TITLE: A TIME AND A PLACE

AUTHOR: ANNA McLAIN

RANDOM: DUE SOUTH GEN

RATING (S): PG.

PAIRING (S): A little implied Fraser/Thatcher

STATUS: NEW

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

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

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

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

SERIES/SEQUAL: None planned.

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

* * Denotes emphasis.

A TIME AND A PLACE
By Anna McLain

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tess froze as the shock of realization struck her.

Not him, she thought, me.

~~~@ 2 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 3 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jump you in a heartbeat."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you doing in here, Constable?"

"Well, sir"

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

"Well, sir"

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

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

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

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

"Singer?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He reached around her and opened the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll be dead long before then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, Ma'am," he whispered.

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

"Ben," she drawled.

"Yes, Miss Parish?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She glanced up at him playfully. "Honestly?"

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

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

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

"Of course, Miss Parish."

"Tess."

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

~~~@ 4 @~~~

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

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

"I thought you were doorman tonight?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ray!"

"Shoes! I was gonna say tall shoes!"

Fraser cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

"Lucky guess."

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

Fraser and Franny exchanged shrugs.

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

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

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

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

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

Ray snickered but kept quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You sing beautifully."

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

Inspector Thatcher chose that moment to cut in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Henri is getting pushy," she lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room exploded in applause.

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

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

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

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

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

"No way, not *that * dance."

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

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

"Yes," the Inspector added.

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

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

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

"I save him for Sundays."

Tess blinked at Franny, surprised. "Rafael?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm, no."

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

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

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

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

The waltz was slow enough for them to talk.

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

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

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

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

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

"And what do you guard against? Invasion?"

He shrugged. "Theoretically."

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

"What?"

"The Consulate, does it get overrun often?"

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

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

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

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

"Will you have another break?"

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

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

She raised an eyebrow.

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

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

"May I escort you back to the stage?"

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

"Ah. Thank you kindly for the dance."

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

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

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

"Yes, Ray?"

"I saw you."

"I don't know what you mean."

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

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

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

Fraser met his eyes. "What do mean?"

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

"Are you referring to pheromones, Ray?"

"Fairy what?"

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

Ray gave him a strange look.

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

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

"Ray!"

~~~@ 5 @~~~

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

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

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

"You're gonna walk?"

"Yes, Ray."

"But it's raining again."

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

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

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

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

"The ballast?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I believe it was robbery."

"Did she say that?"

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

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

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

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

"Deal."

Ray nodded. "Good night, Benny."

"Good night, Ray. Drive safely."

"Don't I always?"

"Well" Fraser looked dubious.

"Franny!" Ray yelled.

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

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

"Phone number?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, has she finished changing?"

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

"Miss Parish? Are you ready to go?"

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

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

~~~@ 6 @~~~

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

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

He nodded.

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

"Eight blocks up, two over."

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

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

"They *were * gang members, though?"

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

"What did they want from you?"

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

He turned toward her. "Could you elaborate?"

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

"Such as?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you hear?"

"Nothing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, my," she whispered.

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

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

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

"He ain't dead, is he?"

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

"I want the coat."

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

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

~~~@ 7 @~~~

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

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

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

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

He opened one eye a crack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you going to do with us?"

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

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

~~~@ 8 @~~~

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

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

"Let me talk to Fraser."

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

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

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

"Let me talk to him!" Ray snapped.

"And who may I ask is calling?"

"You know me, Turnbull."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Has he been in at all today?"

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

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

"Then you should know where he is."

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

"Call Ray what, sir?" Turnbull frowned.

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

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

"Maybe he went in early."

"He hasn't been to the Consulate."

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

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

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

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

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

"Like Rita Hayward."

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

"Fraser?"

Lieutenant Welsh met his eyes and both men laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 9 @~~~

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

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

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

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

The woman pressed against him stirred, moaned.

"Shh," he whispered.

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

"Ow, my arms are asleep."

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

"You speaking from experience?"

"Yes. How does your head feel?"

"I feel like I fell off a building."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It hardly seems big enough."

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

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

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

"We have to get out of here."

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

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

"You may not get your man this time."

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

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

"You speak French?" he asked in surprise.

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

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

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

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

"They're numb."

"Wiggle your fingers."

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

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

"Are they moving?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll make a lousy harem girl."

"It's a possibility."

"And what about you? Harem boy?"

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

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

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

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

"Your wrists are bleeding, are you okay?"

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

"Ah. Probably for the best."

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 10 @~~~

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

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

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

"Is Inspector Thatcher there?"

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

"Put me through to her, Turnbull."

"And who shall I say is"

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

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

"Have you seen him?"

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

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

"There's really no reason to"

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

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

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

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

"It's about time."

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

"He hasn't been there then?"

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

"Turnbull didn't tell you?"

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

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

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

"A few, but I wanted your input."

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

~~~@ 11 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

Dief whined and retrieved his packmate's Stetson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll have them call you."

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 12 @~~~

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

"Woods," he whispered.

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

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

Doc, recovering his balance, cowered and scurried off.

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

They trudged on through the trees and patchy snow.

Suddenly, the woods opened onto a clearing.

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

"Stop and I shoot you," Hoover snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Doc, enough!" he barked.

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

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

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

"Got her!" A. J. called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Unless you're Houdini."

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

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

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

Tess moved her hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um, yes, quite."

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

"So, can we get out?"

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

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

"We're screwed, Darling."

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

~~~@ 13 @~~~

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

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

He looked up at her with distant eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What teenyboppers, Franny?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned, coat in hand.

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

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

~~~@ 14 @~~~

"Tess."

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

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

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

"Car wreck?"

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door beside them opened.

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

"Just like Christmas morning," Hoover said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Understood," he said.

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

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

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

"Shut up, you two," Hoover said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 15 @~~~

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

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

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

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

"What? What?" the trader shouted.

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

"You said something," the trader replied.

"No, I didn't!"

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

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

"Them...the voices."

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

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

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

The two men exchanged uneasy glances.

"They talk to you often, do they?"

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

~~~@ 16 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 17 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And suddenly she saw something else reflected in it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is missing."

"Uh, yeah. Since yesterday."

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

Franny nodded. "That pretty much covers it."

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

"Where is he?"

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

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

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

"He will find himself."

Franny stared at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Franny fell into her seat like a dropped marionette.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old woman chuckled.

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

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

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

"Francesca?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

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

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

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

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

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

The woman chuckled.

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

~~~@ 18 @~~~

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

"What time is it?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Of what?"

"The tank that ran over me."

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

"Breakfast has arrived."

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

She pressed against his arm.

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

"Yum," she said without enthusiasm.

"I suggest we keep the bagels."

"For what?"

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

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

"Protein and vitamins."

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

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

~~~@ 19 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then why not just shoot him?"

"Maybe they didn't have guns."

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

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

The door to the office opened quietly behind Ray.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ray! Ray," she insisted.

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

"I know where he is!" she blurted.

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

"Well, sort of." She shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I agree."

"So, I was right?"

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

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

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

She swallowed hard. "Sorry."

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

A knock at the door made them jump.

"Yeah?" Welsh called.

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

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

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

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

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

"What kind of transmission?" Ray asked.

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

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

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

The others stared at her.

"He called his teeth?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Psychic?" Thatcher snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are those, the Logan Mountains?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds good."

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

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

Welsh suppressed a smile.

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

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

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

"Me, too."

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

"I can help!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 20 @~~~

"Let her go!" Fraser ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 21 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 22 @~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

And smiled.

~~~@ 23 @~~~

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

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

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

"Not if you're telling the story."

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

"Relish, more like."

"You're bleeding."

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

Robert nodded. "Where's the girl?"

"Cooking."

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

"And?"

"And what, son?"

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

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

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

"Really?" Robert smiled.

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

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

"Beautiful country, that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~@ 24 @~~~

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

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

"What's wrong with you?"

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

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

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

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

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

After surveying her appearance in the mirror to be sure the drugs didn't create bumps in places that shouldn't bump, she bent and splashed hot water on her face until her cheeks were bright red. Then she changed the water to cold, splashed quickly to give her face a clammy feel and prepared to deal with A. J.

The man jumped back as she opened the door. His green eyes were wide and he studied her face with concern. She was almost touched. He winced at the dark circles accentuated by her bright red face. "You okay?"

She nodded slowly, swayed and grabbed the doorjamb with what she hoped was just the right amount of weakness. "After effects of the drugs, I reckon, son."

"They're rough," he agreed and took her hand. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against his side. With a nod of his head, he motioned toward the kitchen. "You gonna be okay to cook? I mean, maybe I can--"

"I'll live." She hid her smile behind her hand as she stumbled back to the kitchen.

~~~@ 25 @~~~

The flight was long and dull. Ray stared out the window, bored and worried. He kept seeing the image of Benny's calm, relaxed face at the Consulate party. Benny had looked extremely happy dancing with first the Dragon Lady, then Tess. He'd even looked happy to dance with Franny. Ray felt a stab of regret. He should've known something was wrong when Benny mentioned the gang. They chased people for reasons and seldom forgot a grudge. I must be getting old, he thought. His reflexes and intuition seldom let him down. He still couldn't believe he had missed a clue so glaring, that something was wrong. He should've known they'd go after the woman again.

With a sigh he reclined his seat and tried to still his whirling mind. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get a little sleep. He hadn't had much at all since Benny vanished. He'd had too much time to think about his friend, about what might be happening to his friend. Benny was the most annoying man in the world, but they say opposites attract. Maybe they make the closest friends, he thought. With determination, he forced his mind on to more pleasant things. At least the seats up here in first class were wider, softer than the ones in coach. It was quieter, too.

Meg Thatcher relaxed back into her seat and glanced at the Detective from the corner of her eye. She tried not to frown. He looked exhausted and the real search had not yet begun. He was so abrasive and contrary that she wished she could've undertaken the mission alone. They were headed for a small airport north of Winnipeg, then to the Yukon to meet up with the team of Mounties. She felt a thrill go through every nerve in her body. To work with the Mounties again! The fresh air and excitement of the chase! You've been behind a desk too long, Meg, she thought. The mission could ultimately lead to a trek through the wilderness and she was pretty sure the city raised American would be out of his league.

She sighed. She was never fond of the wilderness. Aside from growing up poor in a tiny house in the sparsely populated areas north of Montreal with so few amenities it made her skin crawl, she still had nightmares about her first posting with the RCMP. It was the habit of the force to send every new recruit to the coldest and most remote corner of Canada's nether regions to test their mettle. She still recalled every horrific second. After that she had vowed to never live in such a place again. Add to that a baby-sitting mission and the trip might actually rival one of Dante's Hells. But then, Chicago was definitely one of Dante's Hells. Shaking her head, she flipped open her notebook, took out a pen and began making lists and formulating plans, humming Rachmaninov quietly.

Franny's plan was proceeding on course. She couldn't see Ray or Inspector Thatcher from her seat in Coach. Ray only got first class because of her, she thought. She grunted softly, glanced at the rotund man beside her whose hips overflowed into the empty middle seat and sighed. He glanced at her and she attempted to smile politely. When he seemed about to start a conversation she dove for the issue of Cosmopolitan tucked into the pouch on the seat back in front of her. Oh, good, she thought, a review of the 'Sword of Desire' books series. They were her favorite books. Each one was fraught with romance and danger and intrigue. Much better than any Harlequin Romance, she thought. She'd read all but the newest, number six. She decided to skip that part of the review so as not to spoil the surprise.

A while later she realized she'd read the first sentence of the review seven or eight times. Her mind kept wandering back to her dance with Fraser. The exhilaration brought a renewed flush to her cheeks. Her heart began to pound. She felt again his strong hand on the small of her back, guiding her with a grace she would never possess around the dance floor. His warm hand clasped hers tightly, as if to keep her from slipping away. She stared up into his eyes and saw them twinkle, lit with excitement and exhilaration. The warm scent of the vanilla candles mingled with the manly scent of him, of apples and snow. Every so often, his knee would brush her inner thigh and she would have to concentrate just to stand up. And then he smiled at her, that self-effacing lopsided little smile that made her fall for him at first sight.

Stop that, Franny, she told herself mentally. Her stomach knotted and she had to concentrate to slow her breathing. He looked just like the toy soldier in the Nutcracker or like Prince Charming in Cinderella. He was the one man she'd been waiting for since she was a little girl putting a pillowcase on her head and pretending to get married. She shivered and grinned. He was perfect. She would make him so happy. She had every aspect of their wedding and honeymoon planned out. First, a huge wedding at St. Michael's, afterall, St. Michael's was bigger than the church she grew up attending-Our Lady of Immaculate Conception. Every living soul they knew would be in attendance. The reception would be the biggest party Chicago had ever seen. Then, well, then came the fun part. They'd consummate the marriage, then fly off to Tahiti and...consummate...where no one knew them; on the beach, in a hammock, everywhere. She smiled at the thought, staring vacantly into the distance.

The first night Ray brought him to the house for dinner flashed through her mind. He was handsome, tall, beautiful, and so sweet with a little-boy-lost look. She had always believed in love at first sight, but had never met anyone who experienced it; until that moment. She fell so hard it felt like being slammed against a wall. She was breathless, weak and dizzy. To cover her emotional roller-coaster ride she had started a fight with Maria over polenta. He had changed her life completely with the first look, transformed her soul with the first smile.

She wasn't about to let some scum steal him away now. She would do anything to save him. Sighing inwardly, she closed the magazine, slipped it back into its pouch, closed her eyes and went over her plan again.

~~~@ 26 @~~~

Veena nodded at the pair of girls lounging across the street. They returned the motion and casually started down the nearly deserted street. They spotted their quarry and easily flanked her, one in front, and one behind. Their prey was a striking young blonde who carried schoolbooks under her arm. Veena knew the girl, Loretta. She lived nearby and always took the same route home from the library each night making her an easy mark. Normally, she would've surveilled someone she didn't know for a week before taking them, but Hoover had been so insistent, that she threw caution to the wind. Just this once, she told herself. A moment later they pounced on Loretta.

"There they go," said one of the men in the car.

His partner nodded and spoke into a walkie-talkie, "Now."

The attack was swift and precise. Undercover police officers stepped out of the background and pounced on the girls like ghosts suddenly materializing.

"Hey, Jack," Detective Parker Logan nudged the well dressed black man he was temporarily partnered with, "she's making a break for it." He indicated Veena with a tilt of his red head.

Jack Huey was out of the car in an instant, barreling down the sidewalk after the girl, Logan on his heels. Veena heard their footsteps echoing from the buildings. With a quick glance over her shoulder she bolted into an alley, running full speed.

Huey slid around the corner after her, losing his balance. He caught himself with one hand on the garbage-strewn ground and he cursed the slick-bottomed dress shoes he wore. Sometimes style wasn't worth it. Logan passed him with a glance to be sure his partner was all right.

The girl knocked over a trash can. Logan hurdled it. She jumped for a fire escape ladder, intending to pull it down and lose her pursuers in the building. Huey scooted around the trashcan and ran after them.

Veena caught the bottom rung of the ladder and hung there, suspended, swinging back and forth to gather momentum to catch the next rung. The ladder jerked and dropped two feet. She let out a small squeak.

Logan leapt for her and snagged her foot. She screamed. For a long moment they hung there; Logan swinging from her foot by one hand, Veena clinging to the ladder with both hands, feet dangling.

Then she fell free.

They landed in a heap just as Huey came up. The girl began to flail wildly, scratching and biting. Logan grabbed her around the waist and Huey tackled them. It took five minutes to subdue and cuff her. She swung at Huey as he hefted her to her feet. He ducked, yanking her arm behind her back and snapping on the cuffs. The two men exchanged a look, breathing heavily from the exertion.

She screamed curses at them and kicked all the way to the squad car that sat waiting to take her in.

~~~@ 27 @~~~

"That's the airplane?" Franny muttered under her breath, gaping at the small Piper Cub that waited on the tarmac. "It's too tiny. We're gonna die before we get there." She was beginning to have doubts about her plan. A small wave of fear crashed over her. She tamed it with sheer determination and an image of Fraser's face. Nothing would keep her from him.

"Is this because I'm an American?" Ray's voice demanded behind her. She turned and stepped behind a huge potted plant to watch. "This *is * because I'm American! It's discrimination! Let me tell you"

Typical, Franny thought and slipped out of the terminal and jogged over to take her seat in the front of the tiny aircraft.

"Detective!" Inspector Thatcher snapped. "Let me handle this."

"What? Oh, sure, a conspiracy."

"Quiet!" she ordered. The tone of her voice made him fall silent, eyes wide, but he continued to mutter under his breath.

She stepped closer to him, staring him straight in the eyes. Her voice was low and dangerous, "Need I remind you *again *, Detective, I am in charge here. This is my mission, my country, and if you disobey a direct order again I will have you detained until I return. Understood?"

Ray gulped. He could see now why Benny snapped-to whenever she barked at him. But, he wasn't Benny. He took a step closer to her, raising his chin and staring down at her.

"Look, Lady," he matched her tone of voice. "This is supposed to be a joint task force. Joint means we both go. You can't leave me behind, it's against the rules."

She took a step closer and narrowed her eyes. "There are no rules, Detective. This is my mission. Fraser is my responsibility."

"And my best friend."

"And I won't have your pigheadedness and arrogance jeopardize his life."

"I don't want anything to happen to his life, either," Ray said. "So, you understand me?"

"Yes, and you understand me?"

"Sure."

"Good."

"Good."

"We agree, then?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Good."

Thatcher turned her back on the man who was quickly becoming the bane of her existence and smiled at the man behind the counter. She leaned close and spoke to him softly. Ray wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the word 'American' several times. Then the two Canadians laughed. The attendant handed her Ray's boarding pass, which she held under his nose in triumph after thanking the attendant. She shouldered her carry on bag and strolled past him to the plane.

Ray's mouth fell open and he stared at the man behind the counter, sure that he was being discriminated against, then glanced at Thatcher's retreating back. He scowled and followed her. She had such an annoying superior attitude. His eyes fell on the sway of her hips beneath her short wool skirt. He tried to look away, but his eyes strayed back. He'd been alone too long. Yes, he decided, if she weren't so mean and cold she would be a very attractive woman, but nothing like Suzanne, of course. Suzanne was a once in a lifetime soul mate kind of love. The mutual spark left them both shell-shocked and changed forever. He released Dief and carried the empty crate across the tarmac.

He surveyed the interior of the aircraft as he climbed into the back after Thatcher. The pilot was a young man, checking the gauges. In the front passenger seat he saw the back of a woman's head. Her dark brown hair was neatly pulled into a French braid. Dief sniffed at her hair and whined. Ray pulled him back.

"Leave her alone, Dief."

He felt a brief flash of something. De ja vu? He looked at the woman's back for a moment. Naw. He shrugged off the feeling and felt around the worn upholstery for his seatbelt "Okay, let's get the show on the road, Jeeves," he called to the pilot with more cheer than he felt.

~~~@ 28 @~~~

With a glance into the main room, Tess opened another capsule and poured the white powder into the bubbling chili. She stirred it in quickly, watching it dissolve.

"Is it almost ready?"

Tess started and didn't notice the capsule that fell from her hand onto the stove beside the pot. She turned to face Hoover and smiled nervously.

"It has a while left, thirty-minutes, maybe." She shrugged.

He nodded, leaned over to look in the pot and inhaled deeply. "Smells good." He dipped a finger in the chili and stuck it in his mouth.

She held her breath.

"Tastes good. Needs salt"

Then she saw it--the capsule beside the pot. Her eyes widened and she began to pray. Please Lord, don't let him see it, please, please.

He opened a drawer, pulled out a spoon and dipped into the chili again. He stood beside her for a long minute, blowing on the chili to cool it. "Do I scare you?" he asked his voice soft and amused. She twitched when he gently ran a finger down the side of her head,, behind her ear and down her neck.

She stared at the chili pot, gulped and nodded quickly.

He laughed. A chill went down her back and she suddenly felt cold despite the cozy heat of the small kitchen. "Good." He ate the food from the spoon and tossed it into the sink.

Still chuckling, he left the room, and she collapsed against the stove. She felt giddy with relief and weak-kneed. It was the same sensation of narrowly missing death that she'd experienced each time her ex beat her. She knew a rush of elation would soon follow it. She would have to be more careful. Quickly, she scooped up the errant capsule and secreted it in her palm with the others. There wasn't much time left for her to add the others to the brew. The men were getting hungry and coming into the kitchen more often.

Looking nonchalantly into the main room at the men lounging on the only one of three couches in her direct line of sight, she emptied the capsules into the chili and then the tea pitcher as quickly as she could. She sniffed them to be sure the powder left no scent, tasted the tea and added more lemon and sugar. There, she thought with satisfaction, Agatha Christie would be proud. At the last minute, A. J. turned and glimpsed her slipping something into the food and then her pocket.

He frowned, glanced at the other men watching TV, sipped his beer and strolled into the kitchen.

~~~@ 29 @~~~

Ninety minutes into the flight Ray stopped fidgeting and nudged the back of the pilot's seat. There was only so much sitting still he could deal with.

"Hey, Jeeves, how long is the flight, anyway? I thought we'd be there by now."

Dief whined at his feet. The wolf picked up on the man's unspoken fear, disguised as it was behind impatience.

"Three hours total," the pilot said with a long-suffering glance over his shoulder. It was the clients who acted like children that tried his patience the most.

Ray glanced at his watch. "We're only halfway there?" he whined. "It's already nearly midnight and we're only halfway there." He leaned closer to the pilot and glanced over at the other passenger.

And froze.

"Franny?" his voice was incredulous.

~~~@ 30 @~~~

A. J. entered the kitchen silently. He stopped behind her and used his height to peer over her shoulder as she wiped her hands over the chili pot and stirred.

"What was that? Sugar?" he whispered, brushing back his black hair off his forehead.

She started and bumped the pot, splashing some of the hot liquid on her hand. "Ouch! Oh--" She jumped to the side and whirled to face him, clutching her burned hand. He sidestepped and stood in front of her, his hips almost touching hers.

"Culinary concentration got you jumpy?" he asked with a small frown, his goatee accentuating his dimples.

She didn't meet his eyes, but stared at his blue flannel shirt instead. It hung loosely, but clung enough to accent the bulge of his biceps and his wide shoulders.

He leaned back a little and took her injured hand in both of his, stepping backwards and pulling her toward the refrigerator in the corner, out of sight of the main room. She stared at the sway of his hips in his jeans instead of meeting his eyes. A myriad of questions raced through her frightened mind. How much did he see? Is he going to turn me in? If he does, what will happen? If he doesn't, what will he want? She heard him open the freezer door.

The ice stung when he held the cube against her skin with his long bare fingers. She hissed with the pain. He held her hand against his chest, forcing her to stand close. Unwillingly, she looked up at him. He studied her face as though she were a Greek statue. The smell of beer was strong on his breath, but his midnight blue eyes were clear and amused.

"You're trembling," he whispered, reaching up with one hand to very lightly stroke her cheek.

She swallowed in a mouth suddenly gone dry. He had the most compelling eyes; so intense, so passionate. She sensed he was quick to anger and tried to think of something to say that would make him release her. Her mind was a blank, overpowered by the scent of sweat and wood smoke and the fear of being discovered.

She stood, lower lip trembling, staring up into those eyes until he drew his thick black eyebrows together and dropped his gaze to the front of the shift dress Hoover had provided her. She blinked. Oh, no, she thought. She shook her head almost imperceptibly in silent entreaty and bit her swollen lower lip.

He pursed his lips and ran his fingers through her hair. "I'd buy you myself, but I'm just a poor country boy," he whispered almost inaudibly, his deep voice wavering.

She glanced at the pot bubbling on the stove like a witch's cauldron then stared into his eyes.

He followed her look, tenderly lifted her chin with his other hand and kissed her deeply, passionately, tangling his fingers in her hair. His lean body pressed against hers, parting her legs with one knee and pulling her to him. She was breathless and tingling when he pulled back. She fell against the refrigerator door when he released her and, over her shoulder, watched him slip quietly back into the main room without a word.

~~~@ 31 @~~~

Inspector Thatcher looked up, startled. She bit back the instantaneous impatient remark that sprang to her lips about the Detective's timing, as she was just falling asleep, and followed his gaze. She used her professional façade to hide the sudden anger she felt that the impertinent young woman would infiltrate her mission. And it was *her * mission, damn it, not the Americans'.

Franny turned slowly in her seat to face the back. "Now, Ray, before you start whining some more"

Dief stood up and licked her face. She laughed and stroked his fur.

"Whining!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, whining. He was whining, wasn't he?" she asked both the pilot and the Inspector. Both nodded. Ray's mouth dropped open.

"I was not whining. I don't whine!"

"There you go again!" Franny held up a hand to stop Ray's next protest. "Look, I'm going with. Benton is my friend, too and I want to help look for him."

"You're crazy! Ma must be worried sick. You are going right back home! What kind of stupid idea was it for you to come"

"It was Ma's idea! Three eyes are better than one."

"along and risk your"

"And the plane is already in the air and we're almost there."

"life and worry Ma"

"So, I'm staying."

"so, you're going home."

The siblings stared at each other, determination hardening their faces.

Thatcher sighed then cleared her throat. The chance to one up the Detective was too good to pass up. "She's right."

Two pairs of wide eyes turned toward her.

She shrugged. "We're nearly there."

"You're crazy, too. What is this the PMS flight?"

She fixed him with an icy stare. "Detective Vecchio, your sister is already involved in the mission. It is too late to send her back. Furthermore, another set of eyes will be helpful."

"Oh, sure, you want to leave me behind but you'll take my sister? The one who needs an extra ticket for her makeup bag?"

"She isn't complaining," Thatcher said coolly.

"Ha, Ha. You're a barrel of laughs." Ray crossed his arms and slouched in his seat, turning to stare out the window on his side. It was a conspiracy. Franny and the Dragon Lady probably planned this trip from Hell just to spite him. Afterall, he and Benny were close, best friends. Franny wanted to be close to Benny and maybe, somewhere under that Vulcan mask, the Dragon Lady did, too. Yep, a conspiracy, he thought.

Franny gave Thatcher a small, conspiratorial smile.

Thatcher returned it, not so much because she liked the woman, more that she liked the look on the Detective's face when she bested him. She settled into her seat, then leaned close to Ray and whispered near his ear, "You get to take care of her in the woods."

Ray gritted his teeth.

~~~@ 32 @~~~

Tess did the dishes and watched the men from the corner of her eye. After a moment she arched her back to relieve some of the stiffness and tried to ignore the unrelenting ache permeating her body.

"It'll ease up after a few days," A. J. told her amiably, handing her a serving dish and stack of dirty bowls.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and winced at the sharp pain in her legs when she turned. She took the bowls from him and gave him a flirtatious look. "You're A. J., right?"

He straightened and smiled, humor sparkling in his midnight blue eyes. "Andrew Jackson Pruitt, Miss Tess."

"I'm surprised you know the name of the current Blue Light Special, Son."

He dropped his eyes to the floor, studying the worn green tile. "I know them all. Gotta pay bills. No offense, Ma'am."

She scowled. No offense? She was about to be put on auction like a horse, probably to be poked and prodded, to end up who knows where and he thought there was no offense? She fought down the sudden, blinding surge of red-hot anger. It wouldn't help her plan to lose her temper now. It wouldn't help Fraser, either. As she took the serving bowl used for the chili from him she glanced inside. It was empty.

She smiled.

A surge of pure joy went through her. She wanted to grab him and spin him around. No, she thought, I'll save that for Ben. She was so happy she only half-listened to A. J., babbling to her as though they were in a singles bar. Is he trying to pick me up? She thought. Is he crazy? She peered at him from the corner of her eye. His black hair and blue eyes reminded her of Ben. But he wasn't as handsome. His nose was a bit too big for his face, his eyes darker and too close together to make him classically handsome. He seemed like a nice guy. Under different circumstances...in another time and place, she thought, too bad he's a criminal.

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" Her gaze flicked up, met his eyes and looked away.

He studied her profile. "You make a mean sandwich." He watched her face. "And the chili was good, too."

Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief and tried to keep it from showing on her face. "Thanks, my Grandma taught me."

She turned back to the dishes, pretending to concentrate on them. She watched her hands tremble, creating bubbles in the dishwater. She'd been a nervous wreck before dinner. Certain that the men would taste the drugs in the food and the tea. Apparently they didn't. Now she felt drained. The adrenaline high was slowly fading. I'll need a cup of espresso at this rate, she thought.

"So, then, is he?" A. J. said with a yawn.

She shook herself back to the conversation as she realized he'd asked the question twice. "What? Ben?"

A. J. reclined against the counter and crossed his muscular arms in front of him. "Yeah, the Mountie."

"Uh, yes, yes he is," she said and grinned as A. J. yawned again. "Sorry, Son."

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Too bad. You're never going to see him again after the next shipment arrives. You'll go to different places."

"Shipment?" She rinsed the last dish and wiped the counter. "You mean the other girls you kidnap and sell like hamburger?"

He sighed. "Business." He pushed off from the counter and stopped her cleaning by putting a hand on either side of her, then pressing her hips against the edge of the counter with his own.

She gasped and stiffened.

"I meant what I said earlier, but I'm too poor," he whispered in her ear.

"Ask Hoover for a raise," she snapped. A quick vision of A. J. getting punched went through her mind and she grinned. She was glad he was behind her and couldn't see her face.

He trailed his fingers down her cheek, through her hair, then down her bare arm tenderly. He rested the side of his face in the back of her hair, eyes closed, body pressed against hers.

"You're hurting me," she said breathlessly. He frightened her. He was a common criminal. She fought against her body's natural response.

He moved back slightly and her feeling of claustrophobia abated, but not the animal arousal she fought to ignore. It had been too long.

After a moment he sighed and pushed away from her. He crossed to the refrigerator and removed a beer.

In the doorway he stopped. When he turned he wore a wistful expression, his eyes soft. "Be careful," he said quietly.

She shuddered. Something between the lines in his words was apocalyptic. He knows, she realized, he knows my entire plan and I don't even know it all yet. And he isn't going to tell. She allowed herself a moment to relax and sort through her confusion. A. J. was a conundrum. If he had her alone she felt sure she'd have to fight to maintain possession of her body. Yet, he acted like he wanted her to escape. Maybe, deep down he wants all the women to escape, she decided.

She wiped her bare arms with the dishtowel and surveyed the kitchen; dishes drying on the counter, counter top and small table cleaned. What else could she do to keep them from locking her in before the 'big sleep'?

She yawned and stretched. It didn't help. She still felt like she'd been through a meat grinder. The sound of a TV movie echoed through the kitchen. Someone dimmed the lights.

To buy time, she bundled the trash and replaced the bag. She spared a quick glance at the small bag she had filled with boxes and cans of food then stuffed out of sight beside the refrigerator.

Fifteen minutes later it was quiet in the main room. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the room, drying her hands on the towel. "Any of you boys want" she let the sentence die uncompleted. She chuckled softly.

They were all asleep.

~~~@ 33 @~~~

Fraser gave up pacing hours before. It made his leg bleed and was a waste of valuable recovery time. It wouldn't give him any insight into their predicament. So, he lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, the bumps and cracks there forming a map of the area to his tired eyes. He was almost certain he knew their location; the southern Yukon, just north of the boundary with British Columbia. His father was correct, if they traveled in any direction for long enough they should reach a highway. Unless we're too far north, he mused. The danger was walking in circles. Fraser's compass was in his Sam Browne belt, now safely ensconced somewhere downstairs.

Yes, he thought, that's the easiest route to civilization. He saw clearly through the mountains.

He frowned and fluffed the pillow under his head, blinking sleep out of his eyes. An alternate plan formed in his mind. He could find a way downstairs and use their captors communications devices to call a local RCMP outpost. He decided they must have a radio somewhere in the house. But, then they would have to wait for the Mounties to find them and apprehend the criminals before they were exported to who knows where. He wasn't certain the Mounties would have time to arrive.

He stretched, yawned and stared at the ceiling until the images he saw there blurred and flowed together. He rubbed his tired eyes and tried to nap, but could not. The dull pain in his thigh muscle was too strong. He knew it would heal, but it worried him. The doctor had inflicted it and would be very unlikely to treat it. He already felt flushed and suspected he had a slowly rising fever.

Eventually, he gave up on sleep and softly began to recite War and Peace to himself.

~~~@ 34 @~~~

Tess did a silent dance of joy and dashed into the kitchen for the supplies. She tiptoed through the main room to Hoover's side. He had the keys to the upstairs room, she knew. Watching his face for any sign of consciousness, she gently rifled through his pockets until her fingers closed on the key ring. He groaned and rolled over. His arm fell on top of her hand, trapping her against him.

She suppressed the urge to scream in frustration and smack him in the head. Instead, she bit her lower lip and nudged his arm over with her free hand. His eyelids fluttered. She held her breath.

He began to snore.

She eased the keys from his pocket and dashed up the stairs, blood pounding so loudly in her ears that they rang.

Fraser stared at the ceiling, having given up on War and Peace. It was impossible to fully enjoy the literary classic when he didn't know what was happening to his companion. He tried to concentrate instead the question of getting downstairs to find a radio. It was too risky to allow Tess to attempt contact.

"I should have heard their approach," he whispered. He recalled the ease of their capture. Maybe I am getting old, he thought. Ten years ago no one would have gotten the drop on him. At 35 he was starting to feel every bruise deeply, every stiff muscle pulled at his bones. He kept up the unshakable Mountie image to inspire confidence in those around him, but inside he was beginning to doubt his physical capabilities. It took longer to recover these days and each wound seemed to come back to haunt him whenever the weather changed.

The sound of a key in the door made him sit up quickly. Too quickly, he thought at the jab of pain in his back.

A moment later Tess danced into the room carrying a small bag.

"Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben!" she said in a singsong voice as she whirled around.

He stood as she opened the cage door. "You're happy. Dinner went well, eh?"

"We're free! We can leave the house now!" She laughed and held up the bag as she bounced in place. "Supplies!"

He needed no further prompting. He scooped up his coat and a blanket. "The men?"

"Sleeping like a bunch of newborns in a nursery or else they're great fakers."

He closed the door behind them. "To the horses, then. Here, put on my coat."

~~~@ 35 @~~~

Elaine sipped her coffee and winced. It was cold and bitter. What I wouldn't give for a real cappuccino, she thought.

The light from the computer monitor bathed her dark face with a bluish cast. The Bullpen was empty. Everyone had gone home hours before.

She moved the mouse and double clicked on the site address, resting her face on her hand with her elbow on her desk. She yawned and blinked slowly to ease the burning in her dark eyes.

The page loaded. It looked like any of the other two thousand sex sites she'd searched for clues today.

She clicked on 'hot new properties' and waited, forcing down another sip of cold coffee. Usually she liked iced coffee, but this stuff was caffeine syrup.

The screen lit up with a picture of New Property #1.

Elaine's mouth dropped open and she sat bolt upright, completely awake, leaning close and squinting at the screen.

The face that stared back was a very pale, slightly bruised, Benton Fraser.

~~~@ 36 @~~~

Getting out of the house was easy. The men were still asleep, though some tossed and turned. As they tiptoed through the main room to the door, Fraser stuffed his pockets with little things he found along the way that he thought they might need. At the door he took a brown leather jacket from the back of a chair and slipped it on. Tess cast a look back at A. J., asleep on the couch or pretending to be. She wasn't sure. Maybe he ate the chili even after watching her pour the drugs into it. Or, maybe he didn't really see what she did to the food.

"There are two missing," Fraser whispered as they slipped outside. "I didn't see Doc or the man with the horses."

"Danny? Well, they ate. I saw them. And Danny took so many sleep aids on his own he shouldn't be up until next week."

"Let's hope they aren't out here."

Tess swallowed nervously and peered at the dark trees that separated them from the barn. The relief she had felt at escaping into the welcoming dark vanished and the night transformed into a foreboding world of looming shadows and loud noises. "And I could get shot for my lousy cooking."

Fraser pressed up against the side of the house and slid toward the corner. He glanced around the edge of the house quickly and, seeing no one, took Tess' hand and dashed for the barn, ignoring the stinging pain and slickness of blood on his thigh.

The interior of the barn was dim with ambient light. Tess covered her mouth and nose. The aroma of dust, old damp hay and horses threatened to make her sneeze. Looking to her right, she frowned. There was something odd in the shadows, shapes that seemed out of place in a barn.

Fraser found a small lantern by the window and lit it, carrying it toward the horses so it couldn't be seen from outside. He selected a sturdy mare and carried a harness over to her.

Its faint circle of light brushed the shadows as Tess watched. Her eyes flew open wide as the shadows pushed back. She bit her finger to keep from screaming.

Fraser heard her muffled squeak and turned from the horse, holding the lantern high.

"Oh, dear," he whispered.

Piled neatly the length of the barn and up to the ceiling were shiny black coffins trimmed in imitation gold.

"What are they doing here, slaughtering people?" Tess whispered, staring.

Fraser thought for a moment. "I don't think so. Hoover is clearly sociopathic, but also greedy. Where is the profit in carting us up here and killing us?" He leaned close to examine one of the coffins. "See here, air holes...and locks. Why lock in a dead person? I believe they use these to ship the women out of the country."

Tess shuddered. "Lord help me, trapped in that tiny little box?"

Fraser turned back to the horse. "It's no different than riding in the box under the van."

"Yes it is. It would feel so...permanent."

Fraser fitted the mare with a harness. Tess moved to stand watch by the small, solitary window, casting nervous glances back at the pile of coffins. He started when he heard her sharp intake of breath.

"It's Doc! Jerk must not have eaten much."

"I don't imagine he felt much like eating," Fraser said, leading the horse from the stall.

"He's going inside and...he has a rifle!" her voice was frightened.

"We'll have to go, then. As soon as he sees them he'll know we're gone."

"Is he that smart?" She looked at the horse. "Where's the saddle?"

"No time. If he comes in here it'll all be for naught. Don't worry, I can ride bareback."

"I can't ride at all."

Fraser gave her a wide-eyed look. "I know." He patted the horse on the back decisively. "You'll have to trust me then."

They heard the door to the house slam and Doc's voice shouting. Voices answered him. More than two, Fraser thought as he swung easily onto the horse's back. He held out a hand to Tess.

She took his hand and let him pull her up. She swung her leg over the horse clumsily and nearly fell off. He reached back and steadied her as she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his back.

Fraser urged the horse to the open barn door. With a glance outside, he whispered, "Hold on." He spurred the mare and crouched low over her neck as she shot out of the barn, galloping for the nearby fog-shrouded woods.

Doc shouted behind them and a bullet whizzed past their heads.

Tess glanced back and saw several groggy men pour from the house to join Doc. The last image she had before the fog closed in was of Hoover shooting out of the barn on horseback, two men kneeling to fire at them and A. J. lounging in the doorway watching them go with a smile on his face. I guess the drugs weren't very strong, she thought.

Bullets made little popping sounds as they bounced from the trees around them.

"Stay low!" Fraser shouted over his shoulder. "They're shooting at us."

Einstein, she thought as the trees blurred by. She ducked her head, low against his back, clutching the bag of supplies with one hand, clinging to his waist, fingers wrapped around the front of his belt

A moment later the shouts of the men behind them were muffled by the dense barrier of the woods. Fraser reined in the horse to slow their headlong rush into the darkness. The quarter moon's wan light didn't filter through the thick canopy of trees or filaments of spectral fog. He squinted ahead of them to look for landmarks. Silently, he was thankful the mare had better night vision than he did.

"I hear them. They're coming," Tess told him.

"I'm going as fast as I dare."

A bullet buzzed past them. The beam of an incandescent flashlight swept the underbrush near by in the slowly thinning fog. Fraser urged the mare faster. It was a reckless pace, he knew, but their survival depended on gaining as much of a lead as possible, then they could vanish into the wilderness.

They plunged on. Branches clutched at their clothing, scratched their faces.

The voices behind them grew dimmer, eventually fading out.

"We outran them?" Tess asked.

Fraser slowed the horse to a steady canter, shivering from the damp cold and rising fever.

"No, they're back there." He cocked his head and listened. "Yes, they're tracking us."

He maneuvered through a tiny clearing. "I hear water," he whispered. "Probably a contributory to that lake back by the house." The horse splashed through the shallow creek.

"Hold on, son. Won't they hear us sloshing through the water?"

"Hopefully, we'll be far away before they reach the creek. I think we have a good lead." He spurred the mare to a near gallop. The creek bed was soft, even and gently winding. The fog very thin here. The creek followed the base of a vertical cliff in a series of small waterfall steps that the mare could easily climb. The other side of the creek sloped gently into rocks and thick forest. The moon was high overhead. Its light penetrated the valley between the cliff and forest, painting the water and rocks with a faint lavender cast. They covered a lot of ground in a short time. Fraser checked the time by the position of the moon every so often as the fog thinned and vanished.

~~~@ 37 @~~~

A. J. Pruitt watched the captive's flight into the trees and fog with an euphoric joy that he knew could get him killed. He yawned. The small amount of drugs in his system, from the tea, made him woozy. He saw Tess turn and couldn't resist flashing her an encouraging smile. Hoover shot past him in pursuit followed by a couple of others and A. J. decided the time had come to make his move. He dashed to the barn for a horse, doing his best imitation of a man drugged into a stupor.

He followed the other riders for a while, tracking the couple. He winced when they started shooting and said a silent prayer for Tess' safety. The Mountie could take care of himselfall Mounties could.

The woods grew quiet, the fog thickening steadily. He slowed his horse and let the other men pull far ahead in the fog. When they were a safe distance ahead, he reined his horse in a different direction entirely, heading south toward the highway. It was a long ride, but in the play that was being acted out, he knew they'd think he was a casualty. And he didn't want to be around for the final act, which, he suspected, contained Mounties and police dogs in a quasi-reenactment of the siege at the Alamo. Hoover and the others would take the fall while he went in search of the next adventure.

Not my cup of tea, he thought. Live to fight another day...and look up a certain blonde or one of the others, since he assumed the Mountie would find them and return them to the continent. He smiled and shifted into a more comfortable position. He had a long ride before him.

~~~@ 38 @~~~

"Can we take a break? I haven't heard them in eons and I feel like every step is shaking me apart," Tess said wearily. "Darlin', we lost them back in the fog."

"If we stop you'll feel worse when you get back on," Fraser replied.

Worse than this bone-wrenching agony, she thought, is that possible? "I'm not even stiff anymore, son." She stretched a little behind him, wincing at the sharp pains ricocheting through her body. "It hurts so much I'm getting nauseous."

"Soon, it's almost morning. See those orange streaks peeking through the trees?"

Tess followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, there were faint orange streaks slicing through the violet sky ahead of them. It was still dark in the valley, but morning was warming the mountaintops.

The morning dawned warmer than the day prior. The woods were paralyzed once more with fog that coalesced as quickly as the rays of the morning sun could penetrate the leafless trees. The skeletal trees gave the landscape an eerie, otherworldly quality, reminding them both of Halloween horror movies.

Fraser reined the horse to a stop. "Perhaps, we'd better break now, before the animals come for their morning drink."

Tess' eyes widened. She forgot about the animals. It would be just her luck to bend down for a drink and look up into the eyes of a hungry grizzly.

"We'd better make it quick, though," he said as he helped her dismount. "We may not have much of a lead. It's difficult to tell."

Tess felt her legs wobble and give way as her feet touched the frozen ground. She sank to her knees, arched her back and stretched as he dismounted and led the horse to water.

"You'd better drink," he called to her. "We have no way to carry water."

Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet and tottered to the stream. The pain was, thankfully, giving way to numbness. She drank and splashed the icy water over her face.

"Do you think we'll be able to sleep soon? We've been up more than 24 hours."

Fraser pushed himself up, dried his palms and his dripping face. He looked at her haggard eyes and sighed. "Tess, I'm a Mountie. They know I can survive out here. They know I'll go back to apprehend them, somehow." He shrugged. "If you were alone out here" He let the sentence drop.

Her weary mind finished it. "They'd let me die slowly or make me into bear snacks," she said and sat quietly for a few minutes. Fraser looked uncomfortably at the ground, unwilling to confirm her assumption. It was better to let her answer her own question than to make her feel inadequate. An inferiority complex could get them both killed out here when the emphasis should be on survival.

~~~@ 39 @~~~

The blaring bass of rock music pounded in Meg Thatcher's head, chasing away the cloudy vestiges of a dream. The dream left her breathless, clinging to tendrils of images. She had been whirling; a dance, his face was obscured. He was tall, dark and handsome, of that she was sure. She could almost feel the muscles of his shoulders and back ripple beneath her fingers, the strength of his arms guiding her in the slow waltz.

"Baby one more time," an off-key voice echoed through the room, ensuring Meg was completely awake. With a groan she opened one eye and peeked at the clock. 0500. What *was * that woman doing up so early? Propping herself up on her elbows, she peered around the hotel room. The only light spilled from the bathroom, where she saw the intermittent image of Franny, dancing as she curled her hair.

Meg flopped back onto her pillow. She never wanted or expected to have a roommate. It was inevitable, she decided, once she had agreed to let the woman come along. They'd only had two rooms reserved at the hotel and Ray had raised Cain about letting Franny stay with him.

"Bringing her was your idea, Big Shot. I live with her all the time," Ray said.

"But she's your sister," Meg protested.

"Y'know, Ma always says, 'you made your bed now lie in it'. Pretty much fits, I think."

And so she was stuck with the young woman for an indeterminate amount of time. The hotel would serve as a sort of base of operations. They would leave to search and return each night. Unless, of course, the search showed Fraser and Miss Parish had escaped into the wilderness. Then they would leave with packs and tents on horseback, if all went according to plan.

A particularly flat note shook her back to the present. She rolled over onto her stomach and buried her head under the pillow. The thump, thump of the base still seeped through. She sighed with weary resignation. The woods might actually be preferable.

~~~@ 40 @~~~

Lieutenant Welsh was happy to be at work. Elaine looked up at him when he walked through the door. Her pretty face was tired, but excited. There were dark circles under her brown eyes.

"Here! Here! Come look, Lieutenant!" Elaine waved him over to her computer terminal.

He stood behind her, peering over her shoulder.

"This is what I told you about last night on the phone. Hoover's webpage."

"And I had pleasant dreams for the rest of the night, what little I was able to sleep."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry, sir. I just knew you wouldn't want to wait 'til morning. I mean, look at this, it's a kind of catalog. There's Fraser." She clicked on a button. "And there's Miss Parish. There are seventy-five women listed. Ten match local missings. I put the rest out on the wire to ID them. Most have this little notation here." She touched the screen. "I'm pretty sure that means they've been sold."

Welsh pointed to some numbers. "Is that the price?"

"I think so, sir."

"Whew, Fraser got a half mil."

"I don't think bidding's over, either."

"What're those other numbers?"

"I think this is the buyers code number, those are dates, probably dates put up, sold and shipped. I haven't figured out the rest of this stuff yet."

"Is there any way to trace this web site?"

Elaine shrugged. "Possibly. I could try to contact the provider and get the information. They should be arriving at work soon. But, honestly, it'll be difficult"

"Then you better get started. Good work, Elaine."

~~~@ 41 @~~~

"Do you think the fog will let up after noon? It must be near noon," Tess asked.

He surveyed the fog. "Mm, not noon yet. The sun doesn't reach full strength down here in the valleys until late in the day, so it may take a few hours." He shrugged. "However, if the weather conditions are right, the fog could last all day." He stood, stiffly.

She frowned. "Is that blood on your jeans?"

He glanced down. Too tired to explain, he lied, "Hmm, no. It's mud." He stretched his arms over his head and staggered dizzily. "We need to get ready to go. We've been here at least an hour and they may be closing in. Do you need to...uh..." He indicated the underbrush with a nod of his head.

Her eyes followed his gesture and she nodded.

Tess dashed off behind the bushes to take care of her bodily needs. Fraser ducked behind a pine tree. "Check for wolverines," he called.

Tess leapt to her feet and stared at the fallen log she had been sitting on, adrenaline surging through her at the thought of teeth sinking into her backside. She exhaled shakily. Snow, no animals. What the Hell's a wolverine, anyway? As she finished she thought, I wonder if he did that just to make me jump?

Fraser tended the horse while waiting for Tess to return. He checked the sky. The fog made it impossible to visually get his bearings. He held his breath and closed his eyes to determine the location of the sun by its warmth.

There it is, he thought, faint and steady.

A stifled scream echoed from the rock face on the other side of the creek. Fraser started. Tess, he thought and circled around the sounds of a struggle. He peered over a bush.

Doc straddled Tess, his horse nearby. Tess tried to scratch him. He grabbed her wrists and forced them over her head, leaning down to lick the side of her face and laugh. She kicked at him. He held her wrists in one hand and slapped her.

She let out a small squeak. Fraser broke cover and tackled the man. They rolled over and Fraser landed on top. Doc grabbed his throat. Fraser drew back his arm and punched him, knocking the man's hand away. With a growl and the strength born of frustration, Doc threw the Mountie off and pounced. Fraser bent his knees, catching the other man full in the stomach with the bottoms of both feet. He shoved. Doc flew through the air and bounced from a tree with a resounding 'SMACK'. He slumped to the ground and lay still.

Tess jumped up and ran to retrieve the rope from Doc's horse as Fraser crawled over to the fallen man.

"Are you injured," he asked, breathlessly.

"No, but I need a can of Lysol for my face." She grimaced and swiped at her cheek with her sleeve.

"He's alive." Fraser peered into the fog-shrouded trees. "The others are surely close."

He took the rope she held out, bound Doc to a tree and grabbed her hand. Together they ran for their horse, mounted and started off into the trees, paralleling the stream.

Behind them they heard Doc's groggy voice begin to shout.

~~~@ 42 @~~~

Francesca pushed the scrambled eggs around on her plate and took a deep gulp of her strong coffee. For the fifth time she half stood up in her seat, staring at the door to the hotel's tiny café.

Inspector Thatcher's gaze flicked up from her breakfast as Francesca plopped back into her seat with an exaggerated sigh.

"Perhaps, you should go get him. He is your brother, afterall and we've already lost valuable time." She finished her bagel and sipped at her coffee.

"Yeah, he better have his butt out of bed, even if he isn't used to being up this early. I beat his door loud enough. So what if he misses breakfast." She tossed her napkin onto the table.

Ray strolled up, closing his cell phone and setting it on the table. "Okay, I talked to Welsh," he said as he pulled up a chair. "He said they caught the girlie gang in the act last night. They're all locked up."

"So, we may not have much time," Thatcher said.

"What do mean? What do they have to do with the price of tea in Japan?"

"Obviously, the kidnappers have a contract of sorts with the little girls. Once they find out the authorities have their contacts they'll close their shop and leave."

"And dump the inventory, Franny."

Her brown eyes widened with fear. "They'll kill them? Just like that?"

"Just like that." Ray grinned up at the waitress. "Just two bagels with grape jam and the biggest, strongest to go coffee you got. Oh, and a steak for the wolf."

Dief looked up at him and licked his lips.

Thatcher clasped her hands on the table, interlocking her fingers. "Now that you've graced us with your presence, Detective, we need to go over the itinerary."

"When do we start humpin' the outback?"

Thatcher blinked and scowled. The first tendrils of a headache dug in behind her eyes. "We check in at the RCMP outpost first. Then follow up any leads they may have. I suggest you eat quickly, Detective. There was a fog bank in the mountains last night that made searching impossible. Time reduces our chances of finding them exponentially. They are predicting rain and snow tonight. If Constable Fraser and Miss Parish are out in the wilderness, they will need us quickly."

The waitress set his plate before him.

"Assuming they aren't in some nice, cozy room with about twenty centerfolds ready to be put on the Home Shopping Network, you mean?"

"Ray," Francesca elbowed him, "shut up and stuff your face or I'll do it for you. We aren't leaving Benton out there to become a popcicle because you have to be in charge."

Ray's brow furrowed. He resisted the urge to fight back and ate as quickly as he could.

~~~@ 43 @~~~

Andy Pruitt whistled as he spurred his horse to a comfortable canter through the valley meadow. The first rays of dawn streaked over the mountains and spotlighted the first spring buds in the valley. He had left the fog behind him on his journey south.

He had ridden most of the night, stopping only for a brief nap while his horse ate, drank and rested. He smiled at the thought of Tess and the Mountie. He still wasn't sure what she'd put in the food, but he was glad he didn't eat much. He saw its effect on the men. He'd lied when he told her he ate the chili. He may have been blinded by love at first sight, but he wasn't stupid. He'd been looking for an opportunity to get out of this deal for a long time. Each successive woman they brought in and shipped off to auction took a tiny piece of his soul with her.

He just couldn't do it anymore. Sometimes he had nightmares about the women, pawed and groped by disgusting, fat old men while chained to walls or beds. They turned big, frightened eyes on him and begged him for help, pleading and screaming his name. One particularly gruesome nightmare had them all escape and chase after him with sharp objects. When they caught him they cut him, some tearing him apart with their bare hands for what he'd done. He shuddered at the thought. Nope, no more. He couldn't bear the thought of that happening to Tess. But he couldn't help her. Hoover would make a version of the nightmare a reality if he did and that was more than he could handle.

Hoover was a fair boss, with the temper of a serial killer. You couldn't just walk up to him and say, 'I want out', he would shoot you on the spoton a good day. On a bad day, he might decapitate you or something equally as horrific.

He frowned, listening as a noise caught his attention. A plane. He twisted in the saddle to locate it. There, flying grid patterns and heading straight for him. He urged the horse to gallop for a nearby copse of cottonwoods and reined to a stop under cover of the thin spring growth, humming a Patsy Cline tune and planning his retreat across the distant border into the US.

~~~@ 44 @~~~

Ray stared in tired disgust at the bowl of chili and cheese crackers before him. The exhaustion crept slowly through his bones like an earthworm through the dirt, eating everything in its path and shooting it out the other end. Even his pains had aches. He had learned his lesson about expensive shoes. The moment they returned to the hotel he visited the gift shop and replaced them with sneakers.

How was he supposed to know he'd spend ten hours stomping through the underbrush and slipping on patchy snow, searching every square inch of dirt for clues? He wasn't sure what he had expected, but blisters, bruises and a vague feeling of hopelessness wasn't it.

He watched Franny's chin slip from the hand she had propping it up on the table.

"Hey!" he nearly shouted, startling her completely awake. She blinked at him.

"Why don't you skip dinner, go wash off the stink and two-foot layer of make up and go to bed? You can't eat chili if you're asleep in it."

She yawned. "I'm awake, kind of...I just didn't expect to be so tired. I do run eight miles a week ya know."

Ray shrugged. "I think it's the air. Not enough carbon monoxide."

He stirred his chili halfheartedly, wondering if he had the strength to lift the spoon.

Franny watched him with thinly veiled amusement. "Hey, at least we aren't eating worms or something."

Ray grimaced. "Eww, thank you very much. I was having a hard enough time trying to eat anything. I'm so tired I'm nauseous."

Franny pushed her bowl away. "Well, we got off lucky. Who woulda thought the Norman Rockwell painting of woods would be laced with booby traps."

"They were animal traps. And there weren't that many."

"Enough to KO four Mounties and they're supposed to know this place like the back of their hands."

"The only one who knows it like that is Mother Nature. And maybe Fraser."

Franny met his eyes with a serious, frightened look. "Ray, there's no trace yet. All these searchers, I mean, eight of us on the ground and two planes and no trace. What does that mean?"

Ray reached out and patted her hand tenderly. "It means Canada's a big place and we might not even be in the right spot yet." They sat, staring, eyes locked for a few moments, gathering strength and reassurance from each other. "Go to sleep. I think the Dragon Lady's gonna drag us out before the crack a dawn."

"Maybe that's why she got room service and dibs on the bubble bath."

~~~@ 45 @~~~

Tess lost track of time as the sun set. The voices behind them faded in and out, but were always present. The thickening fog dampened their hair and clothing. Fraser felt her shiver and patted her bare thigh. It was the only comfort he could offer. They couldn't afford to stop and build a fire. The men obviously knew these woods better than he did and he was beginning to doubt he could outrun them. They were very persistent. He had assumed they would give up early in the day. Their single-mindedness surprised and worried him.

The report of a gunshot made them both start. It was followed in rapid succession by three more shots. The bullets whizzed by on either side of them.

"Keep down! They're firing at random!" he shouted over his shoulder.

No shit, she thought and watched the trees they passed begin to fade into fuzziness. The fog slowly thickened around them. She tightened her grip, one hand on the bag of supplies, the other clutching desperately at his waist and squeezed her eyes shut.

The shouting of the men following them abruptly muted as they entered a thick copse of trees. She opened her eyes and looked behind them. The wind over Fraser's shoulder smacked her in the face like an icy hand and tangled her hair. The fog closed in behind them and disconnected them from the world. Time lost all meaning. The world felt as though it was moving in slow motion. The steady rhythm of the mare's hooves made a hypnotic sound on the frozen earth.

Fraser reigned in the horse to slow her headlong flight. The woods were too thick, too dark, with visibility reduced to a few feet.

"Why is the fog such a weird bluish color?" she whispered in his ear, afraid of more than the men behind them and unable to identify that fear. She shivered, damp and freezing.

Fraser looked around and whispered back, "The moonlight. It's strong enough to penetrate the upper layers of fog where it's dissipated and magnified by the entrained water. There's really no reason to be afraid of it."

"Then why are you whispering?"

He frowned, shrugged. "I just feel I should."

She nodded. "Me, too." The sounds of the men pursuing them were distant and distorted, echoing around them as though coming from several directions at once. Even the plodding crackles of the mare's hooves on the frozen underbrush seemed muted and disconnected, as though coming from inside a tunnel.

Fraser swallowed hard, looking around them. He'd seen fog like this before. It made the world seem to condense into a tiny bubble that moved with you, like the entire universe had disappeared, except for the few feet around you. He fought the urge to reach out and part the fog, like a sheer curtain covering the trees. This type of fog evoked the oldest parts of the human brain. It whispered of hidden dangers and instinctive fear.

A voice whispered in the back of his mind, "Fight or flight, fight or flight, fightorflight, fightorflightfightor..." He shook his head sharply and fought down the rising irrational fear. These are just the woods, he told himself, and you know the woods. You love the woods. There is nothing to fear but fear itself. He could just imagine the panic rising in Tess, if the blue soup around them was having this effect on him.

"I think they're behind us," Tess whispered, piercing the veil that engulfed him.

"Undoubtedly."

Tess peered behind them. The trees flowed into spectral translucency before they vanished as the horse passed them.

"Are we actually moving?" Tess asked.

Fraser looked startled. "Yes...um...yes. Definitely." He looked down at the ground to be sure. The disorientation he felt was increasing. It multiplied the otherworldly feel of the fog-shrouded woods. It crossed his mind that he should tell Tess of his fever. He decided against causing her too worry more.

"It doesn't feel like it. Feels like we're on a treadmill and the walls are moving but we aren't really going anywhere."

The mare nickered as if in agreement.

"It's an illusion. The fog homogenizes the scenery."

"Maybe it's all an illusion. Are you sure we aren't still on the drugs they gave us, flying high in that cage? Sleeping and dreaming all of this?"

Fraser reached down and pinched her hand, wrapped tightly around his belt

"Ouch!"

"We're lucid." For the most part, he thought.

Abruptly the fog parted and a clearing, bathed in wan moonlight appeared before them. The mare hesitated. Fraser urged her forward gently. The underbrush and small meadow sparkled with a dusting of mist that transformed even the intermittent snow-banks with glitter. The clearing glowed soft lavender in a twinkling caricature of a tranquil winter painting. The fog danced like ghostly figures around the edges of the clearing, weaving among the trees.

"They almost look like animals," Fraser whispered, indicating the shapes in the clearing. He had to blink several times to see them clearly.

"A glass menagerie," she whispered back.

He looked up at the moon and shook his head in disbelief. "We've been riding two hours, at least, since the sun set."

"No way."

"The moon doesn't lie."

The tree next to them popped and a shower of tiny bark flakes rained over them. They started and the horse reared. Suddenly, the darkness was alive with whizzing bullets. Tess screamed and pressed her face into Fraser's back.

The mare took off at full speed across the clearing of her own accord.

Leafless branches and vines scratched Fraser's face as he tried to control the panicked animal. They crashed through bushes. Snow and rocks flew up from the horse's hooves. They vaulted a fallen tree. Tess felt herself slip. She dug her nails into Fraser's thigh and heard his sharp intake of breath.

He reached back and grabbed her knee, tossing her back up behind him. She pressed herself against him as the horse veered around a birch and released her grip on his thigh. A branch snagged in her hair. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling herself slip backwards a little.

The mare plunged on until the shouts of the pursuers were far behind them. The horse's breath came in ragged gasps. Fraser urged her to a slow trot with soft murmuring sounds.

"I hear water," Fraser said, "below us!"

"What? We've been going up?"

Another gunshot, farther away.

The mare started. Fraser fought her for control. After a few restless moments, she settled back into the easy report they had established, trusting the strength of the man who rode her, as he trusted his life to her instincts about the terrain.

Abruptly, the fog thinned a little and Fraser could see a straight path ahead of them. The mare automatically increased speed, seeming as eager to leave the hunters behind as her human companions.

The report of random gunshots echoed around them. Fools, Fraser thought, who knows how many animals they'll accidentally kill tonight.

The cold wind bit into his cheeks, making them sting and his eyes water. He felt the woman behind him cling more tightly. He wished again that they'd had time to find her proper clothing. Spring in the Yukon could be more harsh than winter, with its unpredictability and sudden dramatic changes, even to one accustomed to and prepared for its moods. He hoped he could keep her alive long enough to escape.

The horse leapt over a fallen tree and pierced a veil of almost palpable mist. They were drenched as though walking through a sprinkler. To Tess' pain and misery filled mind they seemed suspended in the grey void for an eternity. Silence enveloped them. The only sounds she was aware of were Fraser's strong heartbeat and the mare's harsh breaths.

The mare landed, not with the solid thunk she'd come to expect but with a nearly imperceptible squish. The mare screamed; an unearthly, terrified wail that echoed around them. As they fell to the side, Fraser realized the mare had twisted her leg.

The trio tumbled, bounced, twisted and slid down the steep side of the mountain toward the creek far below. Supplies whirled as though flung from a slingshot, bouncing from the trees and rocks. Fraser let himself go limp. It was the best way to prevent broken bones. Tess didn't even scream. The image of a rag-doll with her face being wildly thrashed amongst the trees, was frozen in her terrified mind.

Suddenly, the noises stopped. The thrashing stopped. Fraser and Tess flew free as the world dropped away beneath them. They were suspended in the featureless grey.

The mare shook her head in confusion and used the bushes that broke her fall to push herself to her feet. She looked around from her companions and could not find them. Panicked, she staggered up the bank and stumbled into the night.

The fog closed in. The silence was complete.

~~~@ 46 @~~~

Ray stumbled through the trees, staring miserably at Francesca's back, barely visible ahead of him in the fog. Inspector Thatcher had sent Franny pounding on his door at five a.m. sharp and his life had been a whirlwind Hell ever since. His blisters had blisters and he was sure some had broken and bled hours before.

"I can't believe all these people have been searching for days and didn't find anything. Not a trace." He wasn't prepared for the overwhelming desolation the admission brought. He felt like sitting down and crying or dropping to his knees and begging God to spare his best friend, not that he hadn't been praying since the moment he discovered Benny missing, but that was suggesting, not pleading. Benny was the best friend he'd ever had, the only man he knew he could trust implicitly during his entire life. And he didn't want to lose him now.

Inspector Thatcher grimaced and gritted her teeth. Ray's incessant griping had, indeed, given her a full-blown migraine. Her blood throbbed behind her eyes, blurring her vision. She needed to relax in a nice hot bath and think of nothing. She glanced at the Mountie who strode quietly at her side, scanning the fog-shrouded trees and felt a pang of loss. He only vaguely resembled Fraser; maybe it was the uniform.

Over her shoulder she called, "The search planes are flying grid patterns and the woods are practically teeming with Mounties. This is only your second day of walking, what more do you want?"

"A winning lottery ticket? And what're the planes gonna see in the dark, anyways? And this fog? It looks like London out here. Jack the Ripper's gonna jump outta the bushes. I can hardly see my hand in front of my face and the planes are supposed to see Fraser?"

"You know, Detective, you'd be of more help if you kept your mouth shut and your eyes open. The sun is rising, I assure you, soon it will burn off this fog and we'll be in the open."

Ray scowled and muttered softly to Dief, who strolled beside him. He stopped to dig a pebble from his shoe. "Trying to say I talk too much. At least I care about what we're doing...all the time we're wasting. The plan doesn't even make sense, unless it's in some Canadian way."

He tossed the offending pebble over his shoulder and looked up. The fog had closed in completely, leaving he and Dief alone.

"Great, now Mother Nature's in on it."

~~~@ 47 @~~~

The beam of his incandescent flashlight caught the glistening flank of a dark horse as it nosed through the ice-painted vegetation in the small clearing. At first, Hoover thought the horse was an illusion created by the fog and flashlight. When the horse nickered he realized his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He slipped from his saddle and, making soothing sounds, tied his mount to a birch tree and approached the other animal.

The horse whinnied nervously, but allowed him close. It was his mare. He cast a quick glance around the clearing and trees, as far as the fog allowed. No one. He patted the mare's sweaty side and ran his hands over her with the experienced touch of a horse handler.

She had fallen. Her leg was scraped and bruised, but she wasn't badly hurt.

Danny's horse trotted up next to him. "Is that Ariel?"

Hoover nodded. "She's injured. Probably threw them. Have the men spread out. Comb this area until you find them. Drag them back if you have to. The girl's the one we need. The Mountie's expendable."

"You ain't coming, too?"

"I'm taking Ariel back. She needs attention. A good horse's a terrible thing to waste. Besides, the girls should have news on our next shipment soon. I'm not letting one of you shit heads make the deal."

"We'll find them."

"You better." Hoover tied the mare's reins to his saddle, untied his horse, and swung up into the saddle. "Give it 10 hours. Tell the men, if you don't find them by then, by midmorning, forget them. We've got more important work."

"You got it."

Hoover checked his compass and rode off into the fog.

~~~@ 48 @~~~

Fraser awoke to the bone-chilling scream of a banshee. It echoed and made his ears ring and his stomach lurch. He jumped up, instinctively ready for trouble. Two hands grabbed him and yanked him back against the vertical rocks.

"No!" Tess wailed, clinging to him fiercely. "You'll fall!"

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around, swaying. His teeth chattered from the cold. When he wiped his forehead his fingers were coated with sweat. Tess crouched beside him, pressed against a rock wall that rose vertically behind them. He stepped back nervously when he looked in front of them. They were on a small rock outcropping. Before them spread a breathtaking, panoramic vista; mountains and trees with scattered spring green and a valley wreathed in a spiderweb of morning fog and a sheer drop-off four feet beyond his boots. He slid down to sit beside the terrified woman, wrapping his arms around his chest.

"Hmm," he said. "We seem to be in a pickle." His initial anxiety faded and his survival instincts took over, making everything around him appear sharp and clear.

She nodded, wide eyes focused on the edge of the outcropping as though it would crumble at any moment. Digging her fingernails into the fabric of his sleeve she cast a quick glance over the edge beside her. Far below, the creek splashed with joyous abandon. "You almost went off," she whispered.

He stood carefully. The outcropping was angled slightly toward the drop off.

"Be careful! Don't you dare leave me here alone!"

He glanced at her and put a reassuring hand on top of her head with a long-suffering sigh. "Don't fuss. I won't fall. I've been in these situations before. The surface is very rough so there's plenty of traction." He disentangled his arm and inched close to the edge. "We're quite lucky, actually, we could've ended up down there in the creek."

He looked down. Too far and no good handholds, he decided. His sharp eyes made out a scattering of aluminum cans in the gently swirling water: some of their supplies, no doubt. He looked left and right. The outcropping sloped underneath them sharply. Nothing to grab at all, he thought. He stepped back from the edge and turned to look above them. So, we have to ascend, he thought. He studied the ten feet of vertical rock face. Plenty of handholds for someone used to rock climbing.

He frowned when he looked at Tess, hugging her knees and rocking slightly. She was battered, bruised and dirty. There were large scrapes and bruises on her forehead and bare legs. She looked like she barely had strength left to stand; climbing out was probably impossible.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked. She held her bloody left wrist in front of her face then let it drop to her side.

"Hit it on something falling down here, I reckon." She turned her face to him. "You okay?"

He shrugged. "A little..." He swayed dizzily again, rubbing his eyes with his hand. He shook his head. "I think I twisted my ankle, just bad enough to be annoying. My leg hurts and my back is spasming. An old gunshot wound." He smiled apologetically. "No major injuries from the fall, though my back will probably prohibit activity tomorrow."

She nodded in understanding, tearing the hem from the dress A. J. had given her to wear and bandaging her slowly seeping wrist. She was glad he had chosen a knee-length dress. It looked like they were going to need a lot of bandages on this trip. "It's kind of beautiful out there."

"Yes, this is why I love the wilderness."

"I'd like to get out of here, though. I sleepwalk."

"Understood. We'll have to climb out."

She arched her back and twisted to look up at the rock. "Are you crazy? It's perfectly smooth."

"No, it isn't." He sighed tiredly and rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaving a dirty smudge. "See there's a handhold here and there." He pointed.

She squinted, unable to make out anything. "You have the eyesight of a rabbit."

"Thank you kindly."

"Do you think the mare made it? I didn't see her below."

He shrugged, fighting to keep his face neutral despite a surge of annoyance. "We'll find out when we get up there."

"Son, I can't climb that," she said matter-of-factly. "Even if I could, my wrist won't let me now. It hurts like a bugger, even if it isn't broken or sprained."

He frowned. "I shall have to climb out and find a way to pull you up. Our supplies should have all fallen from the mare. I'll try to locate the rope. Barring that we could if we boil and chew the bark of a" He saw the look on her face. "I'll think of something. I always do." He smiled with more confidence than he felt.

"Darlin', you look like you can barely stand," Tess told him. "You're weaving like a drunk."

"Temporary symptoms, I assure you. Don't worry about me. I can still climb. I have to."

"You sure they aren't camped out up there waiting for us?"

He shook his head. "You worry like an old mother hen. If they followed our trail to this point, they'll think we're dead. The chances we would land on a tiny outcropping of rock instead of smashing on the rocks below are...well, astronomical." His brain was too weary to bother with the computations. He tested a few handholds. "I believe they've given up," he told her, more for her peace of mind than because he believed it. He had to get her off the ledge. If she thought she might be recaptured up above she might actually want to descend; a much more dangerous prospect, he thought.

"I'm going up now."

"Wait! Just...just rest a few minutes." She gripped his pant leg tightly. The thought of being alone on that ledge terrified her more than the thought of falling and having her body bounce from the ledge and spin to float, lifeless and broken in the stream below.

He knelt, slipped an arm around her and hugged her tightly. They sat there, rocking back and forth for a few long minutes. Tess felt her panic ebb and drew strength from his muscular arms.

"You're hot," she said with a frown. He waved off the hand she moved toward his forehead.

"Don't touch me. I'm fine," he snapped.

She drew her hand back quickly.

"We'll get out of this," he said, softly. "No one is waiting above us. We'll go up and find safe shelter for the night." He brushed her matted and tangled hair back from her dirty, blood crusted face. "But, we have to go now. Before that reaches us." He motioned toward the billowy grey clouds piling up like snow banks on the horizon. "Storms move quickly and violently through the mountains. We don't have much time."

"Will it rain or snow?"

"It's too warm for snow."

She gave a look that said 'Warm? You're crazy.' "Hurry," she said, "and be careful. I don't think I can catch you."

He smiled and stood. "You won't have to. "

It was an easy climb for him, even with his injuries. Fraser had many opportunities during his years in the Yukon to climb tougher rock faces than this one. He quickly reached the top and felt around the edge for a final hold with which to pull himself up. The edge was soft and loose, but he kept trying. There had to be something to grab onto.

Behind him thunder rolled like the deep growl of a distant grizzly.

His hand landed on a root. He gripped it tightly and tried to pull himself up. It only took a second for him to realize his mistake. It was loose and pebbles pummeled his face as it pulled free. An aluminum can, held in place by the root, dislodged and rolled off the edge, smacking him in the forehead before hurtled to the ledge below.

With a yelp of pain, he lost his grip and dropped toward the ledge below directly behind the can. It bounced from the woman's head and over the side. Fraser landed against her back, knocking her flat.

She fell face down over the edge.

He whirled and caught her ankles. She dangled, staring down, too scared to even breathe, as the can and remaining gold pen fell from her hair and spun in lazy spirals to splash into the water far below.

~~~@ 49 @~~~

Francesca trudged through the woods, fussing with her hair and mumbling about reptiles and insects. She placed her feet carefully amid the branches and only God-knew-what else on the forest floor. She grimaced as her ankle twisted. With a yelp she sat on a fallen log and pulled off her shoe to rub it.

After a few minutes it felt better and she looked up. "Y'know, Ray, all this..." she broke off, glancing in all directions.

The fog had completely cut her off.

Meg Thatcher frowned as she studied a leaf covered with what appeared to be blood.

"It's quiet," the Mountie said.

She looked up, then surveyed the trees around them. "Too quiet. Good observation, Sergeant Conner. Where are they?" She stood.

He shrugged. She shoved the leaf toward him. "See if you can locate the source of this blood, but go no more that ten feet."

Just then a scream sliced through the fog and made their stomachs drop to their knees. The two Mounties instantly fell into defensive positions.

Something came crashing toward them, making strange, blubbering sounds.

"Stop!" Thatcher jumped up and extended an arm, catching the running figure in the ribs and spinning her around. Franny jumped up and down and spun the two of them in a macabre imitation of a dance. Together they tumbled to the ground.

Thatcher propped herself up on one elbow. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"Get it off me! Get it off me! Is it off me?"

"What?"

"I don't know! It was moving. It fell on me." She rolled on the ground, trying to examine every inch of her body at once.

Meg examined her from head to foot. "It's gone now, if it was ever there."

The two Mounties helped her to her feet.

"Take deep breaths and we'll move on when you've recovered."

Franny wiped her forehead and leaned over, resting her hands on her knees. Taking a deep breath to relax, her gaze swept her surroundings.

"Where's Ray?"

~~~@ 50 @~~~

Fraser dug in his toes and yanked, getting up onto his knees. Tess scrabbled behind her to grab the edge of the outcropping, making unintelligible gurgling sounds. He dropped one of her ankles, buried his hand in the thin fabric of her dirty white dress and yanked her all the way up.

They lay together, gasping and heaving as adrenaline coursed through their bodies. Fraser took her in his arms and clung to her until her breathing slowed and her trembling stopped.

"Well," he said cheerfully with a half-delirious laugh. "Today is just full of adventure."

She shoved him away. "What are you an adrenaline junkie?" she snapped.

He shook his head. "No, no. Just looking for the silver lining."

"What was up with the can?" she asked, touching the quickly rising bump on his forehead.

"Ouch!" He jerked away from her, gritting his teeth. His head throbbed and vertigo threatened to overcome him. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing until it faded. This trip was seriously trying his patience.

She stared at him and grasped his chin. "You could have a concussion. Then, so could I," she muttered, rubbing her own sore head with one hand. "And, Darlin', you're sweating like a stuck pig."

"It's a flesh wound." He took several more deep breaths. "Leave me alone, I'll recover."

Sure, she thought, you would be if you hadn't just spent days being beaten like one of those little balls they use for Lotto.

The thunder growled again. Fraser watched the strobe of lightning jumping thought the clouds. Its crackling energy echoed the coursing of the fever through his body. His leg felt numb. The throbbing pain of the wounds had dulled. He was shivering and his cheeks were flushed. Every movement felt as though he was under water and the resistance burned. He knew they would have to find shelter quickly. If they were caught out in the rain and the deep freeze that would surely come with nightfall, they would die of hypothermia.

"Time to go." He stood, swayed and put a hand on the rock face to steady himself.

"Maybe I should go."

"No, you're my responsibility."

"Where'd you hear that?"

He began to climb without answering her, biting back an uncharacteristically caustic retort. He set his mind to the task and quickly scaled the wall. Once on top, he allowed himself to lay for a moment to catch his breath. Dizziness washed over him like waves lapping at the shore. He forced himself to stand and limped off in search of the rope.

He found it draped from a tree limb where it had been flung from the tumbling horse.

Tess heard Fraser scramble back to the edge of the cliff. A pebble bounced in front of her when he tossed the rope over.

"Great," she muttered.

"Tie it around your waist and climb up. I'll help," he called.

She fastened the rope securely, took hold and climbed up the best she could. Fraser pulled from the top, doing most of the work. As soon as she stepped onto solid ground she threw her arms around him, knocking them both backward away from the edge. They lay there, laughing.

She pushed herself off him. "What now? You need a doctor."

He sat up. "None forthcoming, unfortunately. So, drop it." She helped him to his feet and they scaled the embankment, gathering up their few remaining fallen supplies. "The Inuit have been known to use mud seal wounds temporarily, perhaps, if we can find some"

He knelt and scratched at the ground. Despite the past two days of relative warmth the ground was still frozen. He managed to scrape up enough to sniff and taste. He shook his head, wiping the mud from his fingers. "Too little clay. It's no good." The bump on his head sent little shock waves through his skull. It was tight enough to slow the blood without cutting it off.

They quickly recovered the bag of supplies Tess had packed, along with the blanket and some of the small items that had flown from Fraser's pockets. Tess breathed a sigh of relief when she found the lighter. An agonizing sense of disappointment coursed trough her. The bag was nearly empty. They had no supplies.

"We need to find shelter," Fraser said as the thunder rumbled louder.

"You look drunk already," she said, following close on his heels.

"Stop stating the obvious!" he snapped, unable to completely catch his breath or control his temper.

Tess stopped walking and stared at him in surprise. Oh, yes, she thought, he's definitely losing it. "Don't bite my head off."

"Don't nag me!" He spun to face her, pointing in her face. He stared at her angrily until she dropped her gaze.

She followed him in silence. They reached the top of the embankment. He stopped, flushed and feeling the world spin around him. He blinked several times and shook his head. His vision was slightly blurry and punctuated by tiny white sparkles. The leafless trees and conifers blended into patches of brown and green.

"We came from that way." He motioned vaguely around them. "We need to follow the cliff that way...uh...east. I swear I heard a waterfall. There may be caves." Without waiting for her he started to walk off through the underbrush. High above, the skeletal treetops whirled in the increasing wind as though waving in welcome to the impending storm.

She jogged to keep up with him. "Slow down, Speed Racer!"

"Keep up."

They followed the cliff until the sun hung high overhead and burned off the last remnants of fog. Fraser walked quickly, slipping now and then in the patchy snow. The numbness in his leg made walking difficult. He lurched a little with each step, reminding himself of Frankenstein's monster. She was breathing heavily by the time they reached the stream again. They followed it upstream. It had flowed downhill in a series of step waterfalls. They descended until they were even with it.

The thunder grumbled to remind them that the sunshine was fleeting.

Fraser stopped on top of a small rise overlooking the stream, breathing hard. The spray from the unseen falls drifted over them. They could hear the water crashing upstream from their position. "The storm front is almost here." He put a hand on a tree to steady himself. "It's easier terrain on the" He drew a deep shuddering breath. "other side."

"We can't cross that."

Suddenly, Fraser snapped. He whirled on her, anger making his cheeks flush. The finger he pointed in front of her nose shook violently. "You're always complaining! Quit bitching!"

"I am not! You're delirious!"

"I am not!" He swayed, still holding the tree and almost fell. "Well, maybe a little." He turned away from her and found his father inches from his face. He groaned.

"She's right, son. You've got a fever all right."

"Go away," Fraser muttered. He waved his hands through his father's ghost, trying to disperse him.

"I'm not leaving," Tess said.

"Shut up."

"The knife wounds are infected. You'll have some powerful delusions, son. Like the time I drank tea laced with"

"Bite me," Tess snapped at the obviously delirious Fraser.

"What do you want from me?" Fraser demanded, studying the woman's face.

"Help getting home," Tess said. "That's all."

"Only the chance to help you, son," said Robert Fraser.

"Stay out of it," Fraser growled at his father.

"What?" Tess demanded.

"There's no need to bite my head off, son," Robert Fraser said.

Fraser glanced at him and rubbed his temple. He turned to Tess. "You want something from me. I know you do, so don't lie to me! The city women *all * want something from me," his voice rose as he spoke until he was almost shouting, purple rage close to the surface, white flecks swirling like mad before his eyes.

He stared at her, blue eyes hard and glittering.

She stared back, then scowled at him. "Don't flatter yourself, pretty boy. You're sick."

"No, I'm not."

"Who's lying now? Accept it, you're walking wounded, Darlin'."

"Am I?"

"Yes," said his father and Tess simultaneously. He stared from one to the other then snorted in disgust and stalked off.

They followed at a discreet distance. "Wow, I've found the cause of male PMS," she muttered.

Robert stared at her with wide eyes the color of glacial ice. "He didn't tell you?"

She hesitated, looked around as if listening and shook her head. She didn't hear anything. It was just she and the Mountie, afterall.

Fraser lolled against a birch, staring at a fallen tree spanning a narrow spot in the stream when she caught up to him.

"We cross here."

"Is it safe? We could camp here under the trees."

He frowned. "Would you give me some credit? Trust me! I did grow up out here, afterall."

She grabbed his arm. He tried to fling her off, but she held on tightly. "You're getting weak." She felt his forehead. "And feverish. No wonder you're acting so un-Canadian."

He tried to yank his arm free. "You're unhinged and you're dressed like a"

"And you're a jerk," she interrupted him.

"Nag, nag, nag! Harpy!" He yanked again, pulled free, stumbled and almost fell. She caught him.

"We have to stop. You need to rest, Mr. Grinch."

"Didn't I say we need shelter? Am I talking to myself?"

"Give me your coat. I'll make a lean-to over by that tree. I'll just shove aside the snow."

He shoved her away from him. "Just like the others," he mumbled and took a few steps toward the fallen tree.

"What?" she demanded, hands on hips.

He whirled, stumbling like a punch-drunk boxer. "I said, just like the others!" he yelled.

"And what does *that * mean?" she snapped.

"The others." He waved a hand in her direction. "The women. All of the women in Chicago have been trying to undress me like dogs in heat from the moment I stepped foot in the U.S. They think I don't know what they're doing and at first I didn't but now...now I'm too smart for them. I know what they're up to and I won't give it to them! So, get off my back! I have too much self control for that!"

She gaped at him then shook her head slowly. "Oh, you're the picture of self control. Sweetheart," she drawled seductively, "if I wanted to jump your bones, I could."

"I'll bet!"

"Are you calling me a harlot?"

He didn't speak, but his narrowed eyes gave her the answer.

"You get mean when you're out of your mind."

"I'm not sick. I see very clearly."

"Maybe it wasn't the knock on the head, after all." She arched her eyebrows.

Fraser made a disgusted noise and scrambled up onto the fallen tree. She hurried after him, certain he would stumble off and drown. He was in the middle when she caught him and lightly touched his back. He stopped so suddenly she bumped into him.

Fraser spun without warning and grasped her arms fiercely, fingers cutting off her circulation through the thick wool coat. Overhead, thunder growled in time with his mood and lightning crackled nearby.

She tried to pull back, suddenly afraid of his strength; the strength of the delirious.

"Well, I'll give you what you want!" He growled low in his throat, yanked her to him and kissed her savagely, tongue deeply exploring her mouth, hands immobilizing her. She winced in pain as her teeth reopened the cut on her lower lip. He pulled back slightly and the kiss became gentler, boiling with years of repressed passion.

He kissed her until time blurred and her hands fell asleep from lack of blood flow. His gentle kiss was very pleasant, but her thoughts still roiled in anger at the roughness of his words and initial kiss, however unintentional.

As suddenly as it began, it ended. He shoved her away from him and released her. Before she could snap at him, her eyes widened with alarm as her right foot stepped back into open air. With a single, gasping cry, she snagged the edge of his jacket as she fell backward and pulled him in after her, face first into the icy water swirling a few feet below.

~~~@ 51 @~~~

Great, Meg thought. I knew the American would get himself lost. And he'll probably end up in a bear trap. Aloud, she said, "We have to find Detective Vecchio before we move on, Sergeant Conner."

The other Mountie agreed. "He couldn't have gone too far."

Thatcher looked at Franny. "Stay with us, please. For your own safety." She hoped her tone was authoritative, not plaintive. Trudging through the wilderness brought back too many unpleasant memories about her early years on the force. She shuddered at the thought of the barren hole in Hell's half-acre that she spent two years in, alone, for the most part. Yes, a cappuccino and hot bubble bath with the window open to the sound of a busy street would be much better than combing the wilderness for a whiny man who couldn't follow the simplest of instructions.

"Detective Vecchio!" she shouted. "If you can hear me follow the sound of my voice!"

They backtracked to the point of divergence. She knelt and lightly touched the ground. "Hmm, he's either out of earshot..." She cast a scowling glance at Franny. "Or he's ignoring me. We'd have better luck contacting the wolf."

Franny shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past him to ignore you." She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, "Ray! You better answer me or I'm gonna kick your butt!"

They waited. Silence.

Thatcher stood quickly. "The tracks lead this way."

~~~@ 52 @~~~

Fraser came up first, spluttering and uncertain of the events of the past half an hour. The fog that had permeated his brain was washed away by the shock of hitting the frigid water. The numbness in his leg made swimming awkward. Then he saw his blue coat, bobbing near him as the turbulent stream water swept him downstream, along with a whirlwind of paper scraps from the pockets of his blue jacket.

Water falls, a voice whispered in his brain. He shifted mental gears and fought his way to his jacket. Tess was still inside. Weighed down by the heavy material, she had a hard time keeping her head out of the water. Fraser caught his jacket with one hand and a low hanging branch with the other.

She reached up and hung on. Icy water splashed over their faces in waves, making them splutter and choke. Together they fought their way onto the rocky shore and lay next to each other, gasping.

"You're back?" Tess coughed. "You feel okay?"

"No," he mumbled. "Fuzzy. I suspect I have a fever."

"No shit. You've been acting like Mr. Hyde for the past half hour or so."

"What? I vaguely recall...oh, dear."

Tess pushed herself up with her hands behind her. She looked around; no shelter. A raindrop splatted against her head. "Terrific." She sighed. "Come on, let's head for the water fall upstream. You said there might be caves."

"I did?"

"Yep."

"I just want to rest for a moment."

"A moment, a year, forever." She rolled onto her knees, grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled. "On your feet, Constable!"

He groaned and stood. A wave of nausea forced him to fall forward onto her. She caught him and pushed him upright. Sliding one arm around his waist, they stumbled along the shore.

Weaving through the trees, they made it to the waterfall. Tess stared. It was a wide, dual waterfall, split in half by a giant boulder, rising high above them and forming two creeks below, each flowing in a different direction. They had followed the westerly flow to this point. The spray flew up ten feet, coating everything nearby with a thin sheen of water.

They stood, supporting each other and staring at the magnificent, roaring falls until the trees around them danced with storm-induced fury. Shaken back to the present, they searched for shelter.

"There," Fraser said, motioning toward the waterfall on the left.

"Yeah? It's a waterfall?" Tess yelled above the crashing of water on rocks.

"A cave," he yelled back, leaning close to her ear, "behind the water."

Tess squinted. He must be hallucinating, she thought, all I see is water.

Fraser staggered forward, dragging her along. He's developing a limp, she noted. He winced as a sharp pain pierced his thigh.

The rocks guarding the falls were slick.

"Well, slap me and call me silly," she whispered, peering between the boulders that flanked the water merging with the stream. Behind the falls and between the rocks, a dark spot was visible if one strained to look. A cave.

They picked through the skeletal bushes and fallen branches to squeeze behind the cascading water on a narrow shelf of rock.

"You're right, Darlin'! Oh, I could kiss you!"

Fraser glanced down at her and laughed, leaning on her for support.

The dim interior of the cave was larger than the opening belied. Water puddled and iced over near the opening, but farther in it was dry and a little warmer out of the breeze and spray. Fraser slumped against the wall and slid down to rest his head on his knees. "Tired," he mumbled.

Before Tess could take a step away from him, he began to snore. She decided to explore their temporary home.

Tess sniffed. The entire cave smelled of mold and damp sand. She squinted into the blackness, then held up the lighter. About ten feet inside the cave it widened. The floor changed from rock to soft sand. To the left was an alcove, sheltered from all wind and spray. She shone the light inside it. It was about seven feet high and ten feet around.

The remnants of an old fire lay in a ring of stones and a small pile of firewood was piled off to the side.

Perfect, she thought, and we aren't the first to find this place.

She knelt by the firepit, holding up the lighter and feeling around through the wood. No little stuff, she thought. I think I need little stuff to start a fire. She flipped the lighter shut and checked on Fraser. The Mountie was sound asleep, his skin burning despite the dripping, icy clothes he wore. She scowled. Should she move him out of the breeze or get dry wood before the storm hit? With a glance at the sky visible at the edge of the falling water, she grabbed him under the arms and dragged him into the alcove.

She slipped out of the cave and began to search.

~~~@ 53 @~~~

Ray thought he heard something faintly in the distance, but decided it must be a trick of the fog. Dief's ears perked and he looked around, then settled near the man's feet, sniffing the ground.

"You didn't hear that either, did ya, Dief?"

The wolf ignored him and trotted into the fog.

"Hey, that wasn't an insult or anything!" Ray called and hurried after him. If anyone could find Fraser and get them all out of this predicament and back to a warm cappuccino, it was Dief. Ray had faith in the wolf's abilities.

The white wolf turned and whined at him as Ray stepped over a small boulder into a little drift of snow.

"What?" he said.

Suddenly, his foot jerked. Fire shot through his leg and the scenery whirled around him with dizzying speed. The top of his head brushed the snow then he flew up in the air and bounced several times. The sensation of weightlessness reminded him of the time he bungee-jumped with Franny. Blood rushed to his head as he screamed in surprise.

Dief padded over and sat, staring up at the human, dangling from one foot and slowly bouncing above him. He cocked his head to one side then the other.

What was he supposed to do now?

~~~@ 54 @~~~

Doc rode through the trees, gingerly rubbing the back of his head. His fight with the Mountie the night before had left him with one Hell of a headache. The pain was temporary, he knew, exacerbated by lack of sleep. But, he didn't have a concussion or any major injuries. It ticked him off to lose a fight. He hoped he had another chance.

He should've returned to the house at dawn as Hoover ordered. But, damn it, he had to prove his worth to the man before he ended up skinned, gutted and strung from a tree. He'd sent all of the other men back with the message that he was following up on a hunch. That should appease Wade Hoover for a day or two.

Something on the side of the hill caught his attention. He jumped from the saddle, tethered his horse to a tree, then half-slid down the side of the steep hill. Thunder rumbled above him. Subconsciously, he registered it and noted he'd need shelter soon.

He caught himself by grabbing a bush, stretching to reach the object beneath it. It was a flashlight. The type Hoover had gotten from a warehouse theft and issued to each of his men. He smiled. He had a clue.

He sat for a moment and studied the hillside. Many of the bushes were bent over, broken branches paved a swath down to the abrupt edge.

Something clicked in his mind. The mare had been inured. Hoover said she may have fallen. Cautiously, he picked his way down the steep hill and peered over the edge, holding onto a tree for support.

There were no bodies below. The stream didn't appear strong enough to carry them away. There was a small outcropping of rock, but the chances of them landing on it were too small. And they weren't there now.

So, he thought, they didn't go over. They must be here somewhere. His stride back to his horse held a bounce he hadn't had for weeks. Finally, he would be able to make that bastard, Hoover, respect him. He'd bring back Hoover's beloved Mountie!

Thunder crackled again. He looked up at the sky, visible through the slowly dissipating fog and pines.

Cold raindrops splattered his face. He didn't have much time. He cast a quick glance around and spied three trees that had grown very close together, their trunks nearly touching. He secured his horse and broke off pine branches to create a makeshift shelter. It wouldn't be as warm as a tent, but he'd be fairly dry and out of the wind.

He crawled inside and pulled the pine boughs down around him. Snuggling deep inside his winter coat, he listened to the rising wind, the patter of the rain beating the trees and branches. With a smile on his face he drifted off to sleep.

~~~@ 55 @~~~

"Over here, Inspector!" Sergeant Conner called. "The tracks go off to the southwest."

"Well, at least he's heading toward Tungsten and the hotel."

An eerie sound echoed around them, raising the hairs on their arms and the backs of t heir necks.

"Oh, my God! It's bigfoot!" Franny wailed, clutching Conner's arm and nearly falling on her backside.

"It's a wolf," he whispered to her, painfully aware of his superior's annoyed stare.

"A white, donut snatching wolf," Thatcher said, "this way."

"Are you sure?"

Conner nodded, blond hair bobbing slightly. "A wolf's howl can be heard for seven miles. But this one sounded very close."

Ray pressed his hands over his ears. "Aaggh! Enough already. I don't wanta be deaf, too! I don't mind you callin' for help, but do you hafta do it so loud?" he shouted at the wolf, peering up at him with soft brown eyes as innocent as a baby seal's.

Dief licked his lips, raised his muzzle and repeated his low, mournful distress call.

Ray rubbed his throbbing temples, gritted his teeth and covered his ears.

Meg Thatcher couldn't believe her eyes. Only the strength of her resolve and years of training kept her from laughing out loud. A faint noise, like a choking gurgle escaped her clenched lips.

Detective Vecchio swung slowly back and forth like a pendulum, using every swear word in the English and Italian languages. Even the top of his balding head was flushed.

"What are you all staring at?" he shouted. "Cut me down!"

Franny stood off to the side, giggling, as the two Mounties released her brother.

"You really take the cake," she said. "Wait 'til Maria and the girls down at Lana's Salon hear about this."

He rubbed his sore ankle. "You keep your mouth shut or I'll have a talk with Benny," he threatened.

Franny's eyes widened and the smile dropped from her elfin features. Ray felt a surge of satisfaction. "What am I, psychic? Like I'm supposed to see a booby trap in the snow. I was following him! Why didn't he see it?"

Thatcher disabled the trap. "They were trying to catch game, Detective, not you."

"Who cares? How many more of these things are there? Ow, my head!"

"That should ease up as soon as your bloodflow evens out."

"Great. Until then it feels like my head'll explode like a giant tick."

"That's a nice image," Thatcher muttered. Her cell phone rang, cutting off Ray's caustic reply.

Ray tested his ankle, wincing as the Inspector came up to him.

"Can you walk?"

"Damn straight. I'm not giving up on a count a this."

"That call was from Headquarters. Apparently, Lieutenant Welsh called with a new lead on the location of the kidnappers. We're in the wrong area. They're further east."

"You know where they are?"

"Not precisely, but the search area has narrowed." She glanced at the sky. "That storm is approaching us quickly. It's already pounding the area to the east. We'd better hurry back to the rendezvous point."

~~~@ 56 @~~~

The sun is going down, Tess thought. How many days has it been now? Three? Four? Four, she decided. She was so cold her skin stung. She could feel the breeze chafing her cheeks. Her fingers, clasping twigs and branches, were stiff and more sore than she thought possible. Raindrops thumped her head and the armful of wood she carried. It was her third trip and she had a good-sized pile of wood inside the cave.

Suddenly, the clouds let loose and the rain pounded her in icy sheets. She ran for the cave and stood inside, panting from the cold. Her teeth chattered as she stumbled to the alcove with the last load of wood she would gather tonight.

The temperature had dropped rapidly since they found the cave. She knew the rain would probably turn to snow with nightfall. "We're probably both already dying of hypothermia," she whispered morosely.

Robert Fraser squatted beside the still body of his son, studying his pale, blood covered form. The boy still shivered, so he wasn't too far-gone yet, but he needed warmth soon or he would slip into shock and hypothermia might take him. He watched the young woman enter the cave for the final time, heard the despair in her voice.

"Don't give up, Lass," he said, unsure if she would hear his voice or think he was her own thoughts.

She dropped the wood and knelt with her hands on her head. "What do I do now?" she asked herself.

"Build a fire."

"I have to build a fire," she repeated after the voice in her head. She stood hastily on numb feet, held the lighter up with one hand so she could see what she was doing and dragged several logs over to the pit with the other. She scooped up some twigs and dumped them into the pit. Robert leaned over her.

"Clean it out first. Start from scratch."

She scraped out the old burned wood and tossed a handful of twigs into the clean sand.

"No, no! Make a tripod." Robert pointed at the heap.

Tess stared at her pile and shook her head. "Tripod," she whispered.

"Smaller sticks first, larger ones later."

She nodded and complied.

"Light them carefully. Use the dead leaves as fodder if you have to. Shield the flame."

"Shield," she whispered and followed the fatherly voice in her head.

"There. Now, carefully, add a larger stick."

She reached for one near her.

"Not that one, Dear, too wet."

She hesitated, hand poised above the stick.

"That one, to the right."

She picked up the stick on the right and gently added it to the tiny flame.

"Good work, Dear. Now, add more to it slowly. Don't let it die." He stood beside her, staring at the weak flame. The wood smoked heavily and crackled. It was all damp. She fed dry leaves she had found to the small fire, as a mother bird would nourish her young, one small bit at a time.

The flame grew steadily larger. She added wood a piece at a time until the fire burned with healthy vigor. With a sigh she leaned back against the rock wall, head bent forward, and stared at it, relishing the warmth on her face and wondering if this was how the cave people felt when they first discovered fire.

Robert placed a ghostly hand on the back of her wet hair and whispered, "Couldn't have done better myself, Lass. Now, move Ben closer before it's too late. And get the both of you out of those wet clothes before they sap all your body heat. And take care of Ben's knife wounds. They're infected."

She pulled off his sweater and jeans. She gasped in horror at the sight of two swollen, obviously infected cuts on either side of his left thigh. The thigh muscle itself was red and hot to the touch. How in the world was she going to fix this? She wasn't a doctor.

~~~@ 57 @~~~

"Ouch! Do that again, Franny, and I'll thwap you!"

"I'll thwap you right back. Who do you think I am, Florence Night-in-storm?"

"Nightingale."

"Storm, gale, tornado, who cares?"

"Ouch! Give me that!" Ray snatched the ice pack from her fingers and gingerly applied it to his ankle.

Inspector Thatcher broke away from her conversation with a small group of Mounties gathered around a computer terminal. She brushed aside his hands and frowned at his ankle. "You're lucky it wasn't broken."

"Yeah? They only tried to pull my foot off."

"If you had weighed any less the force of the momentum would've been strong enough to snap your ankle like a twig. Consider yourself lucky."

He scowled. "What did they say?" He nodded toward the group of Mounties.

"The search area has narrowed so much that I feel confident we shall locate the house tomorrow."

"And Fraser? What about him?" Franny interjected.

Thatcher met her frightened eye.

"Provided he is still inside, we may recover him by tomorrow night. Now," she glanced at her watch, "as it is dark now, I suggest we all turn in and get an early start. You may both want to eat a large dinner to gather your strength for the morning's ride."

The siblings exchanged less than enthusiastic looks.

~~~@ 58 @~~~

Tess slept restlessly. Her dreams were filled with the echoing sounds of scratching, like thousands of tiny feet, all around her. The scratching became the tiny squeaks of a thousand rats crawling around and over her. She awoke with a start in a deep sweat.

The alcove was far from hot, but it was warmer than the main cave. She shivered, clothed only in her still damp bra and panties. She tossed another log on the embers. She could hear sleet pounding the snow and ice outside the cave with a scratching hiss.

Ben whimpered and mumbled beside her. She reclined on one elbow and lay the inside of her bare wrist on his forehead. It was cold and clammy. His cheeks were flushed. She frowned and got up to check on the clothing she had rinsed and hung by the fire to dry. The coats and his jeans were still damp. His sweater was dry, so she carefully stretched it over him. She knew he had a fever, but lying there clad only in a pair of wet boxer shorts couldn't be good for him. Her dress was dry. She pulled it on over her head and slipped off her wet bra and panties, draping them on a rock by the fire.

She glanced at Ben and smiled at the thought of the blush that would creep over his face if he saw them there. She checked their socks and put his on first, then her own, when she found them dry. With a glance into the main cave she crawled back to his side and snuggled, hugging his arm. He shivered and moaned.

He probably needs water, she thought. With a groan, she half-crawled, half-staggered to the mouth of the cave.

Robert Fraser stood in the shadows and watched her pass. "You can do it, Lass. Melt the snow."

She stretched one stiff arm out into the cold spray and hissed through gritted teeth at the sting of the water on the raw skin on her wrist. I should've crawled to the front naked, she thought, now I have to dry my clothes again. She scooped up a large handful of snow from the small drift on the rocks. The spray dampened her hair and clothing. Her teeth chattered as a breeze hit her wet face.

"Careful, don't fall in."

She carried her snowball back to the fire, tossing it from hand to hand as it numbed her fingers. She knelt beside him, broke off a tiny piece and let the melting snow drip from her fingers into his mouth.

"Put some on his face to cool him."

She gently patted a thin layer of snow on his cheeks, forehead and thigh, then stuffed a tiny chunk of snow into his mouth, watching to be sure he didn't choke. When it melted she fed him another small bit. She checked his injuries. They were discolored and weepy beneath the wrappings.

She blinked and yawned; unable to comprehend why she was so tired.

"Shock," Robert said. "Elevate your feet and try to sleep. Elevate his, too, for good measure."

She propped his feet on a rock, then stretched out beside Ben, resting her feet on top of his. Immediately, she fell into a deep, fitful sleep.

~~~@ 59 @~~~

Tess sat up straight, wide-awake and unsure why. The pitch-blackness nipped at the edges of the orange firelight like a cold beast.

"No!" Fraser shouted again.

He thrashed and hit her in the face. She jumped out of reach of his flailing arms and stared at him until her head cleared.

Fraser threw the knife away from him. Gerard's laughing face melded into a woman's, dark and beautiful.

"Meg," he whispered, anger draining from him. His arms fell limp at his sides. She smiled at him seductively and leaned over him, short, dark hair caressing his bare chest and face. He could smell the scent of her, wild and unidentifiable. Heat surged through his body and centered on his loins. She was here, maybe he could tell her how he felt.

"Kiss me," she whispered hoarsely. Her voice had a faint, unearthly echo. "I've been waiting for you, Ben."

"Sir," he began, confused, but pleased by her behavior.

"Shh," she whispered, brushing a fingertip lightly along his lips. "No time for that." She bent and ran the tip of her tongue along his cheekbones, over his eyelids and to nibble the tip of his nose. He groaned, reveling in her touch.

Tess frowned as Fraser moaned again. She crawled over and tentatively touched his forehead. He turned quickly and tried to take her fingers in his mouth. She pulled them back and smiled. At least he was having good dreams. His forehead was hot and damp, his dark hair plastered against it in curls. Sweat rolled down his face and pooled in the dirt beneath him.

Suddenly, he looked at her with wide eyes and whispered, "Meg." His hands shot up, gripped either side of her face; fingers tangled in her blonde hair and yanked her down into a deep kiss.

Fraser kissed Meg. All of the pent-up fire and passion poured out into the kiss. The months of mixed signals and inner torment flowed out in a torrent. He wove his fingers through Meg's dark hair and pulled her body down on top of his, feeling her bare legs against his. He felt her body's response against his bare stomach and trembled. He flipped her over onto her back and slipped a knee between her legs. He pulled back, eyes closed and gently licked her face, nipped at her neck, then found her mouth again. Their tongues entwined and danced, their breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Um, Ben," Meg said when he let her up for air.

"Mm?" he mumbled and ran his hands the length of her body, nibbling at her neck.

"Now's not the time, Darlin'"

He kissed her mouth, attacking her lips gently and caressing her breast with one hand. She nudged him over onto his back and sat up on her knees, straddling him, still kissing him passionately.

Fraser smiled as Meg sat back, her long dark hair obscuring her face. She brushed her hair back and Victoria smiled down at him with narrowed eyes, a triumphant look on her face. How had he mistaken her for Meg?

He drew a sharp breath. Not again! Was she going to kill him this time? Betray him again? A wave of red-hot anger swept over him. He grabbed her upper arms and flung her away in disgust. "Never again!" he shouted.

Tess bounced off the wall of the alcove, her head hitting it with a sharp crack. Pain ricocheted from the back to the front of her skull. She cradled her head and leaned forward onto her knees, dirty unkempt golden hair poking between her fingers.

"Don't hurt Ray," he mumbled, slurring the words. "Don't hurt Ray, Victoria. No! Leave Ray alone."

Tess touched the bump already rising on the back of her head and winced. She drew her hand away and stared at the soft sheen of blood that coated her fingers.

"Great," she muttered, feeling dizzy. "Best kiss I ever had and he has to be bipolar."

She watched him toss and flail, seeming to fight off an invisible attacker. This Victoria must be a real witch, she thought as his arms came dangerously close to the fire.

Later, Tess knelt by Fraser and tried to bring him back to reality. She gave up trying to hold his arms down, feeling bruises and bumps rising from being flung around the cave. Sitting up on her knees she wiped cold sweat from her forehead. He's too strong, she thought, it's the fever.

After pulling him away from the fire, she sat against the wall, letting the chill of the stone seep into her sore muscles and ease the tension. She closed her eyes and began to sing softly. It was a haunting love song; Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. Her voice echoed from the stone, accompanied by the crackling of the fire, the hiss of the sleet outside, the gentle pounding of the water on the rocks and Ben's soft moans and whispers to his inner demon.

"No."

"You'll *never * forget me." The smile on her perfect features was as beautiful and enigmatic as he remembered. "Never," she hissed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted to his personal demon. "I should have let you go."

"Too late," Victoria whispered. "You're mine now...forever."

He groaned and struck out. His hand passed through the illusion of her. He swore he could still smell her perfume.

Victoria was gone. Her laughter echoed around him.

Falling.

Swirling darkness.

Vertigo.

A thousand colors whirled behind his eyes, disorienting him completely. He flailed for a handhold.

Nothing.

Suddenly, he landed in soft arms. Blue eyes stared down at him. Auburn curls tickled his cheeks. He heard singing, muted in the distance. Relief swept over him.

"Mum?" he whispered inaudibly and reached up to hug her, his fingers sweeping through her corporeal form.

"Shh, Ben. Time for sleep. You're exhausted. Hush now." She smiled at her little boy, keeping her voice soft and soothing.

He grinned and fell over the precipice into deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the security of her arms and the unconditional warmth of love emanating from her.

Ben stopped thrashing with a long shuddering sigh. His entire body relaxed, his body slick with sweat, dark hair plastered to his skull. She took the opportunity to crawl closer and wipe his face. She went outside for more snow and used it to cool his skin. He didn't react at all.

Best to let him sleep, she thought and fished a can of boiled peanuts from the bag of supplies. She sat by the cave entrance, knees up to her chest inside Fraser's blue wool overcoat, to eat. She savored the soft salty taste of each peanut before chewing and swallowing them. They were almost too salty, but the only other food choice was a can of Vienna sausages. The canned variety always seemed to have twice as much salt as the real variety. She decided salt might be a good thing at the moment.

She wondered who in that group would've imported boiled peanuts. She'd been to nearly every state in the US, traveling with her parents as a child, and had only seen them in the former Confederate states. A. J. seemed the only candidate. His soft southern drawl was buried, but she could still hear it. It was the sound of home.

Tess closed her eyes, letting the cold spray from the waterfall caress her face gently, feeling cleansed. She shivered, enjoying the contrast between the freezing mist on her bare skin and the heat of the rest of her body, curled inside the coat. She finished eating and began another song, eyes still closed.

The sleet stopped and the sun rose, weak and diffuse, offering little warmth. She watched its ebb and flow between the thick clouds transform the water drops into a shower of diamonds as she sang. She stared, hypnotized by the beautiful strobe-like flashes of reflected light. The comforting thrum of the pounding water lulled her into a disembodied sense of peace.

At this moment she was completely powerless. She could help Ben no more than she could help herself. It surprised her that all trace of fear and desperation vanished, replaced by acceptance.

She sat there, singing to the unconscious man, praying the melody would penetrate enough to give him the strength to fight, until the combination of light and rhythmic noise made her eyelids droop and she gently drifted off to sleep.

~~~@ 60 @~~~

The silence woke him. Doc stretched. It took a few seconds to remember where he was. Cold rain dripped down onto the top of his head slowly. The hiss of sleet that was pounding the tree branches died away. He shook his head, flinging drops off and rotating his neck to work out the kinks. He sat until the sun filtered through his shelter in a weak, screen pattern. Then he kicked off the branches and stood up stiffly. His horse nickered nearby.

Good, he thought, time to get going. He ignored the rumbling in his stomach. The gratitude on Hoover's face would be worth fasting for a couple of days.

He mounted quickly and searched for clues that weren't washed away by the storm. There were none left. He would have to rely on hunches. He frowned. He wasn't used to relying on his wits alone. Not when it came to survival, any way.

He rode away from the house, paralleling the cliff. It descended and he passed a series of small waterfalls until the stream was beside him.

Stopping to let his horse drink and rest, he sifted through the options in his head. He could go back and face Hoover empty-handed. Not a chance. Go back to the cliff and search some more. Maybe. Follow the stream and hope for the best. Well, they would need water, wouldn't they?

He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. That was when he heard it and sat up straight to locate the sound.

Singing.

~~~@ 61 @~~~

Tess startled awake, half-convinced she was sitting on her bed under the window in her apartment with the rain from outside blowing in. It had happened before. Her gaze swept the dim, wet cave interior and she sighed, arms wrapped around her knees. Her forehead was sore from lying on her knees. Her back was stiff. How long did I sleep, she wondered? The light outside was dim. Is the sun going down? Or is there another storm?

Another day gone. How long before we starve to death? How long before it no longer matters to him? She peered into the black hole at the end of the cave. The faint flickering firelight from the alcove made little dancing shadows against the opposite wall but didn't penetrate the main cave. Dimly, she wondered how far in it actually went, then decided it didn't matter.

She pushed herself up, stretching her sore muscles and shivering at the cold rush of wet air against her legs. Carefully, she picked her way along the wet rock floor to the alcove.

Ben had stopped thrashing and lay still. Her heart jumped. He was so pale. Was he breathing?

She fell to her knees beside him and put a hand on his bare chest. It was clammy, covered with a light sheen of sweat. He was shivering almost imperceptibly.

And definitely breathing.

She exhaled loudly and ran a hand through her damp and dirty hair. His forehead was warm not hot. An improvement.

"The fever's broken," Robert said with a smile.

Maybe his fever has broken, she thought with a tired smile.

She retrieved his dry sweater and jeans and dressed him, then wiped his face clean. She ducked outside the front of the cave and returned with more snow, using it to clean his wounds and rebandage his hand. The bandage was filthy so she tore strip of liner from the inside of his wool coat. It wasn't thick, but it was the cleanest cloth she had.

No sign of infection, she thought with relief and sat back against the wall to resume her serenade.

~~~@ 62 @~~~

Every step the horse took jerked Ray's stomach a little closer to losing his breakfast. Why did they have to take horses? Why couldn't they drive?

He looked around with bleary eyes at the trees and the swaying backs or the people ahead of him.

"Hey! When are we gonna stop?" he shouted, "my backside's killing me!" And a few other unmentionable places.

"Quit your whining, Ray. I'm not having a problem," Franny replied over her shoulder, smiling a little at the thought of the weekend riding lessons she'd been taking since the day she found out Fraser rode horses. Sibling rivalry always got the blood flowing, yes sir, almost as good as a cappuccino.

One of the horses pulled out of the line and waited for him to catch up.

"Is there a problem, Detective?" Inspector Thatcher regarded him through half-closed impatient brown eyes, with a look that reminded him of his grade school teachers.

"Yeah. If God had meant us to ride horses he wouldn't have invented Buick Rivieras."

Her gaze swept over him as though he was a bug who just made a mess of her windshield. "I realize you're unaccustomed to horseback riding and I won't reiterate the hazards of riding. You didn't listen the first time. Let me assure you we are almost upon the rendezvous site."

"Great for another day of stumbling through the snow and sharp branches."

"You didn't have to come."

He stared at her for a long moment. His shoulders deflated and he studied the reins in his hand. When he spoke again his voice was soft, with a note of helplessness and fear. "He's my best friend. We should've found him by now."

Thatcher frowned. The man was actually exposing his raw emotions to her scrutiny. The bravado fell away and left a man who loved and missed his best friend very much. A small wave of envy passed over her. I wonder what it's like to have a best friend you can count on, she thought, who cares so much? She found she couldn't look at the pain in his eyes and dropped her gaze to her horse's mane.

"We will succeed, you know," she said softly, so that only he could hear. "Constable Fraser...Ben...is a very strong and resourceful man. He will be waiting for us...at the house or at the hotel."

He raised his eyes and met hers. For a moment they shared a small smile. Ben might very well escape, find their hotel and be waiting in the café when they returned. It would be just like him.

Ray nodded imperceptibly and they rejoined the group.

~~~@ 63 @~~~

Tess finished the song and gently slid Ben to the ground. She smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead tenderly, glad that his skin was cool beneath her lips. He slept deeply, without dreams. She arranged his limp body comfortably, sat back on her knees and sighed as her head throbbed from lack of food.

Suddenly, a hand slipped over her mouth from behind and jerked her roughly to her feet. She swayed weakly. Her muffled scream echoed from the cave walls.

"What happened to your boyfriend, Sweetheart?" A harsh voice hissed in her ear. He swung her away from the fire and the Mountie, then tossed her to the ground.

She tried to roll, to escape. He pounced on her easily, knocking the wind out of her, then flipped her onto her back.

He grabbed both of her hands in one of his and yanked them up over her head. She yelped in pain. Slowly, he leaned over, smiling, and kissed her full on the lips, licking them. She bit his lip. He jumped back with a curse, one hand flying up to his bleeding lip.

"Get off me!" she hissed.

He slapped her hard.

The sharp pain made her ears ring and her mind go fuzzy.

"I'd take you right here," he growled, "but I'm too tired." His hand went around her throat, smearing it with his blood. "So, you have to come with me." He released her throat and dug through the pockets of his dirty coat. A moment later he produced a syringe and vial. He filled the syringe expertly with one hand and jabbed it into her neck.

She choked, trying desperately to claw his face, as the cold taste of metal filled her mouth and the world narrowed to a single point and blinked out.

~~~@ 64 @~~~

Ray slipped from the saddle, yelped as his ankle touched the ground and hopped on his good foot. The horse regarded his with large brown eyes and calmly sipped the icy stream water. He hobbled over to the stream, dropped onto his stomach and drank in deep gulps. A moment later a piercing headache from the cold ricocheted through his temples.

It faded as quickly as it had begun and he splashed the frigid water over his head.

"Umm, yummy. Like stickin' your head inside a refrigerator."

Meg Thatcher crouched beside him, one knee brushing the dark earth, studying a map and then the woods across the stream. "We've almost completed our sector. We still have to follow this stream east for two kilometers, then we can head back to the rendezvous."

"Oh, joy. I wonder how that Mountie's doin' with Franny?" Ray chuckled and examined his reflection in the water. He looked terrible, with dark puffy circles under his eyes. Ah, well, it was worth it. What were friends for?

Something below his reflection caught his eye. He dipped a hand into the icy water, retrieved it and sat up to look at it.

It was a business card. He turned it over.

"McGinty's Bar and Grill, 1401 Michigan Ave., Chicago, Illinois," he read softly.

He blinked twice.

"You drop this?" He held it out for the Inspector.

"No." She frowned at the card then turned back to the map.

"I found it in the water. I bet it was Fraser's!" Ray smiled broadly, leaping to his feet.

"We don't know that for certain." She stood, stretched her back, folded the map and tucked it into her pocket.

"Yes, yes we do! Fraser and me had lunch at this place two weeks ago! He must've snagged their card. He said the place had a strange atmosphere."

Thatcher held out her hand, palm up. He slapped the card into it. She examined it closely, manicured brows furrowed.

"Well," she began slowly, returning the card, "our sector includes the area upstream. Let me check in with the team coordinator and we'll go investigate."

Ray felt like whooping out loud and giving the Dragon Lady and giant wet kiss. Ah, what the Hell, he thought and nearly laughed out loud at the pure open terror in her wide chocolate eyes as he planted a warm enthusiastic kiss on her slightly parted lips. He released her with a devilish smile that made his cheeks hurt. The shock quickly fell from her face, replaced by a scowl.

He didn't even see the punch she threw that dropped him.

~~~@ 65 @~~~

Doc nearly bounced with joy when Hoover smiled at him. He hardly watched Danny and the others carry the limp forms of the captives back inside the building. Property, that's all they were. Something to be sold for a hefty profit that would get him his own practice someday. He smiled and dogged Hoover's heels as he retreated to the house, relating the story of the chase and capture to the leader's back.

A short time later, after wolfing down a plate of hot food, he cradled a second cup of hot cocoa in his hands and sifted through his medical bag. He perched his cup on the table when he found the needle and vial that he was looking for.

Hoover reclined in a ratted overstuffed chair nearby, one leg slung over the arm, eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the doctor's every move.

"Drugs, Doc?"

Doc shrugged. "Can't give them too much more of the anesthetic. People do die from it, you know." He held the syringe up to the light, tapping it to remove the air bubbles. "This is an anti-biotic. He has an infection, that, apparently he's fought off pretty well. This should help him recover. Y'know, it's funny..." He laughed and glanced at Hoover. "If I didn't find him and give him this injection he may possibly have died. Exposure, lack of food and water and an infection are a lousy hand to play."

"And her?"

"Hunger, exposure, bumps and bruises. The cut on her wrist is infected. Looks like it's sprained. Nothing a hot bath, good meal and few days in bed wouldn't cure."

"Good. We ship them out at nightfall." Hoover leaned back and rested his head on the chair back, examining the ceiling. "After you patch them up get a couple of hours sleep. We need you in case they get worse on the trip."

"I'm going with?"

"Of course."

~~~@ 66 @~~~

"Where'd he go?"

"I don't see him."

"Dief! Here boy! I have a donut for you!"

Ray squinted across the stream. The wolf had vanished after crossing over a fallen tree. "It's chocolate...with sprinkles!" Ray called, feeling his face flush with annoyance. They were *this * close to finding Benny and the wolf had to play nature boy. The underbrush was thick on the other side of the stream, punctuated by snowdrifts.

Dief barked off to their right, barely audible above the crashing of an unseen waterfall. Both humans turned to look, but still couldn't see him.

"We'll have to cross over." Thatcher eyed the tree suspiciously. "He may have found something."

Ray looked upstream and down. "Okay, where's the bridge?"

"Right in front of you."

Ray stared at the fallen tree as if it were green, slimy and walking his way. "A rotten tree? It'll fall apart and we'll drown."

Thatcher climbed up on the tree easily and scurried across, placing her feet carefully on the wet wood. She hopped off, wiped her hands and flashed him a radiant smile that made him forget momentarily that he didn't like her.

"There. Easy as a café latte on a Saturday morning. Just come across slowly, the wood is a bit slippery."

He stared at her for a long moment. "If she can do it," he whispered and scaled the tree. He slipped and caught himself, scraping his calf.

Slowly he inched across, feeling his smooth; expensive shoes slip a little with each step. He swallowed and looked at his feet.

And froze.

Doubts assailed him like a flock of Hitchcock's birds. The water below him that seemed so sweet and burbling from the shore transformed into a Hellish roiling mass before his eyes. In every burble he heard laughter, daring him to fall in and be washed away.

"What are you waiting for?"

He didn't answer.

"It's much easier to cross if you don't look down." She cocked her head, studying his expression. "Detective. Detective." She sighed. "VECCHIO!" she shouted.

His head snapped up and his green eyes found her. Anger emanated from every line in her body, hands on hips, chin lifted, lips pulled into a tight line and body rigid.

"Look at me," she ordered.

"I am."

"I mean as you cross. Don't watch your feet, watch me."

"You're crazy, lady! How will I know where to step if I don't watch?"

"It's basically flat. Slide your feet along." She stretched her back and shifted her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. "However, I can understand if you want to sit there and wait for me. I'm perfectly capable of continuing alone...if you're scared."

Ray's entire body twitched. Without a thought he strode across the fallen tree, green eyes locked on her insolent brown ones. "I ain't scared of a stupid log, lady! It'll be a cold day in"

His foot slipped on the last step and he plunged off the log, tumbling in the air.

Meg gasped. Too late, she realized he was falling directly toward her. She tried to side step him, but he landed on her squarely, knocking her flat on her back in the snow.

After a moment Ray coughed, pushed himself up on his elbows and stared down into her pale face. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, then she wheezed as air rushed back into her lungs.

"See! See what lack of technology gets ya?"

"Get off me," she said softly.

He shook himself and realized he still lay on top of her, their bodies molded together intimately. His body's powerful instantaneous reaction alarmed him. He threw himself backward and sat on the bank beside her trying to slow his breathing.

"I coulda been killed, drowned or something," he said quickly. He didn't meet her eyes, waiting for the effects of having a female in such close proximity to die down.

She sat up fast enough to give herself a head rush and made a loud exasperated noise. "You weren't even close to drowning."

Farther down the bank, Dief barked and whined impatiently.

Ray stood and held out his hand. She took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They wove through the underbrush toward the sound of the wolf's barking, avoiding each others eyes.

Rounding a small bend and thick copse of birch trees, Thatcher stopped so suddenly that Ray bumped into her. He followed her open-mouthed stare, and joined her in gaping.

They stared, awestruck as the afternoon sun transformed the twin waterfalls into cascading diamonds, framed by glittering, translucent clouds of spray. Ray inhaled deeply and shivered as the spray caressed his face and dampened his clothing.

"Wow," he whispered, "is that what clean air smells like?"

Meg nodded, silent as the mist wreathed around them, until the white wolf materialized from behind the sparkling falls like an angel floating through the clouds.

Ray's eyes widened. "What is this, a mirage? Where'd he come from?"

"There must be a cave behind the falls. Come on."

They jogged over, maneuvered behind the falling water and joined Dief in the cave.

Thatcher knelt and examined the wet floor, then turned her flashlight toward the dark depths and stood to investigate.

"Whoa! Who woulda thought? This is like somethin' outta a movie. I never"

"Detective."

He turned and followed her echoing voice, joining her in the circle of light.

"Look, the remains of a fire." She knelt beside it and extended a hand, palm facing down over the firepit. "It's still hot. They haven't been gone long."

Ray smiled broadly. "It was them? But, how do you know it wasn't the booby trapper?"

Meg frowned. "I don't for certain. Perhaps, there are other clues."

After a short time searching the cave and alcove, Ray held up a strip of dirty white cloth. She took it and held it in front of the flashlight.

"It's just a muddy cloth. It doesn't prove anything," Ray told her with a shrug.

"It isn't mud, Detective. I believe it's blood." She stood quickly and swept the beam of the flashlight around the alcove. "Look, footprints."

"They aren't from my shoes. Look! Go back. There. Drag marks." Their eyes met. "Okay, so let's say it's them. Benny wouldn't have to drag Tess, he could carry her."

"Unless he was hurt." She waved the bloody cloth.

Ray frowned. "And Tess couldn't drag him, he's too big. And why would Benny leave a fire with a nice stack of wood like that, especially if he was hurt?"

She put the cloth into the pocket of her blue wool jacket and met his eyes uneasily.

"They were recaptured," she stated and started for the mouth of the cave.

Her cell phone shrilled, making them both jump. She stopped short of the mouth of the cave and answered it, covering one ear with her hand.

Ray saw her nod, but her shouted reply into the phone was lost in the symphony of cascading water. He peered around the darkened cave with a vague feeling of hopelessness. What if Benny was bleeding and had made a run for it? He knew his friend was an expert at wilderness survival, but some things were insurmountable. The knot of fear that had made its home in the pit of his stomach when he discovered Benny's bloody hat threatened to explode and overwhelm him. He made himself concentrate on the woman, on Meg. Half of her body was softly illuminated by the flickering of light through the water, the other half invisible in the darkness. He watched the tiny breeze and spray lift the ends of her shoulder-length dark hair and swirl it, twinkling about her as she spoke.

Abruptly, she snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into her pocket. She stared at the falling water briefly, the expression on her face unreadable. When she turned she wore the emotionless Dragon Lady façade.

"Well?" he prompted.

She motioned him outside to the relative silence away from the falls.

"They found the house. We'd better hurry. Night falls early in the mountains."

~~~@ 67 @~~~

Fraser yawned and awoke to darkness. He felt terrible. His entire body ached and he had the fuzzy disembodied sensation that accompanied waking from a nightmare. He took a long breath of stale, cold air and identified the scent of old sweat, blood and faint perfume.

Vague, disjointed images whirled through his throbbing head. He tried to put them aside and think of the present, to determine what was real.

He was wedged up against something soft and warm. Tess, he decided. He tried to sit up and bumped his head on a soft, low ceiling. With a groan he lay back, partially on top of Tess.

"Not again."

Ignoring the ringing in his ears, he listened intently. There were no road noises. Confusion spun through his foggy brain, making his temples pound. The only sound was Tess' deep rhythmic breathing beside him.

Realization stuck him with a shock. They were in a coffin.

The lining was smooth and very soft. The air holes at his feet let in an icy breeze. He shoved against the lid. It didn't budge. After a short while he gave up, sweating and panting from the exertion.

How did he get so weak? When were they recaptured? The memory loss was disturbing. It was a lapse in control that only happened to other people. He didn't like the personal weakness it represented. He recalled his mother cradling him and seeing Meg, very vividly. He blushed at the snippets of memory. Surely, that wasn't real. But which images could he trust? He shook his head slightly, determined to figure it all out later.

He elbowed Tess. It was too cramped to reach her face with his hand.

"Tess," he hissed. "Tess? Tess?"

Her breathing didn't change. She was so deeply asleep he presumed she had been drugged again.

With a bone-weary sigh he let his entire body go limp. He breathed slowly and deeply, using self-hypnosis to diminish the pain, take a physical inventory and center his mind. When his mind was still and the pain non-intrusive, he began to formulate a plan of escape.

~~~@ 68 @~~~

Ray and Franny crouched behind the tiny group of Mounties who encircled the Inspector like a football huddle.

"Report," Thatcher whispered.

Sergeant Conner kept his voice low, "Sergeant McAn and Constable Zorria have the perimeter secured, sir. The criminals can move unimpeded per your orders."

"Good work, Sergeant." She poked her head over the bushes. "We will coordinate using narrow beam flashlight signals in Morse Code. Messages will be passed along the perimeter, not across it, to prevent interception by the enemy. Determine what they are doing and we will curtail their plans. Bring me reconnaissance reports on the quarter hour. And get a look inside that house, unobtrusively, of course. You two" She motioned to the remaining two Mounties. "Take up positions fifty feet apart in the trees between here and the barn. Apprehend, unobtrusively."

The Sergeant nodded once, crisply and dashed silently into the darkness with the other two on his heels.

The roar of a plane engine startled them all. Ray ducked farther down behind bushes and Mounties and pulled Franny with him. They all looked skyward. The running lights of a small plane were visible, circling. The plane gracefully dropped to the water and taxied up to the dock.

"Great," he muttered, "they're gonna make a break for it and I don't have a gun."

"So throw a rock," Franny said, hefting a baseball-sized rock.

Thatcher held up her hand to hold back a surge of Mounties that would overrun the house.

Five men exited the house, talking casually, and crossed to the barn. They came out a moment later, four men carrying a coffin, one trailing behind smoking a cigarette.

'Take the house from the far side,' Thatcher ordered via Morse Code light flashes.

The men crossed to the plane tied to a dock on the lake.

Suddenly, shouts erupted from the house, followed closely by gunshots. The men dropped the coffin on the shoreline and scattered.

"Take them!" Thatcher stood up and shouted.

A wave of Mounties flowed smoothly from the darkened trees, quickly surging around the house and capturing two of the men immediately. They were thrown to the ground, handcuffed and trussed like roped calves to prevent their escape as the Mounties continued on.

Bullets whizzed past Ray and Franny's heads. Franny squealed and pressed her stomach to the ground. Ray gritted his teeth and, spotting Thatcher, hissed into his sister's ear, "Stay here. Stay down."

She nodded, too terrified to move.

Ray crawled closer to Thatcher. "Give me a gun! I can help!"

She gave him an annoyed look. "You have no authority! We'll handle this."

Ray started to argue when a shower of bullets struck the plane. It exploded in a huge fireball, the shock wave knocked some of the men flat. Ray was thrown onto the Inspector. She shoved him off. They watched in shock and horror, time slowing down for them, as the debris flew up in a macabre imitation of a fireworks display. Shrapnel plunked against the coffin and shot over it, striking Doc and several Mounties. Throwing their arms over their heads they broke cover as metal and flaming material rained down on the trees around them.

The chaos gave Hoover the distraction he needed to make a break for the woods. He ran in a half-crouch away from the house.

Franny watched with open-mouthed horror. Unlike the others, her gaze was locked on the coffin. It disappeared from view momentarily as the fireball engulfed it and swept upward, leaving it unscathed. Then came the shower of metal and things she couldn't identify. What if Fraser's in the coffin, she thought, is he Swiss cheese now?

Hoover grinned as he neared the trees. A petite young woman watched the fire, oblivious to his approach. Perfect, he thought, a hostage.

Franny looked around desperately for someone to send over there. Thatcher and Ray were near the barn where Mounties were exchanging gunfire with someone. She didn't see Hoover until he slipped an arm around her waist from behind and hissed in her ear, "Don't scream, Girlie. You're coming with me."

"Yeah, right!" she muttered. Without thinking, she flung her arm backward, over her shoulder. The rock in her hand hit him in the face with a resounding 'SMACK'! Struck between the eyes, he dropped like falling rain. "Get lost, dishwad!" she said with a glance over her shoulder. He was hidden by the bushes. "Girlie, my foot."

Fighting down the sudden urge to panic and cry, she bolted from the bushes and ran zigzag to the coffin, still gripping her rock. Small pieces of burning wreckage surrounded it. Holding her breath she fell to her knees beside it.

Distantly, she saw Ray drag Hoover from the bushes.

"Fraser? Oh, Fraser, please be okay, please, please, please," she begged and yanked on the lid. It didn't budge. She tried again. Nothing. She bent closer. Of course. It was locked.

"Damn, damn! Think, think, Franny!" She ran her fingers through her bangs as she concentrated. Then the rock she dropped when she fell to her knees caught her eye. She snatched it up and began to pound the built in lock with the thoughtlessness of a crazed woman. By the time the cold breeze dried the sweat on the back of her neck the cheap lock cracked.

"Yes!" she cried jubilantly.

The sounds of gunfire ended abruptly and a triumphant whoop echoed from the barn.

Franny threw open the lid.

A groggy Fraser blinked up at her, his sea blue eyes dancing with the flickering fire behind her.

"Franny?" he whispered.

Suddenly, she was crying, trying to crawl into the coffin with him and trying to pull him out into her arms simultaneously. He pushed himself off of Tess and allowed himself to be caught up in a bear hug, with kisses rained across his face.

He returned the hug with all the strength he had left, and fell out of the coffin to land on his knees. They sat there, embracing, for a long moment, until he noticed the slowly sinking wreckage behind her.

"Is that what that noise was?"

She started to laugh, wiping at her tears and released him. "I thought you were dead," she whispered.

He gave her a tired, but radiant lop-sided smile. "Not quite."

~~~@ 69 @~~~

Inspector Thatcher supervised the loading of the prisoners onto horses. All had their hands cuffed behind their backs and a Mountie riding with them.

She strolled over to Fraser and Tess, bundled in blankets. Fraser looked up at her approach and tried to stand. She stopped him with an upraised hand. He fell back with a look of relief.

He still couldn't believe how he felt when he first saw Meg again, standing in the shadows, quietly observing Franny's welcome, peace to the other woman's exuberance. The burning plane sent warm orange flickers to caress Meg's face and bring out emotions in her eyes that he couldn't be quite certain were there. She was beautiful. He found himself unable to breathe. The realization that she had come all this way to save him made his throat clench. Maybe she did care afterall. He sighed inwardly and shook himself back to the present.

She met his eyes expectantly.

"Um...I'm sorry, sir?"

"I asked if you felt any better, Constable," she repeated gently.

He shrugged. "Exhausted. Weak...starving, dirty, sore. I can't really think at the moment, sir," he said, while thinking, particularly with the way the firelight sparkles from your hair.

Meg frowned, studying his face, wondering if he really felt as bad as he looked and was afraid to tell her. He really needed to stop trying to appear perfect. But, then, who was she to begrudge someone that? Briefly, she wished she could take him back to her apartment and nurse him to health herself. She could almost feel his body pressed against hers in the night, see his soft, grateful smile.

She cleared her throat.

"And Miss Parish? When will she awaken?"

"Unknown, sir. She was apparently given a tranquilizer while I was unconscious. She appears to be suffering from a few minor wounds, the cuts on her wrists being the worst, and exposure. She should be fine to travel, though I'm sure she'll feel she's been dragged over Hell's half acre when she wakes."

"Right. We should go then. The quicker we're off the quicker you get to Hospital."

Franny and the Inspector helped him to a horse. Ray carried Tess to Sergeant Conner's horse, while Fraser settled into position behind Meg. He rested his head gently on her back as they all rode off, letting the wild scent of her sink in. It reminded him of home.

After a few minutes, Meg let the others pull ahead. "Fraser," she said softly.

"Yes, sir?" he said, sensing a change in her, a reluctance. She wanted to say something but battled herself over it.

"I...well" She turned in the saddle and looked up into his eyes, mostly hidden in the darkness.

He licked his lip nervously in the way that made her heart fall to her knees and waited.

She watched his action and forgot what she was going to say. Impulse took over. She leaned forward and kissed him passionately under cover of darkness. He returned the kiss with equal fervor, wondering briefly if he were still trapped in a fever dream. Her skin was warm against his for a long moment.

Then she pulled away.

Swallowing hard, she met his eyes. They stared for a few silent moments. Then she nodded sharply, turned and spurred the horse to catch up with the others.

"Fraser," she said.

"Yes?"

"That didn't officially happen, understood?"

"Understood...sir."

~~~@ 70 @~~~

EPILOGE

Fraser followed Ray into the little coffee shop.

"So, this is it?" Ray asked over his shoulder, examining a potted tree near the door. "This is what she said she dreamed of?"

"Yes, it's quite nice, isn't it?"

"Sure, but I coulda thought of more fun things to do while trapped in a little box under a van."

Fraser frowned and cocked his head.

"Never mind," Ray muttered.

Fraser shrugged. "Ray, I rather like the use of lavender and roses throughout the décor. It makes a welcome change from the urban austerity."

Ray glanced at his partner as they wove through the crowd of people to the counter. "Yeah, whatever. I'm just glad she serves a healthy espresso. I can do with a nice big cup of Turkish grind right about now."

They took seats at the counter. Fraser flipped through the small menu of coffees, deserts and sandwiches. "Ray, you have been rather jumpy since our return from the Yukon. Perhaps, Turkish blend isn't the best thing."

"Jumpy? What's that supposed to mean? I haven't been jumpy!"

"I was simply referring to"

"Hey, no referring, no Inuit stories, no defining every word I say! Not today! Got that?"

The Mountie frowned and set his Stetson on the counter, running his finger along the brim thoughtfully, then he nodded.

"Perhaps, you should try the decaf."

"Look"

"Well, look what the stage brought in. You boys look in need of some serious Joe. You want leaded or unleaded?" Tess drawled with a wide smile. She patted Ray on the hand. "Darlin', you look like you need the unleaded."

"Extra, super leaded, thank you very much."

She winked at Fraser as he gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. He cleared his throat. "You seem to be doing extremely well today," he said, "Are you happy?"

Her smile broadened, causing deep dimples and a gentle flush crossed her cheeks. "Oh, you don't know, son!" She took in the crowd. "I feel like Cinderella. We get the lunch crowds from half the business district. It's a dream come true."

"Yeah, well, you got a great menu and a great location. You're only three blocks from the station so you better stock up on donuts."

Tess laughed. "At least I'll feel safe with cops here all the time. And with Hoover and his psychos locked up."

"I hear ya."

"Did they find all of the women?"

"Nope. Most. Not all."

"They'll keep looking until they locate them all," Fraser said as he looked around the room. "I was admiring your décor. Did you paint all of those pictures?"

"Oh, please, son. I've decided to showcase local artists. One a month."

"Excellent idea," Fraser told her.

"Thanks." Tess tapped the counter top. "I know you're in a hurry so I'll go get your cappuccinos."

"Extra foam!" Ray called after her.

"She's going to do well," Fraser said with a smile.

"Yeah, well she oughta drink an espresso, maybe she'd move a little faster. I'm about to fall asleep over here."

Fraser regarded his friend calmly. "She's only been gone twenty seconds, Ray."

"I don't care! I need energy to get through the thirty cases Welsh is riding me about!" He stood up and sat down impatiently.

"Ray," Fraser said with a small grin. "Perhaps, you should have gotten the unleaded."

Finis