Author's Notes: The story is set between Hunting Season and CotW. I'm very grateful to my betas Isis, Akamine_chan and Primroseburrows for all their help.

When the plane begins to descend, I almost regret going back to Chicago. Through the window, I glimpse an endless sprawl of houses and roads, and the air is hazy with smog. I feel a touch of claustrophobia, crammed into a seat between a businessman looking at his watch and a sniveling little girl with some kind of computer game.

I'd managed to keep my job, but my superiors weren't happy about my insubordination over the matter of my husband's murder. Still, it had felt so good to act and take things into my own hands, and it had healed some of my grief and anger. And I'd caught the killers--they'd had to admit that, much as it galled them.

I don't regret it, not one bit.

My punishment had been disciplinary leave for six weeks, and I'd decided to go back to Chicago to get to know my new brother better.

I go through baggage claim, and when I leave the Customs area with my backpack slung over my shoulder, I see a flash of red in my peripheral vision. Benton is there waiting for me, a wide smile on his face. He hesitates for a second, then hugs me firmly, our Stetsons colliding. Steadying my hat, I look up at him.

"Maggie! I'm glad to see you."

"Benton. Thanks for meeting me here." I smile back, and we walk out of the building. Diefenbaker, who had waited outside, begins to wag his tail when he sees me. He licks my hands in welcome, and I scratch his ears.

"How was your trip?"

"Well, to be honest, the trip itself wasn't exactly a pleasure."

"Yes, well, plane trips rarely are."

Benton opens the passenger door of the car for me. I dump my bag in the back seat, get in the front seat and strap my seatbelt on, and then Benton carefully maneuvers the car onto the road. "Ray very kindly lent me his car, but I'm afraid he would kill me if anything happened to it."

"I can imagine."

The city swallows us, streets and houses flitting by anonymously. A person could get lost here as surely as in the wilderness. Perhaps more so.

We arrive, finally, at the police station of the 27th precinct. Benton's partner Ray is sitting at a desk, staring at some papers and absently chewing on his pencil. He looks up to greet us. I'm a little wary, expecting him to come on to me like last time--he's cute, I guess, but not really my type. He does nothing of the sort now, though.

"Hi, Maggie." He nods at me, looking slightly uncomfortable, and turns to Benton.

"Met with the couple who own the department store. God-awful people. They remind me of Stella's relatives."

"Ray. We still owe them a certain amount of professionalism," Benton chides him.

"Yeah, I know. But they were all, 'oh we're entitled to all this stuff because we're so fucking rich'. Got my hackles up."

The police station has the familiar bustle of police stations everywhere, and I feel more at home here than out in the city. Of course, our detachment in Inuvik is much smaller, but I served for a while in Edmonton before I got stationed in Inuvik, and this is much like that. Although there's someone cuffed to a bench who's dressed up like a giant rabbit, and that's certainly something new.

Benton turns to me. "What are your plans for the evening, Maggie? I'm afraid we have to work a while longer."

"Oh, I'll stay, and perhaps I could be of some help, if you want."

"I don't want to impose on you while you're on vacation."

I shrug. "Well, it's my vacation, so I can do what I like."

"True." Benton fetches me a chair from a nearby desk and tells me about their current case, which concerns several robberies of shoes and purses from an upscale department store. I listen and chime in with an occasional comment.

"Well, if it isn't Constable MacKenzie."

I look up at the unmistakable presence of the lieutenant of the 27th, and then stand. "Sir."

"Constable Fraser has informed me that you're no longer suspended. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."

"This department is, of course, grateful for any assistance we can get, seeing as we're woefully short of manpower. But I'd like to remind you that you're a civilian here, and we don't take kindly to wild justice."

"I'll remember that, sir."

Welsh nods, and turns to leave. I exhale, feeling as if I've been let off the hook. Ray is tactfully looking down at his papers, but looks up at Benton and me when Welsh's footsteps recede. "Um, yeah. So I thought we could go over their information now, and tomorrow we could take a look at the crime scene?"

"That sounds reasonable." They settle down to work, while I listen and chime in with an occasional comment.

"Maggie?" I hear a female voice behind me, and turn to see the civilian aide at the precinct. I search my memory for her name.

"Francesca, hello." I smile at her, and she settles down on the desk, legs crossed as she beams at me.

"Are you here to visit Frase?" She pronounces his last name with a "sh" rather than a "s", and drops the "r", but Benton doesn't seem to mind.

"I am, yes. I don't have much family, so getting a new brother was a big event for me. Now that I have some free time, I want to get to know him."

Francesca smiles at some private amusement and glances over at Ray, who is, I remember, her brother, though he certainly doesn't look it. "Of course. Me, I'm Italian, you know? I've got family like you wouldn't believe."

Francesca leans over Benton's shoulder to look at the files, and I notice him stiffening slightly. "How're you doing with the case, guys?"

Her legs dangle off the desk, long and smooth, ending in a pair of green high-heeled shoes. I try not to stare at them, and I feel a little provincial in my plain jeans and flannel shirt. Ray looks up. "Oh, fine, I guess. I didn't get at first why they were so upset over a few stolen shoes, you know? But apparently it's really expensive stuff."

Francesca rolls her eyes. "Ray, duh. You have no sense of fashion." The phone over at her workplace rings, and she slides off the desk to get it.

We work for a while longer while darkness falls in the city streets outside the window, then Ray glances at his watch and leans back in his chair. "Getting late, Frase. You ready to leave?"

Benton nods, then looks at me. "Maggie, do you want to get something to eat?"

"Sure, I'd love to."

"Ray, you're welcome to join us, if you like."

Ray takes a breath, then looks hard at Benton. "Um, Frase, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, Ray."

They go down the corridor a ways, and hold a whispered conversation, their heads bent close together. Ray shakes his head violently, and Benton holds up his hands. I remember that it's rude to stare, and look down. Diefenbaker lies sprawled on the floor, looking bored and waiting patiently for food and exercise to come.

"Maggie? I'm kind of tired, so I think I'll head home. You and Fraser have fun, okay?"

I nod, and Ray heads off, and from the stiffness in his carriage, I can tell even from behind that he's tense. I wonder what's going on, then shrug. It's none of my business.

Benton puts his peacoat on, and I shoulder my pack. Dief comes to life, loping ahead of us down the corridor. The evening air is cool, smelling unpleasantly of car exhaust, but it feels good to stretch my legs, walking down the street next to Benton. Streetlight glints on the wet pavement, and a wary cat slinks out of the dark alley to our left. I feel happy suddenly, even here in this unfamiliar environment, and I realize I'd been longing to get away.

"Oh yeah, I'd almost forgotten." I stop for a moment and dig out a small bag from my pack, then hand it to Benton. "I brought you some pemmican."

His face lights up, just like the last time. "That's...very nice of you to remember."

"I know you must be homesick."

"I...yes." He sounds like there was something else he was going to say, but cuts it short. I wonder what, but I don't know him well enough to ask. I still feel half in awe of him. Like his father--no, our father, I remind myself--he's a legend in the RCMP. But he's human, very much so, and I feel like he's making an effort to let me in. Perhaps he longs for a family to belong to, the way I do.

"Where are you staying?"

"Well, I didn't get a hotel reservation, I figured it wasn't exactly high season. Perhaps you could help me find a room?"

"Of course. I'd offer to let you stay with me, but my office isn't a particularly comfortable place."

"Oh, you can stay in my room. Can't have my daughter stay at a hotel when I have a cot to offer her." I turn quickly at the gruff voice, to see a third Mountie walking behind us.

"Dad, hello." Benton nods at him.

"Well, if you're sure..." I trail off, unsure what to say in the absurdity of the situation. I've gotten somewhat used to the idea of Bob Fraser being my father, but to have him suddenly materialize behind me startles me.

"Of course I'm sure. I don't need the cot, I'm dead after all."

"Then why did you get it, Dad?"

"Comes in useful now, doesn't it? Always keep an extra cot on hand, son." Bob Fraser shakes a finger in the air and continues in what is apparently his lecturing mode. "Did I ever tell you about the time when Late Bill Hatter and his wife came past our cabin like the devil was after their sled? There was a storm, so they had to stay the night."

"And the cot?"

"Well, his wife was pregnant. Caroline delivered the baby on it."

"Ah."

Bob adds slyly, "You could have offered Maggie your room, you know. It's not like you sleep there most nights."

"Dad!" Benton's head is turned down, and the brim of his hat makes it hard to see, but I think he's blushing. Perhaps he's seeing someone. Yes, that would explain Bob Fraser's self-satisfied tone--I remember with some amusement how he tried to play the match-maker between Benton and me last time I was here. Ha, that would never have worked, even if I weren't his sister. We're far too similar.

I curb my curiosity and look away politely, and when I turn towards Benton again, he points to the Chinese restaurant that is apparently our goal. It's a small place, with red lamps in the windows, glowing warmly in the chilly night. A bell rings when we enter, and a waiter looks up from the counter at the far end of the room. He smiles at Benton and says something unintelligible, presumably in Chinese, and Benton replies in kind. Taking my hat off, I sit down opposite Benton while he orders our meal with more soft sing-song words.

"Where did you learn Chinese?" I ask after the waiter has left.

"From my grandparents. They worked as librarians in China for a couple of years when they were younger."

"I wish I could have met them."

"Yes. They were a bit stern, perhaps, but I can think of worse ways to grow up. I miss them."

I take a drink of the water that's just been set on the table, and look around at the walls, covered with gaudy dragons, golden and red, and with prints of what I assume are traditional Chinese drawings.

"Are you...that is, how is life in Inuvik?" Benton looks at me as if he is actually interested, not just making banal small talk. His steady open gaze draws me out, until I find myself telling him of my life: of the disapproval of Sergeant Baines at the detachment, of the empty spaces in my life where Casey was, of the small-town life, with its advantages and drawbacks. Benton nods understandingly at the latter.

Our food arrives, many small dishes with various unknown contents, with one large platter of steaming rice. We fall silent for a while, enjoying the food, which is by turns spicy and sweet and remarkably delicious. When my immediate hunger is sated, I look up at Benton again, and emboldened by our conversation, I ask him what was on my mind earlier.

"So are you seeing someone?"

I can't help but smile at his sudden blush. "I...yes, but I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to talk about it."

"Oh." Then the pieces come together in my mind--the whispered conversation with Ray, their body language when they stood close, their prickly competitiveness with each other the last time I was here.

"Does Ray not want me to know?"

Benton looks taken aback. "How did you know that?"

I smile. "I am trained to put clues together, you know. Sorry, I didn't mean to make things difficult for you. I promise not to tell anyone."

"I wanted to tell you, but Ray disagreed. I felt sure you would not react badly."

"As long as you're happy."

I watch him closely, and he smiles; just a small smile, but his eyes are alight with a private joy. "I am," he says quietly. Something in his quiet happiness makes my heart ache. Why, Casey? Weren't we happy together? When did you change?

I try to shake it off, and smile at Benton. "Good. I'm glad."

We eat until we can't possibly eat any more, and the leftovers are put in a box for Diefenbaker, who is waiting outside, sulking a little. The Canadian Consulate, when we reach it after a brisk walk, is dark and closed down at this late hour. Benton lets us in, and we walk through the empty hall to his office. I can't really understand why he lives this way, but I don't want to ask, either. Perhaps it's a way of showing that his time in Chicago is temporary, that his real home lies north.

Bob Fraser opens the closet door and sticks his head out, nodding at us. "I've got a fire going, so you won't freeze. Come in."

I want to give Benton some privacy, so I tell him goodnight and close the door to the closet behind me. It isn't a closet, of course. Like the last time, it's somehow a cabin with thick log walls to keep out the cold. I don't understand it, but the cabin doesn't seem to require my understanding to exist. A fire is crackling in the open fireplace, and Bob shows me around, clearly proud of his place.

"I've aired the blankets for you and hung them by the fire; they should be nice and warm."

"Thank you," I say, not sure what to call him. Dad? Bob? Sergeant Fraser? There's a cot along one wall, and I put my backpack down beside it, and then I wonder where he is going to sleep. Of course, perhaps he doesn't.

"Well, I'll leave you, then, and I hope you have a good night's sleep." Bob puts his heavy parka on and sits down to lace his fur-lined boots.

"I don't mean to put you out of your home. Where are you going?"

"Oh, here and there. Don't you worry about me." He waves his hand vaguely, presumably to indicate wherever ghosts go when they're not haunting the living, and opens the door to reveal a spare landscape with scattered dwarf-grown tamaracks, their yellowed needles shed on the ground. The wind whistles over a thin snow cover that leaves shrubs and tufts of grass exposed. The moon is almost full and hangs low in the sky, looking impossibly large next to the trees.

"Good night... Dad." He looks back, startled, then nods and closes the door behind him.

The blankets are indeed warm, and I'm tired. Closing my eyes, I lie on the narrow cot and hear a piece of wood falling over in the fireplace, and the faint whine of the wind past the corner of the cabin. Sleepily, I think of going in circles and ending up where you began.

***

I wake, rested and alert, and wonder for a moment where I am. Then the previous day comes back to me in a rush, and I get up and dress. Bob is nowhere in sight, and I knock on the closet door, which from the inside is made of sturdy planks, and then open it.

Benton is folding his longjohns in a neat pile. He's impeccably dressed in full uniform; I'm in civvies, like yesterday, since I'm not on duty. "Maggie, good morning."

"Good morning."

"Would you like some breakfast? I haven't eaten yet."

"Sure." We head toward the kitchen, where Benton makes us oatmeal and tea.

"What would you like to do today?"

"Well, I'm not sure. What are your plans?"

"I have guard duty in the morning, after that I'll be liaising with Ray." He makes a slight grimace at the guard duty, almost imperceptible, but I catch it, and smile in commiseration. Standing guard is not one of my favorite duties either.

"If you want to see the sights of Chicago, may I suggest the Art Institute?"

"Oh, why not? That might be interesting." Since I came to Chicago to see Benton, I hadn't made any plans to see the sights, but I might as well take advantage of the opportunity while I'm here.

I spend the morning in the cool halls of the Art Institute, my mind filling with images of ancient pottery, modern photography, fearsome-looking medieval swords, and Picasso paintings. Somewhat glutted by the wealth of art and artifacts, I meet up with Benton and Ray for lunch at a diner, then accompany them back to the 27th precinct. Ray is excited by a small break in the case.

"Okay, I found this in the store's storage space, where the stuff was stolen." Ray triumphantly holds up an elegant black shoe.

Benton takes it, looking thoughtful. "It was part of the shipment of Prada shoes, then?"

On her way to the fax machine, Francesca turns her head at this, and snatches the shoe from Benton. "Prada? Let me see that."

Then she frowns and shakes her head. "No, it isn't. This is a fake."

Ray looks surprised by this. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," she says, scoffing a little. "Can't you see the lines are all wrong? It doesn't have the right elegance."

"I'm surprised you couldn't tell that by licking, Fraser," Ray says.

"Ah. Well, I'm afraid fashion is not one of my areas of expertise. But this does throw new light on the case."

"Huh. Obviously they wouldn't want us to know if they're dealing in counterfeit merchandise. So why'd they come to us for help? And were the stolen shoes real or not?"

I chime in. "Perhaps we should check if the shoes actually on sale in the store are fake?"

"I could do that!" Francesca says, obviously delighted at the prospect. "They know you guys, right? So you couldn't go. Plus, I'm the one who can recognize the fake shoes." She fires off a grin at Ray, bordering on a smirk, and I try not to smile.

"Would you like company, Francesca?" I ask, a little hesitantly.

"Yeah, sure, Maggie! That'd be great."

Francesca lends me a more fashionable blouse so that I can blend in better, but when we step in through the revolving glass doors of the department store, I'm afraid I feel as well suited to this place as a caribou trying to shop for groceries at the general store.

With a conspiratorial smile, Francesca links her arm through mine and leads me to the third floor of the store. "This is so exciting! It's like we're on a secret mission or something."

"May I help you, ladies?" A saleswoman approaches us, glancing down at my hiking boots, but not turning a hair.

"Oh, we're just looking around." Francesca leans forward. "My friend here is going to a fancy wedding, and I thought I'd help her with some shopping, you know?"

The saleswoman nods, and we continue, looking over the shoe department. Francesca frowns and whispers: "These aren't fakes, Maggie."

"No?" Then Francesca spots a woman a few meters away, and looks at her feet, then turns back to me, raising her eyebrows.

Francesca walks up to the woman. "Wow, your shoes are gorgeous. Where did you buy them?"

I watch her chat with the woman, her gestures lively and expressive.

"Okay, those are fake, and she bought them here," she whispers into my ear when she gets back to me.

"Good work, Francesca."

"Hey, call me Frannie. Everyone does." She flashes me a quick smile.

Having got what we came for, or as much as we're going to get, at least, we head down the escalators toward the exit. I remember Francesca's--no, Frannie's comment from last time, and nudge her with my elbow. "You know, I think you'd make a great cop."

She gapes, putting her hand up to her mouth. "Really? You think so?"

"Really. Are you still thinking about it?"

"Yeah, I...yeah, I am." She looks at me, hesitating. "What's it like? You know, being a Mountie?"

"Well, for me it was my dream job. I always wanted to be a Mountie."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it was because of my mother's friend Bob Fraser--well, my father, though I didn't know that until recently--or something else, but they were like shining knights in armor when I was a kid. I used to dress up in a red sweater and and pretend I was a Mountie."

Frannie grins. "And do you feel like a knight in shining armor now?"

"Well, I'm not a kid any longer. But still, I like the job. It makes me feel like I'm using all my abilities."

"Huh, I wish I had that." She looks like she'd say more, but we've reached Ray and Benton, who are waiting around the corner.

"You got anything?" Ray says, leaning against the hood of his car.

Frannie gives her report. "Yeah, we did. See, they're not selling fakes anymore, at least we didn't see any, but they used to, before. There was a woman with fake shoes that she'd bought there about a month ago."

"Huh, interesting," Ray says. "We could talk about it over dinner, what do you think?"

Benton nods, and I turn toward Frannie. "Are you coming, too?"

She looks surprised, as if she hadn't expected to be asked to come along. "Oh, sure! I'd love to."

But then her face falls and she shakes her head. "No, sorry. I just remembered--I promised Maria I'd come home and watch the kids."

"All right. Maybe another time then?"

"Sure, that'd be great." She fires off a grin at me.

I realize that I'm still wearing her blouse. "Oh, I forgot--do you mind if I give you this back another day?"

"Yeah, that's fine, you can borrow it. Um, actually you look great in it." Frannie spins around and walks away as if she's in a hurry, her high heels clacking on the pavement.

"Maggie?" I startle, realizing that I'm staring after Frannie's retreating form. "Yes?"

"Would pizza be fine with you? I realize it's not exactly the most nutritious of foods, but..."

Ray looks at him threateningly. "Fraser, do not bad-mouth Chicago pizza, all right?"

"I beg your pardon, Ray." Benton says. He looks like he's holding back a smile.

"Pizza is fine with me," I say, looking at Ray, who seems to be avoiding my gaze. I wonder if Benton has told him that I know about their relationship.

Ray's favorite pizza place is busy, but we manage to get ourselves a table. Unmoved by Benton's scolding, Diefenbaker slinks in undetected and hides under the table while the waitress takes our orders.

"Okay, so about the case. Maybe we shouldn't reveal to the store yet that we know they've been selling fake shoes?" Ray says.

"That does seem the prudent thing, yes." Benton replies.

"But is there a connection between the theft and the counterfeits?" I say.

Ray frowns. "Dunno."

The pizza arrives, and we let the food silence our discussion for the time being. The pizza is delicious, full of cheese and generous with the toppings, and I smile at Ray. "You were right. The Chicago pizza is far superior to the kind we get in Inuvik."

"I'm glad you like it." He seems to relax a bit. "So, how about we set up some kind of scheme to catch the thieves? The store could probably help us."

Benton seems to catch his meaning immediately. "That sounds good. If they spread the information that they're expecting a new shipment of shoes, on, say, Thursday afternoon, then we can stake out the storage space."

Ray nods. "Sounds like a plan."

Diefenbaker whines under the table, and Ray slips him a bit of pizza with practiced ease. Benton's eyes narrow, but he doesn't comment on it. Perhaps it's no use.

Benton excuses himself to use the restroom, and Ray fidgets a little, tearing at his paper napkin. He looks up at me.

"So, um, Fraser told me that you, uh..." He trails off, and I try to fill in.

"Realized the truth about your relationship?"

He looks around, quickly scanning the room, although considering our low voices, I hardly think anyone can overhear us in the din. "Yeah, that. Just--don't mention it to anyone, all right?"

I try to reassure him. "I wouldn't dream of it. Really, I do understand your need for discretion."

"Thanks. Fraser isn't--I mean, he doesn't really get it like I do, that we need to keep it quiet. We're cops, you know, and Chicago isn't like Canada."

"I wish you both luck, Ray. I really do."

He nods at me. "Thanks, Maggie. I appreciate it."

Benton comes back from the restroom. A glance passes between him and Ray, and then he smiles at Ray, a small secret smile. I look down to let them have their private moment. I remember what that was like, to say something with just a look, or to have little phrases and gestures that were just for me and Casey to understand. But it hadn't been like that at the end, anyway. I'd wanted to believe it was still good, but there had been something missing, some piece of himself he wasn't letting me see. Or maybe that's just the clarity of hindsight.

I look at my last bit of pizza, but find I've lost the appetite for it. Instead, I slip it under the table for Dief, who happily snatches it up.

Benton groans. "Oh, Maggie, not you too. You'll ruin him entirely."

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that I was full, and I didn't want it to go to waste." Dief gives a satisfied belch.

"Ah, well, I suppose it's already too late." Benton mutters.

***

The next day, Benton and Ray make arrangements for the store owners to spread the false information about the shoe shipment, and then Benton turns to me.

"If you want to do something together, I could take the afternoon off? The Consulate isn't very busy right now."

"Oh, I'd love that," I say, pleased that he's taking the trouble.

"All right. Let me just speak to Inspector Thatcher." He knocks on her door and disappears inside. Constable Turnbull, who's sitting at the front desk, puts down his embroidery and takes the chance to tell me the detailed history of the portraits in the front hall. I've no option but to listen with polite, feigned interest.

Benton comes out of Inspector Thatcher's office and gives me a smile, which I take to mean that he's been successful.

"I'll be right along--I just need to change into civilian clothes," he says.

I nod in confirmation, then make a small grimace, indicating Constable Turnbull, who is turned toward one of the pictures. The corner of Benton's mouth twitches, in what I suspect would be a grin on anyone else.

"So," he says when he's back, in jeans and a comfortable-looking flannel shirt, "what would you like to do? Of course, the city has many sights to offer."

"What would you like to do?" I ask, curious.

"Oh, but you're the visitor."

I consider continuing the dance of courtesy, but I really want to know. "But you know this place better. Besides, if I'm guessing rightly, you don't take many days off. What would you like to do?"

"Well, I...all right. Actually, I'd like to go hiking." He looks a bit sheepish. "But you can do that any time, so you should take advantage of the city while you're here."

"No, hiking is fine. It would be nice to stretch my legs a little, actually. Do you have a place in mind?"

"Yes, there's a state park you can reach by bus. I've been there a couple of times."

When we reach the park, the forest is blazing with autumn colors, and I look around admiringly as we hike. We don't have this many broadleaved trees in the Territories, and I soak in the shifting hues of red, yellow and orange.

"Beautiful, aren't they," Benton says. "There is some compensation for living in the south."

"You aren't planning to move back north, then?"

"I'd like to, eventually, but..." He trails off and looks away.

"But Ray doesn't want to move up north?" I guess, and then bite my lip, wondering if I'm being too direct. I do tend to speak my mind if I don't guard my tongue, and I don't really know him that well. But he doesn't look like he thinks I've overstepped the bounds. In fact, he's laughing a little.

"Forgive me, Maggie. I'm not used to, well. It's quite refreshing with such directness. Perhaps it's something I ought to learn."

He sobers and continues. "The truth is, I haven't asked Ray about it yet."

"Oh. Well, I don't blame you--it's got to be a hard topic to bring up. I mean, he's lived his whole life here, hasn't he?"

He nods. I can't help noticing, again, that he's an extraordinarily handsome man. That was, of course, the first thing I noticed about him when I came to Chicago the first time, but when I found out that he was my brother, I realized that the affinity I'd begun to feel for him wasn't really about his looks. Although I felt lonely after Casey's death, I think that what I needed then was family and friends, not another romantic relationship.

I grew up an only child, and I've always envied the closeness that siblings have, the casual bickering with no hard feelings, and how they often seem to know each other's minds without speaking. Since I only recently met Benton, I don't know if we will ever reach that level of closeness.

But as we walk beside each other along the trail, I think that at least we have made a start.

***

"Oh, come on, Benton, please." I say.

"You have no jurisdiction here," he says, looking stubborn. He really does seem to be a stickler for following the rules.

Ray chimes in, on my side, apparently. "Neither do you, if you want to get technical about it. And Maggie's a cop, right? Why not?"

Benton gives him a wounded look, as if to say: Not you, too. "Lieutenant Welsh specifically told her to remember that she's a civilian here. I really don't think it would be prudent to'"

Ray's eyes are dancing, now. I think he sees this as a challenge. "How dangerous could it be? I mean, they're just shoe thieves."

Benton gives in with a put-upon sigh. "Well, all right then. I suppose I can't hold out against the both of you."

I grin inwardly--I wouldn't want to miss the possible resolution of a case I've been involved with, even if only peripherally.

"But let Ray and me take care of any violence, Maggie, please. It's not that I don't think you could handle it, it's just--this is against the rules."

"I will."

Ray winks at me. Surprised, I grin back at him.

"I saw that, Ray."

Ray punches him lightly in the arm. "Aww, Frase, lighten up."

At the back of the store, there is a storage space for unsold merchandise. We settle down for the stakeout behind some crates, which have slats that we can peer between to get a limited view of the room. The afternoon passes without incident, but Ray becomes increasingly twitchy and impatient. Apparently stakeouts are not his favorite part of police work.

Benton and I pass the time by whittling leftover boards into increasingly fanciful animals. After he has carved a particularly fine narwhal with a long twisted horn, Ray leans over and hisses, "Will you two be serious?"

"Lighten up, Ray," Benton mouths back. Ray narrows his eyes, and Benton pokes Ray in the chest with the narwhal horn.

Ray looks offended for a second, but then shakes his head and breaks into a grin in one of his quick changes of mood. "You are something else, Frase."

His eyes drop to Benton's mouth, and I think for a second that they're going to kiss. But then they seem to remember my presence, and look away from each other. I remember that intense period of falling in love so vividly, when you can't keep your hands off each other. I turn away from them, feeling wistful. I'm a little envious of them, I suppose.

The store closed about half an hour ago, and the storage space is dim and abandoned except for us. Except'there is a faint scrabbling sound outside the door. I tap Benton's shoulder to get his attention, then hold my breath, trying to listen.

There's a click, and then a sliding noise as the door opens slowly. Benton and Ray are tense and alert beside me, like hunting dogs on point. Ray has drawn his gun.

Two figures move soundlessly into the room. They are wearing dark, nondescript clothing, hard to see in the shadowy room. I feel myself coil up for action, trying to assess their movements, even though I'm supposed to be an observer here. They're clearly looking for something, moving methodically through the room.

When they get close to our end of the room, Benton and Ray exchange a glance. They burst into sudden action, coming out from behind the crates.

Ray yells "Chicago PD!" and aims his gun at one of the suspects. "Hands in the air!"

One of the shadowy figures freezes, but the other one turns to run, and I can't help myself--I'm conditioned to pursue, I guess.

I run, and Benton does the same. The figure is out the door and turning left, into an alley. The blood pounds in my ears and I feel the excitement of the chase spurring me on.

The figure is a moving blur, but we are gaining. We're almost on its heels when it reaches the end of the alley. We round the corner and see a waiting car, and just before we reach it, the door slams closed.

The car speeds away. I draw my knife, and I sense Benton to my right doing the same, my mirror image in red. Without a word being said, we both throw them at the tires. Both knives hit their target, mine in the left rear tire and his in the right rear, and I watch in satisfaction as the car slows down. As it tries to round the corner, it skids, and the tail end slams into a lamp post. We catch up with it easily.

"Out of the car!" I shout, hoping they'll think I'm a Chicago police detective but careful not to say so. "Hands in the air!"

The driver gets out with his hands in the air, and so does our suspect, moving reluctantly. From the store behind us, there's the wail of sirens, presumably our back-up arriving.

"Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police," Benton introduces himself as we move in to check them for weapons.

"Canada? What's their interest in this?" the suspect says, pulling the black cloth down and revealing the face of a dark-skinned woman, eyes narrowed like she means business.

"Nothing, as far as I know," Benton replies. "I'm the local liaison officer."

"Well, I'm with the Prada Anti-Piracy Department. We know that store's been selling counterfeits, but we haven't been able to prove it yet. All the samples we've got so far were legitimate," she snapped. "If you hadn't interfered, we might have got them by now."

"Why didn't you go to the local police with your suspicions?" I ask.

She snorts dismissively. "Them? They'd take forever to investigate. It's more efficient to do it by ourselves."

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to explain yourselves at the station," Benton says as two blue-and-white patrol cars pull up beside us.

One of the officers Mirandizes the suspects, while another talks to us. "Detective Kowalski returned to the station with the other perp. We'll give you a ride there, if you want."

"Thanks, we'll take you up on that." I say.

In the car, I glance at Benton, and he grins at me, looking just like I feel--wired up and alive with the excitement of the hunt, my body still humming with adrenaline.

"We both have the Fraser genes, don't we?"

His eyes twinkle at me, and he seems to get what I mean, but says perversely, "I don't believe being a police officer is something that can be coded in DNA."

"Oh, you know what I mean." I remember the stories I heard about Bob Fraser when I was a kid, how he and Buck Frobisher chased criminals for miles across the tundra, and always brought them in no matter the obstacles in their path.

"Perhaps I do at that." The corners of his mouth twitch upwards again.

I continue in an undertone, "I see no reason to let Lieutenant Welsh in on all the events of the evening, especially as regards my contribution."

"Well, as long as he doesn't ask, I see no reason to tell him."

***

Back at the station, the suspects are booked and put in interrogation rooms, ready for questioning, and we meet up with Ray again. Benton stops short at the sight of him.

"Ray, you're bleeding!" He touches his fingers to Ray's temple. They come away bright red.

"Huh? Oh, I almost forgot. Hit my head on one of the crates, maybe there was a splinter in the wood or something." Ray looks casual, but Benton presses his lips together, looking worried.

"Let me look at it."

"It's nothing, I told you."

"Nevertheless. Please let me." He touches his hand to Ray's face again, high on his cheek this time. The look in his eyes is unguarded and tender. Ray gently but firmly pulls Benton's hand away and shakes his head, a warning in his eyes.

I turn away, feeling a little embarrassed at seeing the naked expression on Benton's face, and notice Francesca looking out from one of the doors. She's standing perfectly still, with her hand over her mouth and her eyes open wide. Then she ducks back into the room.

I look back toward Ray and Benton, but they seem not to have noticed her. Benton's face looks composed and professional again. "Maggie, I'm afraid we need to take care of the interrogation now. I'll see you later?"

"Of course," I say. Normally I might have insisted on taking part, but I'd like to catch Francesca before she goes anywhere. They leave, and I look in the door where Francesca was. She's leaning against the wall, a stack of apparently forgotten files clutched against her chest.

"Francesca?"

"Call me Frannie, I told you," she corrects me, but she sounds like she's on autopilot.

"Sorry, I forgot."

"God, I'm so stupid!" She smacks herself in the forehead, and the topmost file slides down on the floor, scattering papers around. I go down on my knees, picking them up.

"Why didn't I see it?" she continues. I slide the door closed with my foot. "I mean, there he is, the most gorgeous guy in existence, but he hardly looks at women. You'd think I could figure out why, but no. I go on chasing him like an idiot."

I'm not sure if she's speaking to me or to herself, and I'm not sure what to say to her. I reply anyway. "I'm sorry."

She blushes suddenly, like she only realized now what she'd said. I remember Ray's worry that his and Benton's relationship will be discovered, but I find myself concerned about Frannie, too.

"Frannie, are you all right? Perhaps we should get out of here?" I say, feeling a little stupid once I've said it. I'm a relative stranger to her, and perhaps she just wants to be alone.

But she nods, though she still looks shaken. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe we could go get something to eat? I'm working overtime anyway."

"Yes, let's do that," I say.

She pushes away from the wall and dumps the files down on the nearest desk with a demonstrative thump. "I'll just get my coat."

"Come on," she says once she's fetched it, her shoes making decisive clacking sounds on the floor. I hurry to keep up. Once we're outside and walking quickly down the street, she speaks up again.

"So they're, you know'?" She makes a vague gesture.

"Together? Yes," I say.

Frannie pulls me across the street to a small Italian restaurant. "Maria's piano teacher's husband owns it," she says absently. "They make really good lasagna."

We sit down at a table in the corner, and Frannie orders food for both of us in Italian. It's a weekday night and the only other guests are a businessman in a suit and a young couple in the opposite end of the room, looking as if they are lost in each other.

Frannie plays with her napkin, looking down at her hands. In a low voice, I say, "Are you all right, Frannie?"

She glances at me, then away. "Yeah, I'm just'kind of shocked, I guess."

"Were you'are you in love with him?" I ask, and then wonder why I think I have the right to ask her that. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

"No, it's all right." She smiles at me, a lopsided smile that looks a bit self-deprecating. "Yeah, I guess I was. Or at least I thought I was. I don't even know anymore."

"Oh. I'm sorry," I say again.

"Yeah, well, I feel kind of foolish now."

"He never told you he wasn't interested?"

"No," Frannie says, and her hands tighten on the napkin so hard her knuckles whiten, "and I really think he could have."

She looks pissed off now, and I like that better than the self-deprecation. "I mean, it's not like I expect him to tell me he's gay, because I get that he doesn't want that to get around, you know? But why couldn't he just have said that he wasn't interested?"

I nod understandingly. Benton is my brother, and I like him, but he does seem rather evasive at times. The food arrives on the table, two heaping plates of lasagna with salad, a basket of bread, and two glasses of red wine.

"Sorry, I didn't ask if you wanted wine," Frannie says. "I kind of needed a drink."

"No, wine is all right with me."

"Thought you might be like Frase--you know, an absteming person. Or whatever."

"Abstemious? Well, I don't drink much, but I do enjoy it sometimes." I take a sip, and Frannie does, too. Her lipstick leaves a faint trace on the rim of the glass.

I try some of the lasagna. "This is delicious, Frannie."

She nods, taking another sip of wine. "Yeah, I told you," she says proudly. "My Ma's is even better, though. You should taste it some time."

"I'd love to."

Frannie looks down at her glass, twirling the wine around. "Did Frase, you know, tell you about it?"

"No. I guessed on my own."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess the clues were right in front of me all this time. Some policewoman I'd make."

I say gently, "I think we often see what we want to see. Look at me, I'm a Mountie and I was married to a criminal for years."

It's her turn to say, "I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm trying to get over it. At least I caught the ones who killed him. That was some kind of'closure, I guess." I take another bite of my lasagna. Apparently Frannie isn't the only one who needs someone to talk with.

"You know, that's kind of like Fraser. He came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father. Only with you it's your husband."

"Well, I am his sister. It stands to reason that we'd be alike."

"But you're not going to stay, for reasons unexplained at this junction, are you?"

"Well, no. I'm going back to Inuvik on Sunday. I just came down to visit Benton."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Frannie tips her wine glass back. We have both almost finished our wine glasses by now, and there's a pleasant warmth in my belly, although not enough to make me feel drunk.

"You've never been married, have you?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying it. Apparently the wine I have drunk is enough to loosen my tongue even more than usual.

"Yeah, I have. Not the nicest guy in the world, which I realized pretty soon after we were married. I got a divorce. Best decision I ever made. I guess after that, I was looking for someone real nice, someone who'd never'anyway. And I see Frase, and I think he's the perfect guy. All gorgeous, and this old-fashioned kind of, what do you call it?"

"Chivalry?"

"Yeah, that's it. Like some kind of knight in a story. And then he turns out to be gay." She laughs, shaking her head. "God, I should just give up on men."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," I say.

"You know, I think I knew, deep down, that he wasn't interested, but I just couldn't admit it to myself. Flirting with him...after a while it was just something I did, like a habit. I kept telling myself he was just playing hard to get."

I nod understandingly. I know what it's like not to let yourself notice things.

We have finished our meals by now, and Frannie is leaning forward in her chair, turning her empty wine glass in her hand. "Oh, do you want dessert? They have great chocolate cake."

"Sure, that sounds good." Frannie orders dessert with more rapid Italian, and we soon get coffee and plates of a rich chocolate cake. She puts a spoonful in her mouth and closes her eyes blissfully, making a small sound of satisfaction.

"God, I needed some chocolate. Oh, and I got us espresso too, is that okay?"

"More than okay. I don't often drink coffee this good. In the Territories, I mostly drink instant, especially when I'm out on patrol."

"You know, I'm not sure instant coffee is really coffee."

"Well, I guess I'm used to it."

I drink a little coffee, taste a bit of my dessert. Finally I say, "Will you'I mean, I think Benton and Ray would prefer to keep their relationship a secret, at least for now."

"I know people think I'm a gossip, but I can keep quiet. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"Thanks. In fact, I'm not sure they noticed you in that door."

"Yeah, they were kind of'busy with each other, I guess." She looks a little wistful. In fact, she looks kind of like the way I felt when I saw them together.

A thought strikes me suddenly. "This must be strange for you--I mean, Ray's your brother."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess." She looks thoughtful for a while, then smiles at me, almost wicked. "And here I am with Fraser's sister..." She trailed off.

It's the wine speaking, I guess, but I could almost think she's flirting with me. Surely not. Although suddenly I can't help noticing the generous cleavage visible in her low-cut blouse. I think I might be blushing, and I finish off my cake to disguise it.

"So anyway, how did the case go?" Frannie asks. "You guys did a stakeout at the warehouse, right?"

"Yes, we did. And we caught the shoe thieves, but they weren't really thieves. They turned out to belong to something called the Prada Anti-Piracy Department, and their job seems to be to track down counterfeit merchandise."

"You know, maybe I should get a job there. I can spot a false Prada shoe from a mile off."

"Well, they don't always seem to worry too much about the letter of the law."

"Hey, I can do that." She points with her spoon like a gun. "Hands up and hand over your shoes! I'm the outlaw shoe police!"

I giggle helplessly. "I'd sure give you my shoes."

Frannie has a smear of chocolate on her cheek from waving the spoon around, and I point it out. She tries to reach it with her tongue, with a concentrated and slightly cross-eyed expression that makes me laugh even more. Then she gives up and wipes it off with her index finger. I get a sudden urge to lick the chocolate from her finger, but instead I watch as she does it.

The woman who has been serving us comes up and talks to Frannie, sounding apologetic. Frannie turns to me. "They're closing soon."

"Oh, I didn't realize it was so late," I say, but when I look at my watch, it's almost 11 pm.

The waitress brings us the bill, and we split it. Outside, the air is cool and bracing, and Frannie shivers a little in her coat. "Are you cold?"

"Nah, it's all right. Where are you staying?"

"In a spare room at the Consulate," I say, which is quite true. I don't particularly feel like bringing up the fact that it's located in Benton's closet. "Which way do you live?"

Frannie points. "It's not that far, really, but I usually take a cab when I'm alone."

"I can walk you home, if you like," I offer.

"Yeah, okay. A walk would be nice after all that food." Frannie smooths her hand over her flat belly. "You know, I'm not sure why I'm not fat as a whale with all the Italian food I eat. '~Course, once I get to be Ma's age, I'm sure I will be."

"You know, in some cultures fat is considered to be a sign of beauty."

Frannie looks at me with narrowed eyes. "Inuit culture, right?"

"Well, yeah. Among others."

"Yeah, how could I guess?" She grins. We walk in and out of the pools of light from the streetlights. I look surreptitiously down at Frannie's long legs and high-heeled shoes and wonder how she can walk in them, but she seems quite comfortable. It's something you get used to, I suppose. Now that I think about it, the heels would make quite a weapon if you kicked someone with them.

"Maggie? Can you tell me about Mountie school?"

"Sure, if you like," I say, trying to think of how to sum up Depot in a few easy sentences. "It's...overwhelming, I guess is the best word for it. And I think it's meant to be--they don't want Mounties who can't handle stress."

"Huh. So what do you learn?"

"Oh, we had weapons training, police procedures, driving, deportment'"

"Deportment? Like, you learn how to be polite? I thought you Canadians all learned that as kids." She looks amused.

"Well, more like military drills, and how to care for your uniform. It's more work than you'd think, actually, and everything has to be just so. I remember in the beginning, I wore my hair long, and you wouldn't believe how many push-ups I got as punishment for strands of it getting loose."

Frannie laughs at that, and I suppose it is pretty funny, in retrospect.

"Finally, I just cut it really short."

"Oh. That must've been a pity--I mean, you have beautiful hair." She looks sidelong at my hair, which is pulled back to get it out of my way, as usual.

"Um, thanks. Well, it always grows out again." I'm quite enjoying telling Frannie tales about Depot. She's such an appreciative audience, and in fact, I loved Depot. The teachers were hard but fair, and I'm naturally competitive, so I enjoyed measuring my skills against the others in my troop.

"Were there other girls there?"

"Yes, but only one in my troop; her name was Marie. We shared a small room, and all the guys got to sleep in one big dorm room." Frannie nods encouragingly. "I remember this time when Marie and I had a bet about which of us would pass our shotgun test first. She lost, and I said she had to color her hair green. The deportment teacher was furious, but he couldn't really do anything, because it wasn't actually against regulations."

Frannie bursts out laughing, and it's so infectious that I join in. I haven't had this much fun with anyone since'I don't know when, actually. I tell Frannie some more stories from Depot, but I don't tell her about what I suddenly remember the most--how Marie and I used to pull our beds together at night, and how soft her breasts were against mine, and how she'd muffle her laughs against my neck when I accidentally tickled her. I blush, trying not to think about Frannie's cleavage, covered up now by her coat.

Sooner than I want to, we reach Frannie's house. I feel a little awkward suddenly, as if this is a date. But I know it's not. I reach for something to say. "So are you working tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I've got to finish that refiling project." Frannie rolls her eyes.

"Oh. Well, I'll probably be by. So, perhaps we could have lunch together or something?"

"Yeah, let's do that." Frannie looks at me, smiling mischievously as if she has a secret that she might tell me. Then she leans over, puts one hand on the lapel of my coat, and presses a kiss to my lips. She smells like some elusive perfume--I'd noticed that before, but now it's stronger and more immediate. Her lips are soft and taste a little like coffee, and for one dizzying moment I feel the tip of her tongue before she pulls back.

She grins a little wider. "Thanks for walking me home, Maggie."

"You're welcome," I say automatically, and she turns and heads toward the Vecchio house. I put my hand to my lips, and look at the faint red smear of lipstick on my fingers.

I glance up and see Frannie at the door to the house. I wave at her, and she waves back. Then I turn away and head for the Consulate, smiling to myself. I can still feel her kiss on my lips as I walk through the streets of Chicago.