Everyone in this story is not mine, I have no illusions to the contrary. They belong to Alliance, who, in my opinion, abandoned them far to fast, but that is another matter entirely. If you have comments send them to me at Ffand@hotmail.com

This happens sometime after Asylum, but before Call of the Wilde

Two To To

"That her?"

"That's her."

"Now?"

"Wait."

"How long?"

"Not long."

"This is silly." Inspector Meg Thatcher said testily as she looked at the lot in front of her. "The Consulate doesn't need a Christmas tree."

"If you insisted on hosting the Christmas party for Chicago's international representatives of the American countries you should not complain about having to conform to the traditions of said countries."

"Be quiet, Constable."

"Understood."

Meg glared at the Mountie standing next to her in his regulations uniform, peacoat, and Stetson, sticking out like a sore thumb in the seedy Christmas tree lot in downtown Chicago. A lot filled with fires in cans and blue collar people yelling at their children to 'shut the hell up or santa won't come this year.' "Next time I send Turnbull to do this." She muttered.

"But it was my understanding that you wanted to select the tree yourself." Constable Benton Fraser said simply.

"Yes, I did but I'm changing my mind." She looked around at the crowd, the people were vicious, "The spirit of brotherly love certainly seems to have skipped this neighborhood."

"You don't know that, sir." Fraser said with annoying open-mindedness.

"And I don't plan to stay around long enough to learn, let's just get a tree and leave."

"Of course." Fraser walked over to a group of trees thrown against a wall. After examining the trees for a second he grabbed one and stood it up on its stem. "How does this one suit you?"

"Turn it around." Meg ordered.

Fraser complied while Meg examined the trees inherent qualities. "Isn't it a little lopsided?

"Perhaps," Fraser admitted setting the tree down he re-examined the pile and selected another. "How about this one?"

"The branches are sticking up."

"That's because they are frozen that way," Fraser explained, "Once it is inside it will be able to breath, the branches will loosen and it will fill out quite nicely."

Meg walked towards the tree, and Fraser. "You think so?"

"Yes."

She circled the tree like a hawk, finally she seemed satisfied. "If you think the tree is good enough, then let's get it."

"Sir there are other trees here, if we continued to look . . ."

"Constable, I want to get out of here and back to the Consulate as quickly as possible. If you think this tree will be good enough I'm willing to accept your judgment."

"Thank you sir."

"Think nothing of it, Constable," Meg said not really meaning it. "You know much more about trees than I do."

"I highly doubt that, sir."

"You overestimate my abilities." Meg said as they walked over to the long line of people who had found the perfect tree and were only waiting to pay for it.

"Now?"

"No."

"When?"

"Soon."

"How soon."

"When she's alone."

"But there's that guy."

"He can't be beside her all the time."

"Can't he?"

"No, he can't."

"Things were different when I was growing up." Meg said nostalgically as they slowly inched their way towards the front of the line. "At dusk on Christmas Eve my grandfather would take me and my sister out into the woods behind his house and we would chop down our own Christmas tree. We would spend all night decorating it and the next morning when we woke up there would be an ocean of presents under it."

"That sounds like a wonderful tradition."

Meg inhaled the crisp air deeply, it smelt, not surprisingly, like pine; she could almost pretend she was in that forest behind her grandfather's house. "It was."

"I was never allowed to have a Christmas tree as a child." Fraser said, Meg perked up, she had heard very few stories of Fraser's child hood and she had to admit she was curious. "My grandparents said that the trees belonged outside and I belonged inside and that was that. When I joined the RCMP I had every intention of getting a tree, but it seemed so lonely to have a Christmas tree with no presents under it. It wasn't until Diefenbaker came to live with me that I actually got one."

"You get a tree for just you and Diefenbaker?"

"Yes, He usually likes to come and help me select the tree but . . ."

"But?"

"He's . . . well, the truth is he is upset that this year he won't have a tree of his own."

"So, is he snubbing the whole tree selection process?" Meg asked sarcastically.

"I wouldn't say snubbing."

"What would you say then, Constable?" she demanded.

"Snubbing is a good word." Fraser finally admitted after a moment of silence.

Meg sighed, how could one man be so smart and so silly all at the same time. She decided to change the subject. "We're next, I'll bring the car around so it will be easier to load the tree."

"Good idea, sir."

She took a few steps away and than turned around. "And perhaps after we're done here we could go get some hot chocolate." She said quickly, had she said it slowly she wouldn't have gotten it out at all.

"Get some what, sir?"

"Hot chocolate."

Fraser tried hard not to show how pleased he was that she had asked. "That sounds very nice, sir."

Meg also strove not to let her excitement show. She nodded crisply and walked off.

"Next!" The old man at the counter called. Cumbersomely, Fraser hauled the tree to the counter and waited for the man too assess the price. "Blue Spruce?"

"Yes."

"What's that, eight feet you'd say."

"Eight feet seven and a half inches."

"Seven and a half inches." The man chuckled to himself. "You owe forty-two fifty."

Benny realized that, while he wouldn't have minded paying for the Consulate's Christmas tree, he did not have that much cash in his hat. Nervously he licked his lips. "Will you take a check?"

"You got a Drivers License."

"Yes, but it is not for the state of Illinois."

"I don't care. Your money's good isn't it?"

"Yes, it should be."

"Go, write the check."

Benny pulled a check book out from his jacket pocket and started writing the check out. It was a check book for the Consulate's bank funds. Inspector Thatcher had instructed him to use it in only emergencies and only for Consulate business. While this was not an emergency, it was Consulate business, and therefore probably permissible.

"Now?"

"Now."

"Nice girl."

"What?" Fraser said, looking up from his check, that comment had totally surprised him.

"Your girl, she's real nice." The old man said, looking in the direction Meg had walked off in.

"She's not my girl." Fraser said as he returned to writing. "She's my superior officer."

"Don't try to kid me, I've been around."

"I assure you." Fraser insisted as he finished the check and nimbly ripped it along the serrated edges. "She is my superior officer."

"Yha, that may be but there's something more there." The old man chuckled.

"What are you implying?" Fraser asked, but he never heard the answer, right on the tail of his question there was a scream, a very short scream. It didn't take Fraser two heartbeats to realize where the scream had come from, or what it meant, and the fact that it was so short frightened him.

He was off like a shot, forgetting the tree, forgetting the Consulate's check book, forgetting everything but the scream. He ran right to where he was sure it had come from, the lot Inspector Thatcher had parked her car in, almost three blocks away. When he got there the lot was perfectly still, which frightened him even more, what if he had been wrong, what if someone he didn't know was in real danger and Meg was waiting for him by the Christmas trees, he would certainly look foolish then. But then he noticed it. Her car was still there, and she was nowhere in sight. He ran over too it, totally forgetting that by making prints in the snow he could be contaminating the crime scene. He looked around desperately, there was nothing and no one, how could this have happened? She seemed to have disappeared. That's when the snow bank started to ring.

"You'd better get that son," Fraser's father said from the other side of the car.

"Get what?"

"The phone."

"What phone?"

"The one that's ringing."

"Dad I don't have time for this, Inspector Thatcher . . ."

"You do hear the phone ringing, don't you son?"

"Of course I do, I'm not deaf."

"Then answer it. It's starting to annoy me."

Fraser turned away from his father and started digging through the snow drift. "You're beginning to annoy me," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that, son?"

Fraser found the phone, still wringing. He opened it and pressed the receive button in record time. "Hello!" he said, just a little desperately.

"You know you've now contaminated the crime scene, making it almost useless. All those pretty tracks in the snow are no longer clues, but only . . . pretty tracks in the snow."

Fraser looked around. The man was right to an extent, he had technically contaminated the sight, but he saw several things that told him a lot about what had happened, one of those things were a few drops of red snow. "Where is Inspector Thatcher?"

"Here,"

"I want to talk to her." Fraser didn't notice but his voice was slowly filling with anger.

"She's asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Knocked out, but fine."

"Why did you do this?"

"Revenge."

"On Inspector Thatcher?"

"And you."

"Who are you?" Fraser demanded.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out. Stay tuned." The line went dead. Fraser held the phone to his ears for a few seconds longer, hoping to hear another voice on the line, but eventually all he got was a dial tone. Fraser turned off the phone and put it in his pocket. He looked around, he was totally alone, even his father had left. Nervously he took the cell phone out of his pocket, he didn't want to tie up the line, but he couldn't leave, and he couldn't face the upcoming night alone. Quickly he dialed one of the few phone numbers he knew.

"Vecchio." A rather annoyed Ray (Vecchio) Kowalski answered.

"Ray, I need your help."

His voice must have sounded more desperate or frightened than he thought it did because Ray's response was quick and sharp. "Where are you Fraser? I'll be right there."

Two hours later Fraser was siting at Ray's desk, he seemed to be the quiet in the middle of the storm, but not in his usual manner. Usually he was calm and collected, thinking things through logically, but this time he was just quite as everyone else ran around doing the job he was supposed to be doing, trying to figure out who took his commanding officer and why. But he couldn't seem to do anything beyond sit and think, who and why. As his friends speed around him looking at the forensic evidence he sat still and waited for the answers to come to him. He remembered what his father had once told him, sometimes you have to sit still and wait for the world to come to you.

"Hey, Fraser." Ray said as he slid into the chair opposite of the Mountie. "You need anything?"

"No," he muttered.

"Coffee, milk, bark tea, anything?"

Fraser took a deep breath and looked at his friend. "Actually I would like some Bark tea, It might help me think."

"Oh, well I don't have any."

"Than why did you offer?"

"Don't know."

"Ah, I see." Fraser looked down again.

"Penny for your thoughts." Ray said after a few seconds of silence.

"She's going to try and escape."

"You know that."

"Yes."

"And so, what? She tries to escape . . ."

"And they kill her." Fraser added before Ray could finish his sentence.

"Nah, They need her alive. If they wanted to kill her they could have done that straight out." Ray said trying to comfort his friend. Ray didn't understand why Fraser was so beside himself with grief over the kidnaping of the ice queen, the one woman who made his life hell. "Why bother kidnaping a person, spending good money on things like food and a place to hide them when your just going to kill them in the end."

"Torture." Fraser said quietly, the Mountie seemed to be looking at something just over Ray's shoulder, but the detective knew his friend well enough to know that he was not looking at anything outward, but rather inward.

"What! Come . . . come'on Fraser. Torture, what is this the Spanish Inquisition?" Ray's uncomfort was showing in his voice. He was beginning to understand why Fraser was so disturbed.

"It's revenge, Ray." Somewhere behind Fraser a phone started to ring, the partners thought nothing of it, every desk on the station had a phone and most of the people also sported Cell phones for emergencies.

"Revenge for what?" Ray asked, "I mean Thatcher isn't the nicest girl in the world but she's never done anything that would set her up for a scheme like this," he paused, "has she?"

Fraser didn't answer, he just shook his head ever so slightly. Ray nodded, ever so slightly, in response.

Their repose was quickly disturbed by the screeching of Francesca Vecchio from her desk. "Fraser!" She practically screamed, "Fraser!"

The Mountie didn't lose his composure, "Yes, Francesca."

"It's . . . it's . . . that is your . . . it's . . ." She was gesturing wildly with her hands and obviously very upset that her point was not getting across.

"Come'on Franny, spit it out!" Ray demanded.

The young woman took a deep breath and a second to composer herself, "Your phone is ringing."

Fraser bolted out of the chair and almost tripped on his way to Franny's desk. How could he have been so lost in thought that he didn't recognize the particular resonating tone of the cell phone. He knew that no one would blame him for it except himself, but that didn't matter at all, he knew that he had made an error, and he couldn't afford to do that.

Meg chewed nervously on her lower lip. Why wasn't Fraser answering? Her abductors guaranteed her that he would be the person on the other end of the line. "Answer," she muttered tensely, as if he could hear her commands telepathically. Finally after almost twelve rings the somewhat distraught voice of voice of Benton Fraser answered.

"Hello?"

"Constable!" Her voice was filled with relief.

"Inspector!" There was a lot of relief in his voice as well. "Are . . . are you well?"

"Yes, considering the circumstances."

"Are you telling me that under duress."

Meg glanced at the gun held at her forehead. "What do you think constable?"

"Understood."

The man with the large semi-automatic motioned to her to get on with it. "I have a message for you."

"From the kidnapers?"

"Who else would it be from?" Meg snapped.

"Of course."

Meg took a breath, "The message is 'one two me'."

"One to me?"

"Yes."

Fraser cleared his throat. "I don't suppose the kidnappers would be willing to clarify that at all would they?"

"I highly doubt it."

"Is it supposed to be a clue?"

Meg didn't get a chance to answer her subordinate's question, her captor grabbed the phone. "One, Two, Me and it's over. You got it?"

"No."

"You will, just wait." The kidnaper flipped the phone shut and laughed. "He's clueless."

"If that is your assessment, you're wrong." Thatcher said definitely, she was not to happy about being held by a psychopath and forced at gunpoint to relay messages to Fraser. "Constable Fraser is more than capable of figuring out what you and your cohorts are up to."

"Did you say cohorts?" The kidnaper asked laughing again. "Where did you learn that word? Watching re-runs of Underdog?"

Meg didn't answer, if he wanted to make fun of her there was nothing she could do about it. However she was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

"You know, I think it would be a lot easier for you to develop Regent Syndrome if you knew my name. It's Dutch."

"I'm not going to develop Regent Syndrome." Meg asserted angrily.

"Why?" Dutch asked, looking offended. "I bet I know why! You're a lesbian aren't you? All you nutty woman's lib people are lesbians."

Meg opened her mouth to say something but she couldn't think of anything that properly expressed her bewilderment. She finally asked "Are you on some sort of medication that would account for this behavior?"

"Have you ever kissed a man?"

"I'm not going to talk to you." Meg said. Dutch, if that was his real name, was beginning to frighten her. He was totally crazy.

"I bet you have. You would have to kiss a lot of guys to climb the chain of command so fast. To climb over people like Benton Fraser, you would have to kiss an awful lot of people."

Meg was furious. She sourly wished she was bullet proof so she could punch the man. As it was she was not bullet proof. He suddenly became the embodiment of all the sexual harassment she had come across during her career. It had either been assumed that she had gotten to where she was through sleeping with the powers that be and would do so again, or that she was a man hating feminist. There didn't seem to be anything in between. The whole incident with Sgt. Thorn had sprung from those sorts of misconceptions. Thatcher took a deep breath. She wasn't going to make the situation worse by reliving a horrible moment from her past. She swallowed her anger and tried not to listen to what Crazy Dutch was saying.

"You know it would be so very much easier for you if you would sleep with me. I mean you've slept with men a lot older and uglier than me to get a promotion, why not sleep with me to get your freedom, or at least a close approximation. I'm a step up for you. Of course I realize that you like women but that's ok because I've never done a lesbian."

Meg closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, fighting the instinct to attack the man in front of her. He had a gun, she didn't. Hurry Fraser, she thought, hurry.

"One to me, one to me, one to me," Fraser muttered over and over.

"Will you stop that!"

The Mountie took a sharp breath and was pulled out of what seemed almost like a trance. "What?"

"Stop it with the 'one to me,' thing, it's given me the creeps."

"I'm sorry Ray." Fraser fell quiet.

After the silence lasted a little too long Ray asked. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know. You've got to know, Fraser because you're all we got."

"I'm aware of that," He muttered.

"You're aware? You were the first cop on the scene, you're the one the kidnapers want to talk to, you're the one that knows Thatcher, and you're sitting here muttering the same phrase over and over again. What's with that? Where's the old go out and get your man Benton Fraser that I know and love?"

Fraser slammed his hand's on Ray's desk with surprising force. "I'm trying Ray, I'm racking my brains. I do not intend to rest until I retrieve Inspector Thatcher from her abductors. But beyond a stolen cell phone, a contaminated crime scene and a phrase that is grammatically incorrect, I have nothing. Your reminding me of those facts will not help Inspector Thatcher and it will not help me."

"Whow." Ray said quietly. For a normal person that little emotional outburst would have been about the equal to the emotional frustration of getting three paper cuts in one day. For Fraser, however, it was the emotional level of going to the top of a bell tower and shooting down innocents who just happened to pass by.

Fraser slumped back in his chair. "I'm sorry Ray, that outburst was unwarranted."

"Naw, Fraser." The detective said kindly. "That . . . that was fine, that was good. You vent, let out that extra hostility before you do something drastic like slam a door or something."

Fraser nodded, unaware of his friend's joke.

"One to me, huh?"

Fraser nodded again.

"One what? One step, one clue, one . . .?"

Fraser shrugged.

"Come'on Fraser, there's all sorts of stuff bangin' around in your little head. You've been thinking too long not to have at least a theory."

"I have several theories." Fraser admitted.

"So spit 'em out!"

"They all seem highly improbable. And are nothing more than wild conjecture based on the few people, that I know of, that could possibly have a motive for revenge against Inspector Thatcher and myself."

"You?"

"Yes."

"You, I don't see you, where do you come in all of this."

"I don't know. But the kidnaper did say that he was seeking revenge against Inspector Thatcher and against myself."

"The kidnaper said that?"

"Yes,"

"And doesn't this help."

"One would assume that it would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't know. Every hypothesis seems to crumble as soon as I try to apply the clue which was given. It seems hopeless."

"Could they have given the clue to throw you off the trail? Sort of doubling back or something?"

"It's possible, but not probable. If the kidnaper wanted to exact revenge on me he could hardly do it by leading me away from danger."

"I'da'know, Fraser. If you think torture is what he's after, he's got you pretty good." Fraser looked up at his friend extremely concerned. "Your lookin' pretty tortured to me right now."

Fraser nodded. "Perhaps the best thing to do would leave the psychological side of the case to mull in my head and concentrate on the forensic evidence."

"Yha that sounds like a good idea." Ray said quickly, "Francesca!" He yelled.

"Not so loud." The beautiful young woman's voice said from just behind Ray. "The precinct isn't that big a place."

"Yha not nearly big enough." Ray griped. "Look, where's all the evidence for the Thatcher thing?"

"What evidence?"

"You know, the evidence, the little snapshots of the crime scene and the . . . the evidence."

"Well, Welsh had the crime photo's and the thing on Fraser's phone, and other than that there is no evidence."

"Come On . . ." Ray started yelling at the woman who was supposed to be his sister. The tone in his voice was extremely brotherly, annoyed with an undercurrent of genuine affection.

"Ray, Ray." Fraser said quickly, cutting off his friends tantrum. "Thank you, Francesca."

"Should I go get those for you?" She asked smiling at him.

"No, I think I should get them myself."

"It's no trouble."

"Be that as it may, I feel that I have been stationary for far to long."

"Oh, well I could walk with you." Franny said sweetly.

"Franny, he knows the way to the Lieutenant's office."

"I thought he might like some company."

"Who wants company to go ten feet?"

"I wouldn't mind it." Fraser said as he pushed himself out of the chair.

Franny gave Ray a smug smile and then swung around to slip her arm around Fraser's, and escort him to the Lieutenant's office. Ray looked after them and laughed quietly to himself. How could two people, standing arm in arm, be on such different worlds.

"What do you want?" Welsh practically growled as Fraser and Franny waltzed into his office.

"I was wondering, Left-tenant, If it wouldn't be too much of an imposition . . ."

Welsh didn't let the Mountie babel on. "At the danger of sounding monotonous, what do you want?"

"The crime scene photos of Inspector Thatcher's kidnaping, as well as the report on the cellular telephone the criminals left behind."

"Oh, yha, I was wondering when you were gonna ask about those." Welsh picked up a file from on top of his desk. "Here," he said as he handed Fraser the disturbingly thin folder.

Fraser opened it and tried not to be discouraged with the lack of evidence. "The cell phone is registered to a Mister Dutch Cahill Robinson, he reported it stolen last week."

"The guy checks out, businessman, on the up and up." Welsh muttered.

"Yes, I'm sure that it's just coincidence."

"What's just coincidence?" Franny asked.

"Oh, nothing." Fraser said, slapping the folder shut, "Thank you kindly Left-tenant." He turned on his heels and walked out. Welsh and Franny watched him go, they recognized his stance; he was close to solving the case but he wasn't going to say anything until he was sure.

As he was exiting Welsh's office, Detectives Hewy and Dewy walked into the station with their minds on everything but police work.

"Ok, ok," Dewy said, "How bout this one, two men walked into the bar, the third one ducked." Dewy waited, expecting a response, none came. "Where's the bu-dum-ching?"

"I'm waiting for the punchline."

"That was it, that was the punchline."

"That was the punchline? . . . I don't get it."

"Fine, how bout this, what do you call a fish with no eyes?"

"Bu-dum-ching."

"That wasn't the punch line!"

"How am I supposed to know. You stopped."

"It wasn't funny!"

"Neither was the last one."

"Ok, Well try again, this time when I pause, think 'one two three' and Bu-dum-ching?"

"Pardon me," Fraser said, interrupting their conversation abruptly. "What did you just say?"

"What do you call a fish with no eyes?" Dewey asked, grinning foolishly.

Fraser was about to say that that was not what he had meant, but he heard Huey mutter under his breath "One, Two, Three."

"A Fsh!"

"Ba-dum-ching!"

Fraser nodded at the detectives, "Thank you," he muttered, "Thank you kindly," then he pivoted and made a bee line out of the station, pausing for only a second to collect his coat and Stetson from Ray's desk.

"Where you going, Fraser?" Ray asked. He had to jog to catch up with the quickly fleeing Mountie.

"An alley, eight blocks due west of the consulate."

"An alley? Why, which alley?" They were outside and heading for Ray's beautiful GTO

"The one Mr. Volpe was shot in."

"Volpe!" Ray said as he opened his door, "What does this have to do with him?"

Fraser paused out of force of habit to wait for Diefenbaker before he realized that his lupine companion had remained at the consulate that evening. Feeling just a little foolish, he slid into the car. "It doesn't have anything to do with him, directly. However, the circumstances surrounding, and in fact resulting from his murder has everything to do with the present situation."

"You know what, I'm still lost." Ray started the car and smiled. "That's real American engineering, cold won't get it down."

"You know that this isn't really that cold, Ray." Fraser said, "In the territories it is common for it to get 30 degrees below zero. In comparison this is almost tropic."

The GOT was out of the parking lot and on the road. "Look Fraser, here I am, feeling all good about myself and my car, you have to bring up the temperature in the Yukon."

"I'm sorry Ray, I thought it was relevant."

Ray sighed, "What is relevant, or not so relevant, is Volpe."

"Ah, yes." Fraser said taking a deep breath. "Did you notice the owner of the cell phones middle name?"

"I didn't notice any of his name. He was clean."

"Dutch Cahill Robinson may very well be innocent, in which case I'm wrong and we are no worse off."

"Middle name? Cahill, like the Assistant State's Attorney that framed me."

"Yes. It could just be a coincidence."

"Sure," Ray muttered, "Coincidence."

"Mind you that I haven't done any research, but I suspect that he is the nephew of Damon Cahill, assuming the family followed the old tradition of transferring the mother's maiden name to the son. For some reason he feels that he needs to exact revenge on me for revealing his uncle's subversive activities and on Inspector Thatcher for incapacitating him."

"Why?"

"Why what Ray?"

"Look I love my uncles, but this is totally off the wall, I wouldn't kidnap someone because they threw my uncle in jail, beside wouldn't something obvious like that stand out to anyone but you?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you Ray?"

"Well where does the . . . ah . . . the 'one to me' thing come in?"

"It's not 'one to me' Ray, I misunderstood, it's 'one two me.'"

"Is it just me, or are those like the exact same things?"

"It's just you. You see I, and therefore everyone else assumed the two was spelled Tee Oh, not Tee, Double-you, Oh,"

"So, it's two, its like the number, like counting."

"Exactly, Ray."

"So what's the me?"

"That is why this theory makes so much sense. You see when Cahill held Inspector Thatcher hostage I told the Inspector I was going to count to three, there by confusing Cahill and letting her know exactly when I intended to act. Cahill was, indeed, confused and, after I had said Two, he asked me what I had . . ."

"What you had?"

"To necessitate my counting, he believed I was talking to him apposed to Inspector Thatcher."

"Oh, right."

"The Inspector said 'me'."

"So where was I during all of this."

"I have no idea, here's the alley."

"Right-oh."

Click, Meg held her breath, she hadn't expected the hand cuffs to be so loud when they came off. After trying to trip the lock for an hour with the end of a safety pin, she had finally got it. It always looked easier in the movies, she mussed bitterly. Thankfully, no one had noticed when the lock had clicked or when she had slipped her hand out of the cuffs. She now had two choices, run or wait. If she moved immediately she would have the advantage of surprise, no one had any idea that she was free, and she would eliminate the risk of someone discovering it. If she waited a better opportunity might present itself, people could fall asleep, some act of God could occur and distract them long enough for her to escape. But considering the night she'd had so far, she didn't want to wait on an act of God.

The room had three possible exits: two doors and a window. She assumed that one of the doors lead further into the apartment. Whenever someone went into the door they often came out with a beer, or something similar. The other door could have gone out, or it could have been a closet, she wasn't sure, no one had opened it. Meg didn't want to risk fleeing into a closet, which only left the window. It was old and half open, with some ply board over it to keep Chicago's winter wind's out. The board was not completely successful, which indicated that it was loose, she could probably pull it off quickly.

Meg pushed herself out of the chair, she wanted to try and get to the window quietly, without them noticing. All she had to do was get across the room. Dutch has his back to her, the other two men, who he had hired, were both facing her, but only slightly, and all three were engrossed in the poker game. She thought that the situation couldn't get much better. Every step she took seemed to echo in the near empty room, but somehow they didn't seem to notice.

"I'm gonna get a beer." One of the thugs muttered, Meg caught her breath, she was still four meters away form the window, and there was no way she would be able to get back to the chair, she had to run for it and pray she was quick enough. Meg started into a sprint right as the thug looked up, she heard him yell, "Hey, she's up!" And then there was a general clatter, of chairs being shoved back and cards being dropped. She was at the window, pulled off the board and jumped through it in a blink of an eye, far faster than she would have thought possible. Adrenalin was a wonderful thing, and it was doing for her what an act of God hadn't. She heard a crash, something like a glass shattering on the wooden floor, as she fumbled down the stairs of the fire escape. She had been on the top floor, five stories up, she tripped on the third story and fell down a few stairs, but she kept going, she was on the second story, a busy street was only a few yards away and on that street she was sure she saw a black car with Fraser in it. "Fraser!" She yelled, but her shout was drowned out by a bang, one of them had found a gun. Meg's adrenalin gave her another boost. She was almost there, she could make it.

Fraser and Ray quickly ran up the stairs, through about a million impossible clues and deductions Fraser had tracked Dutch Cahill Robinson to an old apartment building on the south side of town. As they got out of the car there had been a gun shot, Fraser hadn't said a word, he simply ran into the building and started bolting up the stairs. Ray was a full flight behind him when there was another bang. Fraser froze at the top of the stairs and waited for Ray. "I can't help but think that those were meant for Inspector Thatcher."

Ray examined his friend carefully, he had been frightful all night, but now he was being down right paranoid. "Fraser, this is not exactly a good part of town. Those shots are probably meant for some gang member." Ray tried to sound comforting, but it rang hallow. "Tell me again how you know they're here?"

"It's really quite simple Ray," Fraser said, glad to be sidetracked from his fretting. "Once we reached the alley I noticed a . . ."

He was interrupted by a cell phone's ring. He glanced at Ray, "It's you." The detective said softly.

Fraser pulled out the cell phone and flipped it open nervously. "Hello?"

"Tell him what you did!" a voice said in the background. "Go on tell him?"

Fraser's heart rate doubled and he could feel himself start to sweat. "Inspector, are you there?"

"Fraser," Meg's voice was very soft, it was concerning.

"Sir, are you well?"

"Tell him!" The voice said angrily.

"Tell me what, sir?" Fraser's voice was starting to get strained.

"Fraser," she said again, her voice trembled, it almost sounded like she was crying.

"I'm here, sir," he said with as much strength as he could muster. "We know where you are, we will rescue you."

"Tell him!" The voice in the back ground said.

Thatcher gasped, Fraser tightened his grasp on the phone, "I . . .I . . .I" She stuttered weekly, then there was a muffled yelp and the harsh voice, which Fraser was positive belonged to Dutch Cahill Robinson said, "She did something really stupid, she tried to get away. Well now she can't. No help from this end, Mountie, 'One two me!" The line went dead.

"What happened, what's going on?" Ray demanded as his partner slowly put away the cell phone.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think time has now become a factor."

"It wasn't before?"

"There are two men in room three twenty-eight, they both have guns."

"How do you know this?"

"I can smell them."

Ray shook his head in disbelief "Those our guys?"

"I believe that they will be able to lead us to our guys, yes."

"And Thatcher?"

"They will point us too her."

"Ok," they reached the door, Ray pulled out his gun and got into position as Fraser kicked down the door.

Meg was felling light headed, not surprisingly, she was bleeding. She thought she would probably have passed out if it were not for the sharp pain in her shoulder, the burning fiery pain. The world had seemed to lose its color as Dutch had held the phone to her ear and demanded that she speak to Fraser. She had tried but the world was spinning and breathing seemed like a labor. She could barely feel the stairs beneath her feet as she was hauled back up the fire escape. "Fraser," she muttered, she wanted to say it louder, but she couldn't seem to get the air into her lungs.

"You know what?" Dutch said as he pulled her up the last step. "You're a bitch, I bet no one ever told you that before but it's true. All you lesbian feminists are bitches, but most of them are honest about it, they don't lead men on. You're just cruel, leading men on. You lesbian feminist bitches should all be ugly, you have no right to be beautiful." He shook her arm and the whole world seemed to explode with a burst of red. Before that burst faded Meg was treated to another one as she was pushed back through the window. She could hear Dutch climb back into the window, and step over her. She tried to pull herself up, into a standing position, but every time she tried to used her right arm her shoulder blossomed into a fiery pain. "Dick, Harry!" Dutch called looking for his two thugs. There was no answer, Meg managed to role over and see that the two men weren't there. She knew immediately what that meant. "Fraser!" she said as loud as she could muster.

Dutch turned around and looked at her for a second. Then he drew his gun and walked over to the window. He grabbed Meg's good arm and yanked her up violently. She gasped in pain, as the world exploded into red blotches for the third time.

"You figured it out, did you Constable?" He asked no one in particular. "Come out, come out where ever you are." There was no response. "I'll shoot her again!"

There was movement from the door Meg had suspected was the closet. Slowly Fraser revealed himself. He stepped into plain view and assessed the situation in a glance. "You know, you'll never get away with this." Fraser said calmly.

"What!"

"Murdering Inspector Thatcher and I." Fraser took a step closer. "The police know that you are here, and they know you kidnaped her. They will track you to the ends of the earth."

"I can afford the best attorneys."

"You can't cheat justice." Fraser took another bold steep forward. He looked over towards Meg and their eyes met. Fraser took a deep breath and broke the gaze, when he turned back to Robinson his calm had dissolved into anger and determination. "Surrender yourself and Give Inspector Thatcher to me."

"Why?"

"I will give you to the count of three."

"You have to be joking, that you would try this again. I'm not going to fall for it."

"One."

Robinson tightened his grip on Meg, she let out a little yelp and looked over to Fraser. If he was expecting her to do anything he was sorely mistaken, she was fighting to keep conscious.

"You think I won't kill her? I will."

"Two." Fraser's voice didn't falter.

"She's in no position to help you, what else could you possibly have to . . ."

"Me!" Ray said as he put his gun on Robinson's neck.

Epilogue (or the tying up of all loose ends)

"So how is she?" Ray asked as they walked through the sterile halls of the hospital.

"Fine, Ray." Fraser said with an ever so slight smile. He was keeping a brisk pace and had a rather large bouquet of 'get well' flowers. "Or at least well enough to return home."

"So that bullet wound wasn't all that bad then, hunh?"

"The wound itself was not that bad. It was the amount of blood she lost that made the injury dangerous."

"She lost a lot then, hunh?"

"More than she could easily spare." Fraser said curtly as he took a sharp right turn down another hall way. Ray missed the turn and walked buy himself for a second, then, realizing his partner was not next to him, he quickly caught up with the Mountie.

"But she's all right then hunh?"

"Yes, indeed she is."

"Too bad." Ray muttered.

Fraser stopped dead in his tracks. "Ray, how could you say something so . . . heartless?"

"What you talking about, Fraser?"

"Wishing ill on the inspector . . ." The Mountie seemed dumfounded.

"I wasn't wishing ill on her, I just thought that your life might be just al little easier if she was out of it for a while."

Fraser looked as if Ray had just shot him. "I'm sure you don't mean that, Ray."

"No, Fraser, I do. That woman is always giving you a hard time for no reason what so ever. Now I understand that some women are just that way, but she is just that way a little too often and so I was thinking it would be good for you to get a little break you know."

"Ah," Fraser said as he started walking again. "I knew you didn't mean it."

Ray stood still for a second. Fraser was not in his reality, but that was nothing new. "Hey, Fraser!" He said as he jogged to catch up to his Canadian friend. "I got the report on Robinson, turns out that he was Cahill's nephew. In fact he invested a lot of mulla in his uncle's bid for States Attorney. So when Cahill went down, poor Dutch lost a fortune."

"That would help explain his behavior, but why wait six months before acting?"

"As it turns out he was up for VP in his whatchamacallit,"

"His job, Ray?"

"Yha, and he get's passed up by this chick, so all of a sudden not only is he out a fortune, he's out a raise and he hates women. So what's the logical thing to do?"

"Work harder so he regains his fortune and is promoted next time?"

"You're nuts, absolutely nut's. You know that Fraser?"

"Well you have told me as much many times." He stopped. "This is it."

"It? Thatcher's room?"

"Yes."

"Good luck, Fraser."

"You're not going to come in too?"

"Me? Ah, no."

"I see, well then . . ." he looked around nervously, and seeing that there was nothing to stop him, stepped into the door.

Ray shook his head and laughed.