PROLOGUE   

TITLE: A TIME AND A PLACE 

AUTHOR: Anna McLain 

RATING (S): PG	

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 We Are The Eggmen 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. 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. 

Feedback and comments are welcomed at any time at sgmiii@aol.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@@@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@@@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

  

A TIME AND A PLACE  By Anna McLain  

~~~@ 1 @~~~ 

  

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 wasn't fed. And he nearly took my arm off for a cinnamon
roll." 

"This woman he walked home last night, was she pretty?" Welsh watched the
Detective pace over steepled fingers. On days like this he wished Ray
wouldn't drink coffee. 

"Like Rita Hayward." 

"There you go. He's at her place." Welsh leaned forward and sipped from
his coffee cup, savoring the caffeine rush from the syrupy mud. It didn't
have the coffee taste he enjoyed, but the satisfying energy burst was
worth it. 

"Fraser?" 

Lieutenant Welsh met his eyes and both men laughed.  

"He fell for that nightmare, the one on the train," he said seriously. 

Ray stiffened. "Victoria was different, sir. She played mindgames with
him. This one was Mother Teresa compared to her." An image of a
raven-haired vixen hanging off a train, aiming a gun at Benny, passed
through his mind. 

"My point is, Detective, he was blinded by love before." 

The look on Ray's face left no doubt he thought that wouldn't happen
again. Benny had never specifically told him he was over her, but Ray
knew. They were best friends. Sometimes they didn't need words. 

Welsh sighed. "Have you finished the paperwork on the Kennedy case?" 

"Yeah." Ray crossed his fingers behind his back. 

Welsh nodded and waved a hand at the door. "Go Mountie-hunting, then." 

  

~~~@ 9 @~~~  

Fraser was jolted awake by a sharp pain in his right shoulder and ribs.
His head clunked against cold, damp metal. The world around him was dim,
slightly illuminated, grey and spinning in slow, sickening circles, in
time with the heaving of his stomach. 

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut until the pain subsided, then tried
to sit up. His nose bumped against the ceiling and began to bleed again,
slowly, then he stretched his legs, hitting a wall below his feet and
another directly behind him. It was distinctly claustrophobic. He leaned
forward and found himself pressed against a warm soft body. 

He tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but that caused a
needle-like stab of pain in his shoulder that radiated down his arm into
his fingers, making them tingle and throb. His arms were still tied behind
him. 

Allowing himself to go limp, his face fell forward into Tess' hair. The
smell of honeysuckle caused a wave of nausea that he had to concentrate to
fight down. He wondered what anesthetic they used.  

The woman pressed against him stirred, moaned.	

"Shh," he whispered. 

She arched her back, hitting him in the sore nose with the back of her
head and pressing her arms into his chest. 

"Ow, my arms are asleep." 

"If you move, the numbness in the one you're laying on will wear off.
It'll hurt, but not for too long." 

"You speaking from experience?" 

"Yes. How does your head feel?" 

"I feel like I fell off a building." 

"Likewise. I believe it's the drug, in part." 

"I thought it was from being bludgeoned. Where are we and why is there
water hitting me in the face?" 

"I believe we are underneath a vehicle. The compartment seems big enough
for the two of us and maybe one more. Any larger and it would be obvious
from the outside. The water may be spray from the wheels on the tarmac." 

"So, there's a hole in this little box?" 

"Apparently. The light would have to come from somewhere and they would
need to provide ventilation to prevent carbon monoxide poisoning from the
exhaust." 

She squirmed. "If there's a hole, we might fall out." 

"It hardly seems big enough." 

"It could be a crack that could get wider! And then we'd fall out and" 

"Shh," he said in her ear, detecting a note of panic in her rising voice. 

She shivered at the sound of his voice and immediately fell silent,
breathing quickly. She'd always been sensitive to tone of voice and his
was extraordinarily soothing. 

"We have to get out of here." 

"And how do you expect to do that, MacGyver? My nose is pressed against a
wall." 

"As are my hands behind me. Still, we have to try." 

"You may not get your man this time." 

Fraser sighed. It always amazed him how many people got that wrong, even
some Canadians. "You know," he started in a long-suffering voice,
"contrary to popular belief, that is *not * the RCMP creed. Our motto is,
'Maintenez le droit', or"  

"Maintain the right. It was a joke. Lighten up," her voice quavered. 

"You speak French?" he asked in surprise. 

"Thanks to Grandma Lecorriere. So, how are we escaping?" 

"I believe if we can position ourselves back to back I can use one of the
pens in your hair to pick the locks." 

She laughed. The sound echoed in the tiny space. "You're kidding?" 

"No, I'm very serious. Where exactly are your hands?" 

"They're numb." 

"Wiggle your fingers." 

She complied. Fraser's body jerked as her fingers moved just below the
bottom edge of his tunic. 

"Uh...oh...dear," he whispered. Thank goodness for the thick wool
construction, he thought, for both our sakes. There was a time and a place
for everything and this was neither. 

"Are they moving?" 

"Um, yes." He took a deep breath. After a few moments he said, "That's
quite enough now." 

She stopped and sighed. "You don't think the girls are going to kill us?" 

He raised his eyebrows then realized she'd been unconscious since the
night before on the street.  

"We're no longer the girls' prisoners. I don't believe we are in any
immediate danger. If we're to be sold again, logically, they wouldn't want
to risk any harm to us." 

"Sell us? What are you talking about? I remember getting shanghaied and
seeing you unconscious. That's it." 

"Ah." He was quiet for a moment as he decided how to phrase his
explanation. "The girls sold us to a rather unscrupulous man, named
Hoover, who plans to sell us again. I suspect we are no longer in the
United States. In part, due to the fact that it's morning as evidenced by
my watch alarm that went off while you were sleeping. Also, they would
most likely need to take us to a remote area to avoid undue attention." 

"Sell us again? People sell cows, they don't sell people." 

"Well, I have read that there is a market for pretty women in some Arab
countries, particularly women with your fair coloring." 

"I'll make a lousy harem girl." 

"It's a possibility." 

"And what about you? Harem boy?" 

He frowned. "I've no idea what they intend for me." 

"Well, pretty boy, you do look delicious in that uniform," her voice was
amused. He could tell she was smiling. 

He felt her chuckle as he considered her words. "Oh...oh, dear!" 

Energized by that realization he leaned forward, rubbed his face through
her hair until he found one of the pens, pulled it out with his lips and
spit it onto the floor between them. Then he threw his body up in the air
and wiggled. It took several minutes to maneuver quietly onto his left
side. After a moment's rest he continued. He had to bend his knees and put
his feet on top of her legs to fit, his face was pressed against the metal
wall. He felt her hands and wrists. The cuffs cut into her skin. He could
feel the warmth of blood on his fingertips. 

"Your wrists are bleeding, are you okay?" 

"Bleeding? I can't feel a thing." 

"Ah. Probably for the best." 

His right hand tingled as it regained feeling when the circulation
returned. He felt between them until he had the pen in his hands. His left
arm quickly went numb as he lay on it. Meticulously, he dismantled the pen
and attempted to use the innards to pick his handcuffs. He bit his lower
lip as he concentrated and lost track of time. 

Eventually, he heard Tess begin to softly snore. He kept working. By the
time he gave up, his entire body ached from the strain of his
concentration. His nose had started bleeding again after the vehicle hit a
bump in the road and smashed his face against the metal wall. 

He sighed and struggled back onto his right side. Tess did not awaken.
Breathing hard from the exertion and pain, he let his face rest on her
hair. His stomach seemed to have settled and the scent of honeysuckle was
more comforting than nauseating. He allowed himself to relax against her
warm body. His mind raced with thoughts of possible futures and escape
paths. 

After a long while the hypnotic hum of the wheels on wet pavement lulled
him into a dreamless sleep. 

  

~~~@ 10 @~~~ 

Ray glanced at his watch as he dialed the Canadian Consulate; one-thirty
in the afternoon. 

"Good afternoon. This is the Canadian Consulate. My name is Constable
Turnbull. How may I assist you today?"	

Ray gritted his teeth. Turnbull's happy singsong voice was extremely
wearing. 

"Is Inspector Thatcher there?" 

"Yes, we have an Inspector named Thatcher, but I cannot confirm or deny
she is actually on the premises. If you'd like" 

"Put me through to her, Turnbull." 

"And who shall I say is" 

"Turnbull! It's Ray Vecchio. You've talked to me fifteen times today
already! Don't you know my voice yet?" 

"Yes, I have spoken with Ray, the Detective, several times today. He is
very upset about the whereabouts of Constable Fraser." 

"Have you seen him?" 

"I haven't seen Ray all day, though I've spoken to him many" 

"Not this again, you moron! THIS is Ray! I have to speak to the Dragon
Lady immediately ABOUT Fraser. Put me through!"  

"There's really no reason to" 

"Don't make me come down there and beat you." 

"Moody," Turnbull murmured as he transferred the call. 

Ray hit his forehead with his hand several times as Turnbull put him on
hold. 

A moment later someone picked up the line. "Inspector Thatcher," came the
woman's cool, clipped alto. 

"It's about time." 

"Detective Vecchio, what is it now?" She slapped the sheaf of papers in
her hands down onto her desk. "Where are you hiding my Mountie?" 

"He hasn't been there then?" 

"Would I ask you if he had?" Meg Thatcher shook her head and rolled her
eyes. Sometimes Fraser's friend could be so dense, and she wasn't one to
suffer fools or idiots lightly. "I assumed he was with you saving the
States." 

"Turnbull didn't tell you?" 

"Tell me what?" she demanded, looking at the stack of paperwork on her
desk with longing. She picked up her pen and signed the top form.  

"I've been looking for him all day. He hasn't been to his apartment since
last night. Dief practically ate my leg he was so hungry and he left a
nice big, doggy bomb on Fraser's bed." 

Meg scowled at the mental image. The American could be so melodramatic.
"He's not on assignment. Do you have any idea where he may be?" 

"A few, but I wanted your input." 

Meg immediately thought of the singer from the party and was surprised by
the surge of jealousy that ricocheted through her. Then shook her head.
They were talking about Fraser, afterall. Whatever her feelings for him,
he was a grown man and she had no claim on him. She didn't even know if he
reciprocated her feelings. "No ideas. Keep me apprised. And detective--" 

"Yeah?" 

"If you find he's...that is, if he's..." She cleared her throat, searching
for the right words. "Just, keep my apprised of any developments." 

"Sure." As Ray hung up the phone he smiled. Sure, she hated him. She hated
him as much as all the other women who'd ever seen him. She was just a
closet drooler. Then he shook his head, naw; this was the Dragon Lady,
afterall. 

  

~~~@ 11 @~~~  

  

Ray parked his '71 green Buick Riviera down the street from the Canadian
Consulate. It was time to retrace his friend's path. He'd already talked
to people who were at the party, called the other districts and hospitals
and brainstormed with Detective Huey, coming up with a long list of
options. Not to mention, canvassing Fraser's apartment and feeding, then
cleaning up after, Dief, who now accompanied him. 

"OK, Dief, do your stuff," Ray told the white wolf. 

The wolf sniffed near the front of the building and trotted off down the
sidewalk. Ray jogged behind him as the wolf picked up speed. He stopped
now and then to sniff and mark a pole or trash can. 

Ray wasn't sure how much of a trail was left after the night's light rain
and sleet, but Dief seemed to have no trouble retracing Fraser's steps.
Dief finally stopped in a narrow alley between a donut shop and a shoe
store. 

"What? It ends here? Or are you just casing the donut shop?" 

Dief whined and retrieved his packmate's Stetson. 

Ray ran a hand over his thinning hair and felt a surge of panic. "Caro,
Dio," he whispered closing his eyes. He squatted, took the Stetson from
Dief and laid a hand on the wolf's head, rubbing his ears absently. "Now I
know there's trouble, Dief. He'd never leave this laying around." 

He turned the Stetson in his hands. The back was crushed in. He looked
inside. Blood. Nausea washed over him. He closed his eyes and leaned on
the wolf for support, taking a long time to regain control.  

"We'll find ya, Benny," he whispered, trying to swallow past the lump in
his throat. "Don't worry, Dief, he's okay." 

Dief whined and licked his cheek. Ray dug out his cell phone and called
for backup. 

  

Two hours later, Lieutenant Welsh finished speaking to a member of the
Crime Scene Unit and approached Ray. He put a hand on the Detective's
back. "Vecchio, go home. We're going to keep looking and pick this alley
apart candy wrapper by cigarette butt." 

"No way! I can't leave now. What if they find something?" 

"I'll have them call you." 

"But, he's my best friend, sir. I can't just" 

"You're too keyed up right now. Go home, that's an order. Have dinner,
something may come to you." 

Ray stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and handed the bloody
Stetson to the Lieutenant.  

"Come-on, Dief, Ma's making lasagna." Even though I know I won't be able
to eat, he thought. 

  

~~~@ 12 @~~~ 

  

The van stopped. Tess awoke and allowed herself to listen to the soft
steady breathing in her ear. She inhaled deeply the manly scent of him,
like musk and apples. She was reminded of her father, coming home after a
long day at the cidermill. He smelled of sweat and apples, too, and
cinnamon donuts. She smiled and gently nudged Fraser with her elbow. He
awoke with a start to thick, cold darkness. He sniffed. 

"Woods," he whispered. 

Something moved above them. The top of the chamber unlatched and tilted
back. Blinking, momentarily blinded by the van's interior dome light, the
couple were hauled out roughly by their shirt collars. They were tossed
from the van and Tess fell to her knees on the muddy ground. Fraser made a
move to help her, then realized he was so sore and stiff he could hardly
stand himself. His hands were still secured behind his back. 

Hoover lit a cigarette and yanked her to her feet, snarling at the man who
pushed them and grabbed him by the shirtfront. "Doc, you idiot! We won't
get a decent price for them if they're roughed up. Get the flashlights.
It's almost sundown." He threw the man away from him. 

Doc, recovering his balance, cowered and scurried off. 

"You know, this would go easier for you if you would give up now," Fraser
said as they were marched through dark woods. The ground crunched beneath
his boots and the frigid night wind snuck up under his tunic to chill his
body. It carried the scent of snow. 

Behind him he heard Tess slip and mutter a soft curse. He looked over his
shoulder and watched A. J. hoist her to her feet. He kept a hand on her
arm. 

"It would all go a lot easier on *her * if you would shut up." Hoover
buried his fingers in her hair and used it to propel her forward. She
stumbled and nearly fell. A. J. grabbed her arm and steadied her, slipping
an arm around her shoulders. 

"It would be easier to walk if my hands were in front of me," she
muttered. 

Hoover gave her a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed, sighed and rubbed his
temple. "All right. Hold up," he called to the other men. He unfastened
her hands, let her shake the feeling back into them, and then fastened
them in front of her. 

"Thanks." 

He flashed a humorless half-smile and reached out to run two fingers along
her cheek. She jerked away. A. J. winced as he watched the exchange,
stepped back and shifted from foot to foot, holding his breath.  

"What's wrong with you?" she snapped. "You hate women enough to sell them
like cattle and then you caress me like a lover?" 

He laughed softly. "I love women. Women are God's most precious,
life-bearing gift. I'm just trying to spread the beauty of that around." 

"For a profit. Why don't you just become a pimp?" 

"Too messy." He tossed her into A. J.'s arms. "Watch her." 

The tall man nodded, black hair flipping down in front of his eyes. He
steadied her with a firm, yet gentle grip.  

They trudged on through the trees and patchy snow. 

Suddenly, the woods opened onto a clearing. 

"An airstrip," Fraser said. "Very well-hidden, too." 

"Stop and I shoot you," Hoover snapped. 

They were marched toward a small Piper Cub at one end of the field. The
captives stood off to one side as the men opened the doors to the plane. 

"Give it to them," Hoover said, nodding toward the captives. 

Tess exchanged a look with Fraser then kicked backward. She felt her heel
connect with A. J.'s shin and heard his yelp of pain as she bolted for the
safety of the trees. 

In one fluid motion, Fraser dropped into a squat and swung his leg around,
knocking Doc's feet out from under him. 

A. J. hopped on one foot momentarily, gripping his shin, then sprinted
after Tess. 

Fraser ran for the woods. He heard footsteps close behind him and tried
for more speed. A. J. was already ahead of him. Doc tackled him and
knocked him to the ground. He rolled and tried to toss the man off with
his feet, but Doc flipped him onto his stomach and straddled him. He
entwined his fingers in the Mountie's hair and pressed his face into the
snow. Fraser thrashed as he began to suffocate. 

Tess hurdled the snow-drifted underbrush that marked the entrance to the
woods and dove into the trees. She slipped on the snow and fell to the
ground, then rolled into a small thicket of brush, trying to quiet her
breathing. The crisp air stung her nostril and lungs. Sharp, crusted snow
bit into her bare legs. 

A. J. plunged into the brush behind her, swinging at the low-hanging
branches. After a moment he stood still, panting, staring at the snow
disturbed by her fall. He looked around wildly, fear evident on his rugged
face, his hawkish nose silhouetted by the dim moonlight in the clearing. 

"Come out, Lady. He'll kill us if I don't find you." 

Hoover towered over Doc and the struggling Mountie. He aimed at the two
men. 

"Doc, enough!" he barked. 

Doc jumped up and Fraser rolled over, spluttering and gasping for air, his
nose bleeding once more. He was beginning to feel lightheaded from blood
loss. 

"Come out or he's dead," Hoover shouted at the silent dark trees. "I don't
kid around. You have five seconds. Five, four, three, two" 

"Stop!" Tess dove out of the woods, tripped and fell onto her knees with
A. J. gripping one of her arms. He carefully helped her to her feet,
brushing her unkempt hair from her face when Hoover smiled and looked
away. 

"Got her!" A. J. called. 

Hoover motioned Doc to lift Fraser to his feet. He held a gun to his head.
"Get over to the plane, Girlie." 

She complied. "You almost lost your girlfriend, Mountie. You better pull
the reins on her," he whispered in Fraser's ear. 

"Well, she isn't my girlfriend. In fact, I barely know her. She does have
a mind of her own." 

"Stand face to face," Hoover ordered. "No, put your arms straight down,
Girlie." 

Tess gritted her teeth but complied. Two of the men shook out a large
piece of cloth. They wrapped it around the couple from shoulder to knees,
twice, then fastened four straps around them. 

"Hmm, we would seem to be thoroughly stuck," Fraser whispered. 

"Unless you're Houdini." 

They were lifted and set in the back of the plane. Double locks clicked on
the door beside them. Faint moonlight filtered through the window on the
door and the opposite wall. Fraser squinted in the darkness, looking for
something that might precipitate an escape. There was nothing. The back of
the plane, behind the seats, was completely bare. After a few moments he
relaxed, letting his head fall back onto the floor and twisting his head
to the side to work out the cramps. Tess rested her cheek on his chest. 

Hoover, Doc and A. J. climbed into the front seats as the pilot greeted
them. A short time later they were airborne.  

"Can you move your hands? Perhaps, free them?" Fraser whispered. 

Tess moved her hands. 

Fraser twitched, biting his lower lip as her hands moved up his leg. He
waited quietly to see if she could bring her hands up out of their
encasement. 

The binding was too tight and with the cuffs she had to move them
together. 

"Nope," Tess said, breathing heavily from the exertion. "I can only get
them up to about...here." Her eyes widened. "Oh, sorry." She smiled at
him. "Good thing you have a thick tunic, Darlin'." 

"Mm, unavoidable," he said. And not unpleasant, he thought. He was glad
their height difference meant she was tied too far down to see his face.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, praying she wouldn't notice
the dramatic effect her touch and proximity were having on his body.  

She nodded, enjoying the way his body heat seeped into her. She felt every
stirring of his muscles and shifted closer, smiling to herself. It still
surprised her when men found her attractive. And boy, did it feel good
when it was so obvious. 

"You can stop moving your hands now," he whispered and cleared his throat.


She smiled to herself and chuckled softly. "Mind if I move long enough to
snuggle?" 

"Uh, well, ah...snuggling is good," he struggled to keep his voice low and
even. 

"And unavoidable." She wriggled until she was comfortable and rested her
face over his heart. "This good for you, Darlin'?" she drawled. 

"Um, yes, quite." 

He decided the position, with her body resting slightly on top of his,
pressed together tightly, was comfortable, despite the fact that his arms
were pinned painfully behind his back and hers were now nestled between
his legs. Turning his head, he rested the back of his head on the floor
and his chin in the softness of her hair. 

"So, can we get out?" 

"No. It would appear this section of the plane has been prepared to
transport prisoners. This area seems to have been lined with a thin
covering of metal, aluminum, so there's nothing of use to escape. And the
door has been double locked from the outside." 

"Just say we're screwed, Darlin'." 

"We're screwed, Darling." 

Fraser forced himself to stay awake for the entire flight, though Tess
dozed off again.  

 ~~~@ 13 @~~~ 

  

Dinner at the Vecchio house was never relaxing. Loud simultaneous
discussions usually vied for dominance. For once, Ray was quiet,
contemplating the puzzle of Fraser's disappearance while absently playing
with his lasagna. The one bite he had taken sat in his stomach like
alka-seltzer, fizzing and churning in time to his roiling guilt and sense
of duty. He stared with unfocused eyes at the platter of garlic bread. 

"Ray, Ray, Ray, hey! What's your problem?" Franny's voice intruded on his
contemplation, annoyed as always that he was ignoring her. 

He looked up at her with distant eyes.	

"Spill the bananas, Ray! What's wrong? Ma's lasagna is your favorite and
you're insulting her." 

Ray looked at his sister. An image of her love-struck face staring up at
his partner with baby seal eyes floated through his mind. How could he
tell her the object of her obsession had vanished with almost no trace? He
swallowed hard and dropped his gaze back to his plate, now a mush of
lasagna ingredients. 

"Ray!" Franny's voice was thick with warning. 

"Caro," his mother said. "Your sister is right. Don't make a game of my
cooking! We don't keep secrets in this family." 

"Sorry, Ma. It's just...it'll make you feel bad." 

"To feel bad is to feel human." She waved a hand in the air dismissively
and handed him a bowl of salad.  

"I can't find Benny." He set the bowl down and looked at his sister. Her
eyes widened then narrowed with suspicion. 

"Did you check his apartment?" Franny's voice dripped sarcasm. 

Ray shot her a dirty look. "Would I have Dief with me if I didn't? We
aren't best pals in case you didn't notice, smarty pants!" 

Franny made a face at him. "You never can tell with you." 

"Yeah? What's *that * supposed to" 

"Enough!" Mrs. Vecchio roared. "How long has our Benny been missing?"
Worry etched deep lines across her features. 

"He didn't go home last night," Ray's voice softened to a respectful tone.
 

"Oh," Franny whispered. Her eyes widened. "Oh! You don't think? You don't
really think he went home with Goldilocks, do you?" Her young face held
fear. Like an open book, Ray thought, everything shows up on your face,
Franny. He gave his little sister a sympathetic look. 

Ray shook his head. "He wouldn't. He didn't even stop home to feed Dief
and believe you me Dief wasn't happy about that." Ray ran a hand over his
head and pushed his plate away. "Besides, I found his hat." He hesitated.
"It had blood on it." 

A hush fell over them all and for more seconds than any of them could
remember the Vecchio table was quiet. 

"So far all I can think of is they got mugged. Maybe he lost his memory or
something and didn't come back." 

"Maybe it was those teenyboppers," Franny whispered, a stricken look on
her face. Suddenly, Ma's cooking didn't look at all appetizing. 

"What teenyboppers, Franny?" 

"The ones Fraser said chased Tess into the Consulate." 

Ray's eyes widened. "I forgot all about them! Franny I could *kiss * you!"
He stood and shoved in his chair, rattling the glasses on the table. 

"Spare me," she muttered emptily, staring at the garlic bread with
unfocused eyes. 

"Caro, where are you going? Finish your dinner." 

"I can't, Ma. I have to go back in and research this gang." 

Franny jumped up and stopped him at the front door. "Ray." 

He turned, coat in hand. 

"If there's anything I can do. Or, if you find Benton..." 

Ray gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll let you know.
Dief! Saddle up." The wolf ran out the door ahead of him. 

~~~@ 14 @~~~ 

"Tess." 

She didn't stir. Fraser blew softly down into her face. Her eyelids
fluttered then parted. She blinked at him with unfocussed chocolate eyes
that reflected the dim moonlight. 

"We're circling. We'll be landing soon." 

She tried to stretch and groaned. "I wasn't even this sore after the car
wreck." 

"Car wreck?" 

"The one that killed my parents." She tilted her head from side to side to
stretch her neck. "Me and Jake, my lab, we got out." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Thanks, ancient history. Ouch." She tried to move her legs. 

"Mm, that would be from the drug and from being held immobile for so long
and from being bounced around. You see, the blood pools in the joints and
makes them stiffen. The lactic acid stiffens the muscles and, well, then
you can't move without considerable pain." The plane bounced on the
ground. They flew off the floor and slammed down again. After a moment,
Fraser said, "The net effect is so hard on the body that we keep falling
asleep to recover." 

Tess whimpered in pain. He felt a surge of protectiveness followed closely
by a wave of helplessness. He wanted to take her in his arms and chase
away the pain, but couldn't even help himself. 

The plane bounced again, then bumped and slid to the side slightly before
lurching to a halt. 

"Grass," he observed, "possibly snow." 

"Do you think they'll separate us?" Her hushed whisper was frightened.	

Fraser peered down into her wide eyes and saw barely restrained terror.
The need to reassure her nearly choked him. The look on his face softened.
He gave her a small smile. "It will all work out. I am a Mountie." 

She smiled. "Oh, a *Mountie *." She chuckled. 

He shrugged. "While you were sleeping they were conversing about business.
I believe they're planning to have the girls scour Chicago for more
women." 

The door beside them opened. 

Rough hands dragged them out by their feet and deposited them on the
ground, in the snow; Fraser on his back, Tess on top of him. He winced as
pain shot through his arms when he landed on them. Hoover stood back, gun
drawn, and watched the other two men unwrap them. Behind them the plane
taxied and took off. 

"Just like Christmas morning," Hoover said.  

Unbound, Fraser felt blood returning to his body and with it, pain. It was
like one of the many times he had nearly frozen to death, only to face
agony beside a warm fire.  

Tess shivered. "We're in the arctic," she mumbled. Her brain was so fuzzy
that she was reminded of the last time she had gotten drunk. Only this
time, the euphoria that normally accompanied the giddiness was replaced by
the killer hangover. "I may be sick," she murmured. 

Fraser's eyes widened in alarm. She was still lying on top of him.
"Uh...could you hold on?" 

A moment later she rolled off him into the snow with a loud groan, using
the palms of her hands to slowly push herself up. 

Fraser let out a loud sigh of relief and shook his feet until the tingling
of sleep faded, then sat up. He swayed imperceptibly as the nausea and
dizziness came over him again. His instincts told him not to show weakness
in front of their captors, so the only outward sign of his condition that
he allowed was a hesitation before springing to his feet. 

"You won't get away with this," he told them, keeping his voice even. "The
Mounties will hunt you to the ends of the Earth." 

Hoover stared at him a moment, then chuckled. He motioned the other two
men to lift Tess to her feet. Her knees wobbled, but she raised her chin
and kept her footing.  

"Don't bother screaming. The bears won't rescue you and I'd just have to
pull out your toenails," Hoover said, coming up behind Fraser as they were
marched toward the trees. "Hey, Mountie," he growled in a whisper, "you
make a break for it and your girlfriend doesn't live to become the Blue
Light special." 

Fraser wasn't sure of the reference, but the tone was clear. 

"Understood," he said. 

"Oh, terrific!" Tess exclaimed. "Horses." 

Fraser followed her gaze. A man waited just inside the tree line, holding
the reins to several horses. 

"You don't ride?" Fraser asked her over his shoulder. 

"Shut up, you two," Hoover said. 

They were hoisted onto the horses; Tess in front of A. J., Fraser behind
Doc. 

  

He heard the house long before they could see it. The woods were thick,
teeming with animal and insect sounds. Up ahead was a wall of silence that
those trained in wilderness survival could easily detect. All insect noise
stopped. In its place was the very faint tinny canned laughter of an
American sitcom. 

Fraser sniffed. Pine smoke drifted from a fireplace, mixed with the scent
of popcorn, snow and horses. His horse neighed and tossed its mane. The
man in front of him sighed. Fraser glanced up. Through the trees he
glimpsed the quarter moon far past apex. It was very early in the morning,
indeed. He estimated they had been riding for two hours. 

By the time the horses were reined to a halt Tess was sure she would never
be able to move again. I feel like I've been tossed down the stairs again,
she thought morosely. And the horse ride made her hurt in places that just
shouldn't hurt like that unless you were in labor. Throughout the ride
she'd been uncomfortably aware of the man behind her. His warm breath
caressed her ear as if he leaned close to smell her hair. He kept one arm
tightly wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him. There were
unmistakable signs that he was enjoying this ride way too much for her
tastes. Once in a while he would reach down and rub her bare thigh,
presumably to warm it. Miserable, she shivered and sighed, simultaneously.
Her bare knees and thighs were scratched and chafed and almost completely
numb with cold. She decided the numbness was a blessing. Too bad, it
doesn't go to the bone, she thought.  

The man behind her slid easily to the ground, reached up, grabbed her arm
and pulled her from the horse in one smooth movement. She flopped into his
arms like a discarded marionette, moaning softly from the jarring pain of
impact and totally unable to fight back. She no longer cared if they saw
her as brave. She just wanted to sleep for a week. I just wish I could
tell Hoover where to go, she thought as she found herself too tired to
speak. 

Fraser heard her moan and twisted in the saddle. He saw her legs dangling
from A. J.'s arms and felt a twinge of anger. He slid effortlessly to the
ground, gritting his teeth against the stab of pain and took a step toward
them. Hoover stepped in front of him and shoved him back into Doc. "Leave
it alone, Mountie. A. J., put her down. They both walk." 

A. J. set Tess down and softly pushed her forward. She marched in front of
him like a drunken zombie, head down, one lurching step after another,
swaying from side to side. 

Watching her, Fraser remembered having a similar gait after his first long
horse ride. Just wait until tomorrow, he thought. 

They stumbled across the small clearing and onto the porch of the house,
nestled snugly in trees. Fraser decided it was a beautiful house, in
beautiful surroundings; the type of house he might have built, with timber
and river rock, under better circumstances. Watching Tess totter on the
top step, he doubted she even saw the house. 

He was right. Tess blinked to clear the fuzz from in front of her eyes,
but it remained and felt like a warm, wet wash cloth. She only distantly
registered the soft interior lighting of the house, the stairs and the men
shoving her into the cage in the room. With profound relief she collapsed
into sleep when they stopped walking. Coincidence caused her to land on
the only soft item in the cage; a mattress on the floor. She didn't feel
Doc remove the handcuffs or Fraser take off her boots and arrange her
comfortably on the mattress before covering her with the coat she had been
wearing. 

Hoover laughed softly when they were secured inside the cage. He took a
pile of clothing from another man and tossed it to Fraser. "Take off that
uniform, Mountie. Put on the jeans." 

Fraser frowned and looked down at the black jeans and midnight blue
sweater on the floor of the cage. "I'm afraid I'm on duty, therefore, I
cannot remove my uniform." 

"Switch or I cut her in places that won't effect her sale." 

Fraser's eyebrows raised. He opened his mouth to protest, thought better
of it and snapped his mouth closed. He immediately stripped and switched
clothing, handing his uniform through the bars. 

Hoover tossed the uniform to his companion. "Good choice. Your girlfriend
can change tomorrow." He turned and strode from the room. His footsteps
thumped down the stairs and receded. 

  

~~~@ 15 @~~~ 

  

"No! You listen!" Hoover shouted. "I don't care what time it is or what
you and your little girlie friends want, Veena!" He paced the hardwood
floor of the living room, the slam of his heels shaking the pictures on
the walls, cell phone to his ear, looking as though he wanted to reach
through the phone and strangle the person on the other end. "I need two
more for a complete shipment, three if I can't dump the Mountie."  

The argument continued. The other men lounging around the room casually
stood and slipped away. Their leader's mercurial temper was evident in the
way he started tossing small objects around the room as he spoke with the
girl, safely in Chicago. He suddenly stopped pacing and lowered his voice,
"You're a very pretty little girl, Veena Shah." He paused, letting his
meaning sink in. "You have twenty-four hours." 

  

  

High above the house a light aircraft was creeping west toward Whitehorse.
The pilot listened to the gentle hum of the engines, looked out at the
snow painted mountains below washed purple in the moonlight and thought of
his wife and kids, waiting for him to finish ferrying this trader back
from Fort Providence. The uneventful flight was a relaxing break from the
cacophony at home. Still, he was looking forward to seeing his family.
Sometimes even silence was deafening. 

The trader, asleep in the back seat, started awake at the sound of an
angry voice. 

"What? What?" the trader shouted. 

The pilot jerked the controls convulsively at the sudden intrusion into
the serene flight. The Cessna veered and dropped a few feet. "What?" he
yelled as he regained control. 

"You said something," the trader replied. 

"No, I didn't!" 

"It must've been...them," the trader's voice took on a reverent tone. He
peered out the windows, looking up at the stars and moon. 

The pilot's eyes narrowed and he looked back at the man, who was obviously
a few bricks shy of a load, and calculated the remaining flight time. The
sooner he was on the ground the better. "Who?" 

"Them...the voices."  

The pilot nodded to placate him and scanned the area outside the plane,
just in case *they * were actually there. "I don't hear nothing and I
don't see nothing," he whispered. A quick glance over his shoulder showed
his passenger; eyes squeezed shut, hands pressing his jaw, face a mask of
concentration. The pilot could see the control panel lights glint from the
metal fillings and wire braces lining the trader's open mouth and gritted
teeth. After a time the man's face relaxed and he sighed deeply. 

"Well?" the pilot asked. "They give you the cure for cancer, eh?" 

The trader shook his head. "Naw, they said..." He gulped. "Three if I
can't dump the Mountie." 

The two men exchanged uneasy glances. 

"They talk to you often, do they?" 

The trader nodded. "Sometimes, they even...sing." 

 ~~~@ 16 @~~~ 

Fraser rubbed his wrists gingerly. He leaned back against the wall and
carefully balanced himself on the edge of the mattress on the floor. He
winced from the throbbing pain searing his muscles and looked around for
something to use to bandage his raw wrists. It seemed his old wounds had
all come back to haunt himthe knife would Geiger had given him in the
thigh, but mainly the bullet wound in his back from Ray's accidental
shooting. 

They were in a cage, similar to a cell from an old western movie, inside a
small room. The cell had a tiny sink, a toilet and shower divided off by a
translucent curtain and the mattress on the floor. On one wall was a
window, covered on the outside with a thick grill. He struggled to his
feet and limped to the window. He raised the glass and tested the thick
bars; very solid. He bent close and examined them. The craftsmanship was
excellent. The weakest part of the grill was the wood of the wall and
window frame. He allowed himself a deep sigh and slumped forward, head
against the wall. He'd have to break through the wall itself to escape
that way. 

He staggered to the sink and used the liquid soap to clean the dried blood
and loose skin from his wrists. He was careful to clean them thoroughly.
The wounds were superficial, he decided, more painful than dangerous
unless they got infected. He'd had much worse. On the edge of the sink was
a hand towel and washcloth. He picked up the washcloth and carefully tore
it into strips, two for him, two for Tess and one to wash her wounds with.


Wetting one strip, he stumbled over to Tess, sagged onto the mattress and
cleaned the wounds on her wrists gently. She twitched and moaned, but
didn't awaken. Better to let her sleep and regain her strength, he
thought, though a hot shower would help ease the sore muscles she'll have
tomorrow. Watching her peaceful face, loose clumps of gold hair sticking
to her dirt-streaked cheeks, he decided to let her be. She looked too much
like a sleeping child, her lips slightly parted, long lashes curved on her
full cheeks. It wouldn't really matter much, one way or the other. 

Gritting his teeth, he stretched out beside her and willed himself to
relax. His back ached horribly. Ghost pains my foot, he thought. He used
his knowledge of meditation and deep breathing techniques to hurry oxygen
to his screaming muscles. He felt them slowly loosen, then promptly fell
asleep. 

~~~@ 17 @~~~ 

The next morning Franny paced outside the tent, trying to slow her
breathing. She squinted at the sign through the slanting rays of the
midmorning sun. 'Madam Sasha', it read. 

"Okay, okay, okay," she told herself. "Benton is missing and this might
help. You gotta get over it and get in there." 

The idea to visit a psychic had come to her at breakfast that morning. A
television commercial for the circus included a clip of the
fortuneteller's tent. "And it worked for Jolie Bishop in 'Sword of Desire
Book Four'," she whispered. 

She stopped pacing and looked at the small tent. Unassuming and
threadbare, it blended in with the other carnival tents right down to the
neon sign outside. Only one thing made it stand outatmosphere. It emitted
an eerie feel of otherworldliness like base stereo waves that could jar
one's ribs even if they weren't in the room.  

Or maybe I just shouldn't eat cold Mexican food for breakfast, she
thought. 

Taking a deep breath, she stuck out a hand, threw open the tent flap and
stepped inside. It was like entering fairy tale. Incense assaulted her
nostrils and the dim light had a soft rose cast. The walls and floor were
draped with richly hued cloths in a myriad of colors. Beads, pearls and
other sparkling things were hung at random along the walls. A second
curtain divided a back room off from the front. The only furnishings were
a small, cloth-draped table with a crystal ball on it and two chairs. 

"You're not in Oz anymore, Franny," she whispered. 

She fidgeted with her purse strap for a moment, surveying the room. The
place reminded her of stories Great Grandma Vecchio had told her of the
good old days in Sicily; gypsies and bonfires. Curiosity got the better of
her and she leaned close to the crystal ball. She could see her reflection
in it. She reached out to touch it. 

And suddenly she saw something else reflected in it. 

Her eyes widened and she jumped back. Behind the table stood a woman so
ancient her eyes were nearly invisible in the wrinkles. She wore a simple
white shirt and long crimson skirt. 

"Oh, I...I'm so sorry. I didn't touch it, really. I didn't hear you come
in," Franny stammered. 

"Por favore, sedersi, Miss Vecchio. I have been waiting for you." The old
woman's voice was dry and cracked, so soft that Franny had to lean toward
her to make out the words. 

"Uh, okay, yeah, I'll sit, thank you, Ma'am." She pulled out a chair and
fell into it, clutching her purse on her lap. 

The old woman stared straight ahead and slid silently into her chair.
Franny swallowed hard and chuckled nervously. 

"I'm not sure how this works. I've never been to someone with the Sight
before, see. But I have a problem and I" 

"He is missing." 

"Uh, yeah. Since yesterday." 

"He came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father and--" She
smiled and didn't finish. 

Franny nodded. "That pretty much covers it." 

A smile dropped years from the gypsy's face. She leaned forward and
caressed the surface of the crystal with a lover's hands. "Sorella
piccola, what is your question?" 

"Where is he?" 

The woman leaned so close to the crystal that her forehead nearly touched
it, a gray-white curl fell over her shoulder and brushed it. A soft blue
glow illuminated her features so faintly that Franny wasn't sure it was
there at all, except that the woman's eyes sparkled with blue glimmers.
Franny gaped, transfixed. 

"I see mountains, caves, cliffs. Water falling like diamonds. A
man--Hoover. Sickness." 

"He's missing, not sick." Franny laughed nervously, extending a hand
automatically to touch the woman's arm and pulling it back before she did.
"So, uh, will Benton be okay? I mean, will we find him?" 

"He will find himself." 

Franny stared at her. 

"Sorella piccola, we all come full circle. The future is not written." 

"So, it can change? We can change it?" Franny sobbed. "That's not enough
information. I need to know more, like, exactly how I can change it." 

The woman faced her silently for a moment, then returned her gaze to the
crystal. "Sights and sounds, smells and feelings. He is with a blond
woman, no? In darkness. Pain, horses...falling...maybe death. I see a
cage. A house by a lake." 

"Death? Death? Fraser's *dead *!" Franny's voice rose in panic as she
fixated on the one word that stood out. She jumped up. 

The old woman reached over and laid a surprisingly strong hand on her
wrist. Franny felt a jolt like an electric shock go through her. And she
was calm.  

"Sit." Her voice was like honey and nearly inaudible. 

Franny fell into her seat like a dropped marionette. 

"Images come at random," the woman whispered, soothingly.  

"So, so, they might not have anything to do with this situation?" 

The woman smiled, wide and toothless, turning her face a little toward
Franny. "I see what I ask." 

Panic crashed over Franny. It wasn't the cryptic words that scared her it
was the certainty on the woman's seamed face, the heavy feeling of time,
of ancient knowledge present in the room. The hairs on her forearms and
the back of her neck stood up. Fear closed her throat and forced out a
strangled gurgle as she tried to breathe. Fraser, dead? 

She forced out words, "No. Not Benton, we...I" 

She blinked. Tears blurred the woman's image and in Franny's mind she
looked strangely young. She frowned. A trick of the light, she thought.
Her mind was overwhelmed with images of Fraser and the wedding she had
planned. 

The old woman chuckled. 

Franny felt her stomach drop to her feet. Her mouth went dry and she was
lightheaded. 

"Be careful, sorella piccola, what you wish for, voi non puo gradire che
cosa ricevet. Do not give up on him. IL Dio e con voi." 

Franny nodded and stood numbly on shaky legs. "God needs to be with
Fraser, not me." 

"Francesca?" 

"Yes, Ma'am?" 

"Five dollars, Cara." The woman stood and held out her hand. 

Franny held out a five-dollar bill. When the woman didn't take it, she
leaned closer, put it in the woman's hand and looked into her eyes.
Cataracts completely clouded them both. Her knees went weak. She felt as
though a hand was on top of her head, pushing her down. She grabbed the
back of the chair for support. 

"You're...you're blind?" 

"I see all I need to Francesca. Good day." She smiled, reached out and
patted the young woman's cheek. 

"Good bye." Franny took a step toward the door. "Hey I never told you my"
Her mouth fell open and she gestured excitedly at the woman. "Oh!" 

The woman chuckled. 

Franny stumbled from the tent and ran all the way to the bus stop. 

  

~~~@ 18 @~~~ 

  

Fraser awoke the next morning to the sound of a tray sliding across the
wooden floor of the cell. He opened his eyes in time to see A. J. closing
the metal door of the cage. 

"What time is it?" he asked. 

"10a.m," A. J. replied. 

"Might we have some disinfectant and bandages? She has deep cuts on her
wrists." He motioned toward Tess, who was beginning to stir. 

"A. J.!" Hoover's voice echoed up the stairs.  

A. J. glanced at the stairs then at the woman. He nodded quickly to Fraser
and left, locking the door behind him. Fraser heard him run down the
stairs. 

Tess rubbed her face with her hands and pushed herself up onto her elbows.
"Ouch, did you get the plate number?" 

"Of what?" 

"The tank that ran over me." 

Fraser half smiled, half winced, feeling his own muscles spasm. The scar
on his back felt like it was on fire. The injuries seemed to get more
bothersome every year. Is that what age does, he thought, slowly eat away
at your defenses? He pulled the tray closer. 

"Breakfast has arrived." 

She pushed herself up and slid over to sit beside him. "I'm starved. I
don't usually fast for two days. What do we have?" 

She pressed against his arm. 

"Eggs, toast, fruit and bagels with cream cheese." 

"Yum," she said without enthusiasm. 

"I suggest we keep the bagels." 

"For what?" 

"Our escape. Although, in the woods you can live like a king if you know
where to look." 

She frowned at him. "Yeah, on bugs and fungus." 

"Protein and vitamins." 

She made a face. "So, we're going to escape?" 

"Hopefully." He smiled and handed her a banana. His subconscious was
already planning a way out. Doc was the weak link in the chain, he was
sure of it. But, A. J. might be an ally. 

  

~~~@ 19 @~~~ 

  

Ray let the door to Lieutenant Welsh's office slam behind him. "I got a
name," he blurted without waiting for Welsh to acknowledge him. 

Welsh looked surprised a sandwich suspended halfway to his mouth. "And?" 

"The teenybopper spilled her guts. It's a slavery ring. They're gonna sell
the girl. Ringleader's a jerk named Wade Hoover. Elaine is running' him
through the system now." 

"She lawyered up yet?" He gently set down his lunch, looking at it
wistfully. Vecchio always seemed to interrupt him when he was about to
take a bite. 

"Naw, I only nabbed her an hour ago." 

Welsh nodded. He leaned back in his chair, looked at the ceiling and
steepled his fingers under his chin. "So, why take the Mountie?" 

"He was with her, sir. He could ID them." 

"Then why not just shoot him?" 

"Maybe they didn't have guns." 

"In Chicago?" Welsh looked at Ray and scowled. 

Ray shrugged. "For all we know, sir, this girlie gang probably wants Benny
stuffed and mounted for show and tell at school." 

The door to the office opened quietly behind Ray. 

"Mounted?" Welsh rolled his eyes. "Perhaps, Detective, they want to sell
him, too," he said calmly. 

Ray's eyes widened. "Who'd buy Fraser?" his voice was incredulous. 

"I'd give a months pay to keep him for a week," Elaine said, leaning
against the doorframe, a grin creating a dimple in her dark cheek. 

Both men stared at the civilian aide. She brushed a few strands of black
hair back over her shoulder. "What?" she snapped. "I'm a young, healthy,
single black female. Why couldn't I rate a Mountie?" 

The men shrugged and mumbled. Elaine stepped up to the desk and held out
the computer printouts. "You act like I swiped him." She scowled at them.
Typical. "I'm going to keep digging on the Internet. I've got a hunch." 

Welsh took the proffered papers and flipped through them, stopping to
examine the picture closely. As Elaine left he began to read, "Wade H.
Hoover, five speeding tickets, no arrests." He looked at the backs of the
sheets. "Five speeding tickets." He flipped through the papers again.
"That's it?" He looked up, eyebrows raised. "You sure this is our perp and
not the little girl's ex-boyfriend?" 

"Positive. She gave us his name." Ray's brow furrowed and he smacked his
hands together impatiently. "Anyways, maybe the guy's just good at hiding
what he does. Look how long it took to catch Ted Bundy and he was doin'
worse stuff." 

Welsh nodded and scratched his chin absently with one finger. "All right,
show her this picture along with some others and see if she picks him
out." 

"I'm on it." Ray snatched the papers from the Lieutenant's hands and
dashed out the door. 

"Five speeding tickets," Welsh muttered, shaking his head. 

  

  

A short time later Ray strode through Welsh's open office door, shutting
it behind him. 

"Positive ID, sir." He slapped the paper down on the Lieutenant's desk
with a triumphant smile. 

Welsh nodded. Before he could speak the door flew open and Franny burst
through. She grabbed Ray's arm. "Ray! Ray!" 

He gave her an annoyed look. "Not now, Franny." 

"Ray! Ray," she insisted. 

"Get lost! We're looking for Fraser." 

"I know where he is!" she blurted. 

Both men raised their eyebrows and turned to look at her, bouncing in
place with excitement. 

"Well, sort of." She shrugged. 

Ray opened his mouth to shoo her out of the office, but Welsh stopped him
with an upraised hand. "Go ahead, Miss Vecchio. We'll take our clues where
ever we can get them." 

She nodded and began to pace, gesturing wildly. "He's in the mountains, in
some sort of dark cage. There are horses and somebody named Hoover and a
lake and--" The men exchanged surprised glances. "Cliffs and a waterfall
and...he could be sick and dying!" she wailed. 

Ray blinked and shook his head. Pure coincidence, he thought, no way could
Franny get something like that right. Somebody must have told her about
Hoover. 

"Relax, he's been gone two nights. He hasn't had time to get sick. And how
would you know he's in a cage, in a house, by a lake, in the mountains?"
He sighed and shoved her toward the door. She fought back. "Sheesh, I
sound like a Dr. Suess book." 

Franny shoved him back and planted her hands firmly on her hips. She
raised her chin and stared him directly in the eyes. "I just know. Did you
*hear * me? He's sick...or he's gonna be! What's the matter, I get
something right? He could be *dying *, Mr. Smarty Pants, or don't you
care!" 

Ray raised his chin, leaned close and stared down at her. "He's *my * best
friend, Lolita, and we got some leads, so don't you raise your voice to
me!" he shouted. 

"Hey!" Welsh shouted above their voices. "You want to argue, save it for
your family dinner. We have a man to find." 

Ray and Franny both turned to face him, staring at the floor. 

Ray cleared his throat. "Sounds like Canada, sir." 

"I agree." 

"So, I was right?" 

Ray met her eyes. "You got Hoover right," he acquiesced. 

Her face lit up. "See! See! You never believe me. Maybe now you'll believe
me!" 

"Miss Vecchio, if you can't control your outbursts, please leave my
office. You aren't helping." 

She swallowed hard. "Sorry." 

Welsh perused the computer printouts on Hoover. "One of his tickets is in
Browning, Montana, in the Rockies, not far from the Canadian border.
Vecchio, grab that atlas." He pointed to the bookshelf. They all leaned
over the map, looking for the town and studying the terrain. "It's on a
highway that goes straight north into Canada.  

A knock at the door made them jump. 

"Yeah?" Welsh called. 

Inspector Meg Thatcher swept into the room, high heels clacking on the
tile, dark hair swinging as she shut the door and whirled to face them.
Her expression was anxious, but when she saw the Vecchio siblings all
feeling left her face and her eyes glittered with annoyance. 

"What brings us the pleasure of your company today, Inspector Thatcher?"
Welsh said, standing and giving her a businesslike smile. "Any word on the
Constable?" 

"Actually, Lieutenant, that is why I'm here." She glanced pointedly at Ray
and Franny. 

"They're assisting with the case." Welsh's tone left no room for argument.


She stared at them for a moment. "Very well." She turned back to Welsh.
"I've received a message via Headquarters in Ottawa that
a...transmission..." She looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Was intercepted
that could directly relate to the disappearance of Constable Fraser. I
brought it here to see what information you have so far." 

"What kind of transmission?" Ray asked. 

"Cell phone. A cell phone transmission was received by a trader riding in
a light aircraft passing through the Yukon." 

Franny scoffed. "A *trapper * with a cell phone? Who'd he call, his
moose?" 

Thatcher scowled at her. "His teeth, actually." 

The others stared at her. 

"He called his teeth?"	

"No, Detective, the trapper apparently has a history of receiving radio
and cell phone signals on his rather extensive dental work." She looked
down, embarrassed. 

Ray shook his head. "This must be a Canadian thing, right? This guy spent
a lot of time on the ice?" 

"Be that as it may, the transmission spoke of a Mountie and the need for
more cargo to complete a shipment." She leaned over the desk, spun the
atlas to face her and pointed out a section of the southern Yukon. "He
received the signal in this area." She tapped the atlas. "Cell phones
usually have a large service area radius, however the mountainous terrain
drastically reduces this. If we concentrate our efforts on the area within
a 30km radius we should locate Constable Fraser." 

"30km? That's what in real measurements, 15 miles? That's huge!" 

Thatcher shrugged. "It is better to err on the side of caution." 

"Couldn't, like, the signal have bounced off a mountain and come from
somewhere else completely?" Franny said. 

"Theoretically possible, I suppose, but unlikely as the receiver was in an
aircraft. The signals also travel vertically." 

Ray uncrossed his arms. "If we check off every lake big enough for a plane
to land on or a place accessible by road we should be able to narrow the
search." 

"Don't forget waterfalls and cliffs," Franny added, peering at the map
around her brother's shoulder. 

Thatcher shot her a questioning look. "What *is * she talking about?" She
straightened up and crossed her arms over her ash-colored business suit.
"Do you have information that you aren't sharing in this...joint effort?"
She stressed the last two words by gritting her teeth and narrowing her
brown eyes. 

Ray's eyes widened innocently. "It's probably nothing." 

"Nothing!" Franny exclaimed and elbowed past him to face the woman. "The
psychic said he was in a cage in a house by a lake near waterfalls and
cliffs." 

"Psychic?" Thatcher snorted. 

Franny straightened defensively. "Yeah, hey, she got the name right! And,
she said he's sick and could die!" 

Thatcher frowned. "It's still winter throughout the Yukon. It's not
inconceivable that he could be sick. Though, he's hardly had time to die
without intervention." She turned and looked Welsh straight in the eye.
"And what is this name she's babbling about?" 

Welsh waved toward the door. "We apprehended a member of the gang earlier
who gave us the name of the supposed ring leader of a slavery operation.
We believe he's exported Miss Parish and the Constable for later sale.
Miss Vecchio's psychic got the name right." 

Thatcher nodded and brushed her shoulder-length dark hair behind her ear.
"I see. Well, waterfalls and cliffs abound in the Rocky Mountains and
continue in every mountain range in Canada. I suggest we start with
lakes." 

Welsh handed her a red pencil. "It's your country, Inspector." 

She marked off a 30km circle around the coordinates of the plane, then
began to check off likely areas.  

After twenty minutes, the search area had been reduced to a circle with a
15km radius. 

"There," she said with a satisfied grin, smacking the pencil on the desk.
She straightened up and let the Americans have a look at the map. 

Welsh turned the map around so he could read it. "Okay, so this area
contains three small highways, 4, 6, and 10." 

"There is still a lot of uninhabited area to search," Thatcher said. 

"What are those, the Logan Mountains?" 

"Mm, looks like it. But he could be just across the border in the In the
Mackenzie Mountains in the Northwest Territories." 

"All right, this is your turf, Inspector, what's the best way to search
it?" 

She frowned and studied the map. "By plane and on foot. If he's in a
house, as *she * claims it could be hidden in the dense trees and search
planes would miss it. If by some chance, Fraser is on foot, the deep cover
would still obscure him, facilitating the need for a foot search." 

"Miss Parish is an American. I want a joint task force on this," Welsh
said. 

"Of course. I've already conferred with Ottawa. They are prepared to
mobilize a team of five Mounties on horseback for our ground search and
they will handle the air search for us." 

"Sounds good." 

"Good? Good! Five doormen on horses is *not * good, it's crappy!" Ray
wailed. 

"The RCMP officers are highly trained police officers, skilled in
wilderness survival, are you?" Thatcher asked. 

Welsh suppressed a smile. 

Ray gave her a dark look. "I don't care, Lady. Benny's my best friend, I'm
going with." His voice left no room for argument. 

Inspector Thatcher scowled. She turned to Welsh. "Since Constable Fraser
is on my immediate staff he is my sole responsibility. I will head the
joint task force. Pick out two men you want to assist me. We'll leave in
four hours." 

"I'm on that list," Ray insisted, "and Dief goes, too." 

"Me, too." 

Ray turned to his sister. "No. No way, Franny. You're not a cop." 

"I can help!" 

"How? By flirting with the bears? I'm not risking my best friend's life
'cause you want to drool on him." 

Franny glanced at the others in the room and shuffled from foot to foot.
"If it weren't for me you wouldn't know about the house or lake." She
lifted her head, thrust out her chin, and poked Ray in the chest with a
finger. "And I know CPR. And I've been taking self defense!" 

Ray was quiet for a moment. "Look, you're my sister and I don't want you
getting trampled by a moose." He turned his back on her.  

Franny gaped, mouth open. True, Ray's sudden concern for her was touching,
but he was using it to say she couldn't take care of herself. Well, she'd
show him! She whirled on her high heel as she tossed a glance at the
Inspector and stomped out the door. 

Thatcher snagged the door with three fingers as it closed and slammed it
behind the other woman. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for
the two men to reach a decision. 

"All right, Vecchio, you go. Unfortunately due to the recent budget cuts
and rise in local crime, I can't spare anyone else." 

Ray dropped his head to his chest and ran his hands over his face and
head. 

Thatcher flicked a quick, appraising glance over him and frowned. She
wished the Americans didn't have to be involved at all. He won't last two
days in the Yukon, she thought. "I'll make some calls and get the wolf
through quarantine. We leave in four hours, Detective. Be in front of this
building when the Consulate car comes to get you." She whirled and left. 

Both men sighed and exchanged a look. That woman left a trail of cold,
displaced air behind her as though a ghost had walked through the room.  

~~~@ 20 @~~~ 

  

"Let her go!" Fraser ordered. 

Doc leered at him and tightened his grip on Tess' wrist. He yanked her
close and tried again to kiss her. She shoved at him and brought her knee
up. He caught it between his thighs and laughed, then slapped her. She
winced as she felt her teeth cut her lip and the metallic taste of blood
fill her mouth. 

"Not again, Sweetheart. You already killed off some of my kids." He tossed
her back against the small wooden table outside the cage. 

Fraser frowned. Doc was almost within reach. He stuck his arm through the
bars and stretched, pressing the side of his face against them. Not quite.


"Hoover said she wasn't to be touched." 

"Screw Wade," Doc growled. "Kept us out here like monks for too long!" 

A surge of frustration flooded over Fraser. He surveyed the contents of
the cage desperately for something to throw. There was nothing in the cage
that would fit through the bars. He didn't normally get angry, but the
last thing he wanted was to be forced to watch and listen to a woman being
taken against her will. If he had to do that, he felt he just might
explode, literally.  

  

Doc pulled out a small pocketknife and turned it with agonizing slowness
in front of her horrified eyes. The reflected light made a small white
patch that traced a path over her face and glinted in her wild eyes. 

With a surge of adrenaline, she shoved him backward, into the bars of the
cage. Fraser pounced, yanking the man roughly into the cold metal and
slipping an arm around his throat. Tess cast her gaze frantically around
the room for a way to help. 

"Don't touch her!" the Mountie hissed in his ear through gritted teeth. 

Doc blinked rapidly as his eyes glazed slightly. With a swift movement he
rotated the blade in his hand and plunged it backward.	

Fraser's adrenaline coursed through his veins so ferociously that he
didn't feel the blade slice into his inner thigh, missing all vital
organs, then again into his outer thigh. 

The light shimmered from the knife as Doc raised it to face level,
preparing to arch it backward. Fraser tried to grab the arm that held the
knife and couldn't. He shoved the man away and leapt back as the blade
plummeted toward his face. Doc spun, smiling and coughing as the chilly
air rushed back into his lungs. The redness faded from his face and he
laughed, pointing the knife at Tess. 

"I was going to be gentle with her," he croaked, his voice rough and
hoarse. "I changed my mind." 

Tess tried to sidestep him as Doc lunged at her. She was quick, but he was
quicker. He twisted her arm behind her, thrusting her back against the
table with his hips and pinning her there. 

Fraser did a quick check of his wounds, ripping strips from the sheet on
the mattress and bandaging them. The wounds were deep, but missed the
femoral artery. Still, he would need to monitor the seeping flow of blood.
He pulled his long sweater down to cover the wounds. He watched helplessly
as Doc ripped open the front of her flowered dress. I should've known, he
berated himself. Doc had come in earlier, pulled Tess from the cage and
said he had to search her, after the barred door was locked, of course. He
should have known that Hoover didn't send this animal upstairs.  

The moment the door to the cage locked Doc pounced on her. They had been
fighting ever since. 

Tess tried not to breathe through her nose. Doc's breath was putrid, like
rotting fish on a summertime beach. Probably from those black teeth, she
thought with a shiver. She bent back as far as she could to avoid the
questing, cracked lips, wincing as the hard edge of the table bruised the
backs of her thighs. 

"Wait, Wait!" she cried. "I give up, okay! Just let me catch my breath." 

He backed up slightly. She took a few deep breaths and planted her feet
firmly on the floor, trying to keep his dark eyes focused on her chest.
"Okay, Darlin'," she drawled in her most irresistible voice, "now I know I
can't beat you so I may as well enjoy the process." She grinned
seductively and wiggled, exposing more of her skin. 

Doc smiled wide, flipped the knife shut and slipped it into his cowboy
boot, then slid his arms around her back, kissing her neck. 

Nothing quite like a little slobber, she thought. She grimaced and let her
hands roam his bony body.  

"Tess! Please, don't! Don't compromise yourself! Please, I'll find a way
out," Fraser called, horrified that she'd cooperate. He couldn't tell
whether she was enjoying it or if it was a ruse. He looked around again
for anything that might help. Nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut,
unwilling to watch. His leg began to ache horribly. A quick glance showed
him the damage and a slowly darkening stain on his ripped jeans. 

"Shut up!" Doc barked and returned to her neck. 

Tess slipped one hand between Doc's legs. Ah, there we go, she thought. He
moaned into her ear and she had to fight down the urge to gag. Good thing
he's wearing thin trousers, she thought. 

Holding her breath, she squeezed as hard as she could and twisted, digging
in her nails for good measure. 

His scream left her temporarily deaf in her right ear. He fell back. She
didn't let go until he bounced off the floor and lay there, twitching.	

The door to the room burst open. Hoover, A. J. and four other men piled
in, mouths dropping slack at the sight on the floor. Several of the men
winced and looked away. A. J. met her eyes, smiled and ducked his head
with a glance at Hoover. 

Hoover took in the situation with one glance; Tess, pale with a bruise
already darkening her left cheek and her dress torn, the Mountie,
red-faced with a white-knuckled grip on the bars, and Doc, splayed out and
writhing on the floor.	

"It doesn't take Einstein to see what happened here," he muttered as he
stepped over the fallen man to the woman. He lifted her chin and studied
the bruise and the fat lip that was swelling as he watched. "Damn," he
muttered. He glanced into her eyes and she thought she saw a flash of
compassion. It disappeared before she could be sure. "He didn't...succeed,
did he?"  

She shook her head, swollen lower lip trembling. A drop of blood dripped
off it and onto the exposed skin of her chest. 

With a grunt of frustration he propelled her toward the cage and ordered
A. J. to put her inside. "Good work," A. J. whispered near her ear as he
gently guided her into the cage. He took a handkerchief from the back
pocket of his trousers and pressed it into her hand. With a wink, he shut
the door. 

Fraser watched the exchange and frowned. He suppressed a surge of anger.
He hadn't grown up around many women, but he thought he understood some of
their motivations. He was not as naive as he let on to be, it was just
easier to play dumb. At times he regretted the ruse, but usually was
content with his defense mechanism. A. J. was blatantly trying to gain her
trust and Fraser didn't like it one bit. He only hoped she didn't fall for
it. 

Hoover motioned two others to pick up Doc. They held him limp between
them. "Serves you right," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I told
you not to damage the inventory. How many is this, Doc? Three? If we
didn't need you, I'd gut you right here. But, remember, I can find another
Doctor, if I have to." 

He brought his arm back and hit the injured man in the stomach. 

Fraser felt a shiver go down his spine at the viciousness of the beating.
Doc would feel worse than either of the captives in the morning. 

"Take him to his room," Hoover snapped, "and bring her a different dress.
A. J., make them look pretty and get them in the catalog before her face
turns purple. We need to get first bids underway. We gotta move fast on
this one." He turned in the doorway to look at them. "Get yourself ready,
Girlie. You're coming out later and you better watch yourself or I'll
sedate you until the auction," he warned. "Right now, we need a cook."	

  

~~~@ 21 @~~~ 

  

Ray watched the attendant at the Air Canada counter toss the baggage onto
the conveyor belt behind Dief's crate. The wolf whined as he disappeared
through the plastic flaps that separated the lobby from the cargo bay. The
woman behind the counter smiled at him as he turned back toward the
Inspector. Meg flipped through a small notebook with crisp precision. The
beauty of the woman struck him, with her small straight nose, dark eyes
and classic profile framed by a silken drape of dark hair that seemed to
shine in all conditions. Benny must be blind, he thought. He'd consider
going after her himself, if she didn't have the personality of a frozen
dead fish. 

He grinned with more humor than he felt "Well, at least they got that
right." 

Her cold gaze flicked up to his face. "The flight leaves in twenty-five
minutes. That leaves us just enough time to get through Customs." She
started striding toward the gate without waiting to see if he followed.
"And to take care of any last minute details," she continued. 

Ray stood there, watching her ignore him, talking to herself. After a
moment he shook his head, chuckled and jogged after her. She didn't even
notice I wasn't there, he thought. That'll help the investigation. 

The two officers were so engrossed in getting to the plane and planning
the mission they failed to notice the petite elfin-featured woman who
followed at a discreet distance. She watched the couple over the rim of
her rhinestone-framed sunglasses. 

Not that she wanted to be noticed. Franny had purposely dressed down for
what she thought of as her very own James Bond mission. Instead of her
usual painted on, peacock-bright attire, she wore black jeans and an old
white Chicago P. D. tee shirt with her fringed black leather jacket. The
entire effect was definitely more modest than her normal persona.  

She grinned to herself. Ray had probably already looked at her and
dismissed her as someone else. She touched her hair, normally worn long
about her shoulders. Now it was pulled up in a tight French braid. She
never wore her hair in a French braid. He probably didn't even notice I'm
wearing his tee shirt, she thought with a glance down to ensure the
Chicago PD emblem was safely hidden by her jacket.  

She joined the line at Customs and took out a compact. She studied the
downplayed makeup. Normally she would go for blue eyeshadow, heavy liner
and dark lipstick. She grimaced at the natural tones covering her face,
the clear gloss on her lips. Yuck, she thought, I look almost naked. She
snapped the compact closed after primping her hair and stuffed it back
into the purse she clutched to her chest. It contained her normal self;
the attention grabbing makeup she would reapply as soon as Ray discovered
her. And she had no doubt he would. She just had to make sure it didn't
happen until it was too late. 

She watched Ray and that Thatcher woman pass through Customs and enter the
waiting area. She waited nervously behind a pillar by the gate. She had
purposely requested a seat near the rear of the plane and wanted to be
sure she boarded before they did. Once again she took out the compact. She
turned her back on the couple and watched their reflections in the mirror
over her shoulder. Ray paced back and forth, making frustrated gestures
with his hands. Figures, she thought, he has the patience of a gnat.
Thatcher flipped shut a notebook, glanced at her watch and hightailed it
to the Ladies Room. Good. Franny sighed and allowed herself to relax a
little. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt sure she'd drop dead on
the spot of a heart attack. 

A little later they began pre-boarding; then regular boarding. A quick
glance at the couple showed Thatcher pairing back up with Ray. Quickly,
Franny slipped into the gangway and boarded the plane. 

  

~~~@ 22 @~~~ 

Tess scowled and sliced a stack of sandwiches in half with one sure chop
of the chef's knife. She was surprised they trusted her with a knife. She
chuckled. She was even more surprised they'd left her alone in the kitchen
to cook. True, there was no outside door and the one window didn't open,
but there were lots of things a captive could use in a kitchen. Maybe they
thought she was too tired and sore or too stupid to do anything. Hah, she
thought, that's why I'm a freelance writer with a BS in Management;
fitting as that may be. She glanced at the small cloth bag barely visible
beside the refrigerator. She picked up a can opener and nonchalantly
stuffed it into the bag. She grinned inwardly and dropped a lighter in,
also.  

She was happy about the supplies, still, it rankled her to be thought of
as nothing more than a domestic servant and bedwarmer for sale. Her
position had only one advantage; it allowed her to be ignored. She was
used to being ignored. She'd grown up alone in a crowd and had perfected
the art of information absorption as a child. She almost chuckled again.
In high school she'd been so quiet people had literally forgotten she was
there. The 'cool' kids spilled their secrets in front of her as if she
were a stone statue incapable of repeating them. It had been more than a
decade since she had blended with the wallpaper. This was the first time
she was happy to do it. 

The men came in and out of the kitchen going to the refrigerator for beer.
If they noticed the bag they didn't say. They ignored her, mostly, and
kept their conversations going. She pretended to be so absorbed in
preparing the sandwiches and chili that she couldn't possibly hear them. 

"Jeez, Danny, stop whining and go take your pills," A. J. said, rubbing
his scruffy chin with the back of one hand and striding to the
refrigerator. He yanked it open, frowning at the short man who followed
him. "You'll be right as rain after a good night's sleep." 

Danny ran a hand through his short red hair and stared at the tall man
leaning into the refrigerator. "Maybe you're right, A. J." He accepted the
beer A. J. held out, opened it and took a swallow. 

Tess arranged the sandwiches on a large plate and took a step back to
watch the men as they left the kitchen. A. J. plopped down onto the couch
tossing his feet up onto the coffee table and straightening out his long
legs. Danny opened a door just to the left of the kitchen. A moment later
she heard water running. A bathroom, she thought. Beside her the frying
hamburger, onions and green peppers popped. She stared at it a moment. 

And smiled. 

~~~@ 23 @~~~ 

"You'll have to take out the wall to get out that way, son." Robert
Fraser's voice intruded on his concentration. 

Fraser gave his father a long-suffering look over his shoulder. "I'm aware
of that. I was wondering where you were." 

"Oh, here, there, you'd be amazed the people you can meet in the
Afterlife." 

"Not if you're telling the story." 

Robert surveyed the cage and the room. "What a pickle." 

"Relish, more like." 

"You're bleeding." 

"It's under control. He missed the artery." 

Robert nodded. "Where's the girl?" 

"Cooking." 

Robert stared at him for a moment as though he'd just grown horns, then
raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I'll never understand women,
son." He clasped his hands behind his back. "You know, this reminds me of
the time Duke McCall locked me in a cell in an old, abandoned jail-you
know the type in the old ghost towns? Wooden walls. Anyway, he locked me
up tight and left." 

"And?" 

"And what, son?" 

Fraser turned from the window. "How did you escape?" 

"Oh, I didn't. Buck Frobisher came along and freed me. Said he had a dream
I was in trouble or some such." He waved his hand dismissively. "Never let
me forget it. That's friendship for you." 

Fraser scowled. "Thanks, Dad. I think I can get out now." 

"Really?" Robert smiled. 

Fraser turned and gave him a harsh look. Robert shrugged. 

"Anyway," Fraser said, "I wasn't looking *at * the window, I was looking
through it." 

"Beautiful country, that." 

"Yes. I've been trying to locate us. I think those are the Logan
Mountains, but they may be the Mackenzie's. Do you know?" 

Robert shook his head. "No road maps in the Afterlife, son." 

Fraser turned back to the window, keeping his weight off his injured leg.
"The tree-line is dense. It begins just beyond the barn, there. They've
been leading horses in and out all day so the underbrush must be passable.
I'd bet there's a town somewhere beyond those mountains, maybe in that
valley." He pointed. Robert stood on his toes and peered over his son's
shoulder. 

"If those are the Logan's you'd most likely hit a highway going in any
direction, eventually." 

"Mm." Fraser rested his fists on the windowsill and leaned forward, his
forehead brushing the glass. "We're on the eastern end of the lake. It was
beautiful at sunrise this morning. The water was like glass. The patches
of snow around the far bank, there, sparkled like a string of golden
pearls and the peaks were glorious." He sighed heavily; his face taking on
an expression of such longing that Robert felt his stomach lurch.  

His father stepped up beside him, gazing out the window, and put a ghostly
hand on his shoulder, though neither could feel the touch. "You'll get out
of here, son," he whispered, "you have to. You'll become unhinged cooped
up in here." 

They stood silently, side by side. Robert slipped an arm around his son's
shoulders and they watched the last remnants of the sun wink out behind
the glowing mountaintops. 

  

~~~@ 24 @~~~ 

Salt. Cumin. Cayenne. Tess tossed the ingredients into the pot of chili.
She stirred it gently. It had not yet begun to boil. It would take an hour
to cook. Or two days, she thought, if I followed my recipe. She glanced
around the kitchen. She was alone. Now or never, she thought. She went
over to the sink and made herself gag loudly. Tears sprang into her eyes. 

A. J. sprinted into the kitchen and slid to a stop on the tile, just
inside the door, green eyes wide and alarmed. 

"What's wrong with you?" 

She gagged again. "Come 'ere, you'll find out," she gasped, choking. 

"The bathroom! The bathroom!" He waved toward the door beside the kitchen
with a grimace. 

With one hand over her mouth she ducked her head and ran for the door. 

Once inside, she locked the door and kept up the noises as she rifled
through the drawers and medicine cabinet. A. J. stood outside, asking now
and then if she was all right. She almost laughed. She could hear him
pacing quickly. At one point she poured a little water into the bowl to
simulate getting sick. She never would've thought she'd fake being sick
after grade school. You go girl, she thought. 

She found the bottles she was searching for in the medicine cabinet. She
flushed the toilet and turned on the water faucet. Quickly, she filled a
small rectangle of toilet paper with pills, taking a few from each bottle;
Valium, Sominex, prescription sleep aids. This guy must really have
insomnia, she thought. She made sure she left enough in each bottle that
her theft wouldn't be noticed, then balled up the paper and stuffed it
down her bra. 

After surveying her appearance in the mirror to be sure the drugs didn't
create bumps in places that shouldn't bump, she bent and splashed hot
water on her face until her cheeks were bright red. Then she changed the
water to cold, splashed quickly to give her face a clammy feel and
prepared to deal with A. J. 

The man jumped back as she opened the door. His green eyes were wide and
he studied her face with concern. She was almost touched. He winced at the
dark circles accentuated by her bright red face. "You okay?" 

She nodded slowly, swayed and grabbed the doorjamb with what she hoped was
just the right amount of weakness. "After effects of the drugs, I reckon,
son." 

"They're rough," he agreed and took her hand. He slipped an arm around her
waist and pulled her tightly against his side. With a nod of his head, he
motioned toward the kitchen. "You gonna be okay to cook? I mean, maybe I
can--" 

"I'll live." She hid her smile behind her hand as she stumbled back to the
kitchen. 

  

~~~@ 25 @~~~ 

  

The flight was long and dull. Ray stared out the window, bored and
worried. He kept seeing the image of Benny's calm, relaxed face at the
Consulate party. Benny had looked extremely happy dancing with first the
Dragon Lady, then Tess. He'd even looked happy to dance with Franny. Ray
felt a stab of regret. He should've known something was wrong when Benny
mentioned the gang. They chased people for reasons and seldom forgot a
grudge. I must be getting old, he thought. His reflexes and intuition
seldom let him down. He still couldn't believe he had missed a clue so
glaring, that something was wrong. He should've known they'd go after the
woman again. 

With a sigh he reclined his seat and tried to still his whirling mind.
Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get a little sleep. He hadn't had much at
all since Benny vanished. He'd had too much time to think about his
friend, about what might be happening to his friend. Benny was the most
annoying man in the world, but they say opposites attract. Maybe they make
the closest friends, he thought. With determination, he forced his mind on
to more pleasant things. At least the seats up here in first class were
wider, softer than the ones in coach. It was quieter, too.  

Meg Thatcher relaxed back into her seat and glanced at the Detective from
the corner of her eye. She tried not to frown. He looked exhausted and the
real search had not yet begun. He was so abrasive and contrary that she
wished she could've undertaken the mission alone. They were headed for a
small airport north of Winnipeg, then to the Yukon to meet up with the
team of Mounties. She felt a thrill go through every nerve in her body. To
work with the Mounties again! The fresh air and excitement of the chase!
You've been behind a desk too long, Meg, she thought. The mission could
ultimately lead to a trek through the wilderness and she was pretty sure
the city raised American would be out of his league. 

She sighed. She was never fond of the wilderness. Aside from growing up
poor in a tiny house in the sparsely populated areas north of Montreal
with so few amenities it made her skin crawl, she still had nightmares
about her first posting with the RCMP. It was the habit of the force to
send every new recruit to the coldest and most remote corner of Canada's
nether regions to test their mettle. She still recalled every horrific
second. After that she had vowed to never live in such a place again. Add
to that a baby-sitting mission and the trip might actually rival one of
Dante's Hells. But then, Chicago was definitely one of Dante's Hells.
Shaking her head, she flipped open her notebook, took out a pen and began
making lists and formulating plans, humming Rachmaninov quietly. 

  

Franny's plan was proceeding on course. She couldn't see Ray or Inspector
Thatcher from her seat in Coach. Ray only got first class because of her,
she thought. She grunted softly, glanced at the rotund man beside her
whose hips overflowed into the empty middle seat and sighed. He glanced at
her and she attempted to smile politely. When he seemed about to start a
conversation she dove for the issue of Cosmopolitan tucked into the pouch
on the seat back in front of her. Oh, good, she thought, a review of the
'Sword of Desire' books series. They were her favorite books. Each one was
fraught with romance and danger and intrigue. Much better than any
Harlequin Romance, she thought. She'd read all but the newest, number six.
She decided to skip that part of the review so as not to spoil the
surprise. 

A while later she realized she'd read the first sentence of the review
seven or eight times. Her mind kept wandering back to her dance with
Fraser. The exhilaration brought a renewed flush to her cheeks. Her heart
began to pound. She felt again his strong hand on the small of her back,
guiding her with a grace she would never possess around the dance floor.
His warm hand clasped hers tightly, as if to keep her from slipping away.
She stared up into his eyes and saw them twinkle, lit with excitement and
exhilaration. The warm scent of the vanilla candles mingled with the manly
scent of him, of apples and snow. Every so often, his knee would brush her
inner thigh and she would have to concentrate just to stand up. And then
he smiled at her, that self-effacing lopsided little smile that made her
fall for him at first sight.  

Stop that, Franny, she told herself mentally. Her stomach knotted and she
had to concentrate to slow her breathing. He looked just like the toy
soldier in the Nutcracker or like Prince Charming in Cinderella. He was
the one man she'd been waiting for since she was a little girl putting a
pillowcase on her head and pretending to get married. She shivered and
grinned. He was perfect. She would make him so happy. She had every aspect
of their wedding and honeymoon planned out. First, a huge wedding at St.
Michael's, afterall, St. Michael's was bigger than the church she grew up
attending-Our Lady of Immaculate Conception. Every living soul they knew
would be in attendance. The reception would be the biggest party Chicago
had ever seen. Then, well, then came the fun part. They'd consummate the
marriage, then fly off to Tahiti and...consummate...where no one knew
them; on the beach, in a hammock, everywhere. She smiled at the thought,
staring vacantly into the distance. 

The first night Ray brought him to the house for dinner flashed through
her mind. He was handsome, tall, beautiful, and so sweet with a
little-boy-lost look. She had always believed in love at first sight, but
had never met anyone who experienced it; until that moment. She fell so
hard it felt like being slammed against a wall. She was breathless, weak
and dizzy. To cover her emotional roller-coaster ride she had started a
fight with Maria over polenta. He had changed her life completely with the
first look, transformed her soul with the first smile. 

She wasn't about to let some scum steal him away now. She would do
anything to save him. Sighing inwardly, she closed the magazine, slipped
it back into its pouch, closed her eyes and went over her plan again. 

  

~~~@ 26 @~~~ 

  

Veena nodded at the pair of girls lounging across the street. They
returned the motion and casually started down the nearly deserted street.
They spotted their quarry and easily flanked her, one in front, and one
behind. Their prey was a striking young blonde who carried schoolbooks
under her arm. Veena knew the girl, Loretta. She lived nearby and always
took the same route home from the library each night making her an easy
mark. Normally, she would've surveilled someone she didn't know for a week
before taking them, but Hoover had been so insistent, that she threw
caution to the wind. Just this once, she told herself. A moment later they
pounced on Loretta. 

"There they go," said one of the men in the car. 

His partner nodded and spoke into a walkie-talkie, "Now." 

The attack was swift and precise. Undercover police officers stepped out
of the background and pounced on the girls like ghosts suddenly
materializing. 

"Hey, Jack," Detective Parker Logan nudged the well dressed black man he
was temporarily partnered with, "she's making a break for it." He
indicated Veena with a tilt of his red head. 

Jack Huey was out of the car in an instant, barreling down the sidewalk
after the girl, Logan on his heels. Veena heard their footsteps echoing
from the buildings. With a quick glance over her shoulder she bolted into
an alley, running full speed. 

Huey slid around the corner after her, losing his balance. He caught
himself with one hand on the garbage-strewn ground and he cursed the
slick-bottomed dress shoes he wore. Sometimes style wasn't worth it. Logan
passed him with a glance to be sure his partner was all right. 

The girl knocked over a trash can. Logan hurdled it. She jumped for a fire
escape ladder, intending to pull it down and lose her pursuers in the
building. Huey scooted around the trashcan and ran after them. 

Veena caught the bottom rung of the ladder and hung there, suspended,
swinging back and forth to gather momentum to catch the next rung. The
ladder jerked and dropped two feet. She let out a small squeak. 

Logan leapt for her and snagged her foot. She screamed. For a long moment
they hung there; Logan swinging from her foot by one hand, Veena clinging
to the ladder with both hands, feet dangling. 

Then she fell free. 

They landed in a heap just as Huey came up. The girl began to flail
wildly, scratching and biting. Logan grabbed her around the waist and Huey
tackled them. It took five minutes to subdue and cuff her. She swung at
Huey as he hefted her to her feet. He ducked, yanking her arm behind her
back and snapping on the cuffs. The two men exchanged a look, breathing
heavily from the exertion. 

She screamed curses at them and kicked all the way to the squad car that
sat waiting to take her in. 

  

~~~@ 27 @~~~ 

  

"That's the airplane?" Franny muttered under her breath, gaping at the
small Piper Cub that waited on the tarmac. "It's too tiny. We're gonna die
before we get there." She was beginning to have doubts about her plan. A
small wave of fear crashed over her. She tamed it with sheer determination
and an image of Fraser's face. Nothing would keep her from him. 

"Is this because I'm an American?" Ray's voice demanded behind her. She
turned and stepped behind a huge potted plant to watch. "This *is *
because I'm American! It's discrimination! Let me tell you" 

Typical, Franny thought and slipped out of the terminal and jogged over to
take her seat in the front of the tiny aircraft. 

"Detective!" Inspector Thatcher snapped. "Let me handle this." 

"What? Oh, sure, a conspiracy." 

"Quiet!" she ordered. The tone of her voice made him fall silent, eyes
wide, but he continued to mutter under his breath. 

She stepped closer to him, staring him straight in the eyes. Her voice was
low and dangerous, "Need I remind you *again *, Detective, I am in charge
here. This is my mission, my country, and if you disobey a direct order
again I will have you detained until I return. Understood?" 

Ray gulped. He could see now why Benny snapped-to whenever she barked at
him. But, he wasn't Benny. He took a step closer to her, raising his chin
and staring down at her.  

"Look, Lady," he matched her tone of voice. "This is supposed to be a
joint task force. Joint means we both go. You can't leave me behind, it's
against the rules." 

She took a step closer and narrowed her eyes. "There are no rules,
Detective. This is my mission. Fraser is my responsibility." 

"And my best friend." 

"And I won't have your pigheadedness and arrogance jeopardize his life." 

"I don't want anything to happen to his life, either," Ray said. "So, you
understand me?"  

"Yes, and you understand me?" 

"Sure." 

"Good." 

"Good." 

"We agree, then?" 

"Yeah." 

"Good." 

"Good." 

Thatcher turned her back on the man who was quickly becoming the bane of
her existence and smiled at the man behind the counter. She leaned close
and spoke to him softly. Ray wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the word
'American' several times. Then the two Canadians laughed. The attendant
handed her Ray's boarding pass, which she held under his nose in triumph
after thanking the attendant. She shouldered her carry on bag and strolled
past him to the plane. 

Ray's mouth fell open and he stared at the man behind the counter, sure
that he was being discriminated against, then glanced at Thatcher's
retreating back. He scowled and followed her. She had such an annoying
superior attitude. His eyes fell on the sway of her hips beneath her short
wool skirt. He tried to look away, but his eyes strayed back. He'd been
alone too long. Yes, he decided, if she weren't so mean and cold she would
be a very attractive woman, but nothing like Suzanne, of course. Suzanne
was a once in a lifetime soul mate kind of love. The mutual spark left
them both shell-shocked and changed forever. He released Dief and carried
the empty crate across the tarmac. 

He surveyed the interior of the aircraft as he climbed into the back after
Thatcher. The pilot was a young man, checking the gauges. In the front
passenger seat he saw the back of a woman's head. Her dark brown hair was
neatly pulled into a French braid. Dief sniffed at her hair and whined.
Ray pulled him back.  

"Leave her alone, Dief." 

He felt a brief flash of something. De ja vu? He looked at the woman's
back for a moment. Naw. He shrugged off the feeling and felt around the
worn upholstery for his seatbelt "Okay, let's get the show on the road,
Jeeves," he called to the pilot with more cheer than he felt. 

  

~~~@ 28 @~~~ 

  

With a glance into the main room, Tess opened another capsule and poured
the white powder into the bubbling chili. She stirred it in quickly,
watching it dissolve.  

"Is it almost ready?" 

Tess started and didn't notice the capsule that fell from her hand onto
the stove beside the pot. She turned to face Hoover and smiled nervously. 

"It has a while left, thirty-minutes, maybe." She shrugged. 

He nodded, leaned over to look in the pot and inhaled deeply. "Smells
good." He dipped a finger in the chili and stuck it in his mouth.  

She held her breath. 

"Tastes good. Needs salt" 

Then she saw it--the capsule beside the pot. Her eyes widened and she
began to pray. Please Lord, don't let him see it, please, please. 

He opened a drawer, pulled out a spoon and dipped into the chili again. He
stood beside her for a long minute, blowing on the chili to cool it. "Do I
scare you?" he asked his voice soft and amused. She twitched when he
gently ran a finger down the side of her head,, behind her ear and down
her neck. 

She stared at the chili pot, gulped and nodded quickly.  

He laughed. A chill went down her back and she suddenly felt cold despite
the cozy heat of the small kitchen. "Good." He ate the food from the spoon
and tossed it into the sink. 

Still chuckling, he left the room, and she collapsed against the stove.
She felt giddy with relief and weak-kneed. It was the same sensation of
narrowly missing death that she'd experienced each time her ex beat her.
She knew a rush of elation would soon follow it. She would have to be more
careful. Quickly, she scooped up the errant capsule and secreted it in her
palm with the others. There wasn't much time left for her to add the
others to the brew. The men were getting hungry and coming into the
kitchen more often. 

Looking nonchalantly into the main room at the men lounging on the only
one of three couches in her direct line of sight, she emptied the capsules
into the chili and then the tea pitcher as quickly as she could. She
sniffed them to be sure the powder left no scent, tasted the tea and added
more lemon and sugar. There, she thought with satisfaction, Agatha
Christie would be proud. At the last minute, A. J. turned and glimpsed her
slipping something into the food and then her pocket. 

He frowned, glanced at the other men watching TV, sipped his beer and
strolled into the kitchen. 

~~~@ 29 @~~~ 

  

Ninety minutes into the flight Ray stopped fidgeting and nudged the back
of the pilot's seat. There was only so much sitting still he could deal
with. 

"Hey, Jeeves, how long is the flight, anyway? I thought we'd be there by
now." 

Dief whined at his feet. The wolf picked up on the man's unspoken fear,
disguised as it was behind impatience. 

"Three hours total," the pilot said with a long-suffering glance over his
shoulder. It was the clients who acted like children that tried his
patience the most. 

Ray glanced at his watch. "We're only halfway there?" he whined. "It's
already nearly midnight and we're only halfway there." He leaned closer to
the pilot and glanced over at the other passenger. 

And froze. 

"Franny?" his voice was incredulous. 

  

~~~@ 30 @~~~ 

  

A. J. entered the kitchen silently. He stopped behind her and used his
height to peer over her shoulder as she wiped her hands over the chili pot
and stirred. 

"What was that? Sugar?" he whispered, brushing back his black hair off his
forehead. 

She started and bumped the pot, splashing some of the hot liquid on her
hand. "Ouch! Oh--" She jumped to the side and whirled to face him,
clutching her burned hand. He sidestepped and stood in front of her, his
hips almost touching hers.  

"Culinary concentration got you jumpy?" he asked with a small frown, his
goatee accentuating his dimples. 

She didn't meet his eyes, but stared at his blue flannel shirt instead. It
hung loosely, but clung enough to accent the bulge of his biceps and his
wide shoulders.  

He leaned back a little and took her injured hand in both of his, stepping
backwards and pulling her toward the refrigerator in the corner, out of
sight of the main room. She stared at the sway of his hips in his jeans
instead of meeting his eyes. A myriad of questions raced through her
frightened mind. How much did he see? Is he going to turn me in? If he
does, what will happen? If he doesn't, what will he want? She heard him
open the freezer door. 

The ice stung when he held the cube against her skin with his long bare
fingers. She hissed with the pain. He held her hand against his chest,
forcing her to stand close. Unwillingly, she looked up at him. He studied
her face as though she were a Greek statue. The smell of beer was strong
on his breath, but his midnight blue eyes were clear and amused.  

"You're trembling," he whispered, reaching up with one hand to very
lightly stroke her cheek. 

She swallowed in a mouth suddenly gone dry. He had the most compelling
eyes; so intense, so passionate. She sensed he was quick to anger and
tried to think of something to say that would make him release her. Her
mind was a blank, overpowered by the scent of sweat and wood smoke and the
fear of being discovered. 

She stood, lower lip trembling, staring up into those eyes until he drew
his thick black eyebrows together and dropped his gaze to the front of the
shift dress Hoover had provided her. She blinked. Oh, no, she thought. She
shook her head almost imperceptibly in silent entreaty and bit her swollen
lower lip.  

He pursed his lips and ran his fingers through her hair. "I'd buy you
myself, but I'm just a poor country boy," he whispered almost inaudibly,
his deep voice wavering.  

She glanced at the pot bubbling on the stove like a witch's cauldron then
stared into his eyes. 

He followed her look, tenderly lifted her chin with his other hand and
kissed her deeply, passionately, tangling his fingers in her hair. His
lean body pressed against hers, parting her legs with one knee and pulling
her to him. She was breathless and tingling when he pulled back. She fell
against the refrigerator door when he released her and, over her shoulder,
watched him slip quietly back into the main room without a word. 

  

~~~@ 31 @~~~ 

  

Inspector Thatcher looked up, startled. She bit back the instantaneous
impatient remark that sprang to her lips about the Detective's timing, as
she was just falling asleep, and followed his gaze. She used her
professional façade to hide the sudden anger she felt that the impertinent
young woman would infiltrate her mission. And it was *her * mission, damn
it, not the Americans'. 

Franny turned slowly in her seat to face the back. "Now, Ray, before you
start whining some more" 

Dief stood up and licked her face. She laughed and stroked his fur. 

"Whining!" he exclaimed. 

"Yeah, whining. He was whining, wasn't he?" she asked both the pilot and
the Inspector. Both nodded. Ray's mouth dropped open.  

"I was not whining. I don't whine!" 

"There you go again!" Franny held up a hand to stop Ray's next protest.
"Look, I'm going with. Benton is my friend, too and I want to help look
for him." 

"You're crazy! Ma must be worried sick. You are going right back home!
What kind of stupid idea was it for you to come" 

"It was Ma's idea! Three eyes are better than one." 

"along and risk your" 

"And the plane is already in the air and we're almost there." 

"life and worry Ma" 

"So, I'm staying." 

"so, you're going home." 

The siblings stared at each other, determination hardening their faces. 

Thatcher sighed then cleared her throat. The chance to one up the
Detective was too good to pass up. "She's right." 

Two pairs of wide eyes turned toward her.  

She shrugged. "We're nearly there." 

"You're crazy, too. What is this the PMS flight?" 

She fixed him with an icy stare. "Detective Vecchio, your sister is
already involved in the mission. It is too late to send her back.
Furthermore, another set of eyes will be helpful." 

"Oh, sure, you want to leave me behind but you'll take my sister? The one
who needs an extra ticket for her makeup bag?" 

"She isn't complaining," Thatcher said coolly. 

"Ha, Ha. You're a barrel of laughs." Ray crossed his arms and slouched in
his seat, turning to stare out the window on his side. It was a
conspiracy. Franny and the Dragon Lady probably planned this trip from
Hell just to spite him. Afterall, he and Benny were close, best friends.
Franny wanted to be close to Benny and maybe, somewhere under that Vulcan
mask, the Dragon Lady did, too. Yep, a conspiracy, he thought. 

Franny gave Thatcher a small, conspiratorial smile. 

Thatcher returned it, not so much because she liked the woman, more that
she liked the look on the Detective's face when she bested him. She
settled into her seat, then leaned close to Ray and whispered near his
ear, "You get to take care of her in the woods." 

Ray gritted his teeth. 

  

~~~@ 32 @~~~ 

  

Tess did the dishes and watched the men from the corner of her eye. After
a moment she arched her back to relieve some of the stiffness and tried to
ignore the unrelenting ache permeating her body. 

"It'll ease up after a few days," A. J. told her amiably, handing her a
serving dish and stack of dirty bowls. 

She jumped at the sound of his voice and winced at the sharp pain in her
legs when she turned. She took the bowls from him and gave him a
flirtatious look. "You're A. J., right?" 

He straightened and smiled, humor sparkling in his midnight blue eyes.
"Andrew Jackson Pruitt, Miss Tess." 

"I'm surprised you know the name of the current Blue Light Special, Son." 

He dropped his eyes to the floor, studying the worn green tile. "I know
them all. Gotta pay bills. No offense, Ma'am." 

She scowled. No offense? She was about to be put on auction like a horse,
probably to be poked and prodded, to end up who knows where and he thought
there was no offense? She fought down the sudden, blinding surge of
red-hot anger. It wouldn't help her plan to lose her temper now. It
wouldn't help Fraser, either. As she took the serving bowl used for the
chili from him she glanced inside. It was empty. 

She smiled. 

A surge of pure joy went through her. She wanted to grab him and spin him
around. No, she thought, I'll save that for Ben. She was so happy she only
half-listened to A. J., babbling to her as though they were in a singles
bar. Is he trying to pick me up? She thought. Is he crazy? She peered at
him from the corner of her eye. His black hair and blue eyes reminded her
of Ben. But he wasn't as handsome. His nose was a bit too big for his
face, his eyes darker and too close together to make him classically
handsome. He seemed like a nice guy. Under different circumstances...in
another time and place, she thought, too bad he's a criminal. 

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" Her gaze flicked up, met his eyes and looked
away. 

He studied her profile. "You make a mean sandwich." He watched her face.
"And the chili was good, too." 

Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief and tried to keep it from showing
on her face. "Thanks, my Grandma taught me." 

She turned back to the dishes, pretending to concentrate on them. She
watched her hands tremble, creating bubbles in the dishwater. She'd been a
nervous wreck before dinner. Certain that the men would taste the drugs in
the food and the tea. Apparently they didn't. Now she felt drained. The
adrenaline high was slowly fading. I'll need a cup of espresso at this
rate, she thought. 

"So, then, is he?" A. J. said with a yawn. 

She shook herself back to the conversation as she realized he'd asked the
question twice. "What? Ben?" 

A. J. reclined against the counter and crossed his muscular arms in front
of him. "Yeah, the Mountie." 

"Uh, yes, yes he is," she said and grinned as A. J. yawned again. "Sorry,
Son." 

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Too bad. You're never going to see
him again after the next shipment arrives. You'll go to different places."


"Shipment?" She rinsed the last dish and wiped the counter. "You mean the
other girls you kidnap and sell like hamburger?" 

He sighed. "Business." He pushed off from the counter and stopped her
cleaning by putting a hand on either side of her, then pressing her hips
against the edge of the counter with his own.  

She gasped and stiffened. 

"I meant what I said earlier, but I'm too poor," he whispered in her ear. 

"Ask Hoover for a raise," she snapped. A quick vision of A. J. getting
punched went through her mind and she grinned. She was glad he was behind
her and couldn't see her face. 

He trailed his fingers down her cheek, through her hair, then down her
bare arm tenderly. He rested the side of his face in the back of her hair,
eyes closed, body pressed against hers. 

"You're hurting me," she said breathlessly. He frightened her. He was a
common criminal. She fought against her body's natural response. 

He moved back slightly and her feeling of claustrophobia abated, but not
the animal arousal she fought to ignore. It had been too long. 

After a moment he sighed and pushed away from her. He crossed to the
refrigerator and removed a beer.  

In the doorway he stopped. When he turned he wore a wistful expression,
his eyes soft. "Be careful," he said quietly. 

She shuddered. Something between the lines in his words was apocalyptic.
He knows, she realized, he knows my entire plan and I don't even know it
all yet. And he isn't going to tell. She allowed herself a moment to relax
and sort through her confusion. A. J. was a conundrum. If he had her alone
she felt sure she'd have to fight to maintain possession of her body. Yet,
he acted like he wanted her to escape. Maybe, deep down he wants all the
women to escape, she decided. 

She wiped her bare arms with the dishtowel and surveyed the kitchen;
dishes drying on the counter, counter top and small table cleaned. What
else could she do to keep them from locking her in before the 'big sleep'?


She yawned and stretched. It didn't help. She still felt like she'd been
through a meat grinder. The sound of a TV movie echoed through the
kitchen. Someone dimmed the lights.  

To buy time, she bundled the trash and replaced the bag. She spared a
quick glance at the small bag she had filled with boxes and cans of food
then stuffed out of sight beside the refrigerator. 

Fifteen minutes later it was quiet in the main room. She took a deep
breath and stepped out into the room, drying her hands on the towel. "Any
of you boys want" she let the sentence die uncompleted. She chuckled
softly. 

They were all asleep. 

  

~~~@ 33 @~~~ 

Fraser gave up pacing hours before. It made his leg bleed and was a waste
of valuable recovery time. It wouldn't give him any insight into their
predicament. So, he lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, the bumps
and cracks there forming a map of the area to his tired eyes. He was
almost certain he knew their location; the southern Yukon, just north of
the boundary with British Columbia. His father was correct, if they
traveled in any direction for long enough they should reach a highway.
Unless we're too far north, he mused. The danger was walking in circles.
Fraser's compass was in his Sam Browne belt, now safely ensconced
somewhere downstairs. 

Yes, he thought, that's the easiest route to civilization. He saw clearly
through the mountains. 

He frowned and fluffed the pillow under his head, blinking sleep out of
his eyes. An alternate plan formed in his mind. He could find a way
downstairs and use their captors communications devices to call a local
RCMP outpost. He decided they must have a radio somewhere in the house.
But, then they would have to wait for the Mounties to find them and
apprehend the criminals before they were exported to who knows where. He
wasn't certain the Mounties would have time to arrive. 

He stretched, yawned and stared at the ceiling until the images he saw
there blurred and flowed together. He rubbed his tired eyes and tried to
nap, but could not. The dull pain in his thigh muscle was too strong. He
knew it would heal, but it worried him. The doctor had inflicted it and
would be very unlikely to treat it. He already felt flushed and suspected
he had a slowly rising fever. 

Eventually, he gave up on sleep and softly began to recite War and Peace
to himself. 

  

~~~@ 34 @~~~ 

Tess did a silent dance of joy and dashed into the kitchen for the
supplies. She tiptoed through the main room to Hoover's side. He had the
keys to the upstairs room, she knew. Watching his face for any sign of
consciousness, she gently rifled through his pockets until her fingers
closed on the key ring. He groaned and rolled over. His arm fell on top of
her hand, trapping her against him. 

She suppressed the urge to scream in frustration and smack him in the
head. Instead, she bit her lower lip and nudged his arm over with her free
hand. His eyelids fluttered. She held her breath.  

He began to snore. 

She eased the keys from his pocket and dashed up the stairs, blood
pounding so loudly in her ears that they rang. 

Fraser stared at the ceiling, having given up on War and Peace. It was
impossible to fully enjoy the literary classic when he didn't know what
was happening to his companion. He tried to concentrate instead the
question of getting downstairs to find a radio. It was too risky to allow
Tess to attempt contact.  

"I should have heard their approach," he whispered. He recalled the ease
of their capture. Maybe I am getting old, he thought. Ten years ago no one
would have gotten the drop on him. At 35 he was starting to feel every
bruise deeply, every stiff muscle pulled at his bones. He kept up the
unshakable Mountie image to inspire confidence in those around him, but
inside he was beginning to doubt his physical capabilities. It took longer
to recover these days and each wound seemed to come back to haunt him
whenever the weather changed.  

The sound of a key in the door made him sit up quickly. Too quickly, he
thought at the jab of pain in his back. 

A moment later Tess danced into the room carrying a small bag. 

"Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben!" she said in a singsong voice as she whirled around. 

He stood as she opened the cage door. "You're happy. Dinner went well,
eh?" 

"We're free! We can leave the house now!" She laughed and held up the bag
as she bounced in place. "Supplies!" 

He needed no further prompting. He scooped up his coat and a blanket. "The
men?" 

"Sleeping like a bunch of newborns in a nursery or else they're great
fakers." 

He closed the door behind them. "To the horses, then. Here, put on my
coat." 

  

~~~@ 35 @~~~ 

  

Elaine sipped her coffee and winced. It was cold and bitter. What I
wouldn't give for a real cappuccino, she thought. 

The light from the computer monitor bathed her dark face with a bluish
cast. The Bullpen was empty. Everyone had gone home hours before. 

She moved the mouse and double clicked on the site address, resting her
face on her hand with her elbow on her desk. She yawned and blinked slowly
to ease the burning in her dark eyes. 

The page loaded. It looked like any of the other two thousand sex sites
she'd searched for clues today.  

She clicked on 'hot new properties' and waited, forcing down another sip
of cold coffee. Usually she liked iced coffee, but this stuff was caffeine
syrup. 

The screen lit up with a picture of New Property #1. 

Elaine's mouth dropped open and she sat bolt upright, completely awake,
leaning close and squinting at the screen. 

The face that stared back was a very pale, slightly bruised, Benton
Fraser. 

  

~~~@ 36 @~~~ 

  

Getting out of the house was easy. The men were still asleep, though some
tossed and turned. As they tiptoed through the main room to the door,
Fraser stuffed his pockets with little things he found along the way that
he thought they might need. At the door he took a brown leather jacket
from the back of a chair and slipped it on. Tess cast a look back at A.
J., asleep on the couch or pretending to be. She wasn't sure. Maybe he ate
the chili even after watching her pour the drugs into it. Or, maybe he
didn't really see what she did to the food. 

"There are two missing," Fraser whispered as they slipped outside. "I
didn't see Doc or the man with the horses." 

"Danny? Well, they ate. I saw them. And Danny took so many sleep aids on
his own he shouldn't be up until next week." 

"Let's hope they aren't out here." 

Tess swallowed nervously and peered at the dark trees that separated them
from the barn. The relief she had felt at escaping into the welcoming dark
vanished and the night transformed into a foreboding world of looming
shadows and loud noises. "And I could get shot for my lousy cooking." 

Fraser pressed up against the side of the house and slid toward the
corner. He glanced around the edge of the house quickly and, seeing no
one, took Tess' hand and dashed for the barn, ignoring the stinging pain
and slickness of blood on his thigh.  

The interior of the barn was dim with ambient light. Tess covered her
mouth and nose. The aroma of dust, old damp hay and horses threatened to
make her sneeze. Looking to her right, she frowned. There was something
odd in the shadows, shapes that seemed out of place in a barn. 

Fraser found a small lantern by the window and lit it, carrying it toward
the horses so it couldn't be seen from outside. He selected a sturdy mare
and carried a harness over to her. 

Its faint circle of light brushed the shadows as Tess watched. Her eyes
flew open wide as the shadows pushed back. She bit her finger to keep from
screaming. 

Fraser heard her muffled squeak and turned from the horse, holding the
lantern high.  

"Oh, dear," he whispered. 

Piled neatly the length of the barn and up to the ceiling were shiny black
coffins trimmed in imitation gold. 

"What are they doing here, slaughtering people?" Tess whispered, staring. 

Fraser thought for a moment. "I don't think so. Hoover is clearly
sociopathic, but also greedy. Where is the profit in carting us up here
and killing us?" He leaned close to examine one of the coffins. "See here,
air holes...and locks. Why lock in a dead person? I believe they use these
to ship the women out of the country." 

Tess shuddered. "Lord help me, trapped in that tiny little box?" 

Fraser turned back to the horse. "It's no different than riding in the box
under the van." 

"Yes it is. It would feel so...permanent." 

Fraser fitted the mare with a harness. Tess moved to stand watch by the
small, solitary window, casting nervous glances back at the pile of
coffins. He started when he heard her sharp intake of breath. 

"It's Doc! Jerk must not have eaten much." 

"I don't imagine he felt much like eating," Fraser said, leading the horse
from the stall.  

"He's going inside and...he has a rifle!" her voice was frightened. 

"We'll have to go, then. As soon as he sees them he'll know we're gone." 

"Is he that smart?" She looked at the horse. "Where's the saddle?" 

"No time. If he comes in here it'll all be for naught. Don't worry, I can
ride bareback." 

"I can't ride at all."	

Fraser gave her a wide-eyed look. "I know." He patted the horse on the
back decisively. "You'll have to trust me then." 

They heard the door to the house slam and Doc's voice shouting. Voices
answered him. More than two, Fraser thought as he swung easily onto the
horse's back. He held out a hand to Tess. 

She took his hand and let him pull her up. She swung her leg over the
horse clumsily and nearly fell off. He reached back and steadied her as
she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his back. 

Fraser urged the horse to the open barn door. With a glance outside, he
whispered, "Hold on." He spurred the mare and crouched low over her neck
as she shot out of the barn, galloping for the nearby fog-shrouded woods. 

Doc shouted behind them and a bullet whizzed past their heads. 

Tess glanced back and saw several groggy men pour from the house to join
Doc. The last image she had before the fog closed in was of Hoover
shooting out of the barn on horseback, two men kneeling to fire at them
and A. J. lounging in the doorway watching them go with a smile on his
face. I guess the drugs weren't very strong, she thought. 

Bullets made little popping sounds as they bounced from the trees around
them.  

"Stay low!" Fraser shouted over his shoulder. "They're shooting at us." 

Einstein, she thought as the trees blurred by. She ducked her head, low
against his back, clutching the bag of supplies with one hand, clinging to
his waist, fingers wrapped around the front of his belt 

A moment later the shouts of the men behind them were muffled by the dense
barrier of the woods. Fraser reined in the horse to slow their headlong
rush into the darkness. The quarter moon's wan light didn't filter through
the thick canopy of trees or filaments of spectral fog. He squinted ahead
of them to look for landmarks. Silently, he was thankful the mare had
better night vision than he did. 

"I hear them. They're coming," Tess told him. 

"I'm going as fast as I dare."	

A bullet buzzed past them. The beam of an incandescent flashlight swept
the underbrush near by in the slowly thinning fog. Fraser urged the mare
faster. It was a reckless pace, he knew, but their survival depended on
gaining as much of a lead as possible, then they could vanish into the
wilderness. 

They plunged on. Branches clutched at their clothing, scratched their
faces. 

The voices behind them grew dimmer, eventually fading out. 

"We outran them?" Tess asked. 

Fraser slowed the horse to a steady canter, shivering from the damp cold
and rising fever. 

"No, they're back there." He cocked his head and listened. "Yes, they're
tracking us." 

He maneuvered through a tiny clearing. "I hear water," he whispered.
"Probably a contributory to that lake back by the house." The horse
splashed through the shallow creek. 

"Hold on, son. Won't they hear us sloshing through the water?" 

"Hopefully, we'll be far away before they reach the creek. I think we have
a good lead." He spurred the mare to a near gallop. The creek bed was
soft, even and gently winding. The fog very thin here. The creek followed
the base of a vertical cliff in a series of small waterfall steps that the
mare could easily climb. The other side of the creek sloped gently into
rocks and thick forest. The moon was high overhead. Its light penetrated
the valley between the cliff and forest, painting the water and rocks with
a faint lavender cast. They covered a lot of ground in a short time.
Fraser checked the time by the position of the moon every so often as the
fog thinned and vanished. 

  

~~~@ 37 @~~~ 

  

A. J. Pruitt watched the captive's flight into the trees and fog with an
euphoric joy that he knew could get him killed. He yawned. The small
amount of drugs in his system, from the tea, made him woozy. He saw Tess
turn and couldn't resist flashing her an encouraging smile. Hoover shot
past him in pursuit followed by a couple of others and A. J. decided the
time had come to make his move. He dashed to the barn for a horse, doing
his best imitation of a man drugged into a stupor. 

He followed the other riders for a while, tracking the couple. He winced
when they started shooting and said a silent prayer for Tess' safety. The
Mountie could take care of himselfall Mounties could. 

The woods grew quiet, the fog thickening steadily. He slowed his horse and
let the other men pull far ahead in the fog. When they were a safe
distance ahead, he reined his horse in a different direction entirely,
heading south toward the highway. It was a long ride, but in the play that
was being acted out, he knew they'd think he was a casualty. And he didn't
want to be around for the final act, which, he suspected, contained
Mounties and police dogs in a quasi-reenactment of the siege at the Alamo.
Hoover and the others would take the fall while he went in search of the
next adventure. 

Not my cup of tea, he thought. Live to fight another day...and look up a
certain blonde or one of the others, since he assumed the Mountie would
find them and return them to the continent. He smiled and shifted into a
more comfortable position. He had a long ride before him. 

  

~~~@ 38 @~~~ 

  

"Can we take a break? I haven't heard them in eons and I feel like every
step is shaking me apart," Tess said wearily. "Darlin', we lost them back
in the fog." 

"If we stop you'll feel worse when you get back on," Fraser replied. 

Worse than this bone-wrenching agony, she thought, is that possible? "I'm
not even stiff anymore, son." She stretched a little behind him, wincing
at the sharp pains ricocheting through her body. "It hurts so much I'm
getting nauseous." 

"Soon, it's almost morning. See those orange streaks peeking through the
trees?" 

Tess followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, there were faint orange
streaks slicing through the violet sky ahead of them. It was still dark in
the valley, but morning was warming the mountaintops. 

The morning dawned warmer than the day prior. The woods were paralyzed
once more with fog that coalesced as quickly as the rays of the morning
sun could penetrate the leafless trees. The skeletal trees gave the
landscape an eerie, otherworldly quality, reminding them both of Halloween
horror movies.	

Fraser reined the horse to a stop. "Perhaps, we'd better break now, before
the animals come for their morning drink." 

Tess' eyes widened. She forgot about the animals. It would be just her
luck to bend down for a drink and look up into the eyes of a hungry
grizzly.  

"We'd better make it quick, though," he said as he helped her dismount.
"We may not have much of a lead. It's difficult to tell." 

Tess felt her legs wobble and give way as her feet touched the frozen
ground. She sank to her knees, arched her back and stretched as he
dismounted and led the horse to water.	

"You'd better drink," he called to her. "We have no way to carry water." 

Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet and tottered to the stream. The
pain was, thankfully, giving way to numbness. She drank and splashed the
icy water over her face. 

"Do you think we'll be able to sleep soon? We've been up more than 24
hours." 

Fraser pushed himself up, dried his palms and his dripping face. He looked
at her haggard eyes and sighed. "Tess, I'm a Mountie. They know I can
survive out here. They know I'll go back to apprehend them, somehow." He
shrugged. "If you were alone out here" He let the sentence drop. 

Her weary mind finished it. "They'd let me die slowly or make me into bear
snacks," she said and sat quietly for a few minutes. Fraser looked
uncomfortably at the ground, unwilling to confirm her assumption. It was
better to let her answer her own question than to make her feel
inadequate. An inferiority complex could get them both killed out here
when the emphasis should be on survival. 

  

~~~@ 39 @~~~ 

  

The blaring bass of rock music pounded in Meg Thatcher's head, chasing
away the cloudy vestiges of a dream. The dream left her breathless,
clinging to tendrils of images. She had been whirling; a dance, his face
was obscured. He was tall, dark and handsome, of that she was sure. She
could almost feel the muscles of his shoulders and back ripple beneath her
fingers, the strength of his arms guiding her in the slow waltz. 

"Baby one more time," an off-key voice echoed through the room, ensuring
Meg was completely awake. With a groan she opened one eye and peeked at
the clock. 0500. What *was * that woman doing up so early? Propping
herself up on her elbows, she peered around the hotel room. The only light
spilled from the bathroom, where she saw the intermittent image of Franny,
dancing as she curled her hair. 

Meg flopped back onto her pillow. She never wanted or expected to have a
roommate. It was inevitable, she decided, once she had agreed to let the
woman come along. They'd only had two rooms reserved at the hotel and Ray
had raised Cain about letting Franny stay with him. 

"Bringing her was your idea, Big Shot. I live with her all the time," Ray
said. 

"But she's your sister," Meg protested. 

"Y'know, Ma always says, 'you made your bed now lie in it'. Pretty much
fits, I think." 

And so she was stuck with the young woman for an indeterminate amount of
time. The hotel would serve as a sort of base of operations. They would
leave to search and return each night. Unless, of course, the search
showed Fraser and Miss Parish had escaped into the wilderness. Then they
would leave with packs and tents on horseback, if all went according to
plan. 

A particularly flat note shook her back to the present. She rolled over
onto her stomach and buried her head under the pillow. The thump, thump of
the base still seeped through. She sighed with weary resignation. The
woods might actually be preferable. 

  

~~~@ 40 @~~~ 

  

Lieutenant Welsh was happy to be at work. Elaine looked up at him when he
walked through the door. Her pretty face was tired, but excited. There
were dark circles under her brown eyes. 

"Here! Here! Come look, Lieutenant!" Elaine waved him over to her computer
terminal. 

He stood behind her, peering over her shoulder. 

"This is what I told you about last night on the phone. Hoover's webpage."


"And I had pleasant dreams for the rest of the night, what little I was
able to sleep." 

She shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry, sir. I just knew you wouldn't want to
wait 'til morning. I mean, look at this, it's a kind of catalog. There's
Fraser." She clicked on a button. "And there's Miss Parish. There are
seventy-five women listed. Ten match local missings. I put the rest out on
the wire to ID them. Most have this little notation here." She touched the
screen. "I'm pretty sure that means they've been sold." 

Welsh pointed to some numbers. "Is that the price?" 

"I think so, sir." 

"Whew, Fraser got a half mil." 

"I don't think bidding's over, either." 

"What're those other numbers?" 

"I think this is the buyers code number, those are dates, probably dates
put up, sold and shipped. I haven't figured out the rest of this stuff
yet." 

"Is there any way to trace this web site?" 

Elaine shrugged. "Possibly. I could try to contact the provider and get
the information. They should be arriving at work soon. But, honestly,
it'll be difficult" 

"Then you better get started. Good work, Elaine." 

  

~~~@ 41 @~~~ 

  

"Do you think the fog will let up after noon? It must be near noon," Tess
asked. 

He surveyed the fog. "Mm, not noon yet. The sun doesn't reach full
strength down here in the valleys until late in the day, so it may take a
few hours." He shrugged. "However, if the weather conditions are right,
the fog could last all day." He stood, stiffly.  

She frowned. "Is that blood on your jeans?" 

He glanced down. Too tired to explain, he lied, "Hmm, no. It's mud." He
stretched his arms over his head and staggered dizzily. "We need to get
ready to go. We've been here at least an hour and they may be closing in.
Do you need to...uh..." He indicated the underbrush with a nod of his
head. 

Her eyes followed his gesture and she nodded. 

Tess dashed off behind the bushes to take care of her bodily needs. Fraser
ducked behind a pine tree. "Check for wolverines," he called. 

Tess leapt to her feet and stared at the fallen log she had been sitting
on, adrenaline surging through her at the thought of teeth sinking into
her backside. She exhaled shakily. Snow, no animals. What the Hell's a
wolverine, anyway? As she finished she thought, I wonder if he did that
just to make me jump? 

Fraser tended the horse while waiting for Tess to return. He checked the
sky. The fog made it impossible to visually get his bearings. He held his
breath and closed his eyes to determine the location of the sun by its
warmth. 

There it is, he thought, faint and steady. 

A stifled scream echoed from the rock face on the other side of the creek.
Fraser started. Tess, he thought and circled around the sounds of a
struggle. He peered over a bush. 

Doc straddled Tess, his horse nearby. Tess tried to scratch him. He
grabbed her wrists and forced them over her head, leaning down to lick the
side of her face and laugh. She kicked at him. He held her wrists in one
hand and slapped her. 

She let out a small squeak. Fraser broke cover and tackled the man. They
rolled over and Fraser landed on top. Doc grabbed his throat. Fraser drew
back his arm and punched him, knocking the man's hand away. With a growl
and the strength born of frustration, Doc threw the Mountie off and
pounced. Fraser bent his knees, catching the other man full in the stomach
with the bottoms of both feet. He shoved. Doc flew through the air and
bounced from a tree with a resounding 'SMACK'. He slumped to the ground
and lay still. 

Tess jumped up and ran to retrieve the rope from Doc's horse as Fraser
crawled over to the fallen man. 

"Are you injured," he asked, breathlessly. 

"No, but I need a can of Lysol for my face." She grimaced and swiped at
her cheek with her sleeve. 

"He's alive." Fraser peered into the fog-shrouded trees. "The others are
surely close." 

He took the rope she held out, bound Doc to a tree and grabbed her hand.
Together they ran for their horse, mounted and started off into the trees,
paralleling the stream. 

Behind them they heard Doc's groggy voice begin to shout. 

  

~~~@ 42 @~~~ 

  

  

Francesca pushed the scrambled eggs around on her plate and took a deep
gulp of her strong coffee. For the fifth time she half stood up in her
seat, staring at the door to the hotel's tiny café.  

Inspector Thatcher's gaze flicked up from her breakfast as Francesca
plopped back into her seat with an exaggerated sigh. 

"Perhaps, you should go get him. He is your brother, afterall and we've
already lost valuable time." She finished her bagel and sipped at her
coffee. 

"Yeah, he better have his butt out of bed, even if he isn't used to being
up this early. I beat his door loud enough. So what if he misses
breakfast." She tossed her napkin onto the table. 

Ray strolled up, closing his cell phone and setting it on the table.
"Okay, I talked to Welsh," he said as he pulled up a chair. "He said they
caught the girlie gang in the act last night. They're all locked up." 

"So, we may not have much time," Thatcher said. 

"What do mean? What do they have to do with the price of tea in Japan?" 

"Obviously, the kidnappers have a contract of sorts with the little girls.
Once they find out the authorities have their contacts they'll close their
shop and leave." 

"And dump the inventory, Franny."  

Her brown eyes widened with fear. "They'll kill them? Just like that?" 

"Just like that." Ray grinned up at the waitress. "Just two bagels with
grape jam and the biggest, strongest to go coffee you got. Oh, and a steak
for the wolf." 

Dief looked up at him and licked his lips. 

Thatcher clasped her hands on the table, interlocking her fingers. "Now
that you've graced us with your presence, Detective, we need to go over
the itinerary." 

"When do we start humpin' the outback?" 

Thatcher blinked and scowled. The first tendrils of a headache dug in
behind her eyes. "We check in at the RCMP outpost first. Then follow up
any leads they may have. I suggest you eat quickly, Detective. There was a
fog bank in the mountains last night that made searching impossible. Time
reduces our chances of finding them exponentially. They are predicting
rain and snow tonight. If Constable Fraser and Miss Parish are out in the
wilderness, they will need us quickly." 

The waitress set his plate before him. 

"Assuming they aren't in some nice, cozy room with about twenty
centerfolds ready to be put on the Home Shopping Network, you mean?" 

"Ray," Francesca elbowed him, "shut up and stuff your face or I'll do it
for you. We aren't leaving Benton out there to become a popcicle because
you have to be in charge." 

Ray's brow furrowed. He resisted the urge to fight back and ate as quickly
as he could. 

  

  

~~~@ 43 @~~~ 

  

Andy Pruitt whistled as he spurred his horse to a comfortable canter
through the valley meadow. The first rays of dawn streaked over the
mountains and spotlighted the first spring buds in the valley. He had left
the fog behind him on his journey south. 

He had ridden most of the night, stopping only for a brief nap while his
horse ate, drank and rested. He smiled at the thought of Tess and the
Mountie. He still wasn't sure what she'd put in the food, but he was glad
he didn't eat much. He saw its effect on the men. He'd lied when he told
her he ate the chili. He may have been blinded by love at first sight, but
he wasn't stupid. He'd been looking for an opportunity to get out of this
deal for a long time. Each successive woman they brought in and shipped
off to auction took a tiny piece of his soul with her. 

He just couldn't do it anymore. Sometimes he had nightmares about the
women, pawed and groped by disgusting, fat old men while chained to walls
or beds. They turned big, frightened eyes on him and begged him for help,
pleading and screaming his name. One particularly gruesome nightmare had
them all escape and chase after him with sharp objects. When they caught
him they cut him, some tearing him apart with their bare hands for what
he'd done. He shuddered at the thought. Nope, no more. He couldn't bear
the thought of that happening to Tess. But he couldn't help her. Hoover
would make a version of the nightmare a reality if he did and that was
more than he could handle. 

Hoover was a fair boss, with the temper of a serial killer. You couldn't
just walk up to him and say, 'I want out', he would shoot you on the
spoton a good day. On a bad day, he might decapitate you or something
equally as horrific. 

He frowned, listening as a noise caught his attention. A plane. He twisted
in the saddle to locate it. There, flying grid patterns and heading
straight for him. He urged the horse to gallop for a nearby copse of
cottonwoods and reined to a stop under cover of the thin spring growth,
humming a Patsy Cline tune and planning his retreat across the distant
border into the US. 

  

~~~@ 44 @~~~ 

  

Ray stared in tired disgust at the bowl of chili and cheese crackers
before him. The exhaustion crept slowly through his bones like an
earthworm through the dirt, eating everything in its path and shooting it
out the other end. Even his pains had aches. He had learned his lesson
about expensive shoes. The moment they returned to the hotel he visited
the gift shop and replaced them with sneakers. 

How was he supposed to know he'd spend ten hours stomping through the
underbrush and slipping on patchy snow, searching every square inch of
dirt for clues? He wasn't sure what he had expected, but blisters, bruises
and a vague feeling of hopelessness wasn't it. 

He watched Franny's chin slip from the hand she had propping it up on the
table. 

"Hey!" he nearly shouted, startling her completely awake. She blinked at
him. 

"Why don't you skip dinner, go wash off the stink and two-foot layer of
make up and go to bed? You can't eat chili if you're asleep in it." 

She yawned. "I'm awake, kind of...I just didn't expect to be so tired. I
do run eight miles a week ya know." 

Ray shrugged. "I think it's the air. Not enough carbon monoxide." 

He stirred his chili halfheartedly, wondering if he had the strength to
lift the spoon. 

Franny watched him with thinly veiled amusement. "Hey, at least we aren't
eating worms or something." 

Ray grimaced. "Eww, thank you very much. I was having a hard enough time
trying to eat anything. I'm so tired I'm nauseous." 

Franny pushed her bowl away. "Well, we got off lucky. Who woulda thought
the Norman Rockwell painting of woods would be laced with booby traps." 

"They were animal traps. And there weren't that many." 

"Enough to KO four Mounties and they're supposed to know this place like
the back of their hands." 

"The only one who knows it like that is Mother Nature. And maybe Fraser." 

Franny met his eyes with a serious, frightened look. "Ray, there's no
trace yet. All these searchers, I mean, eight of us on the ground and two
planes and no trace. What does that mean?" 

Ray reached out and patted her hand tenderly. "It means Canada's a big
place and we might not even be in the right spot yet." They sat, staring,
eyes locked for a few moments, gathering strength and reassurance from
each other. "Go to sleep. I think the Dragon Lady's gonna drag us out
before the crack a dawn." 

"Maybe that's why she got room service and dibs on the bubble bath." 

  

~~~@ 45 @~~~ 

  

Tess lost track of time as the sun set. The voices behind them faded in
and out, but were always present. The thickening fog dampened their hair
and clothing. Fraser felt her shiver and patted her bare thigh. It was the
only comfort he could offer. They couldn't afford to stop and build a
fire. The men obviously knew these woods better than he did and he was
beginning to doubt he could outrun them. They were very persistent. He had
assumed they would give up early in the day. Their single-mindedness
surprised and worried him. 

The report of a gunshot made them both start. It was followed in rapid
succession by three more shots. The bullets whizzed by on either side of
them.  

"Keep down! They're firing at random!" he shouted over his shoulder. 

No shit, she thought and watched the trees they passed begin to fade into
fuzziness. The fog slowly thickened around them. She tightened her grip,
one hand on the bag of supplies, the other clutching desperately at his
waist and squeezed her eyes shut. 

The shouting of the men following them abruptly muted as they entered a
thick copse of trees. She opened her eyes and looked behind them. The wind
over Fraser's shoulder smacked her in the face like an icy hand and
tangled her hair. The fog closed in behind them and disconnected them from
the world. Time lost all meaning. The world felt as though it was moving
in slow motion. The steady rhythm of the mare's hooves made a hypnotic
sound on the frozen earth. 

Fraser reigned in the horse to slow her headlong flight. The woods were
too thick, too dark, with visibility reduced to a few feet. 

"Why is the fog such a weird bluish color?" she whispered in his ear,
afraid of more than the men behind them and unable to identify that fear.
She shivered, damp and freezing. 

Fraser looked around and whispered back, "The moonlight. It's strong
enough to penetrate the upper layers of fog where it's dissipated and
magnified by the entrained water. There's really no reason to be afraid of
it." 

"Then why are you whispering?" 

He frowned, shrugged. "I just feel I should." 

She nodded. "Me, too." The sounds of the men pursuing them were distant
and distorted, echoing around them as though coming from several
directions at once. Even the plodding crackles of the mare's hooves on the
frozen underbrush seemed muted and disconnected, as though coming from
inside a tunnel. 

Fraser swallowed hard, looking around them. He'd seen fog like this
before. It made the world seem to condense into a tiny bubble that moved
with you, like the entire universe had disappeared, except for the few
feet around you. He fought the urge to reach out and part the fog, like a
sheer curtain covering the trees. This type of fog evoked the oldest parts
of the human brain. It whispered of hidden dangers and instinctive fear.  

A voice whispered in the back of his mind, "Fight or flight, fight or
flight, fightorflight, fightorflightfightor..." He shook his head sharply
and fought down the rising irrational fear. These are just the woods, he
told himself, and you know the woods. You love the woods. There is nothing
to fear but fear itself. He could just imagine the panic rising in Tess,
if the blue soup around them was having this effect on him. 

"I think they're behind us," Tess whispered, piercing the veil that
engulfed him. 

"Undoubtedly." 

Tess peered behind them. The trees flowed into spectral translucency
before they vanished as the horse passed them. 

"Are we actually moving?" Tess asked. 

Fraser looked startled. "Yes...um...yes. Definitely." He looked down at
the ground to be sure. The disorientation he felt was increasing. It
multiplied the otherworldly feel of the fog-shrouded woods. It crossed his
mind that he should tell Tess of his fever. He decided against causing her
too worry more. 

"It doesn't feel like it. Feels like we're on a treadmill and the walls
are moving but we aren't really going anywhere." 

The mare nickered as if in agreement. 

"It's an illusion. The fog homogenizes the scenery." 

"Maybe it's all an illusion. Are you sure we aren't still on the drugs
they gave us, flying high in that cage? Sleeping and dreaming all of
this?" 

Fraser reached down and pinched her hand, wrapped tightly around his belt 

"Ouch!" 

"We're lucid." For the most part, he thought. 

Abruptly the fog parted and a clearing, bathed in wan moonlight appeared
before them. The mare hesitated. Fraser urged her forward gently. The
underbrush and small meadow sparkled with a dusting of mist that
transformed even the intermittent snow-banks with glitter. The clearing
glowed soft lavender in a twinkling caricature of a tranquil winter
painting. The fog danced like ghostly figures around the edges of the
clearing, weaving among the trees. 

"They almost look like animals," Fraser whispered, indicating the shapes
in the clearing. He had to blink several times to see them clearly. 

"A glass menagerie," she whispered back. 

He looked up at the moon and shook his head in disbelief. "We've been
riding two hours, at least, since the sun set." 

"No way." 

"The moon doesn't lie." 

The tree next to them popped and a shower of tiny bark flakes rained over
them. They started and the horse reared. Suddenly, the darkness was alive
with whizzing bullets. Tess screamed and pressed her face into Fraser's
back. 

The mare took off at full speed across the clearing of her own accord.	

Leafless branches and vines scratched Fraser's face as he tried to control
the panicked animal. They crashed through bushes. Snow and rocks flew up
from the horse's hooves. They vaulted a fallen tree. Tess felt herself
slip. She dug her nails into Fraser's thigh and heard his sharp intake of
breath. 

He reached back and grabbed her knee, tossing her back up behind him. She
pressed herself against him as the horse veered around a birch and
released her grip on his thigh. A branch snagged in her hair. She
whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling herself slip backwards a
little.  

The mare plunged on until the shouts of the pursuers were far behind them.
The horse's breath came in ragged gasps. Fraser urged her to a slow trot
with soft murmuring sounds. 

"I hear water," Fraser said, "below us!" 

"What? We've been going up?" 

Another gunshot, farther away. 

The mare started. Fraser fought her for control. After a few restless
moments, she settled back into the easy report they had established,
trusting the strength of the man who rode her, as he trusted his life to
her instincts about the terrain. 

Abruptly, the fog thinned a little and Fraser could see a straight path
ahead of them. The mare automatically increased speed, seeming as eager to
leave the hunters behind as her human companions. 

The report of random gunshots echoed around them. Fools, Fraser thought,
who knows how many animals they'll accidentally kill tonight. 

The cold wind bit into his cheeks, making them sting and his eyes water.
He felt the woman behind him cling more tightly. He wished again that
they'd had time to find her proper clothing. Spring in the Yukon could be
more harsh than winter, with its unpredictability and sudden dramatic
changes, even to one accustomed to and prepared for its moods. He hoped he
could keep her alive long enough to escape. 

The horse leapt over a fallen tree and pierced a veil of almost palpable
mist. They were drenched as though walking through a sprinkler. To Tess'
pain and misery filled mind they seemed suspended in the grey void for an
eternity. Silence enveloped them. The only sounds she was aware of were
Fraser's strong heartbeat and the mare's harsh breaths. 

The mare landed, not with the solid thunk she'd come to expect but with a
nearly imperceptible squish. The mare screamed; an unearthly, terrified
wail that echoed around them. As they fell to the side, Fraser realized
the mare had twisted her leg. 

The trio tumbled, bounced, twisted and slid down the steep side of the
mountain toward the creek far below. Supplies whirled as though flung from
a slingshot, bouncing from the trees and rocks. Fraser let himself go
limp. It was the best way to prevent broken bones. Tess didn't even
scream. The image of a rag-doll with her face being wildly thrashed
amongst the trees, was frozen in her terrified mind. 

Suddenly, the noises stopped. The thrashing stopped. Fraser and Tess flew
free as the world dropped away beneath them. They were suspended in the
featureless grey. 

The mare shook her head in confusion and used the bushes that broke her
fall to push herself to her feet. She looked around from her companions
and could not find them. Panicked, she staggered up the bank and stumbled
into the night. 

The fog closed in. The silence was complete. 

  

~~~@ 46 @~~~ 

  

Ray stumbled through the trees, staring miserably at Francesca's back,
barely visible ahead of him in the fog. Inspector Thatcher had sent Franny
pounding on his door at five a.m. sharp and his life had been a whirlwind
Hell ever since. His blisters had blisters and he was sure some had broken
and bled hours before.	

"I can't believe all these people have been searching for days and didn't
find anything. Not a trace." He wasn't prepared for the overwhelming
desolation the admission brought. He felt like sitting down and crying or
dropping to his knees and begging God to spare his best friend, not that
he hadn't been praying since the moment he discovered Benny missing, but
that was suggesting, not pleading. Benny was the best friend he'd ever
had, the only man he knew he could trust implicitly during his entire
life. And he didn't want to lose him now. 

Inspector Thatcher grimaced and gritted her teeth. Ray's incessant griping
had, indeed, given her a full-blown migraine. Her blood throbbed behind
her eyes, blurring her vision. She needed to relax in a nice hot bath and
think of nothing. She glanced at the Mountie who strode quietly at her
side, scanning the fog-shrouded trees and felt a pang of loss. He only
vaguely resembled Fraser; maybe it was the uniform. 

Over her shoulder she called, "The search planes are flying grid patterns
and the woods are practically teeming with Mounties. This is only your
second day of walking, what more do you want?" 

"A winning lottery ticket? And what're the planes gonna see in the dark,
anyways? And this fog? It looks like London out here. Jack the Ripper's
gonna jump outta the bushes. I can hardly see my hand in front of my face
and the planes are supposed to see Fraser?" 

"You know, Detective, you'd be of more help if you kept your mouth shut
and your eyes open. The sun is rising, I assure you, soon it will burn off
this fog and we'll be in the open." 

Ray scowled and muttered softly to Dief, who strolled beside him. He
stopped to dig a pebble from his shoe. "Trying to say I talk too much. At
least I care about what we're doing...all the time we're wasting. The plan
doesn't even make sense, unless it's in some Canadian way." 

He tossed the offending pebble over his shoulder and looked up. The fog
had closed in completely, leaving he and Dief alone. 

"Great, now Mother Nature's in on it." 

  

~~~@ 47 @~~~ 

  

The beam of his incandescent flashlight caught the glistening flank of a
dark horse as it nosed through the ice-painted vegetation in the small
clearing. At first, Hoover thought the horse was an illusion created by
the fog and flashlight. When the horse nickered he realized his eyes
weren't playing tricks on him. He slipped from his saddle and, making
soothing sounds, tied his mount to a birch tree and approached the other
animal. 

The horse whinnied nervously, but allowed him close. It was his mare. He
cast a quick glance around the clearing and trees, as far as the fog
allowed. No one. He patted the mare's sweaty side and ran his hands over
her with the experienced touch of a horse handler. 

She had fallen. Her leg was scraped and bruised, but she wasn't badly
hurt. 

Danny's horse trotted up next to him. "Is that Ariel?" 

Hoover nodded. "She's injured. Probably threw them. Have the men spread
out. Comb this area until you find them. Drag them back if you have to.
The girl's the one we need. The Mountie's expendable." 

"You ain't coming, too?" 

"I'm taking Ariel back. She needs attention. A good horse's a terrible
thing to waste. Besides, the girls should have news on our next shipment
soon. I'm not letting one of you shit heads make the deal." 

"We'll find them." 

"You better." Hoover tied the mare's reins to his saddle, untied his
horse, and swung up into the saddle. "Give it 10 hours. Tell the men, if
you don't find them by then, by midmorning, forget them. We've got more
important work." 

"You got it." 

Hoover checked his compass and rode off into the fog. 

  

~~~@ 48 @~~~ 

Fraser awoke to the bone-chilling scream of a banshee. It echoed and made
his ears ring and his stomach lurch. He jumped up, instinctively ready for
trouble. Two hands grabbed him and yanked him back against the vertical
rocks. 

"No!" Tess wailed, clinging to him fiercely. "You'll fall!" 

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around, swaying. His teeth
chattered from the cold. When he wiped his forehead his fingers were
coated with sweat. Tess crouched beside him, pressed against a rock wall
that rose vertically behind them. He stepped back nervously when he looked
in front of them. They were on a small rock outcropping. Before them
spread a breathtaking, panoramic vista; mountains and trees with scattered
spring green and a valley wreathed in a spiderweb of morning fog and a
sheer drop-off four feet beyond his boots. He slid down to sit beside the
terrified woman, wrapping his arms around his chest. 

"Hmm," he said. "We seem to be in a pickle." His initial anxiety faded and
his survival instincts took over, making everything around him appear
sharp and clear. 

She nodded, wide eyes focused on the edge of the outcropping as though it
would crumble at any moment. Digging her fingernails into the fabric of
his sleeve she cast a quick glance over the edge beside her. Far below,
the creek splashed with joyous abandon. "You almost went off," she
whispered. 

He stood carefully. The outcropping was angled slightly toward the drop
off. 

"Be careful! Don't you dare leave me here alone!" 

He glanced at her and put a reassuring hand on top of her head with a
long-suffering sigh. "Don't fuss. I won't fall. I've been in these
situations before. The surface is very rough so there's plenty of
traction." He disentangled his arm and inched close to the edge. "We're
quite lucky, actually, we could've ended up down there in the creek." 

He looked down. Too far and no good handholds, he decided. His sharp eyes
made out a scattering of aluminum cans in the gently swirling water: some
of their supplies, no doubt. He looked left and right. The outcropping
sloped underneath them sharply. Nothing to grab at all, he thought. He
stepped back from the edge and turned to look above them. So, we have to
ascend, he thought. He studied the ten feet of vertical rock face. Plenty
of handholds for someone used to rock climbing. 

He frowned when he looked at Tess, hugging her knees and rocking slightly.
She was battered, bruised and dirty. There were large scrapes and bruises
on her forehead and bare legs. She looked like she barely had strength
left to stand; climbing out was probably impossible. 

"What happened to your hand?" he asked. She held her bloody left wrist in
front of her face then let it drop to her side.  

"Hit it on something falling down here, I reckon." She turned her face to
him. "You okay?" 

He shrugged. "A little..." He swayed dizzily again, rubbing his eyes with
his hand. He shook his head. "I think I twisted my ankle, just bad enough
to be annoying. My leg hurts and my back is spasming. An old gunshot
wound." He smiled apologetically. "No major injuries from the fall, though
my back will probably prohibit activity tomorrow." 

She nodded in understanding, tearing the hem from the dress A. J. had
given her to wear and bandaging her slowly seeping wrist. She was glad he
had chosen a knee-length dress. It looked like they were going to need a
lot of bandages on this trip. "It's kind of beautiful out there." 

"Yes, this is why I love the wilderness." 

"I'd like to get out of here, though. I sleepwalk." 

"Understood. We'll have to climb out." 

She arched her back and twisted to look up at the rock. "Are you crazy?
It's perfectly smooth." 

"No, it isn't." He sighed tiredly and rubbed the bridge of his nose,
leaving a dirty smudge. "See there's a handhold here and there." He
pointed. 

She squinted, unable to make out anything. "You have the eyesight of a
rabbit." 

"Thank you kindly."  

"Do you think the mare made it? I didn't see her below." 

He shrugged, fighting to keep his face neutral despite a surge of
annoyance. "We'll find out when we get up there." 

"Son, I can't climb that," she said matter-of-factly. "Even if I could, my
wrist won't let me now. It hurts like a bugger, even if it isn't broken or
sprained." 

He frowned. "I shall have to climb out and find a way to pull you up. Our
supplies should have all fallen from the mare. I'll try to locate the
rope. Barring that we could if we boil and chew the bark of a" He saw the
look on her face. "I'll think of something. I always do." He smiled with
more confidence than he felt. 

"Darlin', you look like you can barely stand," Tess told him. "You're
weaving like a drunk." 

"Temporary symptoms, I assure you. Don't worry about me. I can still
climb. I have to." 

"You sure they aren't camped out up there waiting for us?" 

He shook his head. "You worry like an old mother hen. If they followed our
trail to this point, they'll think we're dead. The chances we would land
on a tiny outcropping of rock instead of smashing on the rocks below
are...well, astronomical." His brain was too weary to bother with the
computations. He tested a few handholds. "I believe they've given up," he
told her, more for her peace of mind than because he believed it. He had
to get her off the ledge. If she thought she might be recaptured up above
she might actually want to descend; a much more dangerous prospect, he
thought. 

"I'm going up now." 

"Wait! Just...just rest a few minutes." She gripped his pant leg tightly.
The thought of being alone on that ledge terrified her more than the
thought of falling and having her body bounce from the ledge and spin to
float, lifeless and broken in the stream below. 

He knelt, slipped an arm around her and hugged her tightly. They sat
there, rocking back and forth for a few long minutes. Tess felt her panic
ebb and drew strength from his muscular arms. 

"You're hot," she said with a frown. He waved off the hand she moved
toward his forehead. 

"Don't touch me. I'm fine," he snapped. 

She drew her hand back quickly. 

"We'll get out of this," he said, softly. "No one is waiting above us.
We'll go up and find safe shelter for the night." He brushed her matted
and tangled hair back from her dirty, blood crusted face. "But, we have to
go now. Before that reaches us." He motioned toward the billowy grey
clouds piling up like snow banks on the horizon. "Storms move quickly and
violently through the mountains. We don't have much time." 

"Will it rain or snow?" 

"It's too warm for snow."  

She gave a look that said 'Warm? You're crazy.' "Hurry," she said, "and be
careful. I don't think I can catch you." 

He smiled and stood. "You won't have to. " 

It was an easy climb for him, even with his injuries. Fraser had many
opportunities during his years in the Yukon to climb tougher rock faces
than this one. He quickly reached the top and felt around the edge for a
final hold with which to pull himself up. The edge was soft and loose, but
he kept trying. There had to be something to grab onto.  

Behind him thunder rolled like the deep growl of a distant grizzly. 

His hand landed on a root. He gripped it tightly and tried to pull himself
up. It only took a second for him to realize his mistake. It was loose and
pebbles pummeled his face as it pulled free. An aluminum can, held in
place by the root, dislodged and rolled off the edge, smacking him in the
forehead before hurtled to the ledge below. 

With a yelp of pain, he lost his grip and dropped toward the ledge below
directly behind the can. It bounced from the woman's head and over the
side. Fraser landed against her back, knocking her flat. 

She fell face down over the edge. 

He whirled and caught her ankles. She dangled, staring down, too scared to
even breathe, as the can and remaining gold pen fell from her hair and
spun in lazy spirals to splash into the water far below. 

  

~~~@ 49 @~~~ 

Francesca trudged through the woods, fussing with her hair and mumbling
about reptiles and insects. She placed her feet carefully amid the
branches and only God-knew-what else on the forest floor. She grimaced as
her ankle twisted. With a yelp she sat on a fallen log and pulled off her
shoe to rub it. 

After a few minutes it felt better and she looked up. "Y'know, Ray, all
this..." she broke off, glancing in all directions. 

The fog had completely cut her off. 

  

Meg Thatcher frowned as she studied a leaf covered with what appeared to
be blood. 

"It's quiet," the Mountie said. 

She looked up, then surveyed the trees around them. "Too quiet. Good
observation, Sergeant Conner. Where are they?" She stood. 

He shrugged. She shoved the leaf toward him. "See if you can locate the
source of this blood, but go no more that ten feet." 

Just then a scream sliced through the fog and made their stomachs drop to
their knees. The two Mounties instantly fell into defensive positions. 

Something came crashing toward them, making strange, blubbering sounds. 

"Stop!" Thatcher jumped up and extended an arm, catching the running
figure in the ribs and spinning her around. Franny jumped up and down and
spun the two of them in a macabre imitation of a dance. Together they
tumbled to the ground. 

Thatcher propped herself up on one elbow. "What is wrong with you?" she
demanded. 

"Get it off me! Get it off me! Is it off me?"  

"What?" 

"I don't know! It was moving. It fell on me." She rolled on the ground,
trying to examine every inch of her body at once. 

Meg examined her from head to foot. "It's gone now, if it was ever there."
 

The two Mounties helped her to her feet. 

"Take deep breaths and we'll move on when you've recovered." 

Franny wiped her forehead and leaned over, resting her hands on her knees.
Taking a deep breath to relax, her gaze swept her surroundings. 

"Where's Ray?" 

  

~~~@ 50 @~~~ 

Fraser dug in his toes and yanked, getting up onto his knees. Tess
scrabbled behind her to grab the edge of the outcropping, making
unintelligible gurgling sounds. He dropped one of her ankles, buried his
hand in the thin fabric of her dirty white dress and yanked her all the
way up. 

They lay together, gasping and heaving as adrenaline coursed through their
bodies. Fraser took her in his arms and clung to her until her breathing
slowed and her trembling stopped. 

"Well," he said cheerfully with a half-delirious laugh. "Today is just
full of adventure." 

She shoved him away. "What are you an adrenaline junkie?" she snapped. 

He shook his head. "No, no. Just looking for the silver lining." 

"What was up with the can?" she asked, touching the quickly rising bump on
his forehead. 

"Ouch!" He jerked away from her, gritting his teeth. His head throbbed and
vertigo threatened to overcome him. He closed his eyes and steadied his
breathing until it faded. This trip was seriously trying his patience. 

She stared at him and grasped his chin. "You could have a concussion.
Then, so could I," she muttered, rubbing her own sore head with one hand.
"And, Darlin', you're sweating like a stuck pig." 

"It's a flesh wound." He took several more deep breaths. "Leave me alone,
I'll recover." 

Sure, she thought, you would be if you hadn't just spent days being beaten
like one of those little balls they use for Lotto. 

The thunder growled again. Fraser watched the strobe of lightning jumping
thought the clouds. Its crackling energy echoed the coursing of the fever
through his body. His leg felt numb. The throbbing pain of the wounds had
dulled. He was shivering and his cheeks were flushed. Every movement felt
as though he was under water and the resistance burned. He knew they would
have to find shelter quickly. If they were caught out in the rain and the
deep freeze that would surely come with nightfall, they would die of
hypothermia. 

"Time to go." He stood, swayed and put a hand on the rock face to steady
himself.  

"Maybe I should go." 

"No, you're my responsibility." 

"Where'd you hear that?" 

He began to climb without answering her, biting back an
uncharacteristically caustic retort. He set his mind to the task and
quickly scaled the wall. Once on top, he allowed himself to lay for a
moment to catch his breath. Dizziness washed over him like waves lapping
at the shore. He forced himself to stand and limped off in search of the
rope. 

He found it draped from a tree limb where it had been flung from the
tumbling horse. 

Tess heard Fraser scramble back to the edge of the cliff. A pebble bounced
in front of her when he tossed the rope over. 

"Great," she muttered. 

"Tie it around your waist and climb up. I'll help," he called. 

She fastened the rope securely, took hold and climbed up the best she
could. Fraser pulled from the top, doing most of the work. As soon as she
stepped onto solid ground she threw her arms around him, knocking them
both backward away from the edge. They lay there, laughing. 

She pushed herself off him. "What now? You need a doctor." 

He sat up. "None forthcoming, unfortunately. So, drop it." She helped him
to his feet and they scaled the embankment, gathering up their few
remaining fallen supplies. "The Inuit have been known to use mud seal
wounds temporarily, perhaps, if we can find some" 

He knelt and scratched at the ground. Despite the past two days of
relative warmth the ground was still frozen. He managed to scrape up
enough to sniff and taste. He shook his head, wiping the mud from his
fingers. "Too little clay. It's no good." The bump on his head sent little
shock waves through his skull. It was tight enough to slow the blood
without cutting it off. 

They quickly recovered the bag of supplies Tess had packed, along with the
blanket and some of the small items that had flown from Fraser's pockets.
Tess breathed a sigh of relief when she found the lighter. An agonizing
sense of disappointment coursed trough her. The bag was nearly empty. They
had no supplies. 

"We need to find shelter," Fraser said as the thunder rumbled louder. 

"You look drunk already," she said, following close on his heels. 

"Stop stating the obvious!" he snapped, unable to completely catch his
breath or control his temper. 

Tess stopped walking and stared at him in surprise. Oh, yes, she thought,
he's definitely losing it. "Don't bite my head off." 

"Don't nag me!" He spun to face her, pointing in her face. He stared at
her angrily until she dropped her gaze. 

She followed him in silence. They reached the top of the embankment. He
stopped, flushed and feeling the world spin around him. He blinked several
times and shook his head. His vision was slightly blurry and punctuated by
tiny white sparkles. The leafless trees and conifers blended into patches
of brown and green. 

"We came from that way." He motioned vaguely around them. "We need to
follow the cliff that way...uh...east. I swear I heard a waterfall. There
may be caves." Without waiting for her he started to walk off through the
underbrush. High above, the skeletal treetops whirled in the increasing
wind as though waving in welcome to the impending storm. 

She jogged to keep up with him. "Slow down, Speed Racer!" 

"Keep up." 

They followed the cliff until the sun hung high overhead and burned off
the last remnants of fog. Fraser walked quickly, slipping now and then in
the patchy snow. The numbness in his leg made walking difficult. He
lurched a little with each step, reminding himself of Frankenstein's
monster. She was breathing heavily by the time they reached the stream
again. They followed it upstream. It had flowed downhill in a series of
step waterfalls. They descended until they were even with it. 

The thunder grumbled to remind them that the sunshine was fleeting.  

Fraser stopped on top of a small rise overlooking the stream, breathing
hard. The spray from the unseen falls drifted over them. They could hear
the water crashing upstream from their position. "The storm front is
almost here." He put a hand on a tree to steady himself. "It's easier
terrain on the" He drew a deep shuddering breath. "other side." 

"We can't cross that." 

Suddenly, Fraser snapped. He whirled on her, anger making his cheeks
flush. The finger he pointed in front of her nose shook violently. "You're
always complaining! Quit bitching!"  

"I am not! You're delirious!" 

"I am not!" He swayed, still holding the tree and almost fell. "Well,
maybe a little." He turned away from her and found his father inches from
his face. He groaned. 

"She's right, son. You've got a fever all right." 

"Go away," Fraser muttered. He waved his hands through his father's ghost,
trying to disperse him. 

"I'm not leaving," Tess said. 

"Shut up." 

"The knife wounds are infected. You'll have some powerful delusions, son.
Like the time I drank tea laced with" 

"Bite me," Tess snapped at the obviously delirious Fraser. 

"What do you want from me?" Fraser demanded, studying the woman's face. 

"Help getting home," Tess said. "That's all." 

"Only the chance to help you, son," said Robert Fraser. 

"Stay out of it," Fraser growled at his father. 

"What?" Tess demanded. 

"There's no need to bite my head off, son," Robert Fraser said.  

Fraser glanced at him and rubbed his temple. He turned to Tess. "You want
something from me. I know you do, so don't lie to me! The city women *all
* want something from me," his voice rose as he spoke until he was almost
shouting, purple rage close to the surface, white flecks swirling like mad
before his eyes. 

He stared at her, blue eyes hard and glittering. 

She stared back, then scowled at him. "Don't flatter yourself, pretty boy.
You're sick." 

"No, I'm not." 

"Who's lying now? Accept it, you're walking wounded, Darlin'." 

"Am I?" 

"Yes," said his father and Tess simultaneously. He stared from one to the
other then snorted in disgust and stalked off. 

They followed at a discreet distance. "Wow, I've found the cause of male
PMS," she muttered. 

Robert stared at her with wide eyes the color of glacial ice. "He didn't
tell you?"  

She hesitated, looked around as if listening and shook her head. She
didn't hear anything. It was just she and the Mountie, afterall. 

Fraser lolled against a birch, staring at a fallen tree spanning a narrow
spot in the stream when she caught up to him.  

"We cross here." 

"Is it safe? We could camp here under the trees." 

He frowned. "Would you give me some credit? Trust me! I did grow up out
here, afterall." 

She grabbed his arm. He tried to fling her off, but she held on tightly.
"You're getting weak." She felt his forehead. "And feverish. No wonder
you're acting so un-Canadian." 

He tried to yank his arm free. "You're unhinged and you're dressed like a"


"And you're a jerk," she interrupted him.  

"Nag, nag, nag! Harpy!" He yanked again, pulled free, stumbled and almost
fell. She caught him. 

"We have to stop. You need to rest, Mr. Grinch." 

"Didn't I say we need shelter? Am I talking to myself?"  

"Give me your coat. I'll make a lean-to over by that tree. I'll just shove
aside the snow." 

He shoved her away from him. "Just like the others," he mumbled and took a
few steps toward the fallen tree. 

"What?" she demanded, hands on hips. 

He whirled, stumbling like a punch-drunk boxer. "I said, just like the
others!" he yelled. 

"And what does *that * mean?" she snapped. 

"The others." He waved a hand in her direction. "The women. All of the
women in Chicago have been trying to undress me like dogs in heat from the
moment I stepped foot in the U.S. They think I don't know what they're
doing and at first I didn't but now...now I'm too smart for them. I know
what they're up to and I won't give it to them! So, get off my back! I
have too much self control for that!" 

She gaped at him then shook her head slowly. "Oh, you're the picture of
self control. Sweetheart," she drawled seductively, "if I wanted to jump
your bones, I could." 

"I'll bet!" 

"Are you calling me a harlot?" 

He didn't speak, but his narrowed eyes gave her the answer.  

"You get mean when you're out of your mind." 

"I'm not sick. I see very clearly." 

"Maybe it wasn't the knock on the head, after all." She arched her
eyebrows. 

Fraser made a disgusted noise and scrambled up onto the fallen tree. She
hurried after him, certain he would stumble off and drown. He was in the
middle when she caught him and lightly touched his back. He stopped so
suddenly she bumped into him.  

Fraser spun without warning and grasped her arms fiercely, fingers cutting
off her circulation through the thick wool coat. Overhead, thunder growled
in time with his mood and lightning crackled nearby. 

She tried to pull back, suddenly afraid of his strength; the strength of
the delirious. 

"Well, I'll give you what you want!" He growled low in his throat, yanked
her to him and kissed her savagely, tongue deeply exploring her mouth,
hands immobilizing her. She winced in pain as her teeth reopened the cut
on her lower lip. He pulled back slightly and the kiss became gentler,
boiling with years of repressed passion. 

He kissed her until time blurred and her hands fell asleep from lack of
blood flow. His gentle kiss was very pleasant, but her thoughts still
roiled in anger at the roughness of his words and initial kiss, however
unintentional. 

As suddenly as it began, it ended. He shoved her away from him and
released her. Before she could snap at him, her eyes widened with alarm as
her right foot stepped back into open air. With a single, gasping cry, she
snagged the edge of his jacket as she fell backward and pulled him in
after her, face first into the icy water swirling a few feet below. 

  

~~~@ 51 @~~~ 

  

Great, Meg thought. I knew the American would get himself lost. And he'll
probably end up in a bear trap. Aloud, she said, "We have to find
Detective Vecchio before we move on, Sergeant Conner." 

The other Mountie agreed. "He couldn't have gone too far." 

Thatcher looked at Franny. "Stay with us, please. For your own safety."
She hoped her tone was authoritative, not plaintive. Trudging through the
wilderness brought back too many unpleasant memories about her early years
on the force. She shuddered at the thought of the barren hole in Hell's
half-acre that she spent two years in, alone, for the most part. Yes, a
cappuccino and hot bubble bath with the window open to the sound of a busy
street would be much better than combing the wilderness for a whiny man
who couldn't follow the simplest of instructions. 

"Detective Vecchio!" she shouted. "If you can hear me follow the sound of
my voice!" 

They backtracked to the point of divergence. She knelt and lightly touched
the ground. "Hmm, he's either out of earshot..." She cast a scowling
glance at Franny. "Or he's ignoring me. We'd have better luck contacting
the wolf." 

Franny shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past him to ignore you." She cupped her
hands over her mouth and shouted, "Ray! You better answer me or I'm gonna
kick your butt!" 

They waited. Silence. 

Thatcher stood quickly. "The tracks lead this way." 

~~~@ 52 @~~~ 

  

Fraser came up first, spluttering and uncertain of the events of the past
half an hour. The fog that had permeated his brain was washed away by the
shock of hitting the frigid water. The numbness in his leg made swimming
awkward. Then he saw his blue coat, bobbing near him as the turbulent
stream water swept him downstream, along with a whirlwind of paper scraps
from the pockets of his blue jacket. 

Water falls, a voice whispered in his brain. He shifted mental gears and
fought his way to his jacket. Tess was still inside. Weighed down by the
heavy material, she had a hard time keeping her head out of the water.
Fraser caught his jacket with one hand and a low hanging branch with the
other. 

She reached up and hung on. Icy water splashed over their faces in waves,
making them splutter and choke. Together they fought their way onto the
rocky shore and lay next to each other, gasping. 

"You're back?" Tess coughed. "You feel okay?" 

"No," he mumbled. "Fuzzy. I suspect I have a fever." 

"No shit. You've been acting like Mr. Hyde for the past half hour or so." 

"What? I vaguely recall...oh, dear." 

Tess pushed herself up with her hands behind her. She looked around; no
shelter. A raindrop splatted against her head. "Terrific." She sighed.
"Come on, let's head for the water fall upstream. You said there might be
caves." 

"I did?" 

"Yep." 

"I just want to rest for a moment." 

"A moment, a year, forever." She rolled onto her knees, grabbed the front
of his jacket and pulled. "On your feet, Constable!"  

He groaned and stood. A wave of nausea forced him to fall forward onto
her. She caught him and pushed him upright. Sliding one arm around his
waist, they stumbled along the shore. 

Weaving through the trees, they made it to the waterfall. Tess stared. It
was a wide, dual waterfall, split in half by a giant boulder, rising high
above them and forming two creeks below, each flowing in a different
direction. They had followed the westerly flow to this point. The spray
flew up ten feet, coating everything nearby with a thin sheen of water. 

They stood, supporting each other and staring at the magnificent, roaring
falls until the trees around them danced with storm-induced fury. Shaken
back to the present, they searched for shelter. 

"There," Fraser said, motioning toward the waterfall on the left.  

"Yeah? It's a waterfall?" Tess yelled above the crashing of water on
rocks. 

"A cave," he yelled back, leaning close to her ear, "behind the water." 

Tess squinted. He must be hallucinating, she thought, all I see is water. 

Fraser staggered forward, dragging her along. He's developing a limp, she
noted. He winced as a sharp pain pierced his thigh.  

The rocks guarding the falls were slick.  

"Well, slap me and call me silly," she whispered, peering between the
boulders that flanked the water merging with the stream. Behind the falls
and between the rocks, a dark spot was visible if one strained to look. A
cave. 

They picked through the skeletal bushes and fallen branches to squeeze
behind the cascading water on a narrow shelf of rock. 

"You're right, Darlin'! Oh, I could kiss you!" 

Fraser glanced down at her and laughed, leaning on her for support. 

The dim interior of the cave was larger than the opening belied. Water
puddled and iced over near the opening, but farther in it was dry and a
little warmer out of the breeze and spray. Fraser slumped against the wall
and slid down to rest his head on his knees. "Tired," he mumbled. 

Before Tess could take a step away from him, he began to snore. She
decided to explore their temporary home. 

Tess sniffed. The entire cave smelled of mold and damp sand. She squinted
into the blackness, then held up the lighter. About ten feet inside the
cave it widened. The floor changed from rock to soft sand. To the left was
an alcove, sheltered from all wind and spray. She shone the light inside
it. It was about seven feet high and ten feet around. 

The remnants of an old fire lay in a ring of stones and a small pile of
firewood was piled off to the side.  

Perfect, she thought, and we aren't the first to find this place. 

She knelt by the firepit, holding up the lighter and feeling around
through the wood. No little stuff, she thought. I think I need little
stuff to start a fire. She flipped the lighter shut and checked on Fraser.
The Mountie was sound asleep, his skin burning despite the dripping, icy
clothes he wore. She scowled. Should she move him out of the breeze or get
dry wood before the storm hit? With a glance at the sky visible at the
edge of the falling water, she grabbed him under the arms and dragged him
into the alcove. 

She slipped out of the cave and began to search. 

  

~~~@ 53 @~~~ 

  

  

Ray thought he heard something faintly in the distance, but decided it
must be a trick of the fog. Dief's ears perked and he looked around, then
settled near the man's feet, sniffing the ground. 

"You didn't hear that either, did ya, Dief?" 

The wolf ignored him and trotted into the fog. 

"Hey, that wasn't an insult or anything!" Ray called and hurried after
him. If anyone could find Fraser and get them all out of this predicament
and back to a warm cappuccino, it was Dief. Ray had faith in the wolf's
abilities. 

The white wolf turned and whined at him as Ray stepped over a small
boulder into a little drift of snow. 

"What?" he said.  

Suddenly, his foot jerked. Fire shot through his leg and the scenery
whirled around him with dizzying speed. The top of his head brushed the
snow then he flew up in the air and bounced several times. The sensation
of weightlessness reminded him of the time he bungee-jumped with Franny.
Blood rushed to his head as he screamed in surprise. 

Dief padded over and sat, staring up at the human, dangling from one foot
and slowly bouncing above him. He cocked his head to one side then the
other. 

What was he supposed to do now?  

  

~~~@ 54 @~~~ 

  

Doc rode through the trees, gingerly rubbing the back of his head. His
fight with the Mountie the night before had left him with one Hell of a
headache. The pain was temporary, he knew, exacerbated by lack of sleep.
But, he didn't have a concussion or any major injuries. It ticked him off
to lose a fight. He hoped he had another chance. 

He should've returned to the house at dawn as Hoover ordered. But, damn
it, he had to prove his worth to the man before he ended up skinned,
gutted and strung from a tree. He'd sent all of the other men back with
the message that he was following up on a hunch. That should appease Wade
Hoover for a day or two. 

Something on the side of the hill caught his attention. He jumped from the
saddle, tethered his horse to a tree, then half-slid down the side of the
steep hill. Thunder rumbled above him. Subconsciously, he registered it
and noted he'd need shelter soon. 

He caught himself by grabbing a bush, stretching to reach the object
beneath it. It was a flashlight. The type Hoover had gotten from a
warehouse theft and issued to each of his men. He smiled. He had a clue. 

He sat for a moment and studied the hillside. Many of the bushes were bent
over, broken branches paved a swath down to the abrupt edge. 

Something clicked in his mind. The mare had been inured. Hoover said she
may have fallen. Cautiously, he picked his way down the steep hill and
peered over the edge, holding onto a tree for support. 

There were no bodies below. The stream didn't appear strong enough to
carry them away. There was a small outcropping of rock, but the chances of
them landing on it were too small. And they weren't there now. 

So, he thought, they didn't go over. They must be here somewhere. His
stride back to his horse held a bounce he hadn't had for weeks. Finally,
he would be able to make that bastard, Hoover, respect him. He'd bring
back Hoover's beloved Mountie! 

Thunder crackled again. He looked up at the sky, visible through the
slowly dissipating fog and pines. 

Cold raindrops splattered his face. He didn't have much time. He cast a
quick glance around and spied three trees that had grown very close
together, their trunks nearly touching. He secured his horse and broke off
pine branches to create a makeshift shelter. It wouldn't be as warm as a
tent, but he'd be fairly dry and out of the wind.  

He crawled inside and pulled the pine boughs down around him. Snuggling
deep inside his winter coat, he listened to the rising wind, the patter of
the rain beating the trees and branches. With a smile on his face he
drifted off to sleep. 

  

~~~@ 55 @~~~ 

  

"Over here, Inspector!" Sergeant Conner called. "The tracks go off to the
southwest." 

"Well, at least he's heading toward Tungsten and the hotel." 

An eerie sound echoed around them, raising the hairs on their arms and the
backs of t heir necks. 

"Oh, my God! It's bigfoot!" Franny wailed, clutching Conner's arm and
nearly falling on her backside. 

"It's a wolf," he whispered to her, painfully aware of his superior's
annoyed stare. 

"A white, donut snatching wolf," Thatcher said, "this way." 

"Are you sure?" 

Conner nodded, blond hair bobbing slightly. "A wolf's howl can be heard
for seven miles. But this one sounded very close." 

  

Ray pressed his hands over his ears. "Aaggh! Enough already. I don't wanta
be deaf, too! I don't mind you callin' for help, but do you hafta do it so
loud?" he shouted at the wolf, peering up at him with soft brown eyes as
innocent as a baby seal's. 

Dief licked his lips, raised his muzzle and repeated his low, mournful
distress call. 

Ray rubbed his throbbing temples, gritted his teeth and covered his ears. 

  

Meg Thatcher couldn't believe her eyes. Only the strength of her resolve
and years of training kept her from laughing out loud. A faint noise, like
a choking gurgle escaped her clenched lips. 

Detective Vecchio swung slowly back and forth like a pendulum, using every
swear word in the English and Italian languages. Even the top of his
balding head was flushed. 

"What are you all staring at?" he shouted. "Cut me down!" 

Franny stood off to the side, giggling, as the two Mounties released her
brother. 

"You really take the cake," she said. "Wait 'til Maria and the girls down
at Lana's Salon hear about this." 

He rubbed his sore ankle. "You keep your mouth shut or I'll have a talk
with Benny," he threatened. 

Franny's eyes widened and the smile dropped from her elfin features. Ray
felt a surge of satisfaction. "What am I, psychic? Like I'm supposed to
see a booby trap in the snow. I was following him! Why didn't he see it?" 

Thatcher disabled the trap. "They were trying to catch game, Detective,
not you." 

"Who cares? How many more of these things are there? Ow, my head!" 

"That should ease up as soon as your bloodflow evens out." 

"Great. Until then it feels like my head'll explode like a giant tick." 

"That's a nice image," Thatcher muttered. Her cell phone rang, cutting off
Ray's caustic reply. 

Ray tested his ankle, wincing as the Inspector came up to him. 

"Can you walk?" 

"Damn straight. I'm not giving up on a count a this." 

"That call was from Headquarters. Apparently, Lieutenant Welsh called with
a new lead on the location of the kidnappers. We're in the wrong area.
They're further east." 

"You know where they are?" 

"Not precisely, but the search area has narrowed." She glanced at the sky.
"That storm is approaching us quickly. It's already pounding the area to
the east. We'd better hurry back to the rendezvous point." 

  

~~~@ 56 @~~~ 

  

The sun is going down, Tess thought. How many days has it been now? Three?
Four? Four, she decided. She was so cold her skin stung. She could feel
the breeze chafing her cheeks. Her fingers, clasping twigs and branches,
were stiff and more sore than she thought possible. Raindrops thumped her
head and the armful of wood she carried. It was her third trip and she had
a good-sized pile of wood inside the cave. 

Suddenly, the clouds let loose and the rain pounded her in icy sheets. She
ran for the cave and stood inside, panting from the cold. Her teeth
chattered as she stumbled to the alcove with the last load of wood she
would gather tonight. 

The temperature had dropped rapidly since they found the cave. She knew
the rain would probably turn to snow with nightfall. "We're probably both
already dying of hypothermia," she whispered morosely. 

Robert Fraser squatted beside the still body of his son, studying his
pale, blood covered form. The boy still shivered, so he wasn't too
far-gone yet, but he needed warmth soon or he would slip into shock and
hypothermia might take him. He watched the young woman enter the cave for
the final time, heard the despair in her voice. 

"Don't give up, Lass," he said, unsure if she would hear his voice or
think he was her own thoughts. 

She dropped the wood and knelt with her hands on her head. "What do I do
now?" she asked herself. 

"Build a fire." 

"I have to build a fire," she repeated after the voice in her head. She
stood hastily on numb feet, held the lighter up with one hand so she could
see what she was doing and dragged several logs over to the pit with the
other. She scooped up some twigs and dumped them into the pit. Robert
leaned over her. 

"Clean it out first. Start from scratch." 

She scraped out the old burned wood and tossed a handful of twigs into the
clean sand. 

"No, no! Make a tripod." Robert pointed at the heap. 

Tess stared at her pile and shook her head. "Tripod," she whispered. 

"Smaller sticks first, larger ones later." 

She nodded and complied. 

"Light them carefully. Use the dead leaves as fodder if you have to.
Shield the flame." 

"Shield," she whispered and followed the fatherly voice in her head. 

"There. Now, carefully, add a larger stick." 

She reached for one near her.  

"Not that one, Dear, too wet." 

She hesitated, hand poised above the stick. 

"That one, to the right." 

She picked up the stick on the right and gently added it to the tiny
flame. 

"Good work, Dear. Now, add more to it slowly. Don't let it die." He stood
beside her, staring at the weak flame. The wood smoked heavily and
crackled. It was all damp. She fed dry leaves she had found to the small
fire, as a mother bird would nourish her young, one small bit at a time. 

The flame grew steadily larger. She added wood a piece at a time until the
fire burned with healthy vigor. With a sigh she leaned back against the
rock wall, head bent forward, and stared at it, relishing the warmth on
her face and wondering if this was how the cave people felt when they
first discovered fire. 

Robert placed a ghostly hand on the back of her wet hair and whispered,
"Couldn't have done better myself, Lass. Now, move Ben closer before it's
too late. And get the both of you out of those wet clothes before they sap
all your body heat. And take care of Ben's knife wounds. They're
infected." 

She pulled off his sweater and jeans. She gasped in horror at the sight of
two swollen, obviously infected cuts on either side of his left thigh. The
thigh muscle itself was red and hot to the touch. How in the world was she
going to fix this? She wasn't a doctor. 

  

~~~@ 57 @~~~ 

  

"Ouch! Do that again, Franny, and I'll thwap you!" 

"I'll thwap you right back. Who do you think I am, Florence
Night-in-storm?" 

"Nightingale." 

"Storm, gale, tornado, who cares?" 

"Ouch! Give me that!" Ray snatched the ice pack from her fingers and
gingerly applied it to his ankle.  

Inspector Thatcher broke away from her conversation with a small group of
Mounties gathered around a computer terminal. She brushed aside his hands
and frowned at his ankle. "You're lucky it wasn't broken." 

"Yeah? They only tried to pull my foot off." 

"If you had weighed any less the force of the momentum would've been
strong enough to snap your ankle like a twig. Consider yourself lucky." 

He scowled. "What did they say?" He nodded toward the group of Mounties. 

"The search area has narrowed so much that I feel confident we shall
locate the house tomorrow." 

"And Fraser? What about him?" Franny interjected. 

Thatcher met her frightened eye. 

"Provided he is still inside, we may recover him by tomorrow night. Now,"
she glanced at her watch, "as it is dark now, I suggest we all turn in and
get an early start. You may both want to eat a large dinner to gather your
strength for the morning's ride." 

The siblings exchanged less than enthusiastic looks. 

  

  

~~~@ 58 @~~~ 

  

Tess slept restlessly. Her dreams were filled with the echoing sounds of
scratching, like thousands of tiny feet, all around her. The scratching
became the tiny squeaks of a thousand rats crawling around and over her.
She awoke with a start in a deep sweat. 

The alcove was far from hot, but it was warmer than the main cave. She
shivered, clothed only in her still damp bra and panties. She tossed
another log on the embers. She could hear sleet pounding the snow and ice
outside the cave with a scratching hiss. 

Ben whimpered and mumbled beside her. She reclined on one elbow and lay
the inside of her bare wrist on his forehead. It was cold and clammy. His
cheeks were flushed. She frowned and got up to check on the clothing she
had rinsed and hung by the fire to dry. The coats and his jeans were still
damp. His sweater was dry, so she carefully stretched it over him. She
knew he had a fever, but lying there clad only in a pair of wet boxer
shorts couldn't be good for him. Her dress was dry. She pulled it on over
her head and slipped off her wet bra and panties, draping them on a rock
by the fire. 

She glanced at Ben and smiled at the thought of the blush that would creep
over his face if he saw them there. She checked their socks and put his on
first, then her own, when she found them dry. With a glance into the main
cave she crawled back to his side and snuggled, hugging his arm. He
shivered and moaned. 

He probably needs water, she thought. With a groan, she half-crawled,
half-staggered to the mouth of the cave. 

Robert Fraser stood in the shadows and watched her pass. "You can do it,
Lass. Melt the snow." 

She stretched one stiff arm out into the cold spray and hissed through
gritted teeth at the sting of the water on the raw skin on her wrist. I
should've crawled to the front naked, she thought, now I have to dry my
clothes again. She scooped up a large handful of snow from the small drift
on the rocks. The spray dampened her hair and clothing. Her teeth
chattered as a breeze hit her wet face. 

"Careful, don't fall in." 

She carried her snowball back to the fire, tossing it from hand to hand as
it numbed her fingers. She knelt beside him, broke off a tiny piece and
let the melting snow drip from her fingers into his mouth. 

"Put some on his face to cool him." 

She gently patted a thin layer of snow on his cheeks, forehead and thigh,
then stuffed a tiny chunk of snow into his mouth, watching to be sure he
didn't choke. When it melted she fed him another small bit. She checked
his injuries. They were discolored and weepy beneath the wrappings. 

She blinked and yawned; unable to comprehend why she was so tired. 

"Shock," Robert said. "Elevate your feet and try to sleep. Elevate his,
too, for good measure." 

She propped his feet on a rock, then stretched out beside Ben, resting her
feet on top of his. Immediately, she fell into a deep, fitful sleep. 

  

~~~@ 59 @~~~ 

  

Tess sat up straight, wide-awake and unsure why. The pitch-blackness
nipped at the edges of the orange firelight like a cold beast. 

"No!" Fraser shouted again. 

He thrashed and hit her in the face. She jumped out of reach of his
flailing arms and stared at him until her head cleared. 

  

Fraser threw the knife away from him. Gerard's laughing face melded into a
woman's, dark and beautiful.  

"Meg," he whispered, anger draining from him. His arms fell limp at his
sides. She smiled at him seductively and leaned over him, short, dark hair
caressing his bare chest and face. He could smell the scent of her, wild
and unidentifiable. Heat surged through his body and centered on his
loins. She was here, maybe he could tell her how he felt. 

"Kiss me," she whispered hoarsely. Her voice had a faint, unearthly echo.
"I've been waiting for you, Ben." 

"Sir," he began, confused, but pleased by her behavior. 

"Shh," she whispered, brushing a fingertip lightly along his lips. "No
time for that." She bent and ran the tip of her tongue along his
cheekbones, over his eyelids and to nibble the tip of his nose. He
groaned, reveling in her touch. 

Tess frowned as Fraser moaned again. She crawled over and tentatively
touched his forehead. He turned quickly and tried to take her fingers in
his mouth. She pulled them back and smiled. At least he was having good
dreams. His forehead was hot and damp, his dark hair plastered against it
in curls. Sweat rolled down his face and pooled in the dirt beneath him. 

Suddenly, he looked at her with wide eyes and whispered, "Meg." His hands
shot up, gripped either side of her face; fingers tangled in her blonde
hair and yanked her down into a deep kiss. 

Fraser kissed Meg. All of the pent-up fire and passion poured out into the
kiss. The months of mixed signals and inner torment flowed out in a
torrent. He wove his fingers through Meg's dark hair and pulled her body
down on top of his, feeling her bare legs against his. He felt her body's
response against his bare stomach and trembled. He flipped her over onto
her back and slipped a knee between her legs. He pulled back, eyes closed
and gently licked her face, nipped at her neck, then found her mouth
again. Their tongues entwined and danced, their breath coming in ragged
gasps. 

"Um, Ben," Meg said when he let her up for air. 

"Mm?" he mumbled and ran his hands the length of her body, nibbling at her
neck. 

"Now's not the time, Darlin'" 

He kissed her mouth, attacking her lips gently and caressing her breast
with one hand. She nudged him over onto his back and sat up on her knees,
straddling him, still kissing him passionately. 

Fraser smiled as Meg sat back, her long dark hair obscuring her face. She
brushed her hair back and Victoria smiled down at him with narrowed eyes,
a triumphant look on her face. How had he mistaken her for Meg? 

He drew a sharp breath. Not again! Was she going to kill him this time?
Betray him again? A wave of red-hot anger swept over him. He grabbed her
upper arms and flung her away in disgust. "Never again!" he shouted. 

Tess bounced off the wall of the alcove, her head hitting it with a sharp
crack. Pain ricocheted from the back to the front of her skull. She
cradled her head and leaned forward onto her knees, dirty unkempt golden
hair poking between her fingers. 

"Don't hurt Ray," he mumbled, slurring the words. "Don't hurt Ray,
Victoria. No! Leave Ray alone." 

Tess touched the bump already rising on the back of her head and winced.
She drew her hand away and stared at the soft sheen of blood that coated
her fingers. 

"Great," she muttered, feeling dizzy. "Best kiss I ever had and he has to
be bipolar." 

She watched him toss and flail, seeming to fight off an invisible
attacker. This Victoria must be a real witch, she thought as his arms came
dangerously close to the fire. 

  

  

Later, Tess knelt by Fraser and tried to bring him back to reality. She
gave up trying to hold his arms down, feeling bruises and bumps rising
from being flung around the cave. Sitting up on her knees she wiped cold
sweat from her forehead. He's too strong, she thought, it's the fever. 

After pulling him away from the fire, she sat against the wall, letting
the chill of the stone seep into her sore muscles and ease the tension.
She closed her eyes and began to sing softly. It was a haunting love song;
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. Her voice echoed from the stone, accompanied by
the crackling of the fire, the hiss of the sleet outside, the gentle
pounding of the water on the rocks and Ben's soft moans and whispers to
his inner demon. 

"No." 

"You'll *never * forget me." The smile on her perfect features was as
beautiful and enigmatic as he remembered. "Never," she hissed. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted to his personal demon. "I
should have let you go." 

"Too late," Victoria whispered. "You're mine now...forever." 

He groaned and struck out. His hand passed through the illusion of her. He
swore he could still smell her perfume. 

Victoria was gone. Her laughter echoed around him.  

Falling. 

Swirling darkness. 

Vertigo. 

A thousand colors whirled behind his eyes, disorienting him completely. He
flailed for a handhold. 

Nothing. 

Suddenly, he landed in soft arms. Blue eyes stared down at him. Auburn
curls tickled his cheeks. He heard singing, muted in the distance. Relief
swept over him. 

"Mum?" he whispered inaudibly and reached up to hug her, his fingers
sweeping through her corporeal form. 

"Shh, Ben. Time for sleep. You're exhausted. Hush now." She smiled at her
little boy, keeping her voice soft and soothing. 

He grinned and fell over the precipice into deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped
in the security of her arms and the unconditional warmth of love emanating
from her. 

Ben stopped thrashing with a long shuddering sigh. His entire body
relaxed, his body slick with sweat, dark hair plastered to his skull. She
took the opportunity to crawl closer and wipe his face. She went outside
for more snow and used it to cool his skin. He didn't react at all. 

Best to let him sleep, she thought and fished a can of boiled peanuts from
the bag of supplies. She sat by the cave entrance, knees up to her chest
inside Fraser's blue wool overcoat, to eat. She savored the soft salty
taste of each peanut before chewing and swallowing them. They were almost
too salty, but the only other food choice was a can of Vienna sausages.
The canned variety always seemed to have twice as much salt as the real
variety. She decided salt might be a good thing at the moment. 

She wondered who in that group would've imported boiled peanuts. She'd
been to nearly every state in the US, traveling with her parents as a
child, and had only seen them in the former Confederate states. A. J.
seemed the only candidate. His soft southern drawl was buried, but she
could still hear it. It was the sound of home. 

Tess closed her eyes, letting the cold spray from the waterfall caress her
face gently, feeling cleansed. She shivered, enjoying the contrast between
the freezing mist on her bare skin and the heat of the rest of her body,
curled inside the coat. She finished eating and began another song, eyes
still closed. 

The sleet stopped and the sun rose, weak and diffuse, offering little
warmth. She watched its ebb and flow between the thick clouds transform
the water drops into a shower of diamonds as she sang. She stared,
hypnotized by the beautiful strobe-like flashes of reflected light. The
comforting thrum of the pounding water lulled her into a disembodied sense
of peace.  

At this moment she was completely powerless. She could help Ben no more
than she could help herself. It surprised her that all trace of fear and
desperation vanished, replaced by acceptance.  

She sat there, singing to the unconscious man, praying the melody would
penetrate enough to give him the strength to fight, until the combination
of light and rhythmic noise made her eyelids droop and she gently drifted
off to sleep. 

  

~~~@ 60 @~~~ 

  

The silence woke him. Doc stretched. It took a few seconds to remember
where he was. Cold rain dripped down onto the top of his head slowly. The
hiss of sleet that was pounding the tree branches died away. He shook his
head, flinging drops off and rotating his neck to work out the kinks. He
sat until the sun filtered through his shelter in a weak, screen pattern.
Then he kicked off the branches and stood up stiffly. His horse nickered
nearby. 

Good, he thought, time to get going. He ignored the rumbling in his
stomach. The gratitude on Hoover's face would be worth fasting for a
couple of days. 

He mounted quickly and searched for clues that weren't washed away by the
storm. There were none left. He would have to rely on hunches. He frowned.
He wasn't used to relying on his wits alone. Not when it came to survival,
any way.  

He rode away from the house, paralleling the cliff. It descended and he
passed a series of small waterfalls until the stream was beside him. 

Stopping to let his horse drink and rest, he sifted through the options in
his head. He could go back and face Hoover empty-handed. Not a chance. Go
back to the cliff and search some more. Maybe. Follow the stream and hope
for the best. Well, they would need water, wouldn't they? 

He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. That was when he heard it and sat up
straight to locate the sound. 

Singing. 

  

~~~@ 61 @~~~ 

  

Tess startled awake, half-convinced she was sitting on her bed under the
window in her apartment with the rain from outside blowing in. It had
happened before. Her gaze swept the dim, wet cave interior and she sighed,
arms wrapped around her knees. Her forehead was sore from lying on her
knees. Her back was stiff. How long did I sleep, she wondered? The light
outside was dim. Is the sun going down? Or is there another storm? 

Another day gone. How long before we starve to death? How long before it
no longer matters to him? She peered into the black hole at the end of the
cave. The faint flickering firelight from the alcove made little dancing
shadows against the opposite wall but didn't penetrate the main cave.
Dimly, she wondered how far in it actually went, then decided it didn't
matter. 

She pushed herself up, stretching her sore muscles and shivering at the
cold rush of wet air against her legs. Carefully, she picked her way along
the wet rock floor to the alcove. 

Ben had stopped thrashing and lay still. Her heart jumped. He was so pale.
Was he breathing? 

She fell to her knees beside him and put a hand on his bare chest. It was
clammy, covered with a light sheen of sweat. He was shivering almost
imperceptibly. 

And definitely breathing. 

She exhaled loudly and ran a hand through her damp and dirty hair. His
forehead was warm not hot. An improvement. 

"The fever's broken," Robert said with a smile. 

Maybe his fever has broken, she thought with a tired smile. 

She retrieved his dry sweater and jeans and dressed him, then wiped his
face clean. She ducked outside the front of the cave and returned with
more snow, using it to clean his wounds and rebandage his hand. The
bandage was filthy so she tore strip of liner from the inside of his wool
coat. It wasn't thick, but it was the cleanest cloth she had. 

No sign of infection, she thought with relief and sat back against the
wall to resume her serenade.  

  

~~~@ 62 @~~~ 

  

Every step the horse took jerked Ray's stomach a little closer to losing
his breakfast. Why did they have to take horses? Why couldn't they drive? 

He looked around with bleary eyes at the trees and the swaying backs or
the people ahead of him. 

"Hey! When are we gonna stop?" he shouted, "my backside's killing me!" And
a few other unmentionable places. 

"Quit your whining, Ray. I'm not having a problem," Franny replied over
her shoulder, smiling a little at the thought of the weekend riding
lessons she'd been taking since the day she found out Fraser rode horses.
Sibling rivalry always got the blood flowing, yes sir, almost as good as a
cappuccino. 

One of the horses pulled out of the line and waited for him to catch up. 

"Is there a problem, Detective?" Inspector Thatcher regarded him through
half-closed impatient brown eyes, with a look that reminded him of his
grade school teachers. 

"Yeah. If God had meant us to ride horses he wouldn't have invented Buick
Rivieras." 

Her gaze swept over him as though he was a bug who just made a mess of her
windshield. "I realize you're unaccustomed to horseback riding and I won't
reiterate the hazards of riding. You didn't listen the first time. Let me
assure you we are almost upon the rendezvous site." 

"Great for another day of stumbling through the snow and sharp branches." 

"You didn't have to come." 

He stared at her for a long moment. His shoulders deflated and he studied
the reins in his hand. When he spoke again his voice was soft, with a note
of helplessness and fear. "He's my best friend. We should've found him by
now." 

Thatcher frowned. The man was actually exposing his raw emotions to her
scrutiny. The bravado fell away and left a man who loved and missed his
best friend very much. A small wave of envy passed over her. I wonder what
it's like to have a best friend you can count on, she thought, who cares
so much? She found she couldn't look at the pain in his eyes and dropped
her gaze to her horse's mane. 

"We will succeed, you know," she said softly, so that only he could hear.
"Constable Fraser...Ben...is a very strong and resourceful man. He will be
waiting for us...at the house or at the hotel." 

He raised his eyes and met hers. For a moment they shared a small smile.
Ben might very well escape, find their hotel and be waiting in the café
when they returned. It would be just like him. 

Ray nodded imperceptibly and they rejoined the group. 

  

~~~@ 63 @~~~ 

  

Tess finished the song and gently slid Ben to the ground. She smoothed his
hair and kissed his forehead tenderly, glad that his skin was cool beneath
her lips. He slept deeply, without dreams. She arranged his limp body
comfortably, sat back on her knees and sighed as her head throbbed from
lack of food. 

Suddenly, a hand slipped over her mouth from behind and jerked her roughly
to her feet. She swayed weakly. Her muffled scream echoed from the cave
walls. 

"What happened to your boyfriend, Sweetheart?" A harsh voice hissed in her
ear. He swung her away from the fire and the Mountie, then tossed her to
the ground. 

She tried to roll, to escape. He pounced on her easily, knocking the wind
out of her, then flipped her onto her back. 

He grabbed both of her hands in one of his and yanked them up over her
head. She yelped in pain. Slowly, he leaned over, smiling, and kissed her
full on the lips, licking them. She bit his lip. He jumped back with a
curse, one hand flying up to his bleeding lip. 

"Get off me!" she hissed. 

He slapped her hard. 

The sharp pain made her ears ring and her mind go fuzzy. 

"I'd take you right here," he growled, "but I'm too tired." His hand went
around her throat, smearing it with his blood. "So, you have to come with
me." He released her throat and dug through the pockets of his dirty coat.
A moment later he produced a syringe and vial. He filled the syringe
expertly with one hand and jabbed it into her neck. 

She choked, trying desperately to claw his face, as the cold taste of
metal filled her mouth and the world narrowed to a single point and
blinked out. 

  

~~~@ 64 @~~~ 

  

Ray slipped from the saddle, yelped as his ankle touched the ground and
hopped on his good foot. The horse regarded his with large brown eyes and
calmly sipped the icy stream water. He hobbled over to the stream, dropped
onto his stomach and drank in deep gulps. A moment later a piercing
headache from the cold ricocheted through his temples.	

It faded as quickly as it had begun and he splashed the frigid water over
his head. 

"Umm, yummy. Like stickin' your head inside a refrigerator." 

Meg Thatcher crouched beside him, one knee brushing the dark earth,
studying a map and then the woods across the stream. "We've almost
completed our sector. We still have to follow this stream east for two
kilometers, then we can head back to the rendezvous." 

"Oh, joy. I wonder how that Mountie's doin' with Franny?" Ray chuckled and
examined his reflection in the water. He looked terrible, with dark puffy
circles under his eyes. Ah, well, it was worth it. What were friends for? 


Something below his reflection caught his eye. He dipped a hand into the
icy water, retrieved it and sat up to look at it. 

It was a business card. He turned it over. 

"McGinty's Bar and Grill, 1401 Michigan Ave., Chicago, Illinois," he read
softly. 

He blinked twice. 

"You drop this?" He held it out for the Inspector. 

"No." She frowned at the card then turned back to the map. 

"I found it in the water. I bet it was Fraser's!" Ray smiled broadly,
leaping to his feet. 

"We don't know that for certain." She stood, stretched her back, folded
the map and tucked it into her pocket. 

"Yes, yes we do! Fraser and me had lunch at this place two weeks ago! He
must've snagged their card. He said the place had a strange atmosphere." 

Thatcher held out her hand, palm up. He slapped the card into it. She
examined it closely, manicured brows furrowed. 

"Well," she began slowly, returning the card, "our sector includes the
area upstream. Let me check in with the team coordinator and we'll go
investigate." 

Ray felt like whooping out loud and giving the Dragon Lady and giant wet
kiss. Ah, what the Hell, he thought and nearly laughed out loud at the
pure open terror in her wide chocolate eyes as he planted a warm
enthusiastic kiss on her slightly parted lips. He released her with a
devilish smile that made his cheeks hurt. The shock quickly fell from her
face, replaced by a scowl.  

He didn't even see the punch she threw that dropped him. 

  

~~~@ 65 @~~~ 

  

Doc nearly bounced with joy when Hoover smiled at him. He hardly watched
Danny and the others carry the limp forms of the captives back inside the
building. Property, that's all they were. Something to be sold for a hefty
profit that would get him his own practice someday. He smiled and dogged
Hoover's heels as he retreated to the house, relating the story of the
chase and capture to the leader's back. 

A short time later, after wolfing down a plate of hot food, he cradled a
second cup of hot cocoa in his hands and sifted through his medical bag.
He perched his cup on the table when he found the needle and vial that he
was looking for. 

Hoover reclined in a ratted overstuffed chair nearby, one leg slung over
the arm, eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the doctor's every move. 

"Drugs, Doc?" 

Doc shrugged. "Can't give them too much more of the anesthetic. People do
die from it, you know." He held the syringe up to the light, tapping it to
remove the air bubbles. "This is an anti-biotic. He has an infection,
that, apparently he's fought off pretty well. This should help him
recover. Y'know, it's funny..." He laughed and glanced at Hoover. "If I
didn't find him and give him this injection he may possibly have died.
Exposure, lack of food and water and an infection are a lousy hand to
play." 

"And her?" 

"Hunger, exposure, bumps and bruises. The cut on her wrist is infected.
Looks like it's sprained. Nothing a hot bath, good meal and few days in
bed wouldn't cure." 

"Good. We ship them out at nightfall." Hoover leaned back and rested his
head on the chair back, examining the ceiling. "After you patch them up
get a couple of hours sleep. We need you in case they get worse on the
trip." 

"I'm going with?" 

"Of course." 

  

~~~@ 66 @~~~ 

  

"Where'd he go?" 

"I don't see him." 

"Dief! Here boy! I have a donut for you!" 

Ray squinted across the stream. The wolf had vanished after crossing over
a fallen tree. "It's chocolate...with sprinkles!" Ray called, feeling his
face flush with annoyance. They were *this * close to finding Benny and
the wolf had to play nature boy. The underbrush was thick on the other
side of the stream, punctuated by snowdrifts. 

Dief barked off to their right, barely audible above the crashing of an
unseen waterfall. Both humans turned to look, but still couldn't see him. 


"We'll have to cross over." Thatcher eyed the tree suspiciously. "He may
have found something." 

Ray looked upstream and down. "Okay, where's the bridge?" 

"Right in front of you." 

Ray stared at the fallen tree as if it were green, slimy and walking his
way. "A rotten tree? It'll fall apart and we'll drown." 

Thatcher climbed up on the tree easily and scurried across, placing her
feet carefully on the wet wood. She hopped off, wiped her hands and
flashed him a radiant smile that made him forget momentarily that he
didn't like her. 

"There. Easy as a café latte on a Saturday morning. Just come across
slowly, the wood is a bit slippery." 

He stared at her for a long moment. "If she can do it," he whispered and
scaled the tree. He slipped and caught himself, scraping his calf.  

Slowly he inched across, feeling his smooth; expensive shoes slip a little
with each step. He swallowed and looked at his feet.  

And froze.  

Doubts assailed him like a flock of Hitchcock's birds. The water below him
that seemed so sweet and burbling from the shore transformed into a
Hellish roiling mass before his eyes. In every burble he heard laughter,
daring him to fall in and be washed away. 

"What are you waiting for?" 

He didn't answer. 

"It's much easier to cross if you don't look down." She cocked her head,
studying his expression. "Detective. Detective." She sighed. "VECCHIO!"
she shouted. 

His head snapped up and his green eyes found her. Anger emanated from
every line in her body, hands on hips, chin lifted, lips pulled into a
tight line and body rigid. 

"Look at me," she ordered. 

"I am." 

"I mean as you cross. Don't watch your feet, watch me." 

"You're crazy, lady! How will I know where to step if I don't watch?" 

"It's basically flat. Slide your feet along." She stretched her back and
shifted her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. "However, I can
understand if you want to sit there and wait for me. I'm perfectly capable
of continuing alone...if you're scared." 

Ray's entire body twitched. Without a thought he strode across the fallen
tree, green eyes locked on her insolent brown ones. "I ain't scared of a
stupid log, lady! It'll be a cold day in" 

His foot slipped on the last step and he plunged off the log, tumbling in
the air. 

Meg gasped. Too late, she realized he was falling directly toward her. She
tried to side step him, but he landed on her squarely, knocking her flat
on her back in the snow. 

After a moment Ray coughed, pushed himself up on his elbows and stared
down into her pale face. They held each other's gaze for a long moment,
then she wheezed as air rushed back into her lungs. 

"See! See what lack of technology gets ya?" 

"Get off me," she said softly. 

He shook himself and realized he still lay on top of her, their bodies
molded together intimately. His body's powerful instantaneous reaction
alarmed him. He threw himself backward and sat on the bank beside her
trying to slow his breathing. 

"I coulda been killed, drowned or something," he said quickly. He didn't
meet her eyes, waiting for the effects of having a female in such close
proximity to die down. 

She sat up fast enough to give herself a head rush and made a loud
exasperated noise. "You weren't even close to drowning." 

Farther down the bank, Dief barked and whined impatiently. 

Ray stood and held out his hand. She took it and allowed him to pull her
to her feet. They wove through the underbrush toward the sound of the
wolf's barking, avoiding each others eyes. 

Rounding a small bend and thick copse of birch trees, Thatcher stopped so
suddenly that Ray bumped into her. He followed her open-mouthed stare, and
joined her in gaping. 

They stared, awestruck as the afternoon sun transformed the twin
waterfalls into cascading diamonds, framed by glittering, translucent
clouds of spray. Ray inhaled deeply and shivered as the spray caressed his
face and dampened his clothing. 

"Wow," he whispered, "is that what clean air smells like?" 

Meg nodded, silent as the mist wreathed around them, until the white wolf
materialized from behind the sparkling falls like an angel floating
through the clouds. 

Ray's eyes widened. "What is this, a mirage? Where'd he come from?" 

"There must be a cave behind the falls. Come on." 

They jogged over, maneuvered behind the falling water and joined Dief in
the cave.  

Thatcher knelt and examined the wet floor, then turned her flashlight
toward the dark depths and stood to investigate. 

"Whoa! Who woulda thought? This is like somethin' outta a movie. I never" 

"Detective." 

He turned and followed her echoing voice, joining her in the circle of
light. 

"Look, the remains of a fire." She knelt beside it and extended a hand,
palm facing down over the firepit. "It's still hot. They haven't been gone
long." 

Ray smiled broadly. "It was them? But, how do you know it wasn't the booby
trapper?" 

Meg frowned. "I don't for certain. Perhaps, there are other clues." 

After a short time searching the cave and alcove, Ray held up a strip of
dirty white cloth. She took it and held it in front of the flashlight. 

"It's just a muddy cloth. It doesn't prove anything," Ray told her with a
shrug. 

"It isn't mud, Detective. I believe it's blood." She stood quickly and
swept the beam of the flashlight around the alcove. "Look, footprints." 

"They aren't from my shoes. Look! Go back. There. Drag marks." Their eyes
met. "Okay, so let's say it's them. Benny wouldn't have to drag Tess, he
could carry her." 

"Unless he was hurt." She waved the bloody cloth. 

Ray frowned. "And Tess couldn't drag him, he's too big. And why would
Benny leave a fire with a nice stack of wood like that, especially if he
was hurt?" 

She put the cloth into the pocket of her blue wool jacket and met his eyes
uneasily. 

"They were recaptured," she stated and started for the mouth of the cave. 

Her cell phone shrilled, making them both jump. She stopped short of the
mouth of the cave and answered it, covering one ear with her hand. 

Ray saw her nod, but her shouted reply into the phone was lost in the
symphony of cascading water. He peered around the darkened cave with a
vague feeling of hopelessness. What if Benny was bleeding and had made a
run for it? He knew his friend was an expert at wilderness survival, but
some things were insurmountable. The knot of fear that had made its home
in the pit of his stomach when he discovered Benny's bloody hat threatened
to explode and overwhelm him. He made himself concentrate on the woman, on
Meg. Half of her body was softly illuminated by the flickering of light
through the water, the other half invisible in the darkness. He watched
the tiny breeze and spray lift the ends of her shoulder-length dark hair
and swirl it, twinkling about her as she spoke. 

Abruptly, she snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into her pocket. She
stared at the falling water briefly, the expression on her face
unreadable. When she turned she wore the emotionless Dragon Lady façade. 

"Well?" he prompted. 

She motioned him outside to the relative silence away from the falls. 

"They found the house. We'd better hurry. Night falls early in the
mountains." 

  

~~~@ 67 @~~~ 

  

Fraser yawned and awoke to darkness. He felt terrible. His entire body
ached and he had the fuzzy disembodied sensation that accompanied waking
from a nightmare. He took a long breath of stale, cold air and identified
the scent of old sweat, blood and faint perfume. 

Vague, disjointed images whirled through his throbbing head. He tried to
put them aside and think of the present, to determine what was real. 

He was wedged up against something soft and warm. Tess, he decided. He
tried to sit up and bumped his head on a soft, low ceiling. With a groan
he lay back, partially on top of Tess. 

"Not again." 

Ignoring the ringing in his ears, he listened intently. There were no road
noises. Confusion spun through his foggy brain, making his temples pound.
The only sound was Tess' deep rhythmic breathing beside him. 

Realization stuck him with a shock. They were in a coffin. 

The lining was smooth and very soft. The air holes at his feet let in an
icy breeze. He shoved against the lid. It didn't budge. After a short
while he gave up, sweating and panting from the exertion. 

How did he get so weak? When were they recaptured? The memory loss was
disturbing. It was a lapse in control that only happened to other people.
He didn't like the personal weakness it represented. He recalled his
mother cradling him and seeing Meg, very vividly. He blushed at the
snippets of memory. Surely, that wasn't real. But which images could he
trust? He shook his head slightly, determined to figure it all out later. 

He elbowed Tess. It was too cramped to reach her face with his hand. 

"Tess," he hissed. "Tess? Tess?" 

Her breathing didn't change. She was so deeply asleep he presumed she had
been drugged again. 

With a bone-weary sigh he let his entire body go limp. He breathed slowly
and deeply, using self-hypnosis to diminish the pain, take a physical
inventory and center his mind. When his mind was still and the pain
non-intrusive, he began to formulate a plan of escape. 

  

~~~@ 68 @~~~ 

  

Ray and Franny crouched behind the tiny group of Mounties who encircled
the Inspector like a football huddle. 

"Report," Thatcher whispered. 

Sergeant Conner kept his voice low, "Sergeant McAn and Constable Zorria
have the perimeter secured, sir. The criminals can move unimpeded per your
orders." 

"Good work, Sergeant." She poked her head over the bushes. "We will
coordinate using narrow beam flashlight signals in Morse Code. Messages
will be passed along the perimeter, not across it, to prevent interception
by the enemy. Determine what they are doing and we will curtail their
plans. Bring me reconnaissance reports on the quarter hour. And get a look
inside that house, unobtrusively, of course. You two" She motioned to the
remaining two Mounties. "Take up positions fifty feet apart in the trees
between here and the barn. Apprehend, unobtrusively." 

The Sergeant nodded once, crisply and dashed silently into the darkness
with the other two on his heels. 

The roar of a plane engine startled them all. Ray ducked farther down
behind bushes and Mounties and pulled Franny with him. They all looked
skyward. The running lights of a small plane were visible, circling. The
plane gracefully dropped to the water and taxied up to the dock. 

"Great," he muttered, "they're gonna make a break for it and I don't have
a gun." 

"So throw a rock," Franny said, hefting a baseball-sized rock. 

  

Thatcher held up her hand to hold back a surge of Mounties that would
overrun the house. 

Five men exited the house, talking casually, and crossed to the barn. They
came out a moment later, four men carrying a coffin, one trailing behind
smoking a cigarette. 

'Take the house from the far side,' Thatcher ordered via Morse Code light
flashes.  

The men crossed to the plane tied to a dock on the lake. 

Suddenly, shouts erupted from the house, followed closely by gunshots. The
men dropped the coffin on the shoreline and scattered.	

"Take them!" Thatcher stood up and shouted. 

A wave of Mounties flowed smoothly from the darkened trees, quickly
surging around the house and capturing two of the men immediately. They
were thrown to the ground, handcuffed and trussed like roped calves to
prevent their escape as the Mounties continued on. 

Bullets whizzed past Ray and Franny's heads. Franny squealed and pressed
her stomach to the ground. Ray gritted his teeth and, spotting Thatcher,
hissed into his sister's ear, "Stay here. Stay down." 

She nodded, too terrified to move. 

Ray crawled closer to Thatcher. "Give me a gun! I can help!"  

She gave him an annoyed look. "You have no authority! We'll handle this." 

Ray started to argue when a shower of bullets struck the plane. It
exploded in a huge fireball, the shock wave knocked some of the men flat.
Ray was thrown onto the Inspector. She shoved him off. They watched in
shock and horror, time slowing down for them, as the debris flew up in a
macabre imitation of a fireworks display. Shrapnel plunked against the
coffin and shot over it, striking Doc and several Mounties. Throwing their
arms over their heads they broke cover as metal and flaming material
rained down on the trees around them. 

The chaos gave Hoover the distraction he needed to make a break for the
woods. He ran in a half-crouch away from the house. 

Franny watched with open-mouthed horror. Unlike the others, her gaze was
locked on the coffin. It disappeared from view momentarily as the fireball
engulfed it and swept upward, leaving it unscathed. Then came the shower
of metal and things she couldn't identify. What if Fraser's in the coffin,
she thought, is he Swiss cheese now? 

Hoover grinned as he neared the trees. A petite young woman watched the
fire, oblivious to his approach. Perfect, he thought, a hostage. 

Franny looked around desperately for someone to send over there. Thatcher
and Ray were near the barn where Mounties were exchanging gunfire with
someone. She didn't see Hoover until he slipped an arm around her waist
from behind and hissed in her ear, "Don't scream, Girlie. You're coming
with me." 

"Yeah, right!" she muttered. Without thinking, she flung her arm backward,
over her shoulder. The rock in her hand hit him in the face with a
resounding 'SMACK'! Struck between the eyes, he dropped like falling rain.
"Get lost, dishwad!" she said with a glance over her shoulder. He was
hidden by the bushes. "Girlie, my foot." 

Fighting down the sudden urge to panic and cry, she bolted from the bushes
and ran zigzag to the coffin, still gripping her rock. Small pieces of
burning wreckage surrounded it. Holding her breath she fell to her knees
beside it. 

Distantly, she saw Ray drag Hoover from the bushes. 

"Fraser? Oh, Fraser, please be okay, please, please, please," she begged
and yanked on the lid. It didn't budge. She tried again. Nothing. She bent
closer. Of course. It was locked. 

"Damn, damn! Think, think, Franny!" She ran her fingers through her bangs
as she concentrated. Then the rock she dropped when she fell to her knees
caught her eye. She snatched it up and began to pound the built in lock
with the thoughtlessness of a crazed woman. By the time the cold breeze
dried the sweat on the back of her neck the cheap lock cracked. 

"Yes!" she cried jubilantly. 

The sounds of gunfire ended abruptly and a triumphant whoop echoed from
the barn. 

Franny threw open the lid. 

A groggy Fraser blinked up at her, his sea blue eyes dancing with the
flickering fire behind her. 

"Franny?" he whispered. 

Suddenly, she was crying, trying to crawl into the coffin with him and
trying to pull him out into her arms simultaneously. He pushed himself off
of Tess and allowed himself to be caught up in a bear hug, with kisses
rained across his face. 

He returned the hug with all the strength he had left, and fell out of the
coffin to land on his knees. They sat there, embracing, for a long moment,
until he noticed the slowly sinking wreckage behind her. 

"Is that what that noise was?" 

She started to laugh, wiping at her tears and released him. "I thought you
were dead," she whispered. 

He gave her a tired, but radiant lop-sided smile. "Not quite." 

  

~~~@ 69 @~~~ 

  

Inspector Thatcher supervised the loading of the prisoners onto horses.
All had their hands cuffed behind their backs and a Mountie riding with
them. 

She strolled over to Fraser and Tess, bundled in blankets. Fraser looked
up at her approach and tried to stand. She stopped him with an upraised
hand. He fell back with a look of relief. 

He still couldn't believe how he felt when he first saw Meg again,
standing in the shadows, quietly observing Franny's welcome, peace to the
other woman's exuberance. The burning plane sent warm orange flickers to
caress Meg's face and bring out emotions in her eyes that he couldn't be
quite certain were there. She was beautiful. He found himself unable to
breathe. The realization that she had come all this way to save him made
his throat clench. Maybe she did care afterall. He sighed inwardly and
shook himself back to the present. 

She met his eyes expectantly. 

"Um...I'm sorry, sir?" 

"I asked if you felt any better, Constable," she repeated gently. 

He shrugged. "Exhausted. Weak...starving, dirty, sore. I can't really
think at the moment, sir," he said, while thinking, particularly with the
way the firelight sparkles from your hair. 

Meg frowned, studying his face, wondering if he really felt as bad as he
looked and was afraid to tell her. He really needed to stop trying to
appear perfect. But, then, who was she to begrudge someone that? Briefly,
she wished she could take him back to her apartment and nurse him to
health herself. She could almost feel his body pressed against hers in the
night, see his soft, grateful smile. 

She cleared her throat. 

"And Miss Parish? When will she awaken?" 

"Unknown, sir. She was apparently given a tranquilizer while I was
unconscious. She appears to be suffering from a few minor wounds, the cuts
on her wrists being the worst, and exposure. She should be fine to travel,
though I'm sure she'll feel she's been dragged over Hell's half acre when
she wakes." 

"Right. We should go then. The quicker we're off the quicker you get to
Hospital." 

Franny and the Inspector helped him to a horse. Ray carried Tess to
Sergeant Conner's horse, while Fraser settled into position behind Meg. He
rested his head gently on her back as they all rode off, letting the wild
scent of her sink in. It reminded him of home. 

After a few minutes, Meg let the others pull ahead. "Fraser," she said
softly. 

"Yes, sir?" he said, sensing a change in her, a reluctance. She wanted to
say something but battled herself over it. 

"I...well" She turned in the saddle and looked up into his eyes, mostly
hidden in the darkness.  

  

He licked his lip nervously in the way that made her heart fall to her
knees and waited. 

She watched his action and forgot what she was going to say. Impulse took
over. She leaned forward and kissed him passionately under cover of
darkness. He returned the kiss with equal fervor, wondering briefly if he
were still trapped in a fever dream. Her skin was warm against his for a
long moment. 

Then she pulled away. 

Swallowing hard, she met his eyes. They stared for a few silent moments.
Then she nodded sharply, turned and spurred the horse to catch up with the
others. 

"Fraser," she said. 

"Yes?"	

"That didn't officially happen, understood?" 

"Understood...sir." 

  

~~~@ 70 @~~~ 

  

EPILOGE 

  

 Fraser followed Ray into the little coffee shop. 

"So, this is it?" Ray asked over his shoulder, examining a potted tree
near the door. "This is what she said she dreamed of?" 

"Yes, it's quite nice, isn't it?"  

"Sure, but I coulda thought of more fun things to do while trapped in a
little box under a van." 

Fraser frowned and cocked his head.  

"Never mind," Ray muttered. 

Fraser shrugged. "Ray, I rather like the use of lavender and roses
throughout the décor. It makes a welcome change from the urban austerity."


Ray glanced at his partner as they wove through the crowd of people to the
counter. "Yeah, whatever. I'm just glad she serves a healthy espresso. I
can do with a nice big cup of Turkish grind right about now." 

They took seats at the counter. Fraser flipped through the small menu of
coffees, deserts and sandwiches. "Ray, you have been rather jumpy since
our return from the Yukon. Perhaps, Turkish blend isn't the best thing." 

"Jumpy? What's that supposed to mean? I haven't been jumpy!" 

"I was simply referring to" 

"Hey, no referring, no Inuit stories, no defining every word I say! Not
today! Got that?" 

The Mountie frowned and set his Stetson on the counter, running his finger
along the brim thoughtfully, then he nodded. 

  

"Perhaps, you should try the decaf." 

"Look" 

"Well, look what the stage brought in. You boys look in need of some
serious Joe. You want leaded or unleaded?" Tess drawled with a wide smile.
She patted Ray on the hand. "Darlin', you look like you need the
unleaded." 

"Extra, super leaded, thank you very much." 

She winked at Fraser as he gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of his
head. He cleared his throat. "You seem to be doing extremely well today,"
he said, "Are you happy?" 

Her smile broadened, causing deep dimples and a gentle flush crossed her
cheeks. "Oh, you don't know, son!" She took in the crowd. "I feel like
Cinderella. We get the lunch crowds from half the business district. It's
a dream come true." 

"Yeah, well, you got a great menu and a great location. You're only three
blocks from the station so you better stock up on donuts." 

Tess laughed. "At least I'll feel safe with cops here all the time. And
with Hoover and his psychos locked up." 

"I hear ya." 

"Did they find all of the women?" 

"Nope. Most. Not all." 

"They'll keep looking until they locate them all," Fraser said as he
looked around the room. "I was admiring your décor. Did you paint all of
those pictures?" 

"Oh, please, son. I've decided to showcase local artists. One a month." 

"Excellent idea," Fraser told her. 

"Thanks." Tess tapped the counter top. "I know you're in a hurry so I'll
go get your cappuccinos." 

"Extra foam!" Ray called after her. 

"She's going to do well," Fraser said with a smile. 

"Yeah, well she oughta drink an espresso, maybe she'd move a little
faster. I'm about to fall asleep over here." 

Fraser regarded his friend calmly. "She's only been gone twenty seconds,
Ray." 

"I don't care! I need energy to get through the thirty cases Welsh is
riding me about!" He stood up and sat down impatiently. 

"Ray," Fraser said with a small grin. "Perhaps, you should have gotten the
unleaded." 

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Finis 

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