Author's website: http://snowee.50megs.com

Disclaimer: Alliance owns the characters and such. I own the story idea (along with Janice's assistance.)

Author's Notes: Thanks to Janice for title and for the FicPic Challenge where this was born.

Story Notes:

Title: Inspector Francesca?
Author: Snowee
Rating: PG
Pairing: Fraser/Frannie
Genre: Gen
Category: Drama
Notes: Inspired by Ms Janice E. Vil and one of her cruel FicPic Challenge Bunnies. He had sharp teeth which is saying a lot because there've been other nibbles from other bunnies, but I was able to use powdered horn and take care of those ones. This time the powdered horn only made the bite flair up. <sigh>

Part 1
It was just after 6:30 pm when Fraser stepped through the door into Inspector Thatcher's office and frowned. She'd been there less than an hour before and had sworn she'd be there all night. Of course, he'd heard sounds outside the Consulate and had come to ask Inspector Thatcher if there was a problem, but when she didn't answer, he'd found her door locked. After a moment's deliberation, he'd used the emergency master key and opened it. Her lack of presence was shocking.

Her desk was an unusual mess and there were papers all over the floor. Furrowing his brow, Fraser entered further for inspection only to find an unmarked envelope set precariously at the edge of her mantelpiece. The Constable reached out to touch it, but something stopped him and he turned, going back to his own office and calling his partner for assistance.

Ray Kowalski arrived with little fanfare. Fraser had insisted the Detective remain quiet about his evening activity until they actually had something to worry about. Ray opened the box where he kept gloves, bags, and a print kit and set it on Turnbull's desk before going into the Inspector's office and beginning his search.

The results were disappointing as he found no prints or anything out of the ordinary except for the disarray.

Once the envelope which had originally caught Fraser's attention had been thoroughly checked, Ray used a gloved hand to open it carefully. Inside was a note. On plain paper using an everyday computer printer, Fraser read the words and froze.

Part 2
Fraser stood in the phone booth, his head lowered. After a moment, he heard Ray's voice come through the earpiece. "Sorry, Fraze. Frannie just called and said forensics didn't get anything off the note."

Fraser nodded slightly, just enough for his partner parked across the street to notice. He turned around and leaned against the side of the booth, continuing to wait. He reviewed the message in his mind, using his photographic memory to tell him if anything was unusual about it. A computer generated note on simple paper, all it had said was, "Phone booth - corner Vine crosses Gould - midnight. No one except you, Constable Fraser."

Immediately they'd sent an undercover crew to secure the area around the phone and the booth itself. Now Fraser wondered if it had been a good idea. He'd been waiting for over an hour and the phone had remained silent.

"Maybe he knows," Benton said quietly, knowing the sensitive system would deliver his message to Ray.

Just then, the phone began to ring and Fraser took a deep breath as he picked it up. He wondered if he should say 'Hello' or any other greeting, but the question was removed when an electronic voice immediately came through. "You're not alone. I said no one else, Constable." Then Fraser heard a click and the line went dead.

Standing there listening as the dead air turned to dial tone, Fraser couldn't move. Inspector Thatcher had obviously been kidnapped. Had he thrown away his only chance at retrieval?

"Shit," he heard breathed through the earpiece.

Part 3
Fraser turned to Ray as Ray started the engine and frowned. The rest of the team had dissipated and they were all to meet back at the station to go over damage control, but Ray had waited a moment for Fraser to get into his car. He knew the Mountie had taken the phone call hard as it had taken him several moment to collect himself. Ray waited patiently until Fraser had been ready.

"Sorry, Fraze, but don't worry. It'll be ok. They wouldn't have had you come out here for nothin'." Just then, Ray's phone began to ring. He glanced at Fraser and pulled it out. "Vecchio," he said quickly.

"Detective Vecchio," came the distinctive electronic voice. "I half expected to see you there, but it was the other officers I couldn't tolerate. I want you and Constable Fraser to go alone to the billiard hall at the end of Vine. You will take Vine the entire way and you will not make any phone calls. You will disconnect your wires and leave all equipment before you go inside. You will be alone and you will wait for further instructions. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Ray replied to the sound of the other end hanging up. He waited a second before hanging up his own phone. He threw the car into drive. "That was him. We're supposed to go to a pool hall down here. Better take off your wiring, there. I don't think we should take any chances."

Fraser nodded and took out his earpiece. "Are you going to call for backup?"

"He said not to. Without knowing how he knew we were here before, I don't think I should chance it."

"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said, in complete agreement, removing the rest of his equipment.

Ray stopped in front of Jake's Billiards and tucked his walkie talkie and other equipment under the front seat. "Got the voice recorded," he said quietly. "Maybe they can figure something out later."

Fraser nodded and got out of the car. Ray hopped out and jogged around beside Fraser. As the two entered the place, they looked around, but saw no one looking for them. "Did he say what to do when we got here?" Fraser asked.

Ray shook his head and headed for the bar. He sat on a stool and ordered a beer. "Look inconspicuous would be my guess," he said. "Make it two," he told the bartender.

"Thank you, no," Fraser said.

"You don't have to drink it," Ray said. "Just look like that's why we're here."

The two sat at the bar and stared at the beer bottles. They were beginning to question what they were doing when a man put his hand on Fraser's shoulder. Fraser turned and saw a tall man with very broad shoulders. "Come with me," he said and began to walk away.

Ray jumped from his stool and followed Fraser. The two were then escorted into a back room. Several more large men stood around and a smaller man sat back comfortably in a couch. "Check 'em," the man said and two large men approached Fraser and Ray, frisking them carefully. They nodded at the man and the man smiled. "Call me Jack," he said. "I'm supposed to give you two some information. I imagine you have a lot of questions and I'd rather skip it so here's the deal. I don't know who is holding this lady you're looking for. I don't know anything about this lady. Guy calls me up and says there's a hefty sum for delivering a message to a couple cops. Don't know the guy or how he knows me. All I know is we're supposed to make sure you're not wired, deliver the message and let you go. He says he'll handle the rest and frankly, I don't care if you get shot on the way out of here. I've been promised you won't have anything on me or my business so I figure what the hell? It's not standard procedure for me, but it's worth it."

Ray nodded. "Then what's the message?"

"He says the Mountie's got something he wants. If he gets it, the Mountie gets the girl."

"I'm not party to privileged information," Fraser informed the room.

"I don't care," Jack said. "That's what he said. Told me I'm here to get you to gather this information, whatever it is and he'll contact you about an exchange. He's mighty pissed that you didn't go to the phone booth alone so next time he promises a corpse if you bring in anyone else."

Ray swallowed. "What's to keep us from taking you in for questioning?"

The man shrugged. "Well, I suppose nothing, but it'd be a waste of your time. Covered everything I know."

Ray watched the man. It was obvious he was being truthful so he nodded. "What's the information?"

"Doesn't make any sense to me, but he said it would to the Mountie. Some kind of official from the Canadian government is in Chicago. He left the information with the Consulate for safe keeping. Said the Mountie knows what it is and where to find it. He'll contact you tomorrow to arrange an exchange."

Fraser furrowed his brow, but didn't let on what he was thinking. Instead he nodded. "If there's nothing more, we'll be leaving."

The man waved them away and Fraser walked briskly past the bar. Once he stopped at the car, he turned to Ray. Ray could see in the Mountie's eyes that there was a problem.

"What is it?"

"I don't have it."

"The info? He knows that. Let's go to the Consulate and get it." Ray opened his car door.

"It isn't there either." Fraser stepped around the car, then pulled Ray's arm and led him away.

"What are you doing?"

"Considering all that's happened, I'm not certain the car isn't bugged. Until we can get it checked out, we shouldn't discuss anything vital near it."

"Vital?" Ray said confused, then grunted. "If the car was bugged, they'd have known we took off the wires and wouldn't have made those guys check us."

"Unless he wants us to continue to trust that there isn't a bug."

"Or unless there really isn't. Come on, Fraze, get real."

"We don't know anything about the man who has Inspector Thatcher," he said with urgency. "And we don't have the information yet."

"What? You know what he's talking about?"

"Yes, and the man from the government was delayed in Canada. He won't be arriving until early morning." Fraser spoke quietly.

"Ok, so you meet with the guy in the morning, right? This guy says the napper's not calling until tomorrow. Maybe he's no early bird."

Fraser cleared his throat. "He'll be expecting to meet with the Inspector," Fraser explained. "If she isn't there, he'll know something's wrong. He'll certainly report it and that may put her life in danger."

"So what do we do? We can't try backup again."

"No," Fraser agreed and licked his lower lip. "We need to think of someplace safe to discuss this sort of thing."

"The Consulate?" Ray suggested, then shook his head. "Probably bugged. He didn't seem to mind that I came with you - or surprised. He knows us personally so my apartment's out too."

Fraser nodded. "You know the city better than I."

Ray snapped his fingers. "Wait, you think he'd bug the Vecchio's? I'm sure we could get some privacy there."

Fraser nodded. "We most likely would be to gain seclusion there. We wouldn't be able to tell them what's happening, though," he added as he started back toward the car.

"No we couldn't," Ray said, following. "Leave it to me," he said as he opened the car door. Leaning under the seat, he grabbed for the wires they'd worn earlier to put them on the seat. Suddenly he looked panicked and Fraser noticed it as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Is there a problem?"

"They're gone," Ray breathed. "They took off with the tapes." He grunted.

Part 4
"Thanks, Frannie," Ray said as she stood in the doorway to Ray's, that is, the real Ray Vecchio's bedroom.

"Don't know why you won't let me in on your little hurdle," she said. "It's not like I'm going to tell anybody.

"We know you wouldn't do such a thing, Francesca," Benton assured her, "but we need to remain secure nonetheless."

Francesca made a face and pulled the door closed.

"Well, what now?" Ray asked, hoping the Mountie had some answers.

"Check your car and the Consulate for espionage devices," Fraser stated rather obviously.

"Well, I know that. I mean about the deal with the guy though."

Fraser took in a deep breath. "We'll have to explain the situation to this man. He'll have to return Inspector Thatcher in order to get the information."

"He'll never agree."

"It seems unlikely," Fraser confirmed, clasping his hands together. He was very concerned. Thatcher was in danger and if they couldn't find a way to catch the person doing this, it could get worse.

"Well, let's say we figure out a way to get the information. We can't just hand it over to the guy," Ray argued.

Fraser nodded. "I considered that. I believe that we could attempt to duplicate the information. Assuming it's something classified, we'll simply put enough variances in it to make it appear normal, but to throw them off in a way that will allow us, or perhaps even the Canadian government to trap him."

"But we're on our own for that part."

"Correct," Fraser replied. "As Inspector Thatcher's first officer, I do have access to many of her resources, however."

"Yeah," Ray said in thought. "Yeah, we'll have to pull it off. Now we just got to get the information."

The two flipped their gazes to the door when they heard a knock. Francesca opened it slowly, leading the way in with a plate of sandwiches. "Ma made these when she heard you were coming over."

Ray took the plate. "Thanks," he said. "I'm starving." He grabbed one and shoved it in his mouth.

"You're such a pig," Francesca said, then turned to Fraser. "There's more to eat downstairs if you're hungry," she said, then smiled.

Fraser glanced at Ray. He hated when she looked at him that way. She had to think he was completely dense to her come-ons the way he always pretended not to understand them. He shook his head. He couldn't respond to them. It wouldn't be appropriate. He looked back to Francesca. "Thank you, kindly," he said.

Ray stood then and put his hand on her upper arm. He was about to push her when she growled. "Hey!"

"No, wait," Fraser said, jumping to his feet.

"What?" Ray mumbled over a mouth of food.

Fraser took her arm and pulled her into the room, then closed the door. He looked at her for several seconds.

As he stood there checking her out, Francesca smiled. What was he doing? It didn't matter, she liked it. She turned to him.

"Here's our answer." Fraser announced.

Ray looked confused. "What, Frannie?"

"Inspector Thatcher specifically commented that she'd never met Mr. Tibello, the man from the government. The most he could possible know is her approximate height, weight, hair colour, and eye colour."

"Frannie looks nothing like the Ice Queen," Ray said, getting a stern look from Fraser that made him immediately offer a quiet apology.

"What are you two talking about?" Francesca finally asked.

"Not every detail matches, but their differences are minor enough that he'll never know. Francesca, we need your help," Fraser informed her.

Part 5
"Oh God, I can't believe I'm doing this! Isn't this like illegal or sacrilegious or something?" Francesca asked, straightening the formal tunic of Inspector Thatcher's red serge.

"Well, yes, technically speaking, but this is an emergency. The Inspector's life may well depend upon how well you can impersonate her in the next few minutes."

"What if it doesn't work. Think he'll kill me?"

"That's highly unlikely, Francesca," Fraser offered, "though impersonation of a Canadian officer isn't going to keep you out of jail."

"Jail!?" Francesca snapped over the sound of the door opening.

Fraser smiled. "Hello, Mr. Tibello. I'm Constable Fraser and this is Inspector Thatcher," he said, motioning to Francesca who held out a hand to the man.

"Call me Jake, please. It will go much easier on me."

"In that case call me..." Francesca realized it had been the appropriate response, but she suddenly blanked on the Inspector's first name. It was simple. A Prime Minister, Fraser had told her. No, that was no help. She smiled, cleared her throat, and suddenly thought of the young adult book she'd remembered the night before. Are You There God? It's Me... "Call me Margaret," she said.

Fraser looked relieved and stood at attention as she passed behind the desk and sat down. Jake sat as well and placed a briefcase on her desk. He looked annoyed by Fraser's presence, staring at him intently.

It took Francesca a moment to pick up on the tension before turning back to Jake with the prepared answer. "Oh, excuse me. I've asked Constable Fraser to remain as witness to the transactions. He's my... my" Oh no! What was I supposed to say? "My right hand man so to speak." She glanced to Fraser for approval. When he nodded ever so slightly, she turned back to the man. "Just a precaution. Is that acceptable?"

Hesitantly the man nodded and slid the briefcase to her. She lifted it and found it heavy. Fraser had told her it was likely some papers, so she looked to him with concern. He stepped forward quickly and lifted the briefcase, setting it beside the safe for her.

"Thank you for entrusting this to us, Mr. Tibello... I mean, Jake," Fran corrected herself with a smile. "We'll take good care of it."

"Thank you, Margaret. As you know, it will be Mel Jackson who will be picking it up next week."

"Yes, I was briefed," she replied.

"Good. Then that takes care of everything. We'll see you at the ball."

Francesca's face went blank and she turned to Fraser. He furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry?"

"The ball. Tonight." Jake smiled and opened the door.

"Oh, yes, of course," she covered quickly. Francesca waited until the door was closed before slouching and throwing up her hands. "A ball? No one said anything about a ball!"

"I know," Fraser said. "The invitation must have been specifically for the Inspector."

"So I can just not go, right? Maybe say I got the flu? I mean, she got the flu?"

"Yes," he replied. "I'll send regrets on her behalf." Fraser moved the briefcase back to the desk.

Ray opened the door slowly and stepped inside. "I saw him leave. Everything go ok?"

Fraser nodded. "It went well. Francesca, you did very well."

"We're still waiting for the call right?" Ray asked.

Fraser affirmed with another nod. "He may choose to contact us some other way, but he'll expect us to be here."

"Right. Uh, you checked for bugs, right?" Ray asked as an afterthought.

"Of course," Fraser replied. "I went over the entire office and Consulate, but there were no signs of any espionage devices. I did that first thing this morning."

"Good," Ray said. "They checked my car. Found out he was listening to us the entire time."

That certainly didn't surprise Fraser. Tugging at his ear as he stared at the briefcase, he glanced at his watch. "Turnbull will be back from the errands I sent him on very soon."

"Oh," Francesca said. "I better get changed." She went to the closet and took out her own clothes. "Where should I go?"

Fraser went to the door and opened it. Francesca stood behind him, so close that she had to take a step back when he jumped back in the room and closed the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked immediately.

"Take off your clothes," Fraser snapped, without thinking.

"What!?" Ray and Francesca returned in unison.

"I'm sorry," Fraser replied wide eyed, a blush moving to his cheeks in realization. "I meant you'll have to change in here. Turnbull's already returned."

"Uh oh," Francesca breathed. "Then you guys have to get out of here."

A knock on the door caused them all to freeze staring at it. After a moment, Fraser moved to it and opened it just enough to see Turnbull standing there. Moving out into the hallway, he closed the door.

"May I help you, Turnbull?"

"I have the Inspector's laundry and the reports she insisted I pick up this morning." He paused. "Well, technically you made the request as I haven't seen the Inspector yet today."

Fraser held out his hand to take the reports from Turnbull. "Thank you kindly," he said.

"You know, it seemed very important. Perhaps I should hand deliver them to the Inspector myself."

"That won't be necessary," Fraser replied quickly. "Thank you," he restated, then rushed back in the room, closing the door on his fellow Constable. He let out a breath and looked at Francesca. Something about that red uniform distracted him for a moment. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke. "I can't imagine a reason for Ray and I to leave you in here alone."

"So I can change?" Francesca replied with furrowed brow.

"Turnbull wouldn't understand that."

"Oh," Ray replied. "And how are you planning to explain that all three of us are in here together?"

"Official business," Fraser responded, as though stating the obvious. "I'm the liaison officer. You two are my contacts." He ran a thumbnail along his brow. He walked to the wardrobe where Thatcher always kept a backup uniform and where they'd stored Francesca's clothes. He opened it and looked inside, examining it with new understanding.

Francesca watched him a moment, then realized his thought. "That's too small, Fraser," she said quickly.

"I see that," he replied with a sigh as he closed it. He walked across to the couch and picked up a blanket. "Use this."

"For what?" she asked, incredulous.

Ray took it. "I'll hold it up."

"If you think I'm changing behind a blanket, you're crazy."

Fraser frowned. "We have no other option."

Francesca put a hand on her hip and snagged the blanket from Ray. "If you think I'm going to let him hold it, you're insane." She held it out to Fraser. "You do it."

Fraser tugged at the collar of his tunic and stepped back. "I can't. I have to... to look at the information and how we can duplicate it."

Ray snatched the blanket back from Frannie and as she reached for it again, he grinned. "I promise not to look."

"I wouldn't trust you with a 10 foot pole."

Ray shook his head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means... it means I don't trust you," she replied.

Ray opened the blanket and held it up. "As soon as you come up with a better idea, I'll drop it."

Francesca grunted. She looked into the corner and the way Ray held the blanket. It was as safe as it would get. Changing as quickly and modestly as she could, she was in her clothes in no time.

Fraser stared at the briefcase before him. While technically it was wrong for him to even consider opening it, he knew he had to. He stood to close the curtains, then turned back to the desk and sat down. He stared at the case for several seconds before opening it. Inside he saw a laptop and let out a breath. A laptop? The information could be endless. Closing his eyes briefly, he thought of the Inspector. She'd want him to do this.

Booting up the machine, he wondered about the bigger question. Was he equipped? His knowledge of computers continually expanded, but then, so did the amount of knowledge needed to run one. Ray and Frannie were back at his side as he took a few disks from one of the Inspector's desk drawers and backed up the hard drive. After that, he began going over the information.

His fingers moved at lightning speed as Ray watched over his shoulder. Several minutes later, Fraser looked frustrated and shut it down.

"Did you do it?"

"I can't. There's too much and we haven't the time."

"Maybe we can bring in a hacker," Ray suggested.

"That's too risky," Fraser replied. "The information is classified." He let out a breath.

"Then we'll have to bluff," Ray stated.

The phone rang, then, and Fraser spun, their dilemma forgotten. He picked it up. "Inspector Thatcher's office."

"Inspector Thatcher has an invitation to a ball at the Embassy. You will bring the information." Fraser heard a click and silence before he could even enquire. He turned to Francesca and Ray with a pensive expression. "You're going to the ball."

"No way, nuh uh. I'm not going to a big party with a thousand people who know her."

"They want to do the exchange there and it's invitation only."

"So use her invitation and go by yourself. No one will know. I'm sure that's what he expects you to do," Ray said quickly.

"I'm certain he does, but by having our own Inspector present, we will be able to bluff."

Ray saw the plan hatching in Fraser's mind and grunted. "It's too dangerous," he said.

Fraser began going through the Inspector's desk. He straightened with a white envelope in his hand. "I'll check the guest list before sending her in there," he said as he opened it and removed the elegantly printed card. "And guest," he stated. "That will be me. She'll be in safe hands."

"Fraser, I can't! Are you crazy?"

Fraser frowned. "You'll need a gown for tonight. Do you have one?" he paused, but not long enough for her to answer. "Actually, we had better use petty cash to buy to be certain it's appropriate."

"What does that mean?" Francesca asked, not sure if she'd just been insulted.

"The Inspector has taste very different to yours, Francesca," Fraser replied simply. "We want to be certain the appearance is flawless." He looked at his watch, then, and let out a breath. "We don't have much time."

Part 6
Secure in the fact that the bulk of the guest list consisted of RCMP and Canadian officials, Fraser recognized only a few names he would need Francesca to avoid. When she'd arrived in the red gown he'd picked out earlier that day, he was surprised. He'd chosen the colour because it somehow screamed Inspector Thatcher in his mind, but he hadn't found it necessary to stay while Francesca tried it on. A few quick alterations and he knew the slip dress would complete the disuguise. Now, he looked at her in the form fitting gown and the way it conformed to her even better than he'd imagined, the way it accentuated her...

Stopping himself, he straightened. He needed to remain professional, he realized as he held out his elbow for her to take. Escorting her slowly inside, he immediately brushed his eyes over the room to see who was in attendance.

Having done a personal role call, he guided Francesca toward the food on the safe side of the room. They mingled extensively, all the while, Fraser mind sharp. He watched for people who know Thatcher and anything else that might prove useful.

Fraser heard his name and spun. Before him was an older man with Tibello. "Hello, sir," Benton said quickly.

"This is Brey Wilkins. Brey, this is Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser."

Mr. Wilkins held out a hand to Francesca and she placed hers in it delicately. When the man lifted it to place a gentle kiss, she smiled. Fraser cleared his throat.

"Brey is the one heading up the Consumer Committee," Tibello said.

Francesca smiled. Was she supposed to know what that meant?

"We admire the work you're doing," Fraser covered quickly. "I've seen the projections and believe the plan you've prepared will be beneficial for trading with both Canada and the United States."

Francesca tried not to look confused, adding a confident smile, but feeling her knees knock.

"Thank you, Constable," Wilkins said. "We're hoping everything goes according to plan. If so, we'll begin the work by the end of the year."

"Wonderful," Benton said as he noticed someone coming toward them who knew Thatcher. Trying to remain casual, Benton stiffened. "Will you excuse us?" he said, taking Francesca's arm delicately and spinning her away from the men.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Inspector Hamilton will undoubtedly want to speak with his colleague," he said quickly. "They met last year."

"Oh," she said quickly and followed him to another corner of the room.

Fraser looked up to the balcony and caught a glimpse of someone watching them. The man hid as soon as Fraser saw him, but Fraser had enough of a look to know he would be an important figure. When the man descended the staircase and crossed the room. Fraser knew he had to follow and began to pull away from Francesca, but she held tight.

"Where are you going?" she said, panic crossing her face.

"I have to follow this gentleman." He explained as the man passed them and disappeared into the kitchen. Francesca didn't loosen her grip. Instead she took two quick steps to move beside Fraser, then remained gracious on his arm.

"You can't leave me alone out there," she said as they entered the kitchen.

"Stay behind me," Fraser commanded. He noticed stairs going down and wondered if that's where the man had gone. He crossed the room, oblivious to the looks from the chefs. Quickly he moved down the stairs and began to look around. The basement held an elaborate wine cellar and storage from the last redecoration of the Embassy.

Glancing to see that Francesca was still behind him, he walked along the darkened hallway and stopped at the first door. He put his ear against it and felt Francesca's dress brush his leg.

"What do you hear?"

Fraser raised a hand to quiet her before carefully opening the door. When he saw nothing, he moved to the next door. "If they're planning to go through with the exchange, the person may very well have hidden Inspector Thatcher in here. It would be a good place."

"Oh," Francesca said quietly and watched as he opened the next door. Finding nothing behind any of the doors, he took Francesca's hand to take her back up the stairs. "Did we lose him?" she asked.

Fraser nodded. "I believe he may have taken the back exit, however."

Hearing a noise on the stairs, he backed away. Stopping beside a rack of wine, Francesca looked wide-eyed into his face. "What's wrong?"

"Someone's coming."

"We have to hide!" Francesca exclaimed desperately.

"It's too late," Fraser reasoned. "I think he's already seen us. He undoubtedly heard us down here."

"What are we going to do?" she said, cowering into the corner and gasping as, at the exact same instant, Fraser stepped close to her and pressed his lips to hers. Francesca let out a small sound, but when his arms wrapped around her in a convincing embrace, she felt herself go somewhat limp. Slowly she brought her arms over his shoulders and let her hands hang behind his neck.

He continued to kiss until he knew the man had a chance to see them, then he pulled back. Francesca was forced to grasp the shelf to keep her balance as she wiped her lips with the back of one hand. She couldn't speak or move as she stared at him and then to the back of her hand. Was that real? She'd hoped she could see evidence of it there, but couldn't Turning her eyes back on Fraser, she allowed him to cover for them.

Fraser held his hands behind his back, praying simultaneously that his lie would be believable, all the while regretting that he'd been forced to lie at all.

"Well, well," Wilkins said. "What have we here? A Constable and his superior?"

"We'd be grateful if you didn't say anything about this. I'm sure you must know how it would look to our superiors."

Wilkins chuckled. "No skin off my nose." He paused and looked around. "What made you come down here?"

Francesca swallowed and straightened. It suddenly penetrated her brain that she was supposed to be the superior officer here and Benton was a horrible liar. She moved in front of him and tried to look official. "It was far enough from the party that no one would stumble upon us," she said formally. "I see we weren't exactly successful." She paused as Wilkins looked over her appearance. She frowned a moment, then caught herself and stiffened.

"No," Wilkins replied with a chuckle. "Still, here of all places? There are plenty of comfortable rooms upstairs."

Francesca cleared her throat. "Perhaps you should get back to the party, Constable, while I handle this."

Fraser turned wide eyes on Francesca. Not only was it a daring move, it was foolish. "I don't think I should leave you here alone..." he began.

"It's an order," Francesca said firmly.

Fraser swallowed. It was important to keep up the appearance, certainly, but at the expense of risking Francesca's life? He wouldn't have it. He stood at attention. "With all due respect..."

"Constable Fraser," Francesca said as harshly as she could muster.

Fraser took a slow step forward, then looked at her. She nodded and he continued. He refused to be too far from the scene so he moved up the stairs, stopping at the top where they wouldn't be able to see him, but he could hear them.

"You see how word of this could be a problem," Francesca said. She noticed that Wilkins didn't seem to care. He folded his arms and she felt a sudden concern, but held her cover. "The truth is..." she began, then glanced at the stairs. She could see a slight shadow, but immediately turned back to Wilkins. "The truth is..." The truth is what, Francesca? You better think of something quick. This guy doesn't look like he's too interested in romance. Why did I send him away? I wanted it to look real, but I could really use someone to help me out now. "We were... we were looking for someone."

Fraser stiffened on the stairs. How could she say that? They had no idea who their enemies were. He wanted to run back down to her, but stopped when she spoke again.

"We sent the steward down here for wine nearly an hour ago," she said quickly. "We came looking for him, and things, well," she smiled playfully. "They just got out of hand. You understand."

Wilkins nodded. He appeared satisfied with the answer and she moved past him. "I suppose we should be getting back to the party now," she said.

"Wait," Wilkins said and Francesca spun to face him again. He waved to the shelves. "Maybe you want to get your own wine," he offered.

Francesca nodded slowly and stepped back toward the wine racks. She browsed for several moments. She knew she had to get something they would have needed to send someone else to get. She frowned, grabbed a bottle, and quickly tucked it against her as she rushed to the stairs, forgetting for a moment that she was supposed to be a dignified Inspector.

Stepping back into the kitchen, she set the bottle on the nearest table. "That was close," she said quickly. "He kept giving me this look like there was something more. You think he knows something?"

Fraser shook his head. "I doubt it," he replied and opened the back door. "Let's try out here."

Part 7
Her mind fuzzy, Thatcher worked her fingers carefully amongst the tight knots which held her hands behind her back. She felt a knot begin to loosen, her first success of the night. Tucking her pinkie back into the twisted rope, she stopped when the door opened and light finally entered the dark room.

"She's awake," the man said gently as he stepped into the room.

Another man entered then and moved close to her. She struggled as she had each time they'd inserted a needle, but it did no good. Her mind blurred back into oblivion.

"Get her in the van," the first man said. "They'll be making contact within the hour."

Part 8
Giving up on tracking the person who had been watching them, Fraser led Francesca back to the ball. He noted that most people were dancing and concluded it would be a good way to overhear conversation. "Let's dance," he instructed Francesca as he took her hand to the floor.

Francesca smiled to herself and snuggled close to him. Fraser hadn't expected that, but he said nothing as he looked at her face near his shoulder. "We've been here for nearly an hour and no one has attempted contact. Perhaps you and I should separate."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Francesca jumped in. "I mean, you can't leave me alone. I don't know what I'm doing."

"You've done wonderfully," Fraser insisted. "I'm thinking about sending you home. I'll remain alone. Perhaps they haven't contacted me because you are here."

"Yeah, but they know I'm not the real Inspector, right? So if someone calls you on it, you know they're in on it."

"Precisely why they may be avoiding us. I'll slip away and call Ray to take you home."

Francesca bit the inside of her lip and took a deep breath. Suddenly she thought of a way to keep the night in her charge. "Although, if someone is here who already knows I'm impersonating Inspector Thatcher, don't you think that my leaving would put us both in danger?"

Fraser looked into her eyes for a moment. "I'll ask Ray to stay with you," he said after a moment. "I can't imagine it would benefit them to hurt either of you right now."

Frowning, Francesca couldn't imagine another argument. "Let's not be too hasty," she said quietly, keeping him close.

Continuing their dance, Fraser moved gracefully around the floor. He wasn't sure he wanted this part to end. It was nice, comforting, and precious. For once, he wasn't alone. For once, someone wanted to hold him despite his stiff faade. Still, they had a job to do and Meg's life may, or may not, hang in the balance.

He took in a deep breath, then took the hand she'd been resting in his to guide her from the floor. He crossed the room and began to ascend the steps.

Francesca lifted her chin to see the landing above and spotted someone watching them. Quickening her steps, she hurried up the last stairs to be beside Fraser. "Benton, wait," she said quickly.

"I'm sure we can find a private line up here."

"No," she said and moved closer. "I saw someone watching us," she whispered.

Fraser turned and quickly browsed the floor. "It's all right, Francesca," he soothed. "No one is..."

"He was behind the pillar," she said, pointing across the landing.

Fraser furrowed his eyebrows. "When did you notice him?"

"Just a second ago. We were coming up the stairs."

"I didn't see him," he stated, reprimanding himself for not noticing.

Francesca watched the pillar for a moment, then shook her head. "It was only for a second. Maybe I was imagining things."

Reading Francesca's certainty and not wanting to take chances, he took her across the floor and stopped beside the wall which eventually went down a hallway. "Wait here," he said quickly, then moved gallantly toward the pillar to show her no one was there. He stepped behind it and came out on the other side.

"See?" he said, turning back to her. Seeing a man standing behind her, he strode toward her and held up a hand. "Francesca!" he exclaimed just as the man grabbed her arm.

Francesca spun and tried to pull away, but he held tight. Fraser was beside them in a moment, the man making no move to walk away.

"What an interesting tactic," the man said. "Introducing this thing as Thatcher. Very clever." He smiled and Fraser could make out the voice he'd heard through the device that manipulated his voice on the phone.

When the scum called her a thing, Francesca's first reaction was anger. Still, at that moment, she'd been looking into Fraser's eyes and saw a reflection of her own resentment at the remark. Something in that fact comforted her.

"You've still got Meg, you don't need her," Fraser said quickly. "A simple exchange, that's all we are planning, correct?"

The man nodded, let go, and shoved Francesca toward Fraser. Instinctively, he held his arms out and caught her. She stayed beside him, holding him. She hadn't realized that by wearing the clothes, walking the walk and talking the talk, she'd gained a certain understanding and strength from Meg Thatcher. Now her walls were shaken and the foundation of Francesca clung to someone who would keep her safe.

Part 9
"Thanks, Ray," Fraser said as the GTO stopped and he opened the door. He moved back and let Francesca inside, then leaned back in. "Where's the briefcase?"

"Back seat," Ray said, using his thumb to motion.

Fraser moved to the back and took out the briefcase. Giving Francesca a small smile, he then straightened and turned before she had a chance to ask why he'd smiled. Fraser listened to the car drive away as he walked back toward the Embassy.

Letting out a deep breath, he thought of Francesca. Her eyes pierced right through him now. She saw something he didn't want her to know. It wasn't just a fear that she'd learn he cared for her, it was fear that she'd learn he wasn't perfect. Francesca had him on a pedestal and at times, he rather liked it. It had nothing to do with pride or egotism. He liked it because it meant someone had faith in him. If she saw who he truly was or how he truly felt, he'd have to watch every step he took with much more care. If he didn't, even she would lose faith.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he neared the front doors and stayed beside the wall. He followed the specific instructions he'd been given and walked around the back of the building. Light reflected off numerous trees and made the shadows too dark to read. He glanced at his watch and looked back into the trees.

Part 10
Meg's mind reopened to reality before her eyes as she lay on the cold surface. Finally convincing the reflexes that controlled her eyelids to flutter open, she stared into the dim place. She'd been here before, inside the back of this van. She moved her stiff neck slowly and checked her bonds. Slowly she remembered what they'd been and how she'd attempted to free herself. Alone again, she had to try. Manipulating the pinkie between knots, she wriggled it slowly and loosened it. She heard voices and froze. This time she had warning and as the doors opened, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply to keep the effect realistic.

"She's still out. We need her up soon," came the voice which had been giving her the injections. "Should I...?"

"No," came another voice. "We'll wait. We've got plenty of time for that."

The door closed again and she breathed a sigh of relief before twisting her index finger around into a hook, grabbing a section of rope, and using her thumb to release the next bit of knot. She was certain she felt the bonds begin to loosen and tugged. Still, they held tight so she continued. She worked the knots for quite some time, patiently working and knowing that if frustration crept in, she'd get no where.

She had no warning this time when the doors swung open and they looked into her eyes. She froze for a moment and stared, but felt the rope that bound her begin to loosen. Tugging with her hands, but hiding the movement by her body, she felt them give way and, had there not been duct tape over her mouth, she would have smiled.

The first man put one knee in the van and leaned toward her. Moving as swiftly and quickly as she could, she used her hands for balance and threw her legs at the man, kicking him not only out of the van, but a few feet onto the concrete. In the same deft wave, she brought her hands from behind her back and balled them together, throwing them at the second man as she jumped from the back of the van.

Her knees buckled as she hit the pavement, but before she had the chance to straighten, someone grabbed her from behind. An arm around her neck in an instant, she was about to struggle when she felt the cold metal against her temple. Straining to see from the corner of her eye, she could see the end of the gun held by a man she hadn't seen before.

Thinking quickly, she brought her hands to his arm, but when she heard him cock the gun, she stopped before conducting a well trained flip.

"You're less useful to me dead, but not completely useless," he said, his voice gruff like a long time smoker. An instant later, the other two men were on their feet.

Instinctively, she took in a breath and smelled expensive cigars. She would remember that smell, his look, that voice. She dropped her arms to her side, but didn't give up completely. She examined where she was, the van parked on grass beside what must have been a small parking area as it was asphalt surrounded by concrete. Nearby was a grouping of dark trees and as she looked into the darkness, she could see some light. Squinting, she tried to recognize the red brick building under the light, but she couldn't make it out through the trees.

One of the men came behind and rebound her hands behind her, adding more rope at the upper arms. The man with the gun backed away as the other man took her arms. Then, the one that had been drugging her lifted her feet from the ground and the two put her back inside the van. The two men stood by the door while the older man with the gun lit a cigar.

"When's Moore supposed to get here?" the one who had drugged her asked.

The gunman glanced at his watch. "Any minute now. Patience, Hall. This is a deal that can't go sour." He turned to the other man. "Go to the landing strip and get the pilot ready. I'll head back to the party as soon as Moore gets here. He and Hall can keep an eye on the woman until I get back."

The other man nodded and disappeared around the side of the van. She heard a car start and drive away. She watched the other two men carefully. "What happens after the trade, Wilkins?" Hall asked.

The gunman shrugged. "You don't have to worry yourself about that yet," he replied. He turned to Meg and saw her watching. Looking suddenly irritated, he reached in and rolled her over.

It made very little difference, however. She'd seen what she needed to see and heard what she needed to hear. The fact was, they were pretty free with the use of names. That indicated one of two things. Either they were using code names or, worse, they didn't plan on her being able to tell anyone about it. With her hands facing the men, she could no longer work on the new knots so she just waited.

Part 11
Benton looked at his watch again, but barely registered the numbers. It didn't really matter what time it was. It was much later than when they said they would meet. His stomach was in knots, but his face was stoic. It never got easier to be the one responsible for the safety of someone he cared deeply for. Meg was strong, but obviously this one was up to him. He looked across the grass, through the trees, and around the corner anxiously. The man inside had been resistant to proving that Meg was all right, but had insisted that if he showed up with the briefcase in hand, he'd be given some proof.

Letting out a deep breath, he leaned against the wall in a very un-Mountielike fashion. Ray's instructions to drop off Francesca and return had been clear, but he hadn't returned yet either. He considered the possibility that this was the set up, but knew he was at their mercy as long as Inspector Thatcher's life was in their hands.

All at once, he heard a gunshot. Straightening, he stepped slowly toward the sound. Another shot rang out and he began to run toward it into the darkness lit vaguely by the moon. Passing through trees, Fraser saw a flash of light illuminate a silhouette and a van. One more shot filled the air for an instant and just after that the van pulled away.

Running as quickly as possible across the expansive field, Fraser knew he could never catch up. Coming upon a small parking area near a maintenance building, he saw two figures on the ground. His heart stopped and he slowed. Moving beside them, he recognized one as the man who had arranged their meeting. Setting down the briefcase, he moved closer. The two men had been shot, once each. Laying across the one he recognized was a red tunic. It only took him a moment to recognize it as one of Meg Thatcher's. Kneeling beside it, he saw something fall from its precarious resting place on the other man's arm. He reached for it slowly, recognizing the back of a Polaroid. Concerned about prints, he stopped himself, took out a handkerchief, and went back for the picture. Turning it over, he saw Margaret Thatcher bound and gagged in the back of a blue van. Her eyes had been widened at the camera and he could see the two bodies on the ground.

Standing quickly, he examined the picture. There had been one more shot after he'd taken it. Where had the bullet gone? Fearing the worst, he took the briefcase and ran in the same direction the van had driven. Once he got to the street that eventually passed the Embassy, he stopped to regain his breath. There was no sign which way it had gone and as he still clasped the Polaroid, he turned back toward the Embassy.

Part 12
Planning to call Ray as soon as he arrived, he stepped up to the doors and heard a honk. Spinning, he saw the GTO and quickly moved back toward it. He jumped into the passenger seat and let out a breath.

"Sorry, but Frannie kept talking and talking I couldn't..." he stopped when he saw Fraser's face. "What is it? What happened?"

Fraser held up the picture and let Ray see it. "She's all right, then," Ray said quickly.

"As of a few minutes ago, yes," Fraser said and explained what he'd seen and heard.

"Why the hell didn't he get the briefcase?" Ray asked. "Why the hell didn't he do the trade?"

"The one we've spoken with on the phone and the one who arranged the exchange with me is this man," he replied, pointing to one of the bodies in the picture.

Ray's eyes widened and he gasped. "Then who the hell is behind this?"

Fraser shook his head. "I don't know. It's bigger than us."

"Call the Feds?" Ray asked.

Fraser shook his head, then nodded, then looked to Ray with eyes of confusion. "If we do and she's not already dead, then this was a warning and they'll kill her. If we don't, then we have to figure out why he didn't go through with the exchange."

Ray nodded. "We'll hold off on that a little more, then," he replied. "If he wants what's in there, then he'll have to contact us again," he said, motioning to the case. "If he doesn't, then he's got no reason to hold on to Thatcher and this'd all be over, right?"

Fraser frowned. "There's one more possibility I haven't wanted to admit."

"Which is?"

"Thatcher is the one with the 'information' they're so anxious to get and this is some elaborate cover-up. The computer didn't seem much of a threat. All that is on there is a bunch of charts and reports about the Consumer Commission. That's all set to go underway next week and everything's been thoroughly checked and rechecked. Thatcher must know something they want, but perhaps this is a warning to her because she hasn't told them."

Ray ran the scenario through his mind. "If that's true, then how do we help her?" he asked.

"We find her." He replied as if it would be the most simple thing in the world.

Part 13
Confused, irritated, and nervous, Inspector Thatcher rolled around the back of the van as it sped, swerved, and turned corners so quickly she was thrown somewhat painfully against the sides. Still, through it all, she worked the knots and when she finally freed her hands, she felt relief.

The van slowed down and she grunted. She felt as though things were repeating; just as she began to gain a little leverage, it would be stripped away. Still, only one man was in the van and that man had shot two other men. The purpose of the picture, she was sure, was for Fraser's benefit. Obviously she was being held for ransom; now that the drugs had worn off, it only made sense. The third bullet shot into the air? She wondered about that, but could only assume it was a diversion. By letting a shot into the air after taking her picture, Fraser would be left to wonder if she was alive. It was a warning to keep him from doing something this man who held her wouldn't predict. Ripping wildly at the duct tape and then at the binds on her ankles, she felt excitement that she was free before she felt the van come to a complete stop.

She went to the doors of the van and grabbed the handle. It didn't budge and as she threw her weight against it, she let out a sound. It still didn't move so she held silent. He'd be opening them any moment now, she was sure. She waited and listened.

She heard a shot ring out that made her jump. Furrowing her brow, she waited. The clicking of dress shoes against asphalt neared. Poised and perched, she squatted at the very back, her hand on the latch. As metal moved against metal and the lock was turned, she whipped the handle and threw the door open, but even as he stumbled backward, Wilkins held the gun on her.

Stepping toward her, he grabbed her arm roughly and pushed her against the van. "Last time was a warning!" he exclaimed as he cocked the gun and pressed it to her skull.

Thatcher froze, her eyes wide. No point in hiding the fear now. All that was left was a hopeful negotiation before he pulled the trigger which, it was obvious to her, he was fully prepared to do. "What are you waiting for?" she said quickly, watching his expression as it changed slightly.

"Waiting for?" he said, holding the gun at the ready, but at least relaxing the finger on the trigger.

"Did you really do all this just to shoot me? That hardly seems like a good plan."

Wilkins chuckled. "It's the perfect plan. Now when I arrange the exchange for real, it will be on my terms. Nothing's mutual here. I'm in charge."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

Wilkins looked at her a moment, curling up the corner of his mouth. It gave her a moment to look past him. On the ground was a body. It took her a moment, but she quickly recognized it as the man who'd been sent to prepare the pilot and plane for departure. Now he'd done his job and was useless, Wilkins had disposed of him.

"Now, you know as well as I do that if I tell you, I'll have to kill you," Wilkins said, noting her view of the corpse behind him.

"You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?"

Wilkins nodded. "You figured that out quick, Inspector. I got your little buddies to keep this whole thing quiet and when the laptop comes up missing while you and your friends come up dead, they'll wonder who did it and you know something? They'll be wondering for the rest of their lives." Lowering the gun, he also let her go, but keeping the gun on her. Not removing his gaze for an instant, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Quickly, he pressed a button and held it up to his ear.

It was several seconds before he held the phone to Thatcher's mouth, the earpiece hanging below her chin so she couldn't hear from the other end. "Repeat after me," he said quietly. "There's an airstrip behind the abandoned battery warehouse east of the city."

Thatcher repeated the words and he continued. "If you want to see me alive, be here in thirty minutes." She swallowed and he put the gun to her chest so she repeated it.

Part 14
Ray hung up the phone and pushed it back inside his jacket. Turning to the hopeful eyes of his companion, he let a small smile escape. "You were right," Ray said, turning the car around a bend. "He's flying out from an old airstrip that only a precious few know about. Good thing I knew about it too, eh?"

Fraser nodded. "Is the Inspector...?"

"She's fine, for now. He let her give me the message." He paused for a moment. "I don't want to worry you, but she sounded scared." He glanced and saw that the concern was already on Fraser's face. "I mean, she never sounds scared even when she's been in danger before so the way I figure..."

"I know," Benton said quickly. "How close are we now?"

"Just another minute. He's not expecting us for half an hour."

Benton looked down at his hat. He was glad that the train of thought had proven correct, but quita honestly, it had been a stab in the dark. He knew the person doing all of this would need to get out of the country quickly after getting his information from either Meg or them. Either way, his best course of action was to fly. Of course, there were others, but Benton had to chose just one thing to pursue, his mind a mess. Flying out in this situation couldn't have been done from a public airport so they would need some other place. An old airstrip seemed plausible, but so did an abandoned strip of highway. Still, Ray had known of only one airstrip that was not only never used, it was behind a warehouse and not at all visible from any passing street.

As Ray turned onto the dirt road, Benton let out a breath of relief. Maybe a gut feeling wasn't the worst thing in the world to rely upon.

Part 15
Wilkins hung up the phone with the last of his contacts and tucked it into his tuxedo pants. "Everything's in line now," he said to Thatcher. "Got a couple men watching that little Civilian Aide your Constable has picked up and they still haven't contacted the authorities so I suppose we'll let her live."

Thatcher's eyes widened. Francesca? Was she in trouble now too? Thinking quickly over what she knew, she watched him for any more signs of his plan. He held the gun on her almost limply, but the manner showed he meant business and was only biding time.

"They could arrive early," he said as if in thought, then stiffened, grabbed her arm, and began to push her toward the plane with waiting pilot. He kept the gun in her back as he approached and waved at the man.

The man opened his door and Wilkins dropped his arm. "Start the engines," he began. "As soon as I've taken care of my problems here, I'll be back and we'll have to take off immediately."

The man shrugged, closed the door, and began to fiddle as Wilkins took Thatcher back behind the van. She heard the small plane start up and idle across the way. She heard a distinctive sound and looked past Wilkins shoulder just in time to see a familiar black car round the corner, kicking up dust. The plane engine drown out the sound of the car so she looked back at Wilkins, trying to avoid suspicion.

Wilkins glanced at his watch. "All right, it's about time," he said. "Get back in the van," he commanded.

Thatcher resisted, stalling, but he grabbed her arm and shoved her backward. She lost her balance and fell against the bumper as he shoved the gun into her arm and crowded her. She obeyed and climbed in.

Wilkins stood against the bumper and put the back of his hand against his face to protect himself from excessive splatter while bringing the gun up. Thatcher looked down the barrel and could see his finger wrap around the trigger, ready to squeeze as she braced herself.

When a shot rang out, she jumped a mile high, then began to check herself. Realizing only after a moment that she hadn't been shot, she looked out the back of the van to see Fraser holding out a hand and Ray tackling Wilkins on the ground.

Placing her hand in Fraser's, she sighed with relief. "You couldn't have sped a little faster?" she said, trying to relieve the tension she felt.

"Sorry. Goat doesn't like rocks," Ray replied as he cuffed Wilkins.

Thatcher stood quietly for a moment beside her Constable and took in a few deep breaths. All at once, her eyes widened. "Francesca," she said.

Fraser looked startled at Meg. "Pardon?"

"I think he had someone watching Francesca Vecchio," Thatcher said. "He said something about the Civilian Aide you picked up. I can only assume that meant..."

Ray pulled out his phone quickly and passed it to Fraser. "Better call backup," he said.

"No," Thatcher said quickly, grabbing the phone. "He said you hadn't called authorities. That's why he is letting her live, but if you call..."

Fraser tugged his ear. Concerned for Francesca's safety, he looked to Meg for more answers.

Ray lifted Wilkins to his feet and grunted. "Call Huey. He'll be at home now and get him to go over to Francesca's." he paused. "It's risky, but he's got his own car and if he doesn't go around flashing his badge, maybe they won't know."

"We don't know the specifics of Wilkins' connections," Benton observed, looking at the man he'd met earlier in the evening.

Wilkins turned away, obviously unwilling to talk.

"Then call Huey, Fraze," Ray repeated. "We know Huey wouldn't be in on it. Even if he's got guys on the inside. Mem 8," he said.

Fraser stared at the phone a moment before figuring out what Mem 8 meant. He pushed the two buttons and held the phone to his ear.

Part 16
"I'd like to talk about tonight," Francesca began, closing the front door and moving to the porch swing. She sat slowly on one end, glancing at the other, then at Fraser.

"You did wonderfully, Francesca," Benton said softly. "I only wish you hadn't been frightened. When that man grabbed you..."

"It's all right," she interrupted. She took a deep breath and patted the seat. "Have a seat," she suggested softly.

Fraser spoke as he slowly moved beside her and lowered himself. "I'm glad Huey got here when he did."

"So am I," she said quietly. "Did you find out what this was all about?"

Fraser nodded. "I called Tibello to tell him we arrested Wilkins and a couple of his men. He informed me that the laptop contained information that would have ruined Wilkins plans for the Consumer Commission. There was embezzlement present and had the trade gone through, it would have sent the US markets into a recession." He paused and stared at his hat in his hands. "Tibello didn't know who was embezzling and was rather surpirsed to learn it was Wilkins."

Francesca nodded and placed a hand on his knee. "You've saved the world again, Benton," she said quietly.

Fraser blushed and turned away. How could he live up to that? It was too much. "Francesca, I think we need to talk."

"That's why I asked you to stay, Benton," she said. "I just want to talk because, well, I'm confused. Benton, you confuse me constantly."

"Confuse?"

"And amaze," she added with a sideways chuckle. She turned back to look into his eyes. "It's that kiss. Ben, you've never kissed me before."

Fraser straightened and gasped slightly. "I had to."

"I know," she said, letting her knee relax just enough to touch his. "I know, but don't you think that..." She stopped herself. Suddenly the confidence fell to the fear of rejection and she was afraid to say the words. Still, she had to. She'd felt something, even if he didn't, but how could he not? He'd held her so gently, so close. Forcing herself, she spoke the words quickly. "I felt something more than just a cover because we got caught." She looked pleadingly into his eyes. *Don't lie to me,* she thought.

Fraser cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Francesca. I was acting," he explained, though he knew it wasn't true. Sure, he'd intended on acting, but once his lips met hers, he hadn't been able to deny the way he truly felt any longer.

"I don't believe that," Fran insisted immediately.

"Why not?"

"Because, frankly Benton? You're not that good an actor." She watched his cheeks become red and he struggled not to smile. There it was: all the confirmation she needed. Moving closer, she leaned her head so that her lips met up with his and rubbed her hand gently along his thigh.

Fraser reacted, closing his eyes and enjoying the moment, but quickly his mind reacted and he pulled away. "I'm sorry, Francesca," he said as he stood quickly.

Francesca jumped to her feet beside him. "Don't be sorry. Just stop hiding." She reached for his arm and he took her hand, stepping back.

"I'm not hiding," he said quickly, then gave her a look of painful honesty. "Not anymore."

"Then what?" she asked.

Fraser let their gaze remain locked for a moment, his eyes telling her how he truly felt before shaking his head. It was wonderful that she thought so highly of him. She'd seen him flounder now, had called him on his bluff. Did this mean she knew more about him than she let on? She wasn't disappointed in him? He smiled, then another thought occurred to him. "Ray would be very upset."

Francesca relaxed and rolled her eyes. "Ray," she growled under her breath. "Ray isn't here," she insisted.

"Of course, but that doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't it?" she asked softly, lowing her head as she looked up in a fashion she knew most men found charming.

"No," Fraser replied. "I know he would be disappointed."

Francesca gently rested her hand on his arm and he resisted the urge to pull away. "Benton," she began softly, looking at the sleeve. Carefully planning out the rest of the conversation in her mind, she tilted her head. "Don't you think Ray wants me to be happy?"

"Of course," Fraser replied predictably.

"You know, maybe he's a little overprotective, but it's only because he cares."

"Precisely."

"But you agree that all he really wants is to make me happy."

"Yes."

"Then why do you suppose he would want us to be apart?"

Fraser considered the question a moment before putting his finger under his chin. "I suppose he doesn't want to see you get hurt." He smiled slightly.

"But you're not going to hurt me, are you Fraser?"

"No," he said softly.

"You want Ray to be happy and what would make him happier than seeing me happy?" she said, then quickly tacked on her point. "So there's nothing stopping us."

Logic. How could he argue something he based every aspect of his life upon? Francesca was far more impressive than she let on, but he'd known that for a very long time. His mind worked quickly trying to find the loophole in her argument. Was there one? What reason was there to not pursue this now? She knew too much and he could never take that back. If he let her see his inner soul, would she still be able to love him?

Francesca felt the hat in Fraser's hand shift and looked down as it fell to the ground. Before she knew it, his hands were on her face lifting her gaze to meet his as his face neared hers. Immediately, she closed her eyes and smiled slightly as his mouth touched hers, his tongue tickling at her lips until she parted them and let his tongue inside the warmth of her mouth.

The End

End Inspector Francesca? by Snowee aka Laura Lee: alaskanrose515@hotmail.com

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