Disclaimer: Armando Langostini/Ray Vecchio, Benton Fraser et al are property of Alliance. Casey Sinclair is used with the gracious permission of Cassandra Hope. All other characters are mine and are copyrighted. No infringement of any copyrights is intended. This story is written for the private enjoyment of Due South fans and not for monetary profit. Lyrics to Funny How Love Is by Queen are used without permission. Permission to use this story for profit is not given.

Thanks and acknowledgments-M-A for the fast French lesson. April and Catherine for allowing me to combine their lives with my wardrobe and Indiana dialect to create Cass. Mary Brown for encouraging me to write and then write some more. Sandy, Dorothy, Scott, Madelyn, Albert, Kevin & Dave for lending their personalities to the background characters. To my dear husband, James who patiently allowed me to take over the computer for hours at a time and who inspired some of the NC-17 scenes (he loves being my 'research assistant') and for generally keeping the household running while I indulged in my obsession.

Most importantly, thanks to all of you who have stayed with me these past several months. Your words of encouragement have kept me going when I felt like there was just no point to it, anymore. I am truly blessed by your kindness.

He looked at the picture Cass had given him for Valentine's Day. In it the two of them sat together in front of her Christmas tree and he was wearing the sweater she'd knitted for him. She'd had it framed in a beautiful silver frame so he could keep it on his desk. They looked so happy in the picture. How could they have known that a mere two months later, their relationship would have altered so much?

It had started with him flying to Colorado. He'd been overtaken by paranoia, afraid that he didn't know who she was. Or who he was anymore for that matter. He'd pulled away from her, feeling like he needed to get his head together. And just after he'd returned and began to put things right with her, Victoria Metcalf had shown up.

The woman had been pure poison. He'd thought so back in Chicago and he knew it for sure now. Her act of revenge on him had had far reaching implications. He thanked God that Cass had gone to the kennel to check on the dogs, fearing that another rattlesnake had slithered in. She was correct. But this snake walked on two legs and carried a gun as well as a grudge.

The moon had been bright and nearly full that night, thankfully. Because of that limited illumination, Cass had seen them, had seen the gun pointed at Armando's back and the fear in his eyes. He'd seen her too and he still didn't know how he'd kept from calling her name. He'd wanted to shout to her to get out of danger. But the words never made it from his throat. All he'd heard was a shot, and then a second, and then a third.

His memory of the next few seconds was fuzzy. He remembered dropping to the ground, being taken down by Victoria's falling body. It had taken him several long seconds to realize that he hadn't been shot. And when he looked up again he had seen Cass, standing over him, her thirty-eight caliber handgun still in her now shaking right hand.

"Mr. Langostini."

Armando looked up, startled. His reflections broken by the voice. He blinked rapidly bringing himself back to the present.

"Yes?" he asked looking up into the face of Dr. Martin Sen, consulting psychologist for the Las Vegas AIDS Resource Center.

"I asked how you felt things were going for you and Cass since the shooting."

"Would I be here talking to you if things were going okay?"

Martin smiled. He'd been expecting a similar response. "No. Not likely. Look, I appreciate the fact that you were willing to come in and talk with me about Cass. I realize your business dealings keep you very busy."

"Yeah, well, I love Cass and I'd do anything to help her through this crisis. I wish I could get it through her head that she didn't do anything wrong. Victoria Metcalf or Ronnie Mitchell or what ever the hell name she was using, was evil. She robbed a bank and double crossed her partners. Then she went to Chicago where she killed one of the guys and tried to implicate two innocent people."

"And I take it Cass has heard this story?"

"From me, from the FBI, from the Las Vegas police. But all she can see is that she murdered someone. That the 'dark energies' as she calls them, that surround my life have followed me into hers and caused her commit this act."

"She's told you that?"

"Not exactly. But her actions say it all."

Armando shifted in his chair and started a new train of thought.

"Did she ever tell you how we met? How I took her home with me from the Masquerade Ball and made sweet love with her that night? How I was totally entranced by her in a way I didn't think was possible any more? And how she dumped me the next morning?"

Martin knew the story well. "Yes, she has."

"Well, it looks like she was right. All the negativity I've put out into the world has come back threefold."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Absolutely lousy."

Armando thought about Cass. He knew that at least on a subconscious level she blamed him. He also knew that if he simply told her the truth about who Victoria was and why she wanted to kill him, Cass would understand. In fact, she might just turn cartwheels to know the woman who had nearly destroyed Fraser was dead. He sighed knowing that he couldn't share that piece of information.

Martin asked Armando why he'd brought the picture with him.

"I take it with me everywhere," he replied. "It's a reminder of happier times."

"How so?"

"You know, I haven't had the best of luck with women. I always seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And because of it, one dumped me. One was killed and another was abducted and raped. I was really starting to feel that Cass and I had beaten the odds; like maybe all the black marks against my karma had been wiped clean and I was being given a fresh start.

"And then the biggest black mark of all shows up. Well I can't say Cass didn't warn me. She said all my negativity would return to me three fold. I just didn't expect it to all be wrapped up in one Victoria Metcalf."

"Mr. Langostini..."

"Please, call me Armando."

"All right, Armando, I'm hearing a lot of anger in your voice."

"Well, think about it, doc. It was two weeks ago today that Cass shot that woman and saved my life. It was a week ago yesterday that the prosecuting attorney's office let us know that they had closed the investigation and had absolved us of any wrong doing. It takes them a week to figure out that we were telling the truth all along and that Victoria Metcalf deserved to die. Now during that first week, Cass would only speak to me if our attorneys were present. And since then she hasn't spoken a single word to me. I've left dozens of messages on her voice mail system. I've flooded her in-box with electronic mail. Hell, I even went over there Wednesday for our usual day together and she shut the door in my face."

"So who are you angry with?"

Armando thought about that for a few minutes. "Well, there's Victoria, obviously. She's the one who started this whole mess."

"Obviously."

"And I suppose I'm mad at myself."

"How come?"

'Because I didn't shoot the bitch back in Chicago,' he thought to himself. 'Because I've let her harm my relationship with two of the people I love the most.'

But aloud, he only said, "It's complicated."

"Armando, normally at this point, I'd tell you that I can't help you if you're not honest with me. Now we both know I'm here to help Cass through you. Your reticence to tell the truth isn't helping her. And I get the idea that you're not only holding back from me, you're also holding back from yourself. Now, if you really want to help Cass as much as you say you do, you're going to have to come clean."

"Look, I don't know how it was where you grew up but in my neighborhood, things were a little chauvinistic. The guys took care of the girls they loved. You made sure that nobody hurt your girl and if they did, you hurt them back. I look at Cass right now and all I can see how hurt she is and how I failed to protect her which means that I'm partly responsible for her being hurt."

"Okay, turn back the clock here for just a moment. How would you have protected her against someone you didn't even know?"

"Months ago, when her farm was vandalized, I tried to help her. I offered to put in a security system for her. In one of my less rational moments, I even insisted that she move in with me. Of course, there was the problem of bringing her animals as well so we knew that wouldn't have worked. But I keep thinking I should have done more. I couldn't protect her then and I can't help her now."

"Okay, now look at what Cass did to protect herself. She did have a security system installed, which I understand Ms. Metcalf managed to disable. She began to lock her barn, an act that would have stopped most people; unfortunately, Ms. Metcalf seemed a little more determined than most people. And Cass began target shooting again, which, she tells me, she hadn't done in months and sharpened her marksmanship skills. If you had been advising her on how to protect herself, what would else would you have suggested?"

"Nothing, I suppose. She did everything right."

"And when the time came, she was fully able to protect herself."

"Gee, you sound like you've already been through this."

"I have. Off the record, Armando, I don't think Cass doesn't blame you. She blames herself entirely. She and I have already been down the 'if only' road several times. So tell me about your anger towards Cass."

"I never said I was angry with her."

"No but it's obvious that you are."

Armando looked stunned. "It is?"

"Sure, think about it. Since the shooting she won't see you, won't talk to you, won't even acknowledge your existence. Do you really expect me to believe that doesn't make you angry?"

"I suppose you're right. It does make me mad that she's shut me out of her life, especially if what you say is true and she doesn't blame me for any of it."

"Tell me, if she were to allow you to 'help her through this' as you say, what would you do?"

"For one thing, I'd try to get her to see just what an evil person Victoria Metcalf really was. And then I'd try to convince her that she'd taken all the precautions she could to keep this kind of evil person out of her life.

"Are you sure she doesn't blame me?" he asked, not quite believing it.

"Armando, your name has never been mentioned. Though I get the feeling she doesn't trust you entirely."

"I know that. She's made that clear from day one."

"Have you considered that might be the reason why she won't let you try to help her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. Would you ask someone you didn't trust for help?"

"I suppose not."

"Look, I think you two have some work to do on your relationship above and beyond what the shooting has done to it. Ever since I've known Cass, she's had some real issues revolving around trust. She's always tried to prove how self sufficient she is. You're the first person I've seen her start to open up around which is great. And the two of you have survived a traumatic experience. It's one of those kinds of things that can bring you together or push you apart. The problem is that you're going for the former and Cass seems to be pushing for the latter. If I can get her to agree to a joint session, would you be amenable?"

"You name the time and place and I'll be there."

"Look, Armando, I'm not promising anything. I may get her in here only to have her tell you to go to hell."

"At least then she'd be speaking to me."

"I suppose you've got a point."

Armando woke early feeling surprisingly good for the small amount of sleep he'd gotten. He planned to got to Mass that morning, hoping for some divine guidance. But as he looked at his alarm clock, he knew that he had plenty of time before Michael would have the car waiting for him at the front door.

He put on his robe and walked to his study. Turning on his computer, he went directly to his e-mail account hoping for a message from Cass. Scanning the contents of his in-box he found nothing from her. However, one item caught his eye. It was marked from the Fujiyama restaurant in Henderson. He opened it and read the message informing him of their Sunday lunch specials. He had planned to eat lunch out so this seemed like as good a place as any. He replied to the message asking for his usual table to be reserved for one o'clock.

He wrote another e-mail for Cass.
Martin had encouraged him to keep trying to reach out to her. He wasn't
sure what he was going to say to her that he hadn't already said. Maybe
he should take a different tack that he'd used previously.

Good Morning Cass,

I'm confused. Granted it's not the first time in my life I've been in this state. And, like now, those times have mostly revolved around women.

I'm confused now because I don't understand what's going on between us. I don't know where things stand. You haven't spoken to me in over a week. Does that mean you want me out of your life? If so, let me know. I can take hearing you tell me to go to hell. It's the not knowing that eats me up inside.

If you blame me for the incident with Ronnie, I'll understand that as well. I can handle just about anything you can throw at me. It's just your silence that I don't understand.

I'll always love you,

He sighed as he sent the message and fervently prayed that she'd answer it.

Armando sat studying the menu at the Fujiyama Restaurant and drinking his green tea. He'd been there for nearly fifteen minutes and was getting antsy. From the corner of his eye he saw the waitress standing at the corner of his table. He looked up to acknowledge her presence.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you Mr. Langostini. But there is a woman at the hostess stand. She claims to be an old friend of yours. I tried to tell her that you weren't to be bothered but she's very persistent."

"Does this 'old friend' have a name?"

"Yes, she says she Marilyn Chandler."

"It's okay. She is an old friend. I'd be happy to have her join me."

"As you wish. I'll have her brought over right away."

He saw the young woman gesture at someone unseen in the front of the restaurant and soon a plump middle aged woman was making a bee line for his booth.

"Armando," she exclaimed, "what luck. I was so surprised to see your car in the parking lot. How long has it been since I've seen you?"

She embraced him warmly. "Sorry, I'm late. Mix up in communications from Washington," she whispered in his ear.

"I can hardly remember the last time," he answered.

"I'm so glad to see you. I've been trying to put a deal together and things just aren't falling into place the way I'd hoped. Would you mind if I picked your brain while we eat?"

"That depends. Are you gonna share you commission with me when the deal goes through?"

"No, but I'll buy your lunch today."

"Fair enough."

She handed him a large accordion pleated folder. Any inspection of the contents would have to wait, as the waitress appeared to take their orders. Once she was gone, Armando cautiously unfastened the flap of the file and glanced at the contents. When he saw the huge amount of information that was contained within the folder, he winced noticeably.

"Geez Marilyn, you wanna go through this all at lunch?"

She laughed at him. "Armando, you're getting soft. Time was when you could go through ten times that amount of paperwork and never break a sweat."

"Yeah well, in the intervening years, I've learned the value of taking my time and carefully considering all the details."

"Okay, look, take it home with you. Read it over and give me a call with your thoughts."

"Sure, I'll take a look at it tonight," he said as he slid the file onto the seat next to him.

"So tell me what you've been up to since the last time I saw you," he said as a way to start conversation.

That night Armando sat in his study and looked over the information from the FBI courier. He whistled under his breath as he read the available information on Holloway Muldoon. An empty aching sensation hit his gut as he read the litany of the man's crimes on both sides of the U.S./Canadian border. It was times like these he longed for Fraser's help. Armando had met few people other than Victoria that he classified as evil but this man deserved the label. And now the Bureau wanted him to take the guy down.

During his years as a Chicago detective, he'd learned to put a lot of faith in his hunches. They'd helped him arrest many a criminal. He didn't know where these hunches came from but they'd been right more often than not. He didn't like the feeling he had now. It wasn't so much a hunch as it was just a vague feeling of dread. A feeling that things wouldn't go as planned.

He took consolation in the fact that he'd simply be doing the background work on this for the Iguana family. This was an arms deal and he didn't get actively involved in those. That was Marco's realm. As he finished reading the dossier on Muldoon, his feeling of dread increased. Two federal agents had infiltrated Muldoon's gang and had been killed when he figured out who they were.

Armando searched the file for any further information on the people who'd be involved in the deal. Unfortunately he could find nothing on the buyer. Pretty hard to broker a deal when there's only one party. But if Muldoon was as cagey as he appeared, he had probably kept the buyer's identity to himself and was just looking for someone to handle the business end of the transaction. There was nothing left to do now but to wait for the inevitable call from the Scarpettas

For the second time that day he checked his e-mail account for word from Cass. There was nothing in his in-box with her name on it. Sighing briefly, he shook his head and read the other messages awaiting his attention. When he had replied to everything, he picked up the phone and tried to call Cass. As expected, her voice mail system picked up the call.

'Hello, you have reached C-B-L Incorporated and Cass Lindsey Designs. This is Cass Lindsey and I'm so sorry I missed your call. At the tone, please leave your name, your telephone number and a brief message and I'll get back to you promptly.'

*Beep*

"Cass, it's Armando again. Still trying to get through to you. Please call me. Even if you just tell me to quit calling, I want to hear your voice and know that you're alive and dealing."

Armando sighed as he hung up the phone. Fraser had told him to listen to his heart. Tim had told him the same thing. But right now his heart was full of despair that he'd lost Cass for good and he didn't want to listen to that.

Cass turned on her computer and scanned the contents of her e-mail account's in-box. It was mostly filled with business related messages. One name, however, stood out. There was yet another note from Armando. She wasn't surprised. For the last week he'd sent her at least one per day and sometimes more. And then there were the inevitable voice-mail messages. She thought about the wonders of technology and how there were now so many different ways to communicate with others. But all the technology in the world couldn't wash away her guilt.

She'd let an evil person into her life. That mistake nearly cost Armando his life. And to avoid that, she'd killed someone. She thought about a trip she and her father had made when she was a child. They'd gone to a nearby abandoned stone quarry that was now a favorite spot for the locals to go fishing. They weren't fishing that day. It was just a place where Carl thought he could teach his daughter an object lesson.

The night before, her brother Cameron had been riding his bicycle home from a friend's house and had been struck by a car and seriously injured. It had been completely accidental, the driver saw the boy and tried to stop but the brakes malfunctioned and the impact was unavoidable. Now Carl sat beside Cass and talked about what had happened. All the while he'd been tossing small rocks into the pond almost aimlessly.

"It's like the ripples in the water when I throw a rock in," he'd explained. "I toss a small pebble into the water and it makes a small ripple. But then larger ripples come out of it.

"Now probably, when the brakes on that car were made, they were inspected. But maybe the guy'd had a fight with his wife at breakfast. And maybe his mind wasn't completely on his work so he didn't do a very good job of inspecting them. The flaw went unnoticed until the driver needed to use them. See how small actions can have far reaching complications?"

She'd seen it then and now it was staring at her in the face again. A simple conversation on an airplane had led to a murder. To her way of thinking, she'd become entirely too trusting again. And now both she and Armando had suffered because of it. Martin had been trying to get her to forgive herself, but it was difficult. She wasn't sure what bothered her more; that she'd killed someone, or that someone had tried to kill the man she'd grown to love. But she knew that it was all her fault. And despite his overtures, she felt that Armando couldn't really forgive her for putting him in jeopardy.

She read the e-mail message and snorted a small mirthless laugh. "You're confused? Honey, you don't know the meaning of the word," she thought derisively. She considered taking him up on his offer to tell him to go to hell but didn't have the heart. None of this was his fault so why add to his pain. If she ignored him long enough, he'd give up.

 March 2, 1998

Armando sat in the drawing room of Jimmy Scarpetta's mansion talking business with his partners and Jimmy's oldest son Marco.

"It's a sweet little deal. We stand to make a lot of money for very little involvement," Marco said.

"How little?" was Armando's question.

"Very little. Muldoon only wants someone to handle the finances and arrange for delivery of the goods."

"And by 'handle the finances' I'm assuming you mean our usual method of doing so?"

"Sure, but I'll let uncle Donnie take care of that end."

"And who's the buyer?"

"Don't know."

"You don't know?" Armando was incensed. "Did it ever occur to you that he's being set up by the Feds and they're gonna take us down with him? Hmm? Did that ever cross your mind?"

"Of course it did. But Muldoon's absolutely paranoid about who knows what in his deals. Certain people get certain pieces of information and no one but Muldoon knows the whole story. I've checked him out and he always works this way. And everybody that's worked with him has walked away happy and much wealthier."

Armando smiled at the younger man. Indeed he'd done his job. The advance information he'd gotten from the bureau had said the same thing. "Good man, Marco. I'm glad to see you've done your homework."

Jimmy and Donnie smiled in agreement and nodded their heads.

"All in favor?" Donnie asked.

"Aye," concurred his brother.

"Yeah," Armando agreed.

"All right then, Marco, you'll take the meeting with this Mr. Muldoon. And Armando will be your back up. He can help you get things set up."

"Yes, father. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll get started right away."

Jimmy waved his son away and remained silent until the young man's footsteps could no longer be heard before he turned to Armando.

"So, what's the story with you and Cass?" he asked.

"Story?" he asked, startled.

"Armando," Donnie began, "you know we like the lovely Cassandra. How's she doing?"

He considered lying to the older man but knew it would be fruitless. "Not well, Donnie. She's closed herself off from virtually everyone. She won't even volunteer at the AIDS Resource Center any more."

"We've been talking about it and we'd like to help you two out."

"Us?"

"Armando, what affects one of you affects you both. You don't think I know that? My first wife, Sophia, God rest her soul, was a beautiful woman. But when she was hurt, I was hurt. That's just the way it is when you love someone. Now my brother and I have been thinking about this for a while and we were wondering if you'd allow us to arrange for her to see a counselor."

"Donnie, that's a very generous offer but she's already seeing a therapist almost daily."

"Oh, that's good to know. But what about you? Do you need someone to talk this over with?"

"I've been talking to Father Mike quite a bit over the past two weeks. He's been great in helping me see that while I can offer Cass my love and support, it's up to her to accept it. And so far, she's not. I guess I'll just have to remain patient and see what happens."

The older man reached out and patted Armando's leg. "It's not easy to be patient, especially when it comes to a woman. But I think Cass is worth it."

"I think so too, Donnie."

Armando sat at his desk trying to focus on the job at hand and fighting a losing battle. He was trying to find a way to broker the deal to the Iguana family's satisfaction and still arrange for the Feds to make the bust. As he looked at the information, he realized that a successful collar might just be his ticket home. God, he hoped so. What he wanted more than anything was to be done with this dual identity and just get back to being Ray Vecchio, Chicago detective. He was so tired of the FBI and their secret codes and passwords and cleverly disguised files. He just wanted to be a real cop again, not a spook.

The situation with Cass also weighed heavily on his mind. He thought about going back to Chicago again and what that would do to their relationship. One thing he knew for certain, it couldn't make it worse. She was still ignoring him. He was almost to the point where he was ready to give up. As much as he loved her, he was beginning to think that they could never make it work. All the lies would forever cloud her impression of him. She would never trust him because of the way he had deceived her. He'd always known it in the back of his mind but now it was coming forward.

He shook his head, trying to use the motion to remove the thoughts of Cass that kept intruding. It didn't work. In fact, it only made him think about the other women he'd loved. Knowing that he wasn't going to get any more work done, he decided to call it a night and go to bed early. Perhaps a good night's sleep would set his brain back to normal and allow him to think about business.

Dressed in a pair of silk pajama bottoms he slid under the sheets of his large bed. He thought of the times that he and Cass had slept here. It was hard to go to sleep with her in his arms because of the contorted positions she preferred to sleep in but he'd always found a way to at least keep on hand on her and maintain a warm contact. He wished that she was in his bed now, even if she chose to sleep standing on her head. Anything would be preferable to this empty feeling in the pit of his heart.

Armando awakened to the familiar sensation of his spirit drifting back into his body. He looked at the clock by his bedside. It was nearly three in the morning. He smiled to himself before rolling over to go back to sleep much heartened by the vision. Just before lapsing back into sleep, he wondered if Cass had seen the same future and if she'd put any belief in it. Well, it didn't really matter. He did and he'd do his best to make it a reality.

Armando sat at his desk and looked at his calendar. It was virtually empty. Of course, it was Wednesday. His calendar was always empty on Wednesdays. Anything he had to do, he always took care of early in the morning so he could spend the rest of the day with Cass. It had become a habit over the past four months. Meet with her sometime around lunch and spend the afternoon and evening together. And then he'd spend the night at her home. He had always looked forward this mid-week diversion. Now he wondered what he would do with himself.

It had been a long week for Eric Lawson. In all his years as an attorney and special agent for the FBI, this had been the most complex and exasperating job he'd ever been in charge of. So many people to keep track of, so many personalities in the mix, so many people who knew so little and he had to bring them all together at the right time to accomplish the mission. Gulping down two aspirin he glanced down at the folder on his desk. The face in the photo that stared back at him was not unfamiliar to him. He'd stared at it every day for over a week. He swung his gimbaled chair and looked out the window at the Virginia landscape. March in the Old Dominion could be such an inhospitable month. Despite the fact that spring was just over two weeks away, it was still very cold and damp. Grey clouds had blotted out the sun all day and now that it was night, the sky was even more moody.

Swinging back to his desk he looked at the digital clock; eight o'clock in Chicago, five o'clock in Las Vegas. If everything had gone as planned, he should be getting a phone call soon. Just on cue the phone rang.

"Eric Lawson."

"Everything went as planned."

"So sorry to hear that."

"Yeah well, accidents happen."

"Where's Langostini?"

"He's here at the hospital. Are you sure they're gonna send him in Marco's place?"

"He's their only logical choice. And you and the others are not to leave him unguarded for a second. Is that understood?"

"Yes, boss. Anything else?

"Yes, how's he look right now?"

"How's he look?"

"Yes. Is he suspicious? Is he accepting that this was just an accident, one of those things that happen?"

"Oh, I thought you mean the mustache."

"The mustache?"

"Yeah, he shaved it off a couple of days ago. Said it itched like crazy and complained that it made him look shifty."

"Jesus Christ!" Mark exploded. "If he comes back to Chicago without that mustache, everybody will know it's him. Damn. Mike, some how you've got to convince him to resume the disguise."

"I'll try. But I'm not sure how much he's gonna listen to a bodyguard and part time chauffeur."

"I don't care how you do it, Mike. Just get it done."

"Will do. See you tomorrow?"

"Not unless something goes horribly wrong."

Eric Lawson hung up the phone and stared again at the photo on his desk. "Pack your bags, Ray. You're coming home."

Mike walked down the hospital corridor to the elevator. Exiting the car at the fourth floor, he walked to the surgery waiting room. Armando was there talking to Jimmie and Eleanor. They were discussing the auto accident that had brought Marco here.

"The doctors say that his spleen is ruptured. The surgery should take a few hours and then we'll know more," Eleanor explained.

"How did this happen?" Armando asked his friends.

"The other driver was drunk and ran a red light. He hit Marco's car broadside on the driver's side. If he hadn't died at the scene, I'd have killed him myself. The police say his blood alcohol content was nearly twice the legal limit. Stupid fool."

Armando shook his head mournfully. As a rookie cop, he'd seen more than enough accidents of this type to know their devastating effects. "Jeez, I don't know what to say. You'd think that in this day and age people would know better than to drive a car when they're stinking drunk. Jimmie, Eleanor, what can I do for you? Do you want me to stay? Is there anyone you want me to call?"

"No, Armando. Donnie is getting the rest of the family. You need to get ready to go to Chicago tomorrow."

Armando's eyes grew wide with surprise. The last place on earth he wanted to be at that very moment was Chicago, Illinois; especially now that he'd gotten rid of that damn mustache. But he knew he didn't dare contradict his partner.

"Sure. When do I fly out?"

"Eight o'clock in the morning. And Armando?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sending Tony and Vinnie along with Mike to help with the security. I don't usually believe in omens but I have a very bad feeling about this."

Mike hid a smile. If the older man had not suggested sending his and his brother's bodyguards along, he was going to. Fortunately, he didn't have to say a word. Now, there was just the facial hair problem.

"Okay," Armando agreed. He couldn't tell the man that he'd had a bad feeling about this since he'd gotten the file on Sunday. He only hoped three bodyguards would be enough to keep him alive. He nodded at Mike as he walked away from the Scarpetta's. The young man followed his boss out of the hospital.

As soon as they cleared the building, Armando grabbed his cell phone and made a call to his lawyer.

"Tim, good, you're still in the office."

"Yeah, but I was about to scoot out of here."

"Not now. I'm on my way over from Unnamed Hospital. I've got to make a trip to Chicago tomorrow and I have to talk to you about the contents of my personal file first."

Tim sighed. "Okay, I'll be waiting for you."

Mike brought the car up to the main entrance of the hospital and opened the door for his boss.

"Take me to Tim's office, Mike," he instructed.

"Yes sir."

It wasn't a long drive to the lawyer's office despite fighting the last of the rush hour traffic. Tim was waiting in the reception area for his client. Mike waited in the car, knowing Armando was in safe hands with his attorney. The two gentlemen walked back to Tim's private office. The file in question was waiting on Tim's desk.

"Okay, Tim you know the drill. What's there and what happens to it in the event of an emergency?"

"Well, as last we left it, there are three envelopes. One is sent via overnight courier to a Constable Benton Fraser in care of the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, Illinois. The second will be sent in the same fashion to Dan Lynch of Roach, Lynch and Belch in Chicago. The other is for Ms. Lindsey and will be sent to her by local courier."

"Okay, here's the deal. Marco Scarpetta was severely injured in an auto accident that I'm not sure was really an accident. So I've got to take his place and fly out to Chicago tomorrow morning. I've got a very bad feeling about this one Tim. I know I've said that before, but this is the worst bout of pit-of-the-stomach fear I've had since moving out here. I'm going to call you between eight and nine in the morning everyday while I'm gone. If ever a day goes by that you don't hear from me, you get the two envelopes to Chicago by whatever method it takes to get it there within twenty four hours. I want you to take Cass' to her personally. You will not let her leave your sight until she's read the letter. And whatever she wants, you will get it and have it for her as soon as is humanly possible. No, you'll have it sooner than that. Do you understand?"

"Certainly Mr. Langostini. But are you sure this is all necessary?"

"Look, Tim, Cass hasn't spoken to me in a week. She hasn't returned my calls or acknowledged my e-mails. If something happens to me, I want her to know the truth about how much I loved her and all the things I wanted for her."

"I understand that sir, but if she's not speaking to you, do you really think she's going to read anything from you?"

"Well, Tim, I guess you just won't be telling her it's from me until she's read it. Now will you?"

"No, I suppose I could fabricate some story. Though I hate doing that to her."

"Gee, Tim. I thought lawyers were trained in double-speak their first year of law school. Keep talking like that and they're gonna take your bar association card away from you."

"Just because I know how to do something doesn't mean I enjoy it," he grumbled.

"I know," Armando agreed sympathetically. "And believe it or not, I don't enjoy telling you to do it. But damnit, I will not leave this earth with Cass thinking the worst about me. And while you're at it, give this to her as well." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out the photo and frame that she'd given him for Valentine's Day.

Tim eyed his client closely. He could feel Armando's frustration and despair. "I'll take care of everything," he assured the man.

"Thanks, Tim."

He sighed heavily and got up to walk out. Tim escorted him to the front door and watched as the man entered his limousine. Walking back to his office, he placed the folder and the frame in the lateral file behind his desk and locked it securely and prayed that it wouldn't come to that.

Stella Kowalski had just walked in the door of her townhouse, dropping her briefcase and purse on the nearest chair when the phone rang. She raced to pick it up.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Eric Lawson here. How's it going with our two local cops?"

"Stan and Fraser are hot on the trail of your arms dealer. Mark, are you sure this is such a good idea? God knows Stan and I are over each other but I'd still hate to see anything bad happen to him. I'm just a little nervous about this."

"Stella, how long have we known each other?"

"A long time."

"And do you really think I'd have set things up this way if I'd had any other choice?"

"I'm not sure any more."

"Stella, you know the rules around here. 'Need to know' is the operative phrase. The fewer things the individuals involved know, the less chance for them to screw up something. And the less that can be gotten out of them, if it comes to that."

"I understand but I still don't feel right about it."

"In another twenty four hours, this will all be over. Ray Vecchio will be back in Chicago and Armando Langostini will be dead again. Just twenty four hours. Hang tough my friend."

"I'll try, Mark. Thanks for the update."

The long black Cadillac limousine pulled up to a gentle stop in front of Armando's home. Mike hopped out and opened the door for his employer. As usual Armando's legs exited the car first, followed by his body.

"Okay, Mike. We'll need to leave here by seven tomorrow morning. Have you called Gino and told him he's gonna be driving tomorrow?"

"Yes sir, while you were speaking with your attorney. Jack and Tony will meet us at the airport."

"Good, I'll see you in the morning."

"Uh, boss."

"What Mike?"

"Well, it has occurred to me that Mr. Muldoon will probably be informed that you'll be taking care of this deal instead of Mr. Scarpetta."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, you no longer have your mustache..."

"Damn, you're right. Oh well, there's no time to grow it back. I'll just have to go without it."

"Sir, my sister is a make-up artist at the MGM Grand Hotel. I'm sure she could fix you up a fake one in no time flat."

"You think?"

"I'm sure of it, sir."

"Well, okay. Give her a call and see what she can do."

"Certainly sir. If necessary, I'll go pick it up tonight."

"Thanks Mike."

"My pleasure, sir."

Mike heaved a sigh of relief as his employer walked in the house. Grabbing the car phone he made a phone call. Fortunately, his boss didn't have much hair on his head so that made a perfect color match less crucial. Within minutes, the arrangements had been made. He drove the limousine around to the garage and took care of the car first. Going into his apartment above the garage, he grabbed a sandwich and a glass of tea. An hour later, he took his own personal car into the city to get the fake mustache that would restore Armando Langostini's face to its former gangster shiftiness.

Ray Vecchio sat behind the wheel of an unmarked Ford Crown Victoria; a standard Chicago Police Department motor pool vehicle. He pondered the events of the day. Eleven hours earlier, he'd been Armando Langostini, getting on a private jet with three body guards from the Iguana family, heading for the Windy City to broker an arms deal. Seven hours ago, his cover had been blown to bits by the man sitting next to him in the car, one Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. He'd managed to pull his ass out of the fire by faking the shooting of Fraser and his new partner, Stanley Kowalski (a/k/a the new Ray Vecchio) and then sending Mike, Tony and Vinnie in to get beaten senseless by the pair.

The trio of bodyguards was now in federal custody but he knew he didn't have long to wrap up this case before word got back to Las Vegas. The past six hours had been extremely busy trying to get everything set up to complete the deal that had been started that afternoon. In those hours Ray had considered bringing up the subject of Cass. But he knew that they could never be together, especially now that he was certain he'd be placed in the witness protection program.

He sat in the car and wondered what she was doing at that moment. It was Saturday night. They should be out on a date, perhaps dinner and dancing. Perhaps a concert or a theater performance. In either case, if it had been any normal Saturday night, they would have come back to his home at the edge of the desert and made love into the wee hours of the morning. But normality had ended for them with the death of Victoria. It dawned on him that he hadn't said a word to Fraser about the shooting. He wondered if the Canadian already knew. Had anyone at the FBI even thought to get in touch with him? Probably not. He certainly hadn't suggested it. Well, no time for that now.

Instead he thought about the life that he was giving up and the one he'd be probably be going to.

"You know, Benny, the desert's okay and Nero does have a great buttermilk. But this is the stuff I miss."

"The old times, huh?"

"Yeah. Remember the time you locked us in that vault?" Ray asked.

"And the water kept rising 'til we almost drowned?" Fraser responded.

"Yeah. You know what I just said about missin' all this?"

"Uh huh."

"Forget I ever said it."

"Understood."

Ray leaned forward to look into the rearview mirror and once again applied the fake mustache to resume, for the last time, the role of Armando Langostini. He looked at his old friend.

"Wish me luck."

"You don't need it."

Ray took that as a vote of confidence as he opened the door and got out of the car walking toward the loading docks where he expected to meet Muldoon.

The arms dealer showed up carrying an aluminum case and accompanied by nine probably well armed men. This guy didn't take chances. Ray put his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and stood still. Muldoon stopped and his men, spread out around and behind him. He nodded in acknowledgment to Ray. The deal was about to be made.

The sounds of a police siren and the squeal of tires making a rapid and too sharp turn distracted both men. Muldoon's gang spread out even further to hold off the incoming law enforcement officers. Members of the Chicago P.D. who had been there at Ray's request to make the bust swore at the untimely interference by the Feds. Ray stepped back and took a look at the tactical situation. Swearing under his breath at the inept display by the FBI and ATF, he caught sight of Muldoon making a hasty retreat.

Fraser and Kowalski made it into the building first. Ray followed quickly with Inspector Thatcher bringing up the rear. When Muldoon split off from his gang, the officers likewise split up; Canadian with Canadian and American with American.

Ray and Stanley soon found they were following three members of Muldoon's gang. A barrage of bullets flew in their direction. Ray and Stan returned fire but were shooting blind in the darkened corridor.

Soon they all emerged into an indoor amusement park. Kowalski and Vecchio stayed on the trail of the gang members and let Thatcher and Fraser go after Muldoon. Ray immediately recognized the foolishness of that plan. Neither Canadian was licensed to carry a gun and so had no firepower to take down the arms dealer. He shook his head as the two red coated officers jumped onto a Ferris wheel to chase him. Kowalski jumped out from behind cover and shot at a bald headed member of the gang, dropping him onto a car of the kiddie train ride.

Ray congratulated his replacement before the two of them leapt out from behind the rocks they'd been using as cover. The three remaining members of Muldoon's gang were running away but still firing at the detectives. A shot took down a second thug. Ray saw Muldoon run past the two men who were still running and grab a pistol from one of them. Kowalski split off to chase the two hoodlums while Vecchio followed Muldoon. He stopped long enough to look at Fraser and Thatcher hanging on to the rails of the Ferris wheel trying to disarm a bomb. When he glanced over at Muldoon again, he saw the man had his gun trained on Fraser, intent both on killing the Mountie and thwarting his effort to keep the nerve gas device from going off.

Ray knew he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to try to take down the arms dealer from here. Running towards the man to get a better shot he felt a sudden stinging pain in his chest. He wasn't sure what had happened until his knees began to buckle under him. He staggered and fell against a short metal fence and then slid to the ground unconscious.

The ringing telephone awakened Eric Lawson. He squinted at the clock by his bedside; two a.m.

"Hello?" he answered

"Eric? This is Mike Bennett. We've got a problem. Ray Vecchio's in the hospital."

"That's no problem. He's supposed to be there. It's part of the plan."

"You planned to have Muldoon shoot him?"

Eric sat straight up in bed. "What?"

"Muldoon shot Vecchio in the chest. The guy's in surgery at University Hospital."

"Oh shit! Where'd you get your information?"

"One of the agents who was in on the bust."

Eric swore fluently and inventively. This was not the way the plan was supposed to go. He'd arranged for one of the bureau's best snipers to 'shoot' the undercover agent with a low power pellet gun so they could rush him to Presbyterian Hospital and fake the death of Armando Langostini. Now the Italian was at the wrong hospital with a serious injury and in a place where Lawson had no control. There wasn't much he could do about Vecchio at the moment but he could make damn sure the agent suffered for his mistake.

"Thanks Mike. I'll see what I can do from this end," he said. Hanging up the phone, he shook his head trying to figure out how to get the plan back on track.

Tim Matthews glanced at the large padded manila envelope on the passenger seat of his car. He was on his way to Cass' home to deliver what he was sure was unwelcome news. Armando had missed his scheduled phone call. Tim had delayed for an hour hoping that his client was just running late. But at ten o'clock there was still no word. Hoping against hope, he forwarded both his office and home calls to his cell phone number. Now he wondered what he was going to say to Cass to get her open the envelope and examine the contents in his presence. He knew he couldn't tell her who the package was from. But exactly what he would say was still a mystery.

The sound of barking dogs alerted Cass to Tim's arrival. She had spent the morning working on the computer trying to keep her books straight. It was so hard to run both a non-profit corporation and a for profit business. Sometimes, they overlapped and the last thing she needed was an IRS audit. Cass left her office and was at the front door just as the bell chimed. Looking out her window, she was stunned to see her visitor. She opened the door not bothering to mask her surprise.

"Tim, what are you doing here?"

"May I come in?" he asked politely.

"Certainly." She stepped back and let him enter. "What brings you out here on a Saturday morning?"

"I wanted to bring you this. It's some things that require your immediate attention.."

He thrust the envelope at Cass so quickly that she grabbed it instinctively. It was heavy and she couldn't fathom what could be inside. The Las Vegas Sheriff's Department had already returned her gun.

"Thanks Tim. I'll take care of this and get back to you Monday."

"Cass, I really need you to take care of it now."

"Whatever," she said as she ripped open the package. Inside she found another envelope. She pulled it out and left the heavy object without looking to see what it was. This envelope revealed several sheets of paper. She scanned them quickly and sigh realizing it was from Armando. She turned a look of stern disapproval on the lawyer who had brought this to her.

"Get out, Tim," she said with quiet intensity.

"Please, read it thoroughly before you do anything rash. I promised Armando I'd be here to help you with anything you needed."

"You lying sack of shit. But what else should I expect from a lawyer?" Her tone of voice spoke more of resignation than of anger.

"Cass, please."

"No, Tim. I won't fall prey to this outlandish ruse, whatever it is."

"Look, I've been Armando's lawyer since he first moved her. I've seen him scheme and scam. This is no fake."

"Sorry, I can't do it. Go home. Call him. Tell him his ploy failed. I saw through it."

"Cass, I don't know what's in that envelope. But I do know that Armando felt it was important for you to have it. He brought it to me on his way to the airport before his trip to Aspen. He just said to put it in his personal file in case anything happened to him. Two days ago he brought me the other item and asked me to add it."

"And me not talking to him for over a week qualifies as 'something happening to him'?"

"No. Him not checking in with me, his home or his business partners qualifies though."

She felt a tear begin to make its way to her eyes. "I'm sorry, Tim. But I just can't do it."

He sighed and his shoulders slumped as he looked at the floor for a moment. "Look, if I hear anything, I'll let you know. But please, take some time to read what's there. And call me if you need anything. Will you promise me that?"

"I'll call if you can do anything for me," she agreed.

The attorney let himself out. Cass stood by the entryway to her kitchen and dropped the envelope on the counter next to the rest of the package. She went out to the kennel and sat with her dogs. It took every ounce of self control she possessed but she refused to cry. Instead she focused her attention on the two Corgis. She petted them both, one with each hand; rubbing deeply behind their ears and scratching their docks.

Petting the dogs did little to calm her nerves. After nearly an hour she realized that she was just as agitated. Giving up, she went inside and stared at the envelope.

"Okay, Cass, be honest. What are you afraid of? What can he have said in a letter that he hasn't said to you in person?"

Taking the envelope again, she settled into her papasan chair. With nervous fingers, she took the sheaves of paper from her envelope and began to read.

Dear Cass,

This feels like such a cliché that I can't believe I'm actually writing it. But, if you're reading this letter then something very bad has happened to me and it's likely that we'll never see each other again. That said, I won't leave you without telling you the truth you deserve to hear. There have been so many lies between us and that's not the way I want you to remember me.

My name is Ray Vecchio. Until a year ago, I was a detective with the Chicago Police Department, assigned to the 27th precinct. In case you're wondering, yes, there was an Armando Langostini. When he was fatally injured in a car wreck, the FBI came to me and offered me this assignment. I just happened to look enough like Armando that the Feds thought I could pass myself off as him and infiltrate the crime family he was associated with. And, as our favorite Mountie would say, 'for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture', I decided to take them up on their offer. I moved out here last summer to begin this new life. Four months later, looking for ways to make connections in my new home town, I went to the Grand Masquerade. The rest, as they say, is history...our history.

That night will live in my memory forever. When you told me where you had lived in Chicago, my heart stopped momentarily. Not just at the thought that you might know who I really am (most of Fraser's neighbors seemed to know me) but also because I couldn't believe that such a charming, intelligent loving woman as you could have been under my nose for so long and I'd never noticed you. Then when you brought me to you home a few days later and flat out accused me of lying to you about my identity, it was all I could do not to confess. But you accepted me in this role and that's when I knew you were someone I could trust.

It's funny that so many people in the bureau have warned me, and sometimes borderline threatened me not to get involved with you. They considered you a security risk. Plus they were aware of the inevitable heartbreak that would come when I was to give up this role. But I stubbornly stuck with you. Why? Because even though you accepted me as Armando, you knew in your heart that I was really someone else, someone better.

So, what happens now? Well, that's anybody's guess, especially since I don't know what's happened to get this letter into your hands. Benny will be getting a similar letter. So will my family. I hope they'll get in touch with you as soon as they know something. I've instructed Tim to stay with you while you read this. Whatever you want, he'll do everything in his power to get for you. Beware of the Scarpetta's. If they're the reason I'm not around anymore, you could be a target.

Yeah, I know, here I am, even in the afterlife, trying to protect you. But that's what I do, try to protect the people I love. It didn't work with my ex-wife. It didn't work with Irene. It didn't work with Casey (better known to you as the 'other' Cassandra). So I'm hoping it works with you. I love you, Cass. I wish we'd had a chance to make a go of it together. We would have been a great team.

All my love,

Ray

P.S. enclosed are a few things you might need since I'm not around anymore

She looked at the other pieces of paper. They contained recipes and included Mrs. Petropolis' special juice blend (orange, mango and peach) and her wonderful chicken and pasta dish. Not even trying to summon any self control, she let the tears flow down her cheeks. She got up and went to get whatever was in the other package.

Opening it up, she found the picture and frame she'd given him nearly three weeks ago for Valentine's Day. Something didn't look quite right. The photograph did not appear to be settled properly in the loop of the 'R'. She took it out and looked at the back. Where she had written 'Cass & Armando, Christmas 1997' the name Armando had been crossed out and 'Ray' written in. Strengthless fingers dropped the frame to the counter. Collapsing beneath the weight of her grief and guilt, she fell to the floor, clutching the photograph to her heart.

Ray Vecchio sat in his hospital bed, weak and shaken but nevertheless, quite happy to be alive. His best friend had been in to visit him even before he'd regained consciousness and, in fact, been the first person Ray saw when he opened his eyes. He knew the Mountie felt responsible for what had happened. After all, Muldoon had been aiming at the Canadian when Ray broke his concentration. Well, it wasn't the first time Ray had taken a bullet for Fraser. And knowing the Mountie's refusal to obtain a permit to carry a gun, it might not be the last. But that didn't matter now.

The important thing was that Fraser was still on the trail of Muldoon. Okay, he did have that Kowalski guy tagging along and Ray hoped he wouldn't get in the way or slow Benny down. Mostly now Ray was feeling frustrated at his own inability to be doing something more helpful to solve the case. A polite tap on his door interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see a man in his early fifties with thick black hair showing only the first subtle strands of silver. Gold metal framed thick eyeglass lenses. The eyes behind those glasses scrutinized him closely. The man was dressed conservatively in a dark suit with white shirt and light gray tie. He certainly didn't appear to be a doctor so Ray made the only inference he could. The guy had to be from the FBI.

"Feeling up to a visitor?" the man asked.

"Depends on who's visiting."

"Eric Lawson, Quantico, Virginia."

Ray knew full well what was at Quantico. "So what can I do for you, Mr. Lawson?"

"Well, I think it's more a question of what I can do for you."

"And that would be?"

"I can kill you."

"Oh great. Like Muldoon didn't try that already?"

"Yes, but I can do it right. I can make sure that Armando Langostini dies and stays dead this time. No more Phoenix rising from the ashes."

"And Ray Vecchio?"

"Will take a well deserved leave of absence after assisting in the apprehension of three key members of the Iguana family."

"Oh yeah, you got three low level bodyguards..." Ray began.

Eric laughed. "Them? No, actually, those are three low level FBI agents. I was referring to Jimmie, Donnie and Marco Scarpetta."

"And how did Ray Vecchio do this?"

"He and the Mountie apprehended and interrogated the three bodyguards. They provided enough evidence for the bureau's Las Vegas office to take care of the rest."

"So how does Armando die?"

"Isn't it obvious? He suffered a gunshot wound during the bust."

"Well, it sounds like you've got all the bases covered except for one."

"What's that?"

"How soon do I get out of here?"

"Sorry, I don't have any power over that. The best I could do was to get the name changed on your charts so no one would know you're here."

"Look, I gotta get out of here. I mean it's all well and good that you've got the Scarpetta's but Muldoon and the buyer are still out there."

"Don't worry about them. Muldoon's probably half way to the Yukon Territories by now."

"Northwest."

"What?"

"It's the Yukon or it's the Northwest Territories. They're two distinct and separate geographical locations. Don't mix them up."

"Well, whatever, they're no longer our concern. It's the RCMP's problem now."

"Yeah and my best friend is a Mountie whose mother was murdered by Muldoon. Now you get me out of here so I can go back to work or Mackenzie King at the Chicago Guardian is going to get an exclusive on Edward Hoover's expense account vouchers and just what he means by 'entertainment'."

The color drained from Eric's face. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

It was a stand-off. Lawson knew that Vecchio had no business being out of the hospital especially when he hadn't even been moved from the intensive care unit. But over the past few years the Bureau had managed to clean up its reputation despite Waco and Ruby Ridge. He didn't want to see it smirched again.

"I'll see what I can do," he promised.

It was a long time later when Cass finally felt like she could function again. She considered calling Tim but was reasonably sure he didn't have any more information. If he'd know exactly what had happened to Armando... Ray, he would have told her just to get her to read the letter. She wondered if he even knew that his client was actually an undercover cop.

Still slightly numb with shock, she went to her office. Cass stared at her phone. She'd thought about doing this for over a week. She had considered talking to Martin about but knew she couldn't without the possibility of hurting others. So she tried to think about what he'd say if she did talk to him. 'Why do you want to know?' is what he would ask. 'What will it change?' Sadly, she was aware that she didn't have any good answers to these question. She wanted to know because she wanted to know. She had no idea if it would change anything but she couldn't stand being out of the loop any longer. She picked up the receiver and deliberately punched every button of the phone number, steeling herself for the possible answer she'd get.

"LaPorte County Sheriff's Department."

"This is Cass Lindsey. Is Curtis available?"

"I'll get him for you Miss Lindsey."

The canned music had barely begun to play before her brother picked up the receiver.

"Cass, are you okay?"

"I need a favor, big brother," she said trying to choke back a sob.

"Name it."

"Victoria Metcalf, a/k/a Ronnie Mitchell, I need every last piece of information you can get on her. And I want it yesterday."

"Victoria Metcalf? The woman who tried to kill Armando? Cass, what's this all about?"

"I can't tell you, Curtis. Let's just say that if I'm ever gonna get past this incident, I need to know who she really was."

"Since when haven't you been able to tell me something? Am I not the one who went to bat for you with our folks about leaving the church after the Father John incident?"

"Yes, and you're the same one that carried the tale of that scumbag lawyer I worked for back to Dad."

"That was different, Cass. What he was doing was criminal. Now come on, what's up? Have you and Armando broken up over this incident?"

Cass couldn't keep the tears back any longer. "I suppose so."

"Why kiddo?"

"It's a long story, Curtis. I'm sure you know by now that the police have exonerated us of any wrong doing. But I know that there's something he hasn't told me about the whole deal."

"Okay, so if you broke it off with him, why do you suddenly want this information?"

"It's not about him. It's about me learning from my mistakes. Please Curtis, how fast can you get me the information?"

"I promise I'll get right on it. But it'd help if you could give me some more information."

"She may have been in Chicago a few years ago. And Curtis?"

"Yeah, sis?"

"Please don't tell the folks about me and Ra...Armando. When I'm feeling a little less emotional about the whole situation, I'll let them know."

"Okay Cass. Whatever I find, I'll fax to you as soon as it hits my desk. Take care of yourself. Okay?"

"Sure, Curtis. I'll have a few more good crying jags and drink lots of tea. Maybe I'll even take the dogs for long walks. I appreciate your help."

She hung up the phone and stared again at the picture, thinking of the night she had given it to Armando. When the police came after the shooting, he had claimed that Victoria had thought he was someone else. Did the woman really know he was Ray Vecchio? What would Curtis be able to find out and how fast could he get the information to her?

Ray Vecchio sat in Lt. Welch's office. It had been a long day and realistically speaking, he knew he should still be in the hospital. He was dog tired and the day had only been marginally productive. Thanks to a chance word spoken by his sister, Frannie (what the hell was she doing as a civilian aide?) he had figured out that the buyer for the Muldoon arms deal was Cyrus Bolt, a cousin to the notorious train hijacking, bomb planting expatriated Randall Bolt. Cyrus was now 'lost' somewhere in the jungle of the criminal justice system awaiting possible arraignment while Dewey and Huey were trying to gather more information.

Francesca had tried to get Ray to go home with her at the end of the day but he knew it wasn't safe yet. Better to stay at the precinct in a room full of cops. He laid down on the couch and tried to get some rest but an annoying cough didn't allow for much. He knew that tomorrow he was supposed to meet the FBI contact who would get him out of town for his 'leave of absence'. But he also knew he wouldn't be able to leave until he had news from Fraser and Kowalski.

He closed his eyes and thought briefly of Las Vegas. Boy he sure could use a glass of buttermilk right now. He tried to think about what he'd be doing if he were still Armando. Let's see, it would be about eight o'clock back west. And since this was Sunday, he would have spent a good deal of the day with...

"Cass! Oh my God, I didn't call Tim this morning." He sat up quickly at the thought, wincing at the pain in his chest. He looked at the phone on the lieutenant's desk and considered making the call to Armando's lawyer. Then he shook his head and stayed where he was. Benny knew he was live and so did his family. They would stop any of the legal proceedings revolving around his assumed death. As for Cass, well, considering how he had left things with her, it was probably just as well that she thought he was dead. At least she would know the truth about him. Not that it would change the way she felt about him. But he felt better just because she knew the truth.

He wondered what she would do with the photograph. Would she keep it on her desk in the office? Would it go on her nightstand? Would it go in the trash? If he'd known things were going to turn out like this, he never would have given it to her. He'd like to have it back now as a reminder of the love that they'd shared. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. He'd lost Cass the night Victoria had shown up. And no amount of wishing, worrying or whining would be able to get her back into his life now. Better to look towards the future.

Funny how five days ago he had still thought Cass would be a part of his future. He had seen it, seen them and their children together walking on a beach. What had that Ray said? It was a 'possible' future. But that Cass had seemed so certain that it would happen too. She had thanked him for making it possible. What had he done? He shook his head trying to figure it all out. And finally he fell asleep.

Cass slept fitfully all night. It seemed like no sooner than she fell asleep, she would wake up, roll over and go back to sleep. Then the cycle repeated itself over and over, all night long. Finally giving up on the idea of getting any rest, she got up and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast.

She took care of the animals by herself. Two weeks ago, she had told Otis that she wouldn't be needing him on the weekends anymore since she wouldn't be spending any more time with Armando. She had considered taking over the weekday chores as well, but she knew he needed a way to occupy his time. However, he had told her last week that he had a doctor's appointment this morning so she didn't mind. She wanted to keep him healthy. And him coming over during the week did allow her time to immerse herself in her work. Over the past two weeks she had managed to create almost a half dozen new patterns and had even come up with a new implement to make her bulky knitting frame easier to work with.

The phone rang just as she was walking back into the house. No longer worried about who might be calling her, she grabbed the phone quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hi kiddo."

"Curtis, do you have some news for me?"

"Boy, do I ever. Remember back when you asked me for information on Ray Vecchio with the Chicago Police Department?"

"Don't tell me, let me guess. He was involved with Victoria Metcalf."

"It's a very convoluted tale. Got your fax machine on?"

"Curtis, the server's always on. Just send it over."

"It's on the way, Cass."

"Thanks, bro."

"Anything for my sister."

She disconnected and walked to the office to watch for the information to come through. She heard the printer warm up and waited eagerly for the first sheet of paper to emerge. It was several minutes later when she finally had all the information her brother had been able to gather for her. Sitting at her desk, she began to read.

At the 27^th precinct, things had been hopping all morning. Cyrus Bolt's attorney had finally 'found' him and convinced the State's attorney's office that he was being held without due process. As much as the lawyer assigned to the case wanted to disagree, she knew she couldn't. Stella Kowalski, therefore, had to make the unpleasant trip to the station to deliver the news, all the while knowing that this would be her chance to contact Ray Vecchio. It had been so long since the Guy Rankin case that she wasn't even sure she'd remember who he was. She hoped he remembered her. Otherwise, she was going to have to do some fancy footwork.

Entering the squad room of the 27^th precinct, she was quickly directed to the interrogation room where Mr. Bolt was being held. With all the professionalism she could muster, she informed the officers that the suspect had to be released. There simply wasn't enough evidence to hold him. As she suspected, Cyrus Bolt seemed more annoyed at being held than happy to be set free. There was a general grumbling amongst the detectives as they filed out of the room but one held back and shut the door before she could leave.

"And who might you be?" he asked.

"Stella, Stella Kowalski."

"Ray Vecchio, the real Ray Vecchio," he introduced himself.

"I understand we have a little business to take care of."

"Yes, we do."

"Well detective, I've never really done anything like this before and truth be told I'm only doing it because Eric Lawson is an old friend of my family."

"Stella I don't care if you're only doing it because they're paying you a million dollars. If you can help me get my old life back, it's worth it."

She smiled at the detective. "Well, here's the plan."

Cass read the reports her brother had sent her several times before she was finally able to make any sense of them. But one fact stood out in her mind. Victoria Metcalf hadn't made a mistake in showing up at her home on Valentine's Day. It was Ray Vecchio she was looking for. She was there to extract her revenge for him shooting Benton and keeping the quiet Canadian from running off with her. She vaguely remembered the incident. She had been so busy getting ready to move to Las Vegas that she hadn't kept in touch with her neighbor like usual. But she'd heard the stories from the neighbors about how he'd been shot trying to apprehend a murderer.

What had really happened? From everything she read here, Ray had been the shooter. Was he really afraid that Benton was going to give up his life in Chicago and all his precious Mountie ideals to be with this woman. No, here it was, his statement that he'd seen a gun in the woman's hand. He was trying to keep his friend from being shot. But if she had a gun pointed at him, why would he be chasing after her? Too many questions she didn't have answers for. But the one thing she knew for sure was that Victoria Metcalf was a very evil woman.

Cass, didn't know why she was so surprised to come to this conclusion. Ray, Mike Euhler and several other law enforcement officials had tried to tell her the same thing. Looking back now, every encounter she'd had with the woman had always made her feel a little off kilter. She just never took the time to recognize the dark energies for what they were, an evil streak that consumed the woman.

She wasn't sure what to do next. She decided to try to find out what actually happened to Ray. Her first phone call was to Tim Matthews. He was the one who had started her on this journey of discovery. He should have some answers.

"Tim Matthews."

"Cass Lindsey."

"Cass! I'm so glad you called me. Have you read the letter? What can I do for you?"

"Where is he, Tim? What's going on?"

"Do you really want to do this on the phone? Or would you rather meet in person?"

"Just answer the questions, Tim."

"Fine. Exactly what do you want to know?"

"Everything there is to know about Armando Langostini."

"Um, Cass, there is this little thing called attorney-client privilege."

"Privilege be damned. I already know him better than anyone in Las Vegas with the possible exception of you. Now what happened that made you bring me this package yesterday?"

Tim took a deep breath, giving him a moment to carefully phrase his answer. "When Armando first put me on retainer, we set up a time for him to check in daily. He was very security conscious, which is not uncommon for a man in his position. Over the past several months he's brought me things to put in his personal fine with instructions for their disposition in case something should happen to him and he not check in as scheduled."

"Okay, so what happened now?"

"Friday afternoon Marco Scarpetta was seriously injured in an auto accident. He was scheduled to fly to Chicago yesterday on business so Armando had to go in his place. Friday night Armando came by and asked me to add the picture frame to your package. Yesterday morning he didn't call me as scheduled. I tried calling his hotel but no one there has seen him since he checked in Saturday morning. I tried the Scarpetta's but no luck there either. The butler says the family is unavailable and no one at the house has heard from Armando."

"Did you try to reach them at the hospital?"

"Yes, I went by the Medical Center yesterday after I stopped at your house. Marco's been transferred but no one there was able to tell me where."

"So we're to assume Armando's dead?"

"I've got a private investigator out trying to dig up some more information. But for now, that's all I know."

"Okay, thanks."

"Cass, what I can I do for you now?"

"Nothing. You've filled in the important pieces. I'm going to try to get a flight out to Chicago today. I'll let you know if I learn anything.

"What do you think you're going to find?"

"Probably nothing. But I can't just sit here and twiddle my thumbs. I've got to take control of something. I've never been a good 'passenger', always had to be the 'driver'. Besides, I've got friends in Chicago."

"Okay, but take care of yourself. I'd hate to see something happen to you too."

"Thanks, Tim. Hey, there is something you can do for me."

"What's that?"

"Tell me how I can legally get my gun to Chicago with me."

Cass paced impatiently awaiting the arrival of the flight that would take her to the Windy City. A storm front had stalled over the Rockies and the Plains States keeping her in Las Vegas far longer than she wanted to be. After talking to Tim yesterday, she re-read Ray's letter. He had made sure that other people he loved knew about her, yet no one had called her with any news. Hell, even the FBI knew about her. She thought they'd have called and told her he was dead. But still no word. In one final act of desperation, she tried calling Sam Scarpetta to see what the young man knew. Nanny Binkett took the call telling her that Sam had gone to Wyoming with his mother and couldn't be contacted. Cass expressed her best wishes for Marco's speedy recovery and asked that they be relayed to the family.

Now, as she continued to pace, she wondered if she should have even done that. Well, no use crying over spilled milk. Before she had left for the airport this morning, she had taken the extra precaution of running Ray's letter through her paper shredder. Half of it went in her recycling bin and the other half had come with her to be disposed of at the airport.

Pulling her cell phone from her purse, she tried again to call the Canadian Consulate and as before, she was dropped into voice mail hell. "Damn them," she muttered. You'd think that a country with such kind polite citizens would be able to handle their phone calls with a little more courtesy. She knew she could be barking up the wrong tree but deep in her bones, she believed Benton would be able to help her.

After being held a virtual prisoner at the airport for nearly eight hours, she was allowed to board the jet that would take her back to her old home for the first time in nearly three years. Settling into her seat, she immediately pulled on the headphones to her personal stereo so she would not be distracted by or be tempted to engage in conversation with her seatmate. Once burned, twice shy.

In Lt. Welch's office Ray and Stella made a convincing display of two people who had fallen madly in love at first sight. They knew they were convincing when both Harding and Francesca became disgusted with their nattering and gromishing. Ray continued to be consumed by a racking cough. The doctors were reluctant to give him something for it when they couldn't monitor him and he would have been reluctant to take it anyway.

It was the waiting that was the worst. Ray knew what his friend was facing. He'd been up in the Territories with Fraser. The elements could be overwhelming. Fraser would be able to take care of himself but Kowalski was the wild card. If the guy were smart enough to listen to the Mountie and do as he said, they'd be okay. But he'd seen how unpredictable the blonde detective could be and feared for the two of them. Though she did a good job of hiding it, Ray knew Stella was afraid too. He could tell by the look in her eyes whenever anyone spoke of the two missing officers. He knew she still loved her ex-husband; maybe the in the same way he still loved Angie, maybe not. He knew Stella and Stanley hadn't been divorced for long so it was hard to tell where they were in reconciling their feelings for each other. But he had to give the woman credit. She put on one convincing show of being in love with him now.

"So Ray, have you thought about what you're gonna do with your early retirement?" Welch asked.

"None at all, sir. I hadn't planned on retiring for at least another twenty years or so. What's a retired cop supposed to do anyway?"

"Well, you could always go to Florida and open up a bowling alley."

They all laughed at the cliché.

Cass was awake at 8:00 a.m. She cursed the clock by the bedside but then realized that her body was still on Las Vegas time so she really hadn't overslept by her own circadian rhythms. But she knew she had a lot to do in a short time and would have liked to have been out the door by now. By the time she had arrived in Chicago last night, it had been too late to do anything but get a cab and go to her hotel. Once she was up and dressed, she ate a big breakfast. She had a feeling that she would be too busy to eat lunch and still carried with her memories of the night Benton had taken her to the hospital after she'd collapsed in a hypoglycemic faint.

Her first stop was at the Canadian Consulate. A young woman sat at the reception desk working busily on the computer. She looked up at Cass and smiled politely.

"May I help you? Puis-je vous aider?"

Cass, unused to being spoken to in a foreign language, stared stupidly at the woman for a moment.

"Uh, yes please. My name is Cass Lindsey. Is Constable Fraser available please?"

"I'm sorry, the Constable isn't in."

"When do you expect him?"

"That would be hard to say. He's gone back to Canada on a special assignment."

Cass searched her memory for the names of the co-workers he'd written about in her Valentine's card.

"How about Constable Trumball?" she asked

"Do you mean Turnbull?"

"Yes, that was the name. Is he available?"

"No, I'm afraid he's also in Canada."

"And I suppose the inspector is there too."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid so."

"So there's probably no one here who can help me find Ray Vecchio."

"The detective?"

"You know him?" Cass asked excitedly.

"Oh yes. Isn't he cute? I just adore his hair and that tattoo is just so hot."

'Hair?' 'Tattoo?' Comprehension slowly dawned on Cass. "How long have you been working here?" she asked.

"Oh, just a few weeks. I'm only a part time employee. I fill in when they need extra help. But if you're looking for the detective, why are you here? Shouldn't you be looking at the police department?"

Cass sighed. "Yes, I probably should but I was in the area and hoped Constable Fraser could tell me exactly where to find him. But thank you kindly for your help."

Once outside the building Cass though about where she should go next. Logically speaking the 27th precinct was her best bet but she feared that if she went there, they'd try to foist the ersatz Ray on her too. No the best place to go next would be the FBI Field office. It was a long trip on the subway to the Federal Building but finally she reached her destination. Scanning the building's directory, she found the suite number of the office she needed and waited impatiently for the elevator.

Cass exited the elevator car and walked briskly through the glass doors to the reception area. A middle aged woman with her hair drawn back severely into a bun and dressed in a navy blue blazer and white blouse looked up at Cass. She scrutinized the younger woman, taking in every stitch of the turquoise and gray sweater she wore over a black turtleneck shirt and black jeans.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked.

"I hope so. My name is Cass Lindsey. I'd like to speak to someone regarding Armando Langostini.

"I'm sorry. Who?"

"Armando Langostini," she repeated slowly. "He's..." she paused for a moment thinking about what she wanted to say. "He's an agent I met in Las Vegas."

"Nevada?" the woman asked.

"Yes."

"Then why, may I ask, are you looking for him here?"

Cass could feel her patience wearing thin. "Because I know he's from Chicago and I know he flew back here Saturday."

The woman consulted her computer for a moment and then looked at Cass again.

"I'm sorry. But I don't have any record of him."

"Okay, would you please try the name Ray Vecchio?"

"But I thought you said..."

"Look, I know what I said. Just try it, please?"

"I'm sorry, nothing there either."

"Damn," she swore under her breath. She wasn't entirely convinced that the woman had really looked or was telling her the truth. "May I speak to the special agent in charge of this field office?"

"I'm sorry, he's in a meeting this morning."

"Well there's got to be somebody I can talk to,' she said raising both the volume and the pitch of her voice.

"I'll see who I can find."

During her harangue, she hadn't noticed a young blonde man start to emerge from a hallway into the reception area. The moment he saw her and recognized her voice, Mike ducked back down the corridor and went looking for Eric. In the mean time, a conservatively dressed agent came out to talk to Cass.

"I'm Agent Maddox. What can I do for you?"

She shoved the photograph she'd taken from the silver frame at the man and pointed to the two bodies in front of the Christmas tree. "See this woman? That would be me, Cass Lindsey. See the man? That would be Ray Vecchio, who has been working undercover for the FBI in Las Vegas under the name of Armando Langostini. Three days ago, he flew to Chicago and no one in Las Vegas has seen or heard from him since. Now all I want to know is whether he's dead or alive."

Maddox's eyes grew wide as Cass told her story. Rumor had it that Vecchio had picked up a girl friend out west but the same rumor had it that they'd split up after the Metcalf shooting. As much as he wanted to help the woman, just because she'd done the bureau a favor by taken a known felon off the streets, he also knew he couldn't do anything that might compromise the operation.

"I'm sorry, but there's obviously been a misunderstanding. In the first place, this office doesn't have anything to do with covert operations. In the second, there's no way an agent would ever reveal he was working undercover. I'm so sorry you've been taken in by this jerk's rather lame story but there's really nothing we can do to help you."

Her blood boiling with suppressed rage, she snatched back the photograph and managed a curt "Thank you" as she stormed out of the building. She stepped onto the elevator just before Eric made it to the reception area to intercept her.

"Did she say where she was going?" he asked Maddox and the receptionist.

"No sir, she just left."

"Why didn't you call me when she came in?" he demanded. "We don't need another loose cannon."

For Cass it was another long ride on the "El" back to the 27th Precinct. Feeling the need to work off some nervous energy, she got off several stops short of her destination and took a walk through the old neighborhood. Looking around her, she was at first convinced that she'd gotten off at the wrong place. Nothing looked right to her. She checked the street signs again and knew she was in the right place. Then it dawned on her. The building where she and Christopher had lived, was no longer there. Bits of rubble were all that was left of the old rat trap. What had happened and why hadn't Benton told her about it? Looking around, she saw that the area was even more desolate than she remembered and wondered if the Mountie even lived here anymore. No longer feeling at home, she quickly walked off to Skinner Park to try to clear her head.

It had been years since she'd occupied the seat of a swing in this park. But it had always been her favorite place to relax. She knew that some of the other adults had looked at her strangely when she swung with the same abandon shown by the children who joined her, but it was as if by merely sitting in the seat, she could mentally transform herself back to her childhood that had been so happy and carefree. There had been no art classes to prepare for and no sick brother to take care of. And it just plain felt good. She needed to feel good now but the swing wasn't working its usual magic on her.

She stopped, closed her eyes and thought for a few minutes. She still wanted answers as to the whereabouts of Ray but wasn't sure where she was going to get them. And didn't know what she would do with them once she had them. If he were truly dead, she could accept that. She would grieve for him, as she had grieved for Christopher. If he were alive and the Feds had put him in the witness protection program, she could accept that and she would say a blessing for his continued safety everyday for the rest of her life. It was the not knowing that was bothering her. Why couldn't someone just tell her the truth and let her get on with her life?

Cass opened one eye cautiously and looked around. Fortunately, she was alone at the playground so no one overheard her conversation with herself. Taking a deep breath she resumed her trek to the 27^th precinct.

Eric Lawson was out of breath when he entered the squad room. Running up that many flights of stairs was not recommended for a confirmed old couch potato such as himself. But he had been afraid Cass Lindsey would make this her next stop in her search to find Ray Vecchio. There was no sign of her and intense questioning of several C.P.D. personnel revealed that she hadn't been there and that no one had called looking for the former detective. Feeling dry from his exertions, he went to the lunch room to get something to drink.

A young woman stormed into the squad room and looked all around. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a short pony tail that flipped from side to side as she swung her head, searching for someone who'd be able to assist her. Everyone who was sitting at a desk was on the phone and the two people who walked by her didn't even seem to take note of her presence. She saw what appeared to be the only real office with a door and assumed that the person in charge would be housed there.

The Venetian blinds that hung over the office window were down but not drawn and she could see that there were four people inside. One of them was Ray and he was kissing another woman. Cass had never experienced jealousy of the sort that consumed her at that moment. She suddenly understood how people could be driven to insane acts of violence when they felt betrayed by a lover. At this moment she sincerely wished Tim had found a way for her to take her gun on the plane. But she contented herself with knowing she could probably snap the bitch's neck like a twig.

"That two-timing, low-life bastard," she exclaimed through gritted teeth as she prepared to storm into the office.

A rough hand grabbed her arm and swung her away from the object of her rage. "Stop right there, Miss Lindsey."

Cass looked up to see a man in his early fifties with thick black hair showing only the first subtle strands of silver. Kind but stern brown eyes rested behind thick glasses with gold metallic frames.

"And who are you?" she demanded.

"Eric Lawson, FBI."

"Yeah, right," she replied sarcastically. "And where were you when I was there looking for help a few hours ago?"

"In my office, unaware that you were in Chicago until it was too late to catch up with you."

He could tell that she still wasn't convinced of his credentials. He showed her his identification and seeing her relax just a bit, he offered to buy her a soda and talk to her in private. She glanced again at the little passion play that was going on in the office before looking back at the agent.

"I don't think you understand," she began to say.

"Oh, but I do. You're the one who isn't fully up to speed yet." He nodded in the direction of the two love birds. "Nothing's going to happen in there that we need to be concerned about. Come on, let's go get that soda."

She waited in an interrogation room while Eric got her a can of pop from the machine in the lunch room. She wasn't sure just what to do now. Of all the possibilities she had prepared herself for, this wasn't one of them. On the surface it seemed inconceivable that Ray would have been professing his undying love for her while he had another girl stashed back in his home town. But, he had lied to her about so many things that she felt she shouldn't be surprised. A line of his letter sprang to mind. 'There have been so many lies between us and that's not the way I want you to remember me.' At the time she read it, it had seemed so sweet. Now it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The door opened and interrupted her thoughts. Eric sat down at the table with her and handed her the cola she had requested. For a few minutes he sat there and just watched her. He hadn't had time to pull up the official background check he knew the bureau had done on her and had only Mike's information to go on. But he knew that she was aware of far more than any mere 'girlfriend' should know and had no idea how she'd come to possess that knowledge. From everything that Mike had said about her, she seemed to be a decent person but rules were rules and he'd have to debrief her anyway.

"Okay, you've stopped me from barging in that office and making a complete ass of myself, which I suppose I should thank you for. So what happens next?" she asked.

"Oh, just a little informal interview," he said trying to keep the mood light.

"What? The FBI doesn't have a complete dossier on me? Geez, I figured that would have been done months ago."

"Oh, it has, Miss Lindsey. I can assure you of that. I just didn't get a chance to study it before I rushed over here."

"Please, call me Cass. I hate the title Miss Lindsey."

"Okay, Cass. Let's start at the beginning. How do you know Armando Langostini?"

"Well, if we're really going to start at the beginning, the question should be 'how do I know Ray Vecchio'. Don't you think?"

That admission startled the man. "Yes, I suppose it should."

Cass took a long drink of her cola and began her story of living in Chicago and meeting the Mountie and his detective friend. She ended with Tim's visit to return the picture to her. She never mentioned the letter that Ray had sent with that picture, nor the fact that her brother had sent her the information on Ray's involvement with Victoria Metcalf. But Eric had been around long enough that he realized there were a few gaps in her story.

"How did you know he was working undercover for us?"

"I didn't," she lied. "But I know people in law enforcement out in Nevada and they assured me he wasn't one of theirs. It was either you guys or the Chicago Police. And I just couldn't see the C.P.D. budget as being big enough to cover something like that."

She felt emotionally drained. Now that she had found the man she once called her lover, she wasn't sure what to do with him. "So now that you have the full story, can I please go kill that two timing son-of-a-bitch and his bleach blonde bimbo?" she asked somewhat plaintively.

Eric chuckled at her. "I don't think there's any need for that. The truth of the matter is that there's nothing I'd like more than to see you take him off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But for right now, he needs Stella to get him out of here safely." He told her how he had planned to bring Ray in from his undercover assignment and how it had backfired with Muldoon shooting him.

"He's been shot? My God, what on earth is he doing here? He should be in a hospital."

"And you can tell him that later. But for now, I'd like you to go back to Las Vegas. You're going to have a memorial service to attend."

Panic washed over her and showed visibly in her face.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. Ray will be fine. But Armando Langostini is dead. He'll be cremated and the remains will be shipped back to Nevada. I think it would be best if you were there."

"Grieving girlfriend, huh?"

"Think you can pull it off?"

"Prepare to hand me my Oscar when it's over with," she stated with conviction.

He looked concerned when she seemed so certain.

"Hey, think about it. For months, I've had everyone in the bureau convinced that I knew nothing of his past. Why should I act any differently now?"

"You do have a point. Just don't go overboard with it though."

"I won't. Oh, but I do have one question. Tim Matthews, his lawyer. Has he been informed? Or is he in on this?"

"No, and thanks for that piece of information. I'll make sure he gets the word. And I'll make sure someone gets in touch with you at the memorial service."

Finishing the last of her drink, she stood up to leave. Eric extended his hand to her. She shook it and thanked him for his efforts. He showed her how to get out of the building without attracting too much attention and then returned to Lt. Welch's office.

There seemed to be a great celebration going on in there as the small room was filled with both uniformed officers and detectives alike. Taking Stella aside, he learned that they'd just been informed of the successful capture of both Muldoon and Cyrus Bolt. The cheers of success turned to gasps of horror as everyone watched Ray slide off the sofa he'd been sitting on. His racking cough had finally dislodged the bullet from his lung. However, it had brought up a lot of blood with it and now Eric was cursing himself for letting Cass leave. Oh well, nothing to do about that now, he just had to concentrate on making sure the memorial service really was for Armando and not for Ray.

"Get this man an ambulance," he shouted as Lt. Welsh was on the phone.

He managed to get the office clear of everyone except the lieutenant, Stella and Francesca. Though the log books would show that the paramedics arrived in record time, it seemed like hours before a gurney was wheeled in. Frannie and Stella both tried to hold Ray's hands as he was being taken out but the paramedics took over and made sure no one was in the ambulance with them as they took the detective to Presbyterian Hospital.

Cass impatiently paced near the baggage collection area of Orlando International Airport. Her flight had arrived on time and now she was waiting for the large suitcase she'd checked on the flight. She'd been one of the last passengers off the very full 747 so she had irrationally assumed that her luggage would be here already. She had a great many details to see to yet and she was on a very short schedule. One by one the pieces of luggage came out of the wall and hers was the third one. She snagged it and ran out the door to meet up with the man who was handling her transportation.

Ray Vecchio and Stella Kowalski were circling the baggage collection area of Orlando International Airport. Stella found her easily identifiable suitcase fairly quickly but Ray's non-descript black Pullman hadn't shown up yet. At least he didn't think it had. There was a similar one on the carousel but he waited since there were still pieces of luggage coming out.

When no other baggage appeared, he grabbed the case and opened a small corner. Inside was the small stuffed wolf that Francesca had packed for him. He smiled at his sister's gesture. It was sad, really, that he'd had so little time with his family while he was in Chicago and now here he was gone again, giving the Feds time to get everything settled. But he knew that one day he'd return to the Windy City and the people he loved. Sadly, that future wouldn't include Cass. Not for the first time he wished he'd been able to talk to someone about her. But he knew it wouldn't look right for him to be talking about another woman when he was with Stella. And even though he knew she'd understand, he never spoke of the woman he'd loved in Las Vegas even when the two of them had been alone. It was just easier this way.

"Well Ray," Stella began. She started to shake his hand but knew that wouldn't do. They had shared too much in the last ten days. Though she knew her heart was still with her ex-husband, she felt a deep kinship with this Italian detective and knew she would always be able to call him her friend. Instead she wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace and kissed him briefly on the cheek. "It's been a unique experience."

He was started by her show of affection but returned the hug and the kiss. "So you're sure there's gonna be somebody here to pick me up? I mean, I don't really like the idea of being stranded here at the airport."

"Don't worry, Ray. It's been all taken care of. I'd stay with you but I have to pick up my rental car and get on my way to Tampa. My sister's waiting for me."

"Oh sure. Have a safe trip, Stella. And thanks for everything."

"My pleasure Ray." She turned away from him and began to walk down the concourse. After she passed the doorway she turned back to him and called out. "Why don't you wait outside? The weather's gorgeous." And she kept walking.

"Well, it couldn't hurt," he said to himself. Picking up his carry-on bag and dragging the large suitcase behind him on its wheels, he walked towards the doors. His head was bowed looking at the ground when he first stepped outside. The warm humid air enveloped him and the sounds of people milling about assaulted his ears. Over the din he heard the steady sound of a horn honking. He looked up and tears filled his eyes as he saw a 1971 green Buick Riviera.

Francesca had told him the story of how his beloved Riv had ended up in Lake Michigan. The sight of this car nearly stabbed at his heart. Oh well, he was entering a new phase of his life. It was time to pick up a new kind of car to go with it. Still looking at the car, he realized that the sound of the horn had stopped. But now he heard someone calling his name.

"Hey, Vecchio! Take your eyes off the damn car for a minute. Will ya?"

He looked up and saw a familiar face on the driver's side of the car leaning on the hood.

"Hey sweetie. Can I take you for a ride?"

Ray dropped his luggage and ran towards the car. He jumped on top of the hood and scrambled across it to pull Cass into a tight embrace.

"Hey, hey. Have a little respect for the wheels here. Do you know how hard it is to get a mint condition 1971 Buick Riviera?"

"Fuck the car. I don't care. I have you here and that's all that's important."

"Well, truth be told, I'd rather fuck in the car. But we can get around to that later."

"What are you doing here? And why are you dressed in black?"

"Because I just flew in from Armando's memorial service in Vegas and I didn't have time to change and go pick up the car. Now, get in. We've got a hotel room waiting for us in Sanford. Tomorrow, while we're driving to Dothan, I'll give you all the details but tonight, I prefer to specialize in non-verbal communication."

"Dothan?" he asked as he got his luggage and put it in the trunk.

"Dothan, Alabama. Peanut capital of the world."

"Cass, what's the hold up? We're ready and waiting for you," Ray called from the kitchen of the vacation house near the shore of Lake Michigan. It was a small Victorian style cottage and they had grown to love it, especially since it put Cass so near her parents and her oldest brother.

"You and Benny go ahead. We'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

"You hear that, sport?" he asked looking down at his son. "We're on our own for a while."

The small boy took his hand as they walked out the back door and out to the beach. As they walked along the lake shore, gulls littered the sky with their swooping and diving.

"Is he gonna be here today, Dad? When do I get to meet him?"

"I don't know sport. But it could be any day now."

"Are you sure you're not tellin' me a fib?"

"I'm sure. It really happened and on a day just like today."

They were a ways down the beach when they saw a lone figure sitting in the sand. He looked up at them and acknowledged their presence.