@ 5 @~~~

Most of the guests had gone. The ballroom was empty. Fraser finished securing the upstairs.

"Hey, Benny, how long is your forced labor? "We can give you a ride home," Ray told him, coming up behind him as he picked some trash off the floor.

"Thank you kindly, Ray, but there's no need. Go ahead and take Francesca home."

"You're gonna walk?"

"Yes, Ray."

"But it's raining again."

"Water never hurt anyone, Ray, that's why we're waterproof," Fraser said cheerfully.

"Tell that to the people on the Titanic," Ray quipped, scanning the darkened room for his sister.

"I believe it was a faulty ballast design that ultimately caused..."

"Whatever." Ray scowled. Then his green eyes widened and his face lit up. "I get it."

"The ballast?"

"No, I get why you didn't want me to know."

"I don't want you to know about the ballast?"

"You're gonna walk Tess home and you thought I'd freak out because of...you just watch your back this time, Benny! I mean it! Little Miss Muffet could be a black widow. They got an hourglass, too. Maybe I should give you my cell phone. Just in case." He started to dig through his jacket pockets.

Fraser touched his arm. "No, really, Ray. I don't want your phone. I'm not afraid of Tess. I'm simply going to walk her home as a deterrent to the teen gang members who chased her earlier."

"Gang members? I thought you said they were a bunch of little girls?"

"Yes, but the odd thing was they were *exclusively * female. I wasn't aware there were all female gangs. But that's not important. She was being pursued and I gave her asylum. That's how she got this job to begin with."

"You said that. Of course there are female gangs. And you should see 'em on PMS! Look, I should go with you."

Fraser smiled at the real concern shining in his friend's eyes. "I am a Mountie, Ray. I can handle this."

"Whatever." Ray rolled his eyes. "Did she say why they chased her?"

"I believe it was robbery."

"Did she say that?"

"No, Ray, she didn't say one way or the other."

"Then how do you know? I don't like this, Benny."

"Ray, what can I say to reassure you? My job as a Mountie includes routine police work like this. I am perfectly capable of dealing with the situation. Actually, I believe you may have the more perilous assignment." He nodded at Francesca, who came toward them with a bounce in her step, stopping to look over her shoulder at the room.

"OK, Superman. You walk Lois home and if there's the slightest hint of trouble you find a phone and call me. Deal?"

"Deal."

Ray nodded. "Good night, Benny."

"Good night, Ray. Drive safely."

"Don't I always?"

"Well" Fraser looked dubious.

"Franny!" Ray yelled.

She came up to them moment later, heels pounding on the tile in the lobby.

"Keep your pants on, Ray. I was getting Rafael's phone number." She waved a small piece of paper in the air, triumphantly.

"Phone number?"

"Yeah, but if you ask me he's got it bad for Goldilocks," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Good night, Fraser." She batted her eyes at him with a seductive smile.

Fraser glanced involuntarily at the empty stage. "Good night, Francesca," he said quickly, a flush spreading across his cheeks.

Ray led her toward the door. "I didn't like the looks of that guy. He looked like he gets lots of women."

"I bet he does," Franny said with a little wiggle and a huge grin. She plucked a white rose from a vase by the door on their way out. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Fraser was watching.

Their argument faded into the distance. Fraser retrieved his Stetson and stood outside the backstage door. It opened a few moments later. Rafael and two other band members came out. Rafael paused when he saw the Mountie.

"You're waiting for Tess?" he asked in a soft voice, heavily laden with a Spanish accent.

"Yes, has she finished changing?"

The younger man shrugged. "I wouldn't know. She is changing in the Ladies Room. I suppose she didn't trust us," he said with a wide smile. Armand nudged him and started to laugh. "She wants to be perfect."

"I see." Fraser glanced across the lobby at the door to the Ladies Room. "And how long ago was that?"

"About fifteen minutes. I'm sure she is still in there."

"Thank you kindly and might I say you did a splendid job tonight."

"Thanks."

Fraser waited outside the restroom. The Consulate emptied of band members, caterers and staff. All that remained was the maid service. He pressed his ear to the door to see if he was waiting in vain. Inside he heard something fall and Tess mutter softly. He rapped on the door.

"Miss Parish? Are you ready to go?"

"Um, yeah. I'll be right out," she called.

A moment later she appeared, wearing the short flowered dress and knee boots she had arrived in. Her hair was still swept up in the French twist held by the gold pens.

~~~@ 6 @~~~

The night was cold. The light rain contained scattered bits of sleet that crunched beneath his boots as they walked. Fraser sniffed. The faint scent of snow was on the breeze. Fraser offered Tess his blue wool coat and then his arm to prevent her from slipping. Safety first, he thought. A chill wind gusted over them, scattering the foggy puffs of their breath. Spring in Chicago was a fickle thing.

"Thank you, son. I had to ditch my coat to outrun the powder puff girls earlier."

He nodded.

"Do you live nearby?" he asked as they crossed a street.

"Eight blocks up, two over."

"Ah. Do your friends from earlier also live nearby?"

She shot him a coy look. Didn't he believe her? "I've no idea where their hideout is. They probably all live at home with Mommy and Daddy. They *were * all teenagers."

"They *were * gang members, though?"

He felt her shiver against his arm. "Apparently."

"What did they want from you?"

"I'm not sure, exactly, but I think they wanted *me *."

He turned toward her. "Could you elaborate?"

"Some of these gangs aren't happy just mugging and beating people. Some like to kidnap and do bizarre things to people."

"Such as?"

She shrugged. "Torture, rape, maiming, dumping a body outside the city. I've even heard of them trying to impregnate people for the heck of it."

Fraser frowned and helped her cross the street. "These were women."

"Don't let that fool you, Darlin'." She cast a quick glance over the length of his body. "Women can be more vicious than any male gang and, while they wouldn't try to impregnate me, a handsome man like yourself might have a worry or two."

"I...uh...what could they do to me?"

"You don't want to know and I don't want to explain." She hugged his arm and shivered as a gust of wind struck them. Fraser pulled her close. Her golden hair shimmered with captured sleet.

"I see."

They walked in silence. Fraser allowed himself to be lulled by the sound of their footsteps on the damp sidewalk, the crunch of sleet beneath his boots, the distant whir of traffic on the Dan Ryan and a dog barking a few blocks away. After a few long moments passed he stopped, head cocked to the side, eyes distant.

"What?" Her breath came out in a foggy puff.

"Nothing." He took a few more steps and stopped again.

She surveyed the street nervously. "I don't see anything."

"Neither do I." He took her arm and steered her down the street. "It's probably nothing."

"You heard something," she said, looking behind them as he pulled her along.

"I've been told I have extraordinary hearing. It may have been on another street." He smiled to reassure her.

"What did you hear?"

"Nothing."

She pulled her arm out of his grasp. "Don't lie to me!" she hissed in a low voice. "I'm not a child."

He scowled, growing impatient. "Nothing, keep walking." He grabbed her arm and yanked her down the street. After a moment she allowed herself to be pulled along.

"It's them, isn't it? Tell me, Ben!"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know."

Suddenly, he froze, lifted his head as though sniffing the air, and frowned. He dropped her arm, pivoted and leaned into the alley beside them, listening. He stepped into the shadows. She stood there, gaping at him, unsure of what to do. Then his hand shot out of the darkness and yanked her into the alley.

A group of young women ran around a nearby corner and strolled by them, giggling and staggering a little as though drunk. They paused by the alley, cracking jokes about skipping out on their dates. Then they continued down the road.

"See," Fraser said, "just kids."

Tess let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and, checking both ways, stepped back out onto the sidewalk. "Yeah, well, those chicks were kids, too."

She took a few steps down the street then stood on tiptoe to watch the girls whoop loudly and disappear around a corner. "OK, son, we'd better get a move on before our luck runs out."

She turned around. He wasn't behind her. She stepped back and peered into the dark alley. His Stetson rolled through the triangle of light that penetrated the alley and dropped in the shadows.

"Oh, my," she whispered.

She heard a noise behind her a split second before they hit her. White-hot pain shot through her temples. She felt herself bounce on the sidewalk, felt the wet gritty sleet against her face, a sting in her neck and tasted the metallic bite of the anesthetic. In front of her, in the darkness, she could just make out Fraser's face; innocent, eyes closed, like a little boy asleep, except for a thin dark line that dripped off his brow onto a cigarette butt in front of his face. She felt a sickening spinning in her stomach.

"Finally," Tess heard one girl say. "Told you we'd get ya, wench. Somebody call Hoover. Tell him we got one for him."

The girl's laughter echoed eerily inside Tess' head. Her right side began to go numb and the vision of Ben blurred and faded before her eyes as the tunnel vision narrowed. Finally, all that was left were voices.

"He ain't dead, is he?"

"Naw. Hoover's gonna let us keep the pretty boy."

"I want the coat."

"Toss the pipe. The rain'll wash off the blood."

The girls laughed again as Tess plummeted into darkness and the voices faded away.

~~~@ 7 @~~~

Fraser heard laughter, girlish, high-pitched laughter. It echoed around him and made his head pound, seeming to come from all directions at once. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. The rusty taste of blood was so strong it made his stomach lurch. From the way his ears rang, he decided he might have a concussion. He took a physical inventory before he opened his eyes: hands tied behind his back, cheek pressed against cold concrete, face tight and covered by something crusty, probably blood and a swollen sore nose. He sniffed. Beyond the smell of blood he detected mold and water.

A slight chilly draft brought to him the scent of honeysuckle shampoo. Tess was nearby. Movement and voices around him suggested two men and at least four women. Someone was smoking. Concentrating, he could hear cars passing.

A foot kicked him in the stomach. Pain shot through him in fiery tendrils. He thought his head was going to explode. He was nauseous and muddled from the drug. He inhaled slowly and deeply in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

"Wake up, Doorman!" a girl's voice snarled. "I saw you twitch!"

He opened one eye a crack.

The girl who had looked him in the eye earlier towered over him. Her long, straight dark hair partially obscured her face, but he was sure it was her. She might have been pretty, the thought drifted through his hazy mind, if it weren't for the violence in her eyes, the hatred on her face.

She kicked him savagely and a look of glee crossed her young features. "We just sold your girlfriend," she whispered with a giggle. The sound made him shiver. Briefly, he wondered what could have happened to cause someone so young to be so sociopathic. He never believed, as Ray liked to tell him, that people could be born evil. Something had to turn them.

He shook his head slightly to clear it. A wave of pain made him dizzy. He fought it off and pushed himself to a sitting position, clutching his bruised ribs with one arm. He was a Mountie. He couldn't show weakness. At the first sign of weakness a predator would go in for the kill.

The girl motioned to someone behind him, sweeping her long straight black hair back behind her ear. Two others grabbed him and yanked him to his knees. He swayed between them and let them support his weight, saving his strength. His practiced eyes swept the room. Years on sentry duty had honed his natural ability to absorb every detail without appearing to look around. Three men lounged against crates to the right. Six girls in gang colors were scattered around the warehouse, circling him slowly, like buzzards on the prowl. Tess lay unmoving beside him, a dark stain on the back of her golden hair.

He lifted his chin and said with more confidence than he felt, "I am Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, you are all under arrest."

One of the men laughed. "We'll take him, too, Veena."

The girl who had kicked him whirled on the man. "What? No!" she spat the words at him. "The pretty boy is ours, Hoover. You can't have him!"

Hoover smiled, still reclining casually against the crate and taking a long drag on his cigarette, his face unnaturally still. "Nothing is yours," he said as though conversing with a child, "until I give it to you. He comes with us." His voice was soft, smooth and dangerous. His narrowed eyes glittered. Fraser frowned; here was a man who didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed.

"We are not children! We want him! He's part of our pay!" Her dark eyes came alive with anger as she snarled at the blond man.

"No," Hoover's tone left no room for argument. His stance didn't change.

"But," Veena began, lifting her chin defiantly.

He reached her in two long strides and grabbed her by the throat. In one swift movement he twisted her waist-length hair around her neck and lifted her off the floor. Her face turned red then violet as she began to choke and gurgle.

"No," he whispered, looking straight into her huge dark eyes. His voice was soft and gentle, as though murmuring to a lover, his eyes danced with humor and a tiny smile played across his lips. He tenderly smoothed her bangs back off her forehead and stroked her hair as her feet kicked feebly at his knees. He's unhinged, Fraser thought. He's going to kill her and laugh about it.

Hoover held her until she nodded and her eyelids began to droop, then dropped her at his feet. Pivoting, he motioned to one of the men. The tall man with the black goatee hurried over to them, digging through the pockets of his khaki trousers.

"If you kill a Mountie they'll hunt you to the ends of the Earth," Fraser stated forcefully.

Hoover turned, an amused look on his face. Fraser could see he was near his forties, with green eyes and closely cropped light hair. "We aren't going to kill you, Mountie. But you might wish we had."

The second man came up to them, pulling a needle and small vial from his pocket. He knelt between the two captives, close enough for Fraser to hear his knees pop and smell his Stetson cologne. He swept his long black bangs from his eyes and inserted the needle in Fraser's arm, then turned to Tess. With a quick look over his shoulder at Hoover, he touched the blood on her head gingerly and frowned. Then he slipped the needle into a vein in her neck with a glance into the Mountie's eyes.

"What are you going to do with us?"

Hoover laughed. "This isn't a *movie *. The bad guys don't always say what they're going to do. Have a nice trip. Doc, A. J. load 'em up."

Fraser's world began to fade. He tried to memorize as many details as he could before darkness shut down his brain.

~~~@ 8 @~~~

The phone at the Canadian Consulate rang early the next morning. It echoed off the cherry wood paneled walls and empty hallways. The man at the desk tugged at the bottom of his RCMP red surge tunic, then picked up the phone.

"Thank you for calling the Canadian Consulate. My name is Constable Turnbull." He said brightly and added another paperclip to the chain he held that spilled over onto the floor.

"Let me talk to Fraser."

"Fraser? Would that be Constable Fraser of the RCMP? He *is * the only Fraser we have here, unless you mean someone whose first name is Fraser and then I would need to check the logs of new personnel." Turnbull grinned as he continued his paperclip chain. Ray felt his temper stirring.

"Yeah, yeah. Constable Fraser, Constable Benton Fraser. The one with the wolf."

"I cannot confirm or deny that he actually has a wolf. However, we do have a Benton Fraser."

"Let me talk to him!" Ray snapped.

"And who may I ask is calling?"

"You know me, Turnbull."

"Yes, I know me. I am Constable Turnbull." He smiled, picking through a small pile of paperclips with one finger.

"It's Detective Ray Vecchio, just let me talk to Fraser already." Ray ground his teeth together.

"If you have already spoken to him why are you asking for him?"

"I *haven't * spoken to him yet, you moron! You haven't put me through yet!" Ray yelled

"I could put you through if he were here. Unfortunately, Constable Fraser and his wolf haven't arrived yet this morning."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" Ray lowered his voice dangerously.

"You didn't ask," Turnbull said happily. "You really need to phrase your questions more succinctly. Conciseness is a virtue."

"Has he been in at all today?"

"Not this morning, sir, perhaps, this afternoon. I imagine he is with that American friend of his."

"I *am * his American friend." Ray held the phone away from his ear and stared at it as though it had just transformed into something hairy with twelve legs.

"Then you should know where he is."

"Just, tell him to call Ray when he comes in."

"Call Ray what, sir?" Turnbull frowned.

Ray slammed down the phone so hard the pencils on his desk bounced to the floor. He rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. After he cooled his temper, he shoved himself back from his desk and went to see his boss.

"I'm tellin' you it...it's not like Fraser to not be there. I was supposed to take him to work." He leaned both hands on Lieutenant Welsh's desk.

"Maybe he went in early."

"He hasn't been to the Consulate."

"He's never at the Consulate, he's always here," Welsh muttered.

"My point exactly. And he's too anal retentive to be late. He even starches and irons his boxers." He shoved himself away from the desk and paced the small office.

Lieutenant Welsh winced at the mental image. "Where's his wolf?"

"Home. And he was