Disclaimer: They're not mine, I just play with 'em and hand them back, none the worse for wear.

Story Notes: Set between "Hunting Season" and "Call of the Wild".

Ray's cell phone shrilled, jerking him from sleep. Groaning an instinctive protest, Ray dragged the pillow over his head with one hand even as the other fumbled for the phone on the nightstand.

"Vecchio," Ray mumbled through the pillow folds, holding the open phone upside-down. Lieutenant Welsh's early morning bellow made Ray glad for the insulating foam between the phone and his ear. "What's up?"

Part of Welsh's bellow made it through and Ray sat up abruptly, the pillow falling to the floor. "Say what? No kidding?" Ray flinched and held the phone away from his ear. "No, sir, of course I know ya would never kid about... jeez, Lieu, I ain't even had coffee yet. Gimme a break! Yeah, yeah, I'll be right over..."

Ray dropped the phone, flopped back on the bed and moaned, staring up at the ceiling. "I got headless corpses before coffee. Fuck, I hate this job sometimes..."

***

"Well, shit, where the heck are we gonna find an expert on antique swords willing to help a criminal homicide investigation? Overnight?" Ray demanded of the bullpen at large, aggravated anew by the twists his newest homicide case presented. He'd been on it less than six hours and he was already frustrated as hell.

Bad enough when corpses turned up in the 27th's precinct, stinking to high hell in the blistering late summer Chicago heat, but when they turned up headless, hacked to pieces with freaky, jewel-encrusted swords left embedded in their mostly-missing chests, it ratcheted difficult up to near-impossible. To make matters worse, the press had arrived on-scene before the PD, and a slow news day combined with a particularly lurid crime scene had resulted in a front-page splash story in the morning editions that even got picked up by the national networks. As a result, everyone from the Governor's office on down was howling like a banshee for the crime to be solved -and quickly- before they ended up with a "Summer of Sam" debacle.

Lieutenant Welsh had ducked most of the flack by pulling Ray off all his other cases and assigning him exclusively to this one, and bent the rules enough to call Inspector Thatcher and wrangle Fraser detached duty for the duration of the investigation. Even so, the pressure on Ray to push the investigation forward as fast as possible had him in a general snit and snapping at anyone who even asked about the case's progress.

"There must be one in Chicago, Ray. We merely have to find him. Or her," Fraser added, always mindful of gender-neutral language.

"Right." Ray glared over his desk at the Mountie, for once not wearing his red woolen uniform in the scorching, late-August heat. Still, Fraser managed to keep his tan uniform crisp and fresh when Ray felt like he might melt into a puddle on the stationhouse floor. "And he or she will be thrilled to stick their noses into a messy murder investigation. Sure. Right. Whatever, Frase!"

Sprawled full-length under Ray's desk on the cool linoleum floor, Diefenbaker lifted his head and yipped sharply. Fraser's eyebrows shot up and he fixed the wolf with a surprised look.

"Really? That would certainly be providential, Diefenbaker. Do you think your friend would be willing to help?"

Ray swiveled around in his desk chair and stared down at the wolf. Dief rolled over onto his chest and licked his lips thoughtfully before yipping again in a distinctly noncommittal way.

"What, the wolf knows one?" Ray asked; disbelief tempered with a tinge of hope.

"Apparently so," Fraser said, his finger slicking over his eyebrow as he stared hard at Dief. "You know he's got a new lady friend he's been sneaking off to visit at night?"

"Yeah, you keep bitching about it."

"I do no such thing," Fraser said almost primly. "I'm merely concerned about him running the streets after dark."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Frase, worry more about the idiot who runs across him in a dark alley. So what about his new girlfriend? She belong to this expert?"

"Apparently she is the expert, Ray. Dief's new lady friend is human."

Ray's boots hit the floor with a thump. "Dammit, I can't get a date for Saturday night and the wolf's got a new babe?" He peered under his desk at Dief. "So is she hot?"

Dief's tongue slid out and licked his lips in a distinctly lascivious way.

"Ooh, she is hot!" Ray chortled. "C'mon, 'fess up, where'd you meet her?"

"What, you speak wolf now?" Frannie teased, sliding a hip onto his desk while pinning Fraser with a look nearly as hungry as Ray's cheerful leer.

"It grows on you," Ray said absently, still paying more attention to Dief, but he patted Frannie's hand anyway. Cover identity aside, he'd inexplicably grown very fond of Francesca over the months. She fitted the pesky little sister mold so well once in a while Ray wondered if he'd miss her ragging when the real Ray Vecchio returned.

"So how we gonna ask her to help?" he pressed. "Follow him to her place tonight?"

Dief fixed Ray with a steely glare and the faintest hint of a growl, then deliberately broke eye contact and whuffed at Fraser.

An expression of surprise crossed Fraser's face, but he composed his features instantly and said calmly, "Dief assures me he will explain the situation completely and try to persuade the lady to lend her assistance."

Ray stared very hard at Fraser, then Dief. "Lemme get this straight. The mutt's offering to con his new girlfriend -who's an expert on antique swords and speaks wolf- into helping us with a murder investigation?"

"I wouldn't put it that way, Ray," Fraser said reproachfully.

"Whatever way you wanna put it. Greatness. Can I drop you at her place, Dief?"

The wolf whuffed again and got to his feet with a theatrical sigh.

"Dief says down by Sheridan's Wharf will be fine, Ray," Fraser translated.

Still looking slightly unbelieving, Ray grabbed the case file and gave it to Frannie. "Sign that back in for me, huh, sis?"

Frannie snatched the case file with a petulant hand, but her tone was friendly as she teased, "Talking to wolves, big brother? Better watch that, you're getting as weird as he is." But her bold glance at Fraser was sultry with approval.

"At this point, I'll try anything." Glad to escape the stationhouse for a while, Ray followed Dief and Fraser out of the bullpen.

Once in the GTO, Ray cranked the air conditioning on full and sighed in perfect contentment as icy air blasted out of the vents. Fraser surreptitiously eased his collar as Dief flopped down on the back seat and closed his eyes.

As Ray drove, he reviewed what he knew about Sheridan's Wharf. Very little of the waterfront district fell under the 27th's jurisdiction, but Sheridan's Wharf sat squarely in the center of that small niche. The wharf was one of the huge block-long docks along the waterfront that were built half on land, and half on huge pilings driven deep into the murky depths of Lake Michigan. It would be one of the cooler places in the city in this sweltering heat. He remembered Sheridan's Wharf was a fishing dock, where the boats that plied Michigan's waters brought their silvery-scaled catches in. It'd gotten pretty run down the last time he'd been down there, but that had been a while back.

Figuring it couldn't hurt to ask -for all his short stint in Chicago, Fraser knew the weirdest stuff and the damnedest people sometimes- Ray said aloud, "Whadda ya know about Sheridan's Wharf, Frase?"

As expected, Fraser volunteered obligingly, "Up until twelve months ago it was owned by a rather unprincipled man by the name of Bernard Mount."

A light flickered in the depths of memory. "Old Man Mount? The slum lord?"

"Hardly a slum lord by the time he was done, Ray. When he died, Sheridan's Wharf was all Mr. Mount still owned. Rather a comedown when you consider he inherited six times that much river frontage from his parents."

"So he sold it all before he died, except the wharf?"

"Yes. After his death it was purchased quietly from the estate by a private investor, who is sinking considerable capital into renovating the wharf and turning it into a historic neighborhood. Despite some resistance from the local gangs and drug dealers, the effort has been surprisingly successful, in part due to the enthusiastic participation of the local residents."

Ray simply stared. "How the hell do you know that, Frase? Never mind," he said hastily, waving off the explanation. "I don't need to know. So who's the investor?"

"I don't know, Ray. I haven't heard a name mentioned. I could ask, if you like."

"Nah, doesn't relate. The wharf's all the way across the precinct from the murder site. Wonder where Dief's new girlfriend fits into the wharf?"

"There are several apartments and lofts on the top floors of the wharf buildings, Ray. She probably lives there. Anyway, if she agrees to help us, we'll find out, won't we?" Fraser pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah." Ray glanced over the seatback at Dief. "Hey, Dief, she got a sister?"

Dief's eyes were closed so he couldn't possibly have caught the question, but Ray got the definite impression the wolf was laughing at him. When they reached the street that fronted the landside of the wharf, Ray had to admit it bore very little resemblance to the seedy area he remembered. He'd never seen such a complete transformation and he had to seriously admire the creative talent that had realized this vision.

In the last six months, literally every flat surface of the entire block had been scrubbed, repainted, refaced, repointed, or sanded and varnished into within an inch of its life. The granite and brick sidewalks looked like they'd been washed that morning. Subtle sculpted reliefs of twisting Japanese air and water dragons ornamented granite planters six feet tall that overflowed with hanging vines of blue and purple flowers that climbed up three-story trellises to drape the walls in rich green foliage and cast drifts of little flower petals on the lake breeze. The entire block gleamed in the hot, wavering air like a mirage. Ray snaked the GTO into the first parking spot he found, shut off the engine and shamelessly ogled.

Sheridan's Wharf was shaped like a giant block letter C, occupying a full city block and two huge piers jutting out into the lake with enormous warehouses built right up to the outer sides of the twin piers. Ships could pull right up to the outside bay doors, tie off to the piers and offload cargo straight into the warehouse. The inside of the C was a sheltered area where several smaller docks ran down to the water and serviced a variety of craft from sturdy trawlers to a few pretty daysailers. The fishing boats docked there and sold the catch at the busy open-air market that ran Wednesday thru Sunday.

The street frontage comprised four more large buildings, all built so close together they shared common walls. The only pedestrian access from the street was a wide archway between the two innermost buildings. The archway was three complete barrel vaults, built of massive beams cut from old growth pines two feet thick, arching up two stories in subtle sweeping curves that supported a restaurant on the third floor that offered open-air dining on a fourth-floor patio in the summer. Up on the patio, bright blue and white canvas awnings in fanciful overlapping shapes offered cooling shade, as did a light post and twig pergola covered with morning glories that looked like it had been put up very recently and would be dismantled at the end of summer.

The patio was crowded now; Ray could see waitresses in bright tank tops and denim shorts expertly wending their way through tables laden with trays of drinks and food. The air was tinged with the marginally fresher scent of lake water. Ray perked up at the thought of a cold beer and a platter of nachos while enjoying the cooler breeze off the lake.

"Dief, you rule," Ray said emphatically, and nudged Fraser with an elbow as he opened the car door, wincing as the hot, wet air descended in a heavy, sticky wave. "Let's go and get a beer and some," he checked his watch, "lunch while Dief cons his friend into helping us."

"I wish you wouldn't refer to it like that, Ray," Fraser said plaintively, following Ray across the street and towards the archway into the wharf.

As they reached the building, Ray saw the old faded sign that marked the wharf had been replaced with a carved natural wood affair that featured rolling waves, shy mermaids and exuberant dolphins, with racing clouds and triangles of sail in the background. 'Sheridan's Wharf' was picked out in black letters under the surface of the waves and as they got closer Ray began to distinguish more details in the carving, seagulls above the waves and starfish below, waving fronds of waterweeds. He was almost sorry to walk under the vault and out of sight of it, but when he stepped into the shade and the temperature dropped five degrees in a step, he couldn't do anything but gasp with relief. As soon as they reached the archway Dief bolted, disappearing through the crowd walking the wide brick and beam sidewalks with practiced ease.

"Well, let's go get a table," Ray said, pointing at the wide wooden stairwell that led up into Heather's Caf. A menu board sat the landing halfway up, and chalked on the board in bright colors, crisp letters framed by trailing flowers offered fresh catch of the day, grilled sausages and rice, and a steak sandwich and spicy fry plate that made Ray climb the last few steps a little faster.

Five minutes later they were sitting at a small table on the inside edge of the patio, overlooking the entire inner wharf, and five minutes after that Ray was draining half a cold beer at a gulp and visibly unwinding from his hyperactive jitters. Fraser often wondered where Ray got his energy, he ate irregularly at best and his diet staples consisted of coffee and Smarties, pizza and drive-thru burgers. But as the breeze tugged at the edges of the crisp canvas awnings and made the trailing morning-glory vines dance, Ray seemed content to look out over the wharf and wait for Dief. He even relaxed enough to grin knowingly at the two women in business suits the next table over, who were covertly ogling Fraser's broad shoulders.

"This is one helluva an improvement."

"Language, Ray," Fraser reproached, glancing at the lithe brunette waitress gliding by weighted down with two trays. All the Heather's Caf waitresses were willow-slim girls with the fresh, brisk look of college students working their way through school. As their server slid a plate of nachos onto their table, asked Ray if he wanted another beer and topped off his iced tea, Fraser suspected they might start hitting the wharf for lunch more often. Ray had a well-hidden soft spot for middle and lower class college kids, especially the girls, who were fighting to get through school on financial aid, part-time jobs and what little funds their families could contribute. Fraser certainly had no objection, the food looked great, smelled even better and the patio had a great view of the waterfront. And Dief would not fuss at spending more time down here, given his whole-hearted infatuation with his new lady friend.

Ray's steak sandwich and Fraser's sausages and rice arrived about the same time Dief came loping up the outside steps. The Caf's hostess held the door open for him and patted his head in passing.

Their waitress caught sight of the wolf trotting over to their table and cruised by. "Heya, Dief," she said cheerfully, dropping down on her heels to give his ears a good scratch. "These guys friends of yours?"

Dief yipped once and the girl grinned. "I'll give 'em your table next time. You want the usual?" Dief yipped again and she nodded. "You got it. Check on your tab?" Dief's tail wagged and the waitress snickered. "Doctor Mac's givin' you bad habits. Be right back. You guys want anything else?"

Rather startled by Dief's status as a regular, both men shook their heads.

"Keep outta sight, huh, boy?" The waitress urged, standing back up. "We don't want any trouble with the health inspector without your cover around."

Dief's tail waved agreement and he disappeared under the tablecloth, plunking his chin on Fraser's knee. Fraser lifted a corner of the tablecloth and stared at Dief in blank amazement.

"Diefenbaker! What have you been doing?"

The furry face looked impossibly smug as Dief cocked his head, tongue hanging out as he panted, and something shiny around his neck caught Ray's eye.

"What's he wearing, Frase?"

Fraser slid his fingers into Dief's thick neck ruff and came up with a silver chain the wolf certainly hadn't been wearing when they got here half an hour ago. A silver heart charm dangled from the chain and a roll of paper had been neatly slipped into the loop that held the heart to the chain. Fraser slipped the curl of paper out and unrolled it, spreading it out the table.

"Take a look at this, Ray."

Ray need no encouragement and craned his neck to see. It was an ordinary piece of 4x6 notepaper bearing the University of Chicago logo, obviously torn from a preprinted pad. "Classics Department" and a phone number were inscribed across the bottom. A few lines of neat, angular printing ran across the note and the script intrigued Ray, it was precise and crisp but the individual letters had a subtle flair that reminded him of Japanese picture writing.

"Read it, Frase," Ray said, having a hard time puzzling out the letters sideways.

Fraser cleared his throat and obliged. "Dear Detective Vecchio. I would be happy to assist your investigation in whatever capacity I can. As time is of the essence, I will be at the 27th precinct office in one hour." Fraser looked over at Ray. "It's signed 'M. MacLeod'."

"Guess we better finish up and get back." Ray gave Dief an approving nod. "Nice goin', Dief. I owe ya one. Didn't know you went for the brainy types." He picked up the second half of his sandwich and took a massive bite as the waitress came back with a large bowl of ice water and a corned beef with mustard and onions on toasted rye.

Fraser stared at the plate in near-horror as the waitress slid it under the table and set the bowl of ice water beside it, the ice cubes clinking.

"There you go, boy." She straightened up and grinned at the two men. "The food 'n drinks are covered but we don't put tips on tabs," the girl explained as she piled the empty nacho plate and Ray's empty beer bottle on her tray. "Want another beer?"

"Nah, we gotta split." Ray said, swallowing the remains of his bite and digging for his wallet. "But we'll pay ourselves. Dief's too."

"No way! You tryin' to get me fired?" the girl asked plaintively, stepped back from the table and shot Ray an annoyed glare, her hazel eyes snapping. Dief stopped eating long enough to stick his head out from under the table edge and added his glare to the waitress's.

"We wouldn't want get you in trouble, miss," Fraser interceded immediately. "We just didn't know Diefenbaker had a tab here."

The brunette braced her tray against her hip and nodded, the friendly smile returning partway. "Oh. Yeah, he and Doc Mac come here all the time."

"Who?" Ray asked, spearing a wad of ketchup with a fry and munching. Fraser decided he could do worse than follow Ray's example and returned to his sausages and rice. It was too good to waste and judging from Dief's interest in his own lunch the wolf would not be interested in helping finish Fraser's.

"Doc Mac." She reached out and tapped the University notepaper on the table with a nail. "You know, Doctor MacLeod. She's part owner of this place." She pointedly ignored Ray as she informed Fraser, "Their friends eat on the house or Doc Mac'll have the head of anyone who says different." But she relented and smiled forgivingly over at the detective. "But you're the first friends Dief's ever brought around, so I guess you couldn't know."

"You can talk to him?" Ray said; sounding aggrieved.

"Dief? Who, me?" She laughed. "No way, not like Doctor Mac can. But hey, what's to know, really? One bark for yes, two barks for no, all ya gotta do is remember to use yes-or-no questions. No big deal." A couple two tables over were looking pointedly at the waitress and she grinned. "Gotta run. Come by again." And she swung off, ponytail flying.

Ray's glance under the table at Dief was admiring. "Smart and generous. Damn, wolf. Wanna pick out my next date?"

Dief wolfed down the last of the corned beef and drained half the ice water before licking his chops thoughtfully. He looked up at Ray and yipped once.

"Once for yes, two for no, huh? Jeez, Dief, ya coulda mentioned it sooner. Way to make me feel like a dope."

Dief whuffed once, slyly laughing, and Ray stared very hard at the wolf as he tossed a ten on the table and anchored it with the ketchup bottle. "Maybe this isn't such an improvement after all."

Dief rumbled in his throat and Fraser pulled out his wallet and added a second ten to Ray's. At Ray's inquiring look, Fraser explained, "Theresa's financial aid got cut again this semester. She could use the extra money."

"Who?"

"The waitress. Theresa." He nodded after the lanky brunette. "Diefenbaker is following her schooling with particular interest as she's going to be a veterinarian."

"Good ta know." Ray pulled his wallet back out and slid another five under the ketchup. "Thanks, Dief. Let's jet."

Fraser suppressed a smile at Ray's stubborn refusal to meet his eyes as they left. It always embarrassed Ray to get caught being kind, as if generosity ruined his bad-boy image.

Back at the stationhouse, they'd barely got in the door before Frannie pounced on them.

"You owe me, brother," she hissed, shoving a stack of faxed sheets into Ray's hand. "I had to listen to cousin Marvin go on about how great his new job at the University is for an entire hour!"

"Who?" Ray said, taking the sheets automatically but scanning the bullpen and surrounding offices for anyone who might be a Doctor M. MacLeod.

"Our ultra-jerky, beyond-annoying, genetic-misfit and resident brainiac cousin Marvin Vecchio, brother," Frannie retorted, keeping her voice low but obviously steamed. "Who works at the University of Chicago Registrar's Office and has access to all the University records on his desktop computer. I talked him into running a search on the faculty and guest researchers resident on campus this semester and he came up with seven people who are experts at antique weapons. If Dief's friend won't do it, you've gotta be able to persuade one of them to help. If you can't, have him do it." And she threw Fraser a smoking glare and stalked off muttering under her breath, "...can't believe I have to go out with that unbelievable jerk Marvin this Saturday..."

Ray scanned the list of names on the University fax paper and one nearly jumped off the page. "Frase, check out name number six," he said, handing Fraser the top sheet and flipping through the remaining stack.

"Ray," Fraser said seriously, "running this kind of search on confidential college records is highly unethical and a serious invasion of privacy as well as being technically illegal." He took the sheet and when his eye flicked to the sixth name, he stopped in surprise.

"Yeah. Can't believe Frannie pulled it off. Good for her. Must run in the family." Ray pulled one sheet out from the others. "Here it is. Visiting faculty in residence, Doctor Marina MacLeod, specialist in ancient weapons and warfare. Damn, no picture."

"Vecchio!" Lieutenant Welsh came striding up with Inspector Thatcher -who Ray had noticed was spending a suspicious amount of time at the 27th lately- right beside him.

Ray studied the pair as they approached. Were they standing just a hair closer to each other than before? Yes, he'd definitely caught the barest swift, shared glance there... well, well, wasn't that interesting? Welsh and Thatcher. He wondered if Fraser had twigged yet... maybe not. Occasionally, his perceptive friend could be amazingly obtuse about personal relationships. "Yeah, Lieutenant?"

"Making any progress?"

"Some," Ray allowed, unwilling to be baited into admitting more than he'd accomplished.

"Such as?"

Fraser answered, sparing Welsh having to drag info out of Ray piece by piece. "We tracked down seven experts on exotic weapons over at the University and one, a Doctor MacLeod, has agreed to help in the investigation of the alleged murder weapon. We're still waiting on the full autopsy report and you've already seen the initial one. The toxicology report's not back yet either."

Welsh looked moderately mollified. "When's this expert available?"

Dief's ears perked up as his nose twitched, and the wolf jumped to his feet and trotted towards the front entrance. Fraser watched him go. "I think she's here now, sir."

"What's the wolf got to do with this?" Thatcher demanded, staring after Dief in confusion.

"He's the one who persuaded Doctor MacLeod to help us. I'm afraid Diefenbaker is quite smitten with the Doctor," Fraser confided gravely. "He's taken to spending the night at her place several times a week."

Welsh and Thatcher pinned Fraser with identical not-quite-sure-of-his-sanity stares so many people used when dealing with the big Mountie. Ray smothered a smile. Who the heck used a word like 'smitten' anyway?

"The wolf's got a girlfriend?" Welsh said guardedly. "And she's one of those University brain trust types?"

"It seems so, sir," Fraser admitted. "I expect..." He got cut off by Dewey's admiring whistle of appreciation from the desk beside Ray's.

"Babe alert! Damn! That hottie's the wolf's?" Dewey groaned out loud, proving he'd been eavesdropping. "What's up with this precinct when the mutt's got the best-looking girl?"

The wolf was positively strutting as he came into the bullpen. A heavily tanned blond in a white crochet halter and vivid green sarong skirt was sauntering along at Dief's side, glancing around with absorbed interest as if determined to remember every detail later. In deference to the wilting summer heat, long sun-bleached hair was pulled up in a flowing ponytail, and the skirt's loose fringes brushed gently against rounded calves as she walked. Greek-style sandals with thin leather straps wrapped around her tanned ankles. As she came closer, her features resolved into a triangular face with sharply arched cheekbones, a small straight nose and tanned lips overshadowed by a direct gaze and disquietingly perceptive blue-green eyes.

Fraser found his gaze unreasonably drawn to her neck, where the same silver chain and heart Dief had been wearing earlier glittered now. His hand twitched and incongruously Fraser recalled how the warm metal heart had felt in his fingertips.

Ray was on his feet and holding out a hand as Diefenbaker led his companion over to the detective's desk. "Doctor MacLeod?"

"Detective Vecchio?"

Her hand came up and took his, and Ray had to make a conscious effort to let go after they shook hands. Damn, but Dief's new girlfriend sure was easy on the eyes. Those arresting features and near-white blond hair, set off by the vivid tan, weren't conventionally pretty -and certainly weren't soft- but they were striking. It figured Dief would go for the exotic type... "Thank you for agreeing to help us, Doctor MacLeod."

She shrugged. "I haven't done anything yet, Detective."

"Yes, you have," Fraser pointed out. "You cared enough to come try and help."

Sharp blue-green eyes raked over the Mountie in a lightening-fast analysis, missing nothing, and Fraser surmised Dr. MacLeod was cataloging every detail about his appearance for later discussion with Diefenbaker.

The left-hand corner of her coral mouth twitched suspiciously as she finished looking him over and held out a hand. "And you must be Constable Fraser."

"Yes, ma'am." Fraser's big fingers closed over her slim hand and he bowed over it with the old-fashioned courtesy that came so naturally to him. He noted in passing her fingernails were bare of polish but neatly trimmed, although her toenails sported glossy copper enamel that harmonized well with her dark tan. They were very pretty feet, Fraser noticed, narrow with well-shaped toes, high arches and slim ankles. Discomfited at realizing he'd like to run a finger along that arch and see if the skin there was as soft as it looked, Fraser tried to ignore the little silver toe ring on her right foot that was unnervingly sexy for such a small, plain ornament.

She endured his return inspection without comment, although her mouth twitched with that suppressed smile again. "Dief's told me a lot about you, Constable," was all she said before turning back to Ray. "I understand you have a sword you'd like me to examine, Detective?"

"The evidence room is this way." Ray nodded at Thatcher and Welsh. "I'll let you know."

Thatcher and Welsh watched them walk away, the two men flanking Marina with Dief trotting at her heels.

"Which one you think the wolf's gonna fix her up with?" Welsh asked idly.

"My money's on Fraser," Thatcher said immediately. "He needs a girlfriend most."

Welsh shot her a speculative glance. "She seems more like Ray's type to me. He likes the smart sharp ones. Care to bet on it? Say, loser makes dinner?"

Thatcher eyed him noncommittally but upped the ante. "How about loser makes breakfast instead?"

Welsh couldn't restrain a startled look but grinned. "You're on."

As Ray held open the door to the last evidence locker room, the high-security one, the temperature took a sharp drop and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Wait here," he said, gesturing at the scarred conference table and chairs in the front of the room. "I'll get it. It's in the back."

Clad very lightly for the chilly temperature of the evidence locker, Marina shivered once as her skin prickled in the cold air blowing down from the vent directly overhead and she stepped sideways out of the draft.

Fraser frowned when he realized Dr. MacLeod was cold, and his lightweight uniform had no jacket to offer her against the chill. Dief pressed against Marina's leg and rumbled in his throat at Fraser, who flushed and looked disapproving.

"That's entirely inappropriate to suggest, Diefenbaker."

A smile briefly lighted Marina's face but she said nothing, consciously resisting the urge to rub her arms to warm them.

Fraser studied Marina's expression and commented, "You understand what he says, Doctor MacLeod?"

She quirked a thoughtful glance at Fraser. "Yes, I do."

Fraser found her answer interestingly characteristic of all her responses so far. No explanation, but no prevarication, either. Direct, but laconic. Fine. He could deal with that. After a lifetime of coping with his father, the lady was up against an expert.

Curious to see if she was telling the truth or pulling his leg, Fraser asked hesitantly, "Would you like me to take Diefenbaker's suggestion?" That ghost of a smile flickered again and Fraser found he wanted to see it stay on her lips for longer than a heartbeat.

"Yes," she repeated and nerving himself, Fraser stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He usually didn't find it difficult to be a gentleman around most women -the way they looked at him like something tasty to eat made him uneasy- but something about Dief's lady was making him want to rub up against her the way the wolf did.

Marina leaned gingerly into his welcome warmth and had to exert severe control not to plaster her entire body up against him. The man put off heat like a blast furnace. "No one warned me evidence rooms were so cold," she murmured, trying to ignore that the chest behind her was broad as a barn door and Mina was certain she could feel the cut of his triceps against her shoulder blades.

"Some of the materials stored here require a constant temperature," Fraser explained, noticing that up close her skin -or possibly her hair- smelled lightly of a familiar scent. Unthinking, he bent down and inhaled deeper, trying to identify that elusive fragrance.

"It's rosemary and sage."

"I'm sorry?" Even as Fraser answered he realized she was right, the soft scent drifting off her hair was rosemary and sage.

"Organic shampoo. Makes me smell like turkey stuffing but it works great on long hair." She shrugged, and the movement made her shoulder blade brush across his left nipple beneath the tan uniform shirt.

The jolt of sensation it caused shot clear down to his toes and Fraser had to make a conscious effort not to reach down and take a quick nip of her skin to see she tasted as good as she smelled. The soft spot below her ear was so wonderfully lickable...

Appalled that he'd even had that thought about a virtual stranger, Fraser blushed beet-red and yanked his thoughts back to the case. "Sorry."

She shrugged again and a second lightening flash fried down his spine, splintering his concentration. "No worries, Constable. Dief's mentioned your sense of hearing and smell are unusually acute."

"Would you please call me Benton?" he asked plaintively, bothered by her pointed formality; and then flushed to realize he'd asked her to call him by his first name, which virtually no one in Chicago used. Everyone just called him Fraser. Even Ray tended to call him Frase, and only the original Ray Vecchio ever called him Benny.

That got a smile, Fraser could tell as she cocked her head around to look over her shoulder. "Only if you call me Marina." Sprawled under the conference table, Dief whuffed and both humans smiled. "Or 'Mina'," she qualified. "Dief likes that nickname better than 'Mac'."

"I think that rates a 'Ben' in exchange," Fraser offered, pleased she seemed willing to shift to a more friendly footing. After all, it wasn't every day Dief brought a new friend around; it behooved him to make the attempt to get to know her better. And she had agreed to help them on nothing more than the wolf's say-so. "I can't imagine calling you 'Mac'."

"All us MacLeods tend to get stuck with that one at some point. It's caught on around the wharf."

"As in 'Doc Mac'?"

Marina lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Heather's Caf," Fraser admitted. "Dief bought us lunch there today."

Marina laughed out loud. "Did he? Good for him!"

"We tried to pay," Fraser explained hastily, "but the waitress got upset at the attempt."

"I'm sure she did. I'd have read her the riot act if she'd let you get away with it." She craned her neck to see his face. "You did tip, I hope? The IRS frowns on putting those on tabs, and the girls need the cash for classes."

"Overtipped," Fraser admitted sheepishly. "Dief mentioned Theresa's financial aid got cut again this semester."

"It did?" Marina frowned. "Damn, she didn't tell me. I'm going to have to start paying her under the table for her work at the vet clinic."

"Why that way?" Fraser asked, troubled by the thought of defrauding the government.

"Have to keep it off the books, or she can't use the hours there for her internship credit at the college," Dr. MacLeod explained, still frowning as she turned it over in her head. "Wonder if I can slip it by if I call it a student stipend and skip the withholding? Theresa files the standard student exemption so she won't take the hit at tax time... hummn, have to check up on that tonight."

"Are you this concerned with all your employees?" Fraser inquired. Such concern seemed out of place from the restaurant owners he'd run across before. They'd regarded servers about as highly as flatware. Less, even. Flatware cost money to replace, but there was always another almost-broke college kid hurting for a job.

"Pretty much. I'm a mother hen at heart," she confessed sheepishly.

"That's very commendable." Fraser said firmly, unwilling to let Marina scoff at her own kindness. Apparently she and Ray shared that trait. "I'm sure those girls appreciate it." Several random thoughts clicked together in his head into a sudden certainty. "Is that why you don't let your friends pay for their meals? So they'll come by often and overtip the waitresses when they do? And the girls get the cash while the restaurant just shows a slightly smaller profit margin?"

Marina was so flabbergasted at that deduction she partially turned around in his arms to stare directly in his face. "How the bloody hell did you figure that out, Sherlock?"

Pleased to have discovered a chink in her armor, Fraser grinned broadly. "Elementary, my dear Watson," he quipped.

As Ray came striding back up the corridor between the tall metal shelves, a sealed evidence bag in his hand, he caught sight of Doctor MacLeod and Fraser through the open shelves and stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. Fraser had his arms wrapped right around Dief's pretty doctor and was positively smirking down at her. And Fraser didn't smirk. He often smiled and occasionally he grinned, but he never smirked. Ray would have bet cash he didn't know how. Yet here was Fraser, smug as all get out, arms around a beautiful woman he barely knew and smirking!

"Damn, lady," Ray muttered, impressed as all hell. "No wonder the wolf's stuck on you. You can tame the wild things right into your hand." He backed up a few steps and started walking down the aisle, letting his boot heels click loudly on the floor.

Fraser politely released his hold on the doctor and stepped back as Ray came into view.

He held up the evidence bag. "Here goes nothing," Ray quipped, and set the grisly item down on the table. "Your show now, Doc."

Doctor MacLeod gave the blood-smeared sword in the opaque plastic bag a dubious glance. "I don't want to break your evidence chain, Detective. Might I suggest a pair of sterile gloves?"

Ray grimaced. "Shoulda thought. Sorry, Doc." A quick rummage around the shelves nearest the door turned up a box of sterile gloves and Doctor MacLeod tugged a pair on and unsealed the bag carefully, lifting the sword out and holding it up to the light.

"Ho-ly shit," she breathed, her eyes widening in shock. "Jesus H. Christ, guys, is this thing real?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that," Ray said dryly, exchanging a speculative glance with Fraser at her reaction.

"Damescene steel, Saracen-style saber circa. 1150 or thereabouts. Has to be, nobody else produced wootz of this caliber and the production method's been lost for centuries," she muttered, turning the blade over and sighting along the edge. "The color, the characteristic wave pattern on the blade surface, gods, I'd need a microscope to distinguish the individual carbide tracks!"

"Is it valuable?" Ray interrupted.

Marina turned and gaped at the two men. "Are you kidding? If this thing's legit you've got a museum-quality relic on your hands any collector on the planet would sell both his kidneys for. If it's real, this is priceless! Gods, how could you leave it dirty?" Her eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the blade and she wrapped a hand firmly around the grip, lifting the blood-smeared blade. "Stand back," she instructed firmly, and exchanging glances, Ray and Fraser backed up several feet against the wall by the door.

Marina stepped into the empty space and held the blade out in front of her, adjusting her grip on the saber until it felt comfortable. Once she had the balance down, she snapped the blade around in a dozen wickedly tight circles at her left and right sides; tried out half a dozen different forward strikes and slashes, and followed up with several blocks and counters. The blade singing in her hands, Ray and Fraser swapped amazed stares, her movements flowing like surreally graceful dancing as she tried out the blade.

"Oh god, it is real," she murmured, awed. "Screw carbon-dating, I can feel it. The balance is unbelievable. I can change direction right in midstroke without even trying. All I have to do is think about it. This thing sings." Intoxicated, she leapt lightly into the air and spun clear around in a complete circle with the saber extended full-length to test the reach, the sword tip cutting the air bare inches from Fraser and Ray's chests. Neither man flinched, but their apprehensive expressions jerked Marina back to the present.

As she landed, balanced so lightly on her toes Fraser would bet -not with money, of course- she could have spitted an opponent in midair from any direction with a single stroke, something transcendentally beautiful faded from her eyes as she returned from whatever reverie she'd been lost in.

"It's real," she assured them, her eyes wide with wonder. "And boy, do you guys have a problem."

"I already got a mutilated body in the morgue, Doc, and everyone from the Governor on down screaming for an arrest," Ray said ruefully. "I knew that."

"Then add to your list an archeological treasure a number of extremely rich people would kill to have, Detective."

"It's Ray. Greatness. Man, this case keeps gettin' weirder. Thanks to Dief at least I got Lara Croft on my side. Nice moves, Doc."

She flicked an amused glance at Fraser. "I can tell you're partners. Ray, then. Thanks."

"What else can you tell me, Doc?"

"Several things," Marina said briskly, walking back over to the table and sliding the sword back into the evidence bag with a reluctant air. "First of all, artifacts like this are extremely rare. Check with Interpol, Archeological Artifacts division, I'll write out a description of the saber you can use. They regulate this kind of international theft and they keep a database of stolen artifacts. Second, get ahold of Lloyd's of London. There aren't many companies willing to cover something like this, and Lloyd's keep tabs on them all. Third, contact the Smithsonian Institute in D.C., this might conceivably be a national treasure on loan or part of a traveling exhibition. Fourth, try Sotheby's or Christy's- they keep records on everything they've ever handled and are generally quite amenable to helping reunite stolen goods with their rightful owners if approached politely. Fifth, I've got a couple of private sources I can hit up for information, I'll check and let you know if I find out anything. Sixth, and most important, this saber has to be cleaned and moved to a controlled environment immediately. It's sustaining irreparable damage even as we speak, and that's criminally negligent."

Ray's grin got wider as she rattled off the list and by the time she was finished and the bag was sealed, he was smirking as wide as Fraser had been. "I owe Dief two boxes of donuts for this," he muttered to Fraser. "Thanks, Doc," he said in a normal tone when she finished. "Tell me one thing."

"Certainly."

"Can you clean the saber yourself?"

"Yes. I know the techniques and have access to the equipment needed in my lab at the University." She stripped the sterile gloves off her hands with a brisk snap.

"Awright." Ray nodded and straightened up off the wall. "Pitter-patter, let's get at 'er. I'll talk to the Lieutenant and see about getting the sword cleaned and stored once forensics is sure they're done with it. We can get started on the other leads you gave us right now. Can we give you a ride somewhere?"

"No. My car's outside. And I've got a class to teach in..." she checked her watch "...an hour and fifteen minutes. Sorry, guys, I'll write you that description but then I've got to go."

"No problem. Here." Ray dug out a card and offered it to Marina. "It's my cell. Call me if you think anything else."

Marina nodded and slipped it into a fold of her skirt. "Got it. You've got my office number at the University?"

"Yeah. Hang on a minute." Ray fished out his cell phone. "Got a cell number?"

Marina rattled off a string of numbers Fraser committed to memory as Ray programmed them into his phone, nodding as he punched the last digit in.

While this was going on, Dief got to his feet and padded over to Marina, nudging her hand.

"Hey." She smiled down at Dief as he rumbled interrogatively low in his throat.

"Sorry, love," she answered regretfully, scratching his ears affectionately. "Classes run 'til almost nine and I've got work to do when I get home. It's pizza delivery tonight, I'm afraid."

Dief grumbled a muted protest.

"Picky, picky. All right, we'll order Chinese once you get there. But you better still love me when I'm fat."

Dief growled softly and licked the back of her hand as Marina laughed. "Just you remember you said that, furball."

Ray watched this exchange with barely concealed glee, Fraser with sternly hidden disapproval as they escorted Doctor MacLeod back to the bullpen. Once there they split up, Ray to find and update Welsh while Fraser introduced Marina to Ray's computer. Doctor MacLeod cracked her knuckles expertly, tapped out a meticulous full-page description of the saber in ten minutes and flipped through the evidence pictures to find a suitable one to send along. That done, Fraser could not think of another reason to keep her there any longer and regretfully escorted her to the exit.

"Thank you for your assistance, Doctor MacLeod... Marina," he said, trying out her name and finding it fit strangely well on his lips.

"Anytime, Benton." To the surprise of everyone surreptitiously watching from the bullpen, just before Marina left Diefenbaker reared up on his hind legs; planted his paws on Marina's bare shoulders and swiped her cheek with a sloppy wet lick.

"Marking me for your own in front of the crowd, Diefenbaker? Good thing I like the possessive type," Marina murmured so low only Fraser caught it, but she kissed the wolf's nose fondly before he dropped back to all fours. "See you tonight, love."

"I hope we'll see you again soon?" Fraser inquired, cudgeling his brains for an excuse for her to return to the station.

"You're welcome to tag along when Dief comes over in the evenings, Ben. Ray too, if he likes." She smiled, amused by his evident surprise at the invitation.

"I'll inform Detective Vecchio. We just might do that."

"I'd like that." She checked her watch again and frowned. "Nuts, I'm gonna be late. Gotta go!"

Fraser watched her stride out the doors and down the steps to the parking lot to a metallic blue Jeep coincidentally parked next to Ray's black GTO. A trace of the marvelous fluid grace she'd displayed testing the sword lingered in her walk and Fraser fancied if he'd been a wolf, his tongue would have been hanging out as he watched, too.

Standing in the entranceway, he looked down at Dief. "She's a lovely woman, Diefenbaker. I hope you're taking good care of her."

Dief growled agreement and they walked back into the station together.

"Some lady, huh Frase?" Ray was back to his desk and skimming the description Marina had typed up, feet up on the blotter and a phone jammed between his shoulder and chin as he waited on hold. "I'll take Interpol and the Smithsonian, you get Lloyd's, Sotheby's and Christie's?"

Fraser glanced at the bullpen clock and calculated time changes. "The time differential will make contacting someone right now difficult, Ray, but I'll do my best."

"You always do, Frase."

"By the way," Fraser said diffidently, unsure of his partner's reaction, "Doctor MacLeod extended an invitation to accompany Diefenbaker when he visits her in the evenings, if you're interested."

Ray's eyebrows went up and he grinned. "Sweet! Bet we don't get sleepover privileges like the wolf does. But that's cool, we'll pick up Chinese on the way over so the Doc doesn't have to feed us twice in the same day."

"You want to go tonight?"

"Sure, why not? When's the last time all three of us got an invite to visit from a gorgeous babe?"

Fraser considered that. "I don't think we ever have, Ray."

"All the more reason to go then," Ray pointed out and unable to argue with this logic, Fraser nodded agreement as he dialed the international operator.

***