Author's Note: None of the songs in this story are mine, the belong to the singer who sings them. I've also never met any of the singers that appear in this story.

Nobody's Girl

by Jackie

pixie7@gte.net

"Okay, guys, let's take it from the top!" Lynda swung her blonde hair over her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of black slacks, a white blouse and a pair of black loafers. Her gun was clearly visible as it hung securely in her shoulder holster, which was slung over her blouse. "One, two, one, two, three, four!"

Lynda's band wholeheartedly began playing the intro to one of her favorite songs. Lynda smiled as she tapped her loafer in time to the drums. If there was one thing that could cheer her up was singing this song all the time; Lynda never got bored with it. She took a deep breath as she began to sing:

I used to live in a darkened room

Had a face of stone and a heart of gloom

Lost my hope, I was so far gone

Crying all my tears with the curtains drawn

I didn't know until my soul broke free

I had these angels watching over me

Oh, watch me go

I'm a happy girl, everybody knows

That's the sweetest thing that you'll ever see

In the whole wide world is a happy girl

Lynda danced around the stage, really getting into the music. Even though this was only a rehearsal for tomorrow's show, Lynda gave her best. She could really relate to the music she was singing. Turnbull had told her one time that country was the 'white man's blues', but Lynda never thought so. She always considered her music to be an outward expression of who she was, and who she wanted to be. There's nothing sad about that, Lynda thought as she continued her singing:

I used to hide in a party crowd

Bottled up inside, feeling so left out

Standing in a corner wearing concrete shoes

With my frozen smile and my lighted fuse

Now every time I start to feel like that

I wear my heart out like a welcome mat

Oh, watch me go

I'm a happy girl, everybody knows

That's the sweetest thing that you'll ever see

In the whole wide world is a happy girl

Laugh when I feel like it

Cry when I feel like

That's just how my life is

That's how it goes

Oh, watch me go

I'm a happy girl, and I've come to know

That the world won't change just 'cause I complain

Let the axis twirl, I'm a happy girl

Oh, watch me go

I'm a happy girl, everybody knows

That's the sweetest thing that you'll ever see

In the whole wide world is a happy girl

Oh, yeah, yeah

Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm a happy girl

"You'd better be, Lynda!" someone shouted as the band finished playing.

Lynda smiled as she turned around. "Hi, Dad." Sure, enough, standing near a table near the stage were Lynda's partners: her father, Stanley Kowalski, Ray Vecchio, Constable Benton Fraser, and The Pair, otherwise known as Diefenbaker and Regan. "What's up?"

"Welsh wants us to go investigate a homicide," Ray asked, wearing a nice, tan Armani suit and loafers. "And he said 'us' in that tone meaning all four of us." Regan and Dief growled their disdain. "Okay, okay, *six* of us." He shook his head. "I can't believe that I'm getting corrected by two furry wolves."

"Sorry about this," Stanley said, his hands tucked in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. He was wearing a gray shirt underneath that, a pair of black jeans, and a his black biker boots.

"Oh, don't worry about, guys," Lynda said. She put her microphone on a little stool nearby and grabbed her black blazer that was hung over it. She smiled back at her band. "Think you guys can handle things without me?"

"Sure thing, Lynda," her drummer, Troy, smiled as he twirled his drumsticks. "You haven't disappointed us yet."

"Thanks," Lynda smiled as she shrugged into her jacket. "See you tonight." She hopped off the stage and joined her partners as they walked out of Harry's Bar and Grill.

"Your friends are really cool," Stanley said. "You know, with letting you take off like that in the middle of a rehearsal."

"They understand how important this job is to me," Lynda said. It had been almost two weeks since she wrapped up her case with Xavier and started working as a Detective. In those two weeks, Lynda had a lot of juggling to do with her life. Her singing had been a major hurdle, but both her band and, surprisingly, Welsh had been understanding in allowing her the time to do both. Tonight would be the moment to see if Lynda could handle her two different lives.

"Anything on your mind?" Fraser asked as they walked over to the black GTO and green Riviera that were parked alongside the curd.

"Just thinking," Lynda said. She and her father got into the GTO with Regan, while Dief joined the red-clad Mountie and Ray in the Riv. They drove off to the crime scene.

"Fraser, do you really have to do that?" Stanley asked. His face turned green as he tried not to throw up. He was staring at a wall of the morgue while Fraser and Mort examined the body that was brought in from the crime scene.

While Mort was doing his usual autopsy and humming, Fraser was examining the dead woman's fingernails. Well manicured and covered with a retro-pink nail polish. Fraser peered closely at the nails, then sniffed them. "Hmm."

"What 'hmm'?" Stanley asked.

"Oh, nothing."

"Fraser, you make me so angry when you say 'hmm', then 'nothing'. Now spill it."

"Well, I was just noticing that the woman's nail polish is chipped," Fraser replied.

"That happens," Stanley said.

"Well, considering how the polish still smells," Fraser explained, "then I'm guessing she applied it about an hour ago."

"And how will that connect her to the guy Lynda and Ray are talking to?" Stanley asked.

"By the scratches on the Edward's face," Ray replied as he and Lynda walked into the morgue. Ray was holding an ice pack to his jaw. Lynda was holding a piece of gauze on her hand.

"Hello, Lynda," Mort smiled. "Ray."

"Hi, Mort," Lynda smiled as she walked over to her father. "You okay, Dad?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Stanley said sarcastically. "Just feel like my stomach is twisting into a pretzel." He took a deep breath, which seemed to help. "So, what's with the scratches on the guy's face?" He eyed Ray and Lynda. "And what the hell happened to you?"

"Shut up," Ray mumbled.

"Well, I'm sure that we'll match up Edward's DNA with the DNA of the stuff under Mrs. Edward's nail," Lynda said. "But that'll be too long of a wait. So, I was able to examine Edward's scratches and found minute particles of hot pink nail polish - the same type that Mrs. Edward's was wearing at the time of her death."

"How did you manage to hold him down?" Stanley asked.

"Well, we enlisted the help of Jack and Tom," Lynda replied. "They, along with Ray, held him down while I checked his cheeks." She chuckled. "He was not happy."

"And how did Ray's jaw get so swollen?" Fraser asked.

"He kicked Ray while Ray tried to hold his legs," Lynda had to keep from grinning. "Didn't help that Ray was shouting expletives left and right, threatening to shoot the guy."

"Man, it hurts," Ray grumbled.

"Just keep that pack on it for a few more minutes, okay?" Lynda said.

"And what about your hand?" Stanley asked.

"Edwards bit me," Lynda frowned as she checked her hand. The bleeding had stopped. "Hard."

"He bit you?" Stanley looked angry. "Where is he?"

"Recuperating in his holding cell," Ray answered. "After she was bitten, Lynda knocked the guy out cold."

"He's lucky," Stanley said. "I would have shot him." He looked at Lynda's hand. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Dad. I'm up to date on all my shots." Everyone chuckled. "Are we ready to bring the stuff to Welsh? He and Stella are waiting for us. So, unless we have more business to attend to, pitter patter, let's get at 'er."

"That's my quote," Stanley said as he and the others walked out of the morgue.

"Why are you making a big deal?" Lynda asked. "It's not like you're a television character and that's what you're always remembered as saying."

"Well, it's like Fraser," Ray said. "He says 'oh dear' and 'thank you kindly'."

"And what do you say?" Lynda asked.

"Uh . . . 'Benny'," Ray finally answered.

"That is so stupid," Stanley said.

"I like it," Lynda smiled. "I think it's sweet. So, what's going to be my quote? If you three each have a quote, then I should as well."

"'This bites'," Stanley said. "That is definitely you."

"I don't say that a lot," Lynda replied as the four walked into the bullpen and over to Welsh's office.

"But you say it often enough," Ray replied.

"Fine, fine," Lynda held up her hands as they walked into their superior's office.

I said a prayer for you

The audience applauded loudly as Lynda finished her song. Smiling, Lynda waved farewell as she bowed, then left the stage. Her band was close behind her.

"Man, that was awesome!" Troy grinned as the group walked back.

"We are so good, we're bad!" Brent, the bass guitarist, shouted. He held Lynda's hand high in the air. "Let's give it up to the queen of country music this side of Lake Michigan, Lynda!" The other band members whooped and whistled.

"Thanks, guys,"Lynda blushed. "But I couldn't have done it without you. Otherwise, I'd be singing a capella."

"Great performance, Lynda!" The group turned around as Stanley, Ray, Fraser, Huey, Dewey, Welsh, Francesca, Turnbull, and Thatcher walked up to them.

"Thanks, Dad," Lynda smiled as she kissed his cheek.

"You guys were smokin'," Huey smiled.

"I have to agree," another voice spoke up.

Everyone turned to see a thirty-ish man in jeans, a T-shirt, and sports jacket approach the group.

"Who are you?" Ray asked.

"Frank Bradford," the man smiled. "I work for Capitol Records in Nashville."

"Yeah, right," Stanley snorted.

"I'm serious," Frank said. He smiled at Lynda. "Miss Peterson, we've heard about your singing a couple of weeks ago. I was sent to see if everything I heard about you was true. And it was. Miss Peterson, we would like to invite you and your band to record some songs down at the Chicago Recording Company at 35 West Wacker. One of my bosses will be there. If he likes you, then you could be off to Nashville. What do you say?"

Lynda was speechless. "Uh . . . um . . . I . . . I'm going to need to discuss it with my band first."

"We'll go!" the band said quickly.

"And I also have another job," Lynda explained. "I'll need to talk with my superior before I take the day off."

"Already granted," Welsh spoke up quickly.

Lynda looked at her boss. He was smiling. She chuckled softly before turning to Frank. "I guess we'll be seeing you tomorrow, then, Mr. Bedford."

"Great," Bedford smiled. "Tomorrow in Studio Four at eight o'clock." He quickly left.

The band quickly departed, leaving Lynda alone with her group.

"Wow," Ray smiled. "Capitol Records. That's pretty cool."

"Yeah, they're the ones that have put out a lot of big time singers," Dewey added. "Beach Boys, the Beatles, John Lennon, Frank Sinatra . . . you could actually go some place with your singing, Lynda."

"Now don't go starting to count chickens before they're hatched," Lynda quickly jumped in. "I haven't even done the recording yet. We'll see how things go, okay? Now, I'm pretty tired. I'm going to get changed, then go home, and get some rest." She walked away, then stopped and turned around. "Oh, and don't forget Garth Brooks."

"'Don't forget Garth Brooks' what?" Stanley asked.

"His albums are produced from Capitol Records, too." Lynda smiled. "He was the one who got me into country music in the first place."

"When was that?" Fraser asked.

"When I was fourteen," Lynda answered. "I was tuning my radio one day when I heard this song being played. It was catchy, had a good beat, and a great meaning. I found out that Garth Brooks sang it, so I listened to his other albums. I was hooked on his songs, and country, from that point on, but that song remained my favorite."

"Which song was it?" Stanley asked.

"'Standing Outside The Fire'," Lynda replied proudly. "Well, I'll let you guys know how everything turns out." She turned to walk away, but Stanley grabbed her arm gently.

"I'm coming with you," he said firmly.

"Me too," Ray added.

"Okay, fine," Lynda smiled. She turned to Welsh. "Sir, is that okay?"

"Fine," Welsh agreed.

"Fraser, what about you?"

"It depends on Inspector Thatcher," Fraser answered, looking at his superior.

"Go on," Thatcher waved her hand. "Turnbull can cover for your sentry duties." Turnbull started to protest, but Thatcher cut him off with an icy stare.

"Great," Lynda grinned. "Then, I guess I'll see you three at the CRC tomorrow. Later." She finally was able to get away to her dressing room. She overheard Dewey and Huey trying to talk to Welsh.

"Can we go, too, Sir?" they asked.

"No," Welsh answered. "I don't need all my Detectives out in a recording studio. Besides, they've been able to close most of their cases; you still have a few that need attention."

Lynda chuckled as she walked into her dressing room and shut the door behind her.

The next morning, Ray, Stanley, and Fraser, walked into the control room of Studio Four of the CRC. Regan and Dief were both lounging on the floor near the back. Frank was talking with Lynda in the main recording area, while the band plugged in equipment and instruments. Some other people inside the control were checking the recording equipment.

"Uh, now what?" Stanley asked as he shoved his hands into his leather jacket pockets. Under the jacket was a navy blue sweater, since it was pretty cold outside. He was also wearing jeans and running shoes.

"I don't know," Ray answered as he removed his black ski cap and matching winter coat, revealing a black Armani suit.

"Perhaps we should ask someone," Fraser suggested. He was wearing his brown uniform, carrying his Stetson in his hands.

Bradford came back a few moments later. He smiled when he saw the three men. "Oh, good, you're here. We're almost ready to start recording." He took a seat next to an older guy in a business suit, who Fraser assumed to be Bradford's boss. There were three chairs next to him; Ray, Stanley, and Fraser each took one.

Bradford began the introductions. "Detectives, Constable, this is my boss, Dwight Winters. Mr. Winters, Detectives Stanley Kowalski and Ray Vecchio, and Constable Benton Fraser. They're Lynda's partners."

"How do you know so much about us?" Ray asked suspiciously.

"I like knowing about the people I work with," Winters answered. "And what I've heard about Lynda is impressive."

"She's the best," Stanley answered firmly. "She gives you three hundred percent in whatever she puts her mind to."

"Let's see if the same goes for her singing," Frank said. "It's just going to be a preliminary recording. Just to see what she sounds like after she's recorded."

"I thought you said she sounded good," Stanley said, sounding slightly defensive.

"Well, she does," Frank said. "But this is to see how she sounds professionally recorded."

"And what if she does sound good?" Ray asked.

"If she does," Frank replied. "She could be on her way to Nashville."

"Whoa, I don't think so," Stanley said. "She's got a job right here that she just started. And she's good at it."

"I understand, Detective, but your daughter has a terrific voice. She could really go places."

"Shouldn't we leave it up to Lynda what she wants to do?" Fraser asked.

"Well . . . sure, of course," Frank said. "Whatever decision she makes is fine."

"Okay, everyone, quiet," the studio manager said. He spoke into a microphone. "Lynda?" Lynda looked up from her microphone. A large set of headphones was on her head. She was dress in a black turtle neck, black jeans, and black Italian boots. "You ready?" Lynda nodded. The manager flipped a switch, starting the recording. "Ready when you are."

"Okay, guys," Lynda said to her band. "One, two, three four!"

The band began playing the intro to a song. Everyone was in time when Lynda began singing:

I've been looking at you looking me

Bet you're thinking that want you get

Is what you see

But underneath this cool exterior

A raging river flows

So before you get any nearer

I better let you know

I'm an emotional girl

I can't help myself

Sometimes I laugh

Sometimes I cry

Sometimes I do both and I don't know why

I got a passionate heart

And that's just the way things are

You and me could give it a whirl

But I'm warning you, boy

I'm an emotional girl

I like music that's loud and lights down low

I like driving my car too fast

And dancing slow

Some folks may say I'm too extreme

'Cause I can't stop once I start

But I never could do anything

With half my heart

I'm an emotional girl

I can't help myself

Sometimes I laugh

Sometimes I cry

Sometimes I do both and I don't know why

I got a passionate heart

And that's just the way things are

You and me could give it a whirl

But I'm warning you, boy

I'm an emotional girl

As the band took over for the instrumental break, Ray leaned over to Stanley. "You know, that song Lynda is singing is her in a nutshell."

Stanley smiled. "Yeah, but you gotta love her for it."

"Amen."

I'm an emotional girl

I can't help myself

Sometimes I laugh

Sometimes I cry

Sometimes I do both and I don't know why

I got a passionate heart

And that's just the way things are

You and me could give it a whirl

But I'm warning you, boy

I'm an emotional girl

You and me could give it a whirl

But I'm warning you, boy

I'm an emotional girl

"Okay, that's a wrap," the studio manager said, flicking the off switch on the recorder.

"How did I sound?" Lynda asked as she came into the control room.

"You did really great, as usual," Stanley replied. He turned to Frank. "What do you think?"

"I think she sounded great," Frank answered. He turned to Winters. "Sir?"

Winters furrowed his eyebrows as everyone looked at him. He stood from his chair, then sighed as he dug around in his coat pocket. He couldn't find what he was looking for, so he looked straight into Lynda's eyes. He smiled. "That's some of the finest singing I've heard in a

long time. I'll get the contract drawn up right away. We can get you down in Nashville immediately. There's a benefit concert in a week, so we'll get working on that, and -"

"Whoa, wait just a second," Stanley spoke up. "Don't you think she needs time to discuss this with us? And Welsh?"

"Dad's right," Lynda said. "I need to think about this, and discuss this with a few other people. I'll give you my answer tomorrow."

"Okay," Frank nodded. He handed her a business card from his jacket. "My number's on there."

"Thanks," Lynda smiled. She left with the wolves and her partners.

"So, how are you going to tell him no?" Ray asked as the group walked out of the CRC.

"Who said I'm going to tell him no?" Lynda asked.

"Lynda, don't tell me you're considering actually quitting to go down to sing in Nashville," Stanley replied.

"Dad, I don't know yet, okay?"

"You're a cop, Lynda. I thought that's what you wanted to be." Stanley frowned as he stuffed his hands in his jacket.

"I want to be a cop, Dad, but I also want to be a singer. I love music . . . and this is something that doesn't come around often." She sighed. "Look, guys, I think I have a solution: if I can talk Welsh into doing this, we can go down to Nashville and work on the music for the concert. Then, I'll give my decision. Okay?"

"That sounds fair," Fraser remarked.

"Okay," Stanley nodded.

"I guess," Ray shrugged.

The group got in their separate cars and drove back to the 27^th. The rest of the trip back was in silence.

"No, absolutely not!" Welsh sat in his chair as the four officers stood in front of him. Stanley and Ray were off to one side, standing at attention (or as best as they could, considering they also appeared to be slouching slightly). Fraser and Lynda stood straight, with their arms behind them and their feet shoulder width apart. "I will not have one of my Detectives doing this."

"Why not?" Lynda asked. "You know how important this is to me."

"And what about your work here, Detective?" Welsh asked. "You've only been working here for about two weeks as a Detective. Don't you think it would be wise to work a little longer before making any big career options?"

"That's why I think this is perfect timing," Lynda explained as she broke her stance and leaned over Welsh's desk. "Sir, let me at least try. I can't make a decision based on only one side of the picture. I don't work that way. I never have, and there's no way I'm going to start now."

"So, if you were in my position, what would you do?" Welsh asked.

"Let me go down to Nashville for at least a week," Lynda answered. "Let me see things from the other side. After the benefit concert, I'll give you my decision . . . whatever it may be." Lynda resumed her Mountie-like position, waiting for Welsh's reply.

First, he sighed. Then, he leaned back in his chair. "Lynda, you know how much I want to tell you no, okay? You're a good Detective - one of the finest I've seen in a long time - and I don't want to cut you loose. But, you have a good and valid point. That's why I'm going to let you go to Nashville."

"Thank you, Sir," Lynda smiled.

"You'll have to use some of your vacation days, okay?"

"Understandable."

"And I expect an answer immediately after the concert. Whatever your choice is, I'll back it up."

"Me, too," Stanley said. "Even though I'd want you to stay a cop."

"I will, too," Ray added.

"As will I," Fraser nodded.

"Thanks, guys," Lynda smiled gratefully at her friends.

"Oh, and I expect Detectives Kowalski and Vecchio to join you," Welsh added.

"Oh, I don't think I'll have any problem there, Sir," Lynda grinned. She looked at Fraser. "And I think I can talk Inspector Thatcher into letting Fraser tag along. Is that okay, Frase?"

"I appreciate that, Lynda," Fraser smiled.

"Okay, get out of here," Welsh shooed them out of his office. Right before Lynda shut the door behind her, Welsh smiled at her. "Good luck, Detective." Lynda returned the smile, then went to join her friends. There was a lot to do before tomorrow morning.

Finally, the next day came . . . and quickly, too. Lynda talked with Frank and signed the contract, making her part of Capitol Records for a week. She talked with Inspector Thatcher, using her manipulative skills to convince the Inspector to allow Fraser to join her in Nashville. Then, there was the packing . . . lots of packing.

Now, everything was all packed. Lynda, Stanley, Ray, and Fraser were inside the Consulate. Since the wolves wouldn't be allowed to travel, Lynda was trying to convince the Pair that they'd be fine in the care of Turnbull, who was busying himself at his desk.

"Oh, come on, guys, it's only going to be for a week," Lynda knelt beside the wolves. Regan whined and put his paw in her lap. Lynda smiled. "Of course you can come if I end up staying in Nashville. I'm not going to abandon you." Dief barked. "Dief, Fraser's your owner, not me. He'll need you to be here. But you're more than welcome to visit." She gave them a scratch behind the ears. "Bye." She got up as Thatcher came out of her office.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck, Lynda," Thatcher smiled and shook her hand.

"Thanks for letting Fraser come with us," Lynda returned the smile. "And thanks for letting the wolves stay here with Turnbull."

"You sure Turnbull is mentally capable to handling those two?" Thatcher whispered. The group glanced over at Turnbull, who was busy trying to unravel himself from the tape that had unwound from his tape dispenser.

"If there's any problems, I know you'll help," Lynda replied wryly. "Bye." She waved to the wolves. "Later, guys. I'll bring you back souvenirs."

"Goodbye, Lynda," Turnbull waved a tape-covered hand. "We'll be watching you next week. Good luck." The four officers walked out of the Consulate from doors. Turnbull sighed as he sat down. "And to think, we knew her when she was just a Detective." He turned to Thatcher, but she had quickly gone back into her office. He glanced at the wolves. "Yes, sir, I indeedy-do think we're going to have such a wonderful time together, right, boys . . . boys?" The wolves responded by running into the Consulate kitchen and hiding under the table.

"Flight 139, from Chicago O'Hare, arriving at Gate B5. All passengers please . . ." The announcer rambled on about the flight arrival as Lynda and the others stepped into the terminal. They looked around at the bustling atmosphere.

"Wow, this looks like O'Hare," Stanley commented. "I thought it'd look more . . ."

"Like a hick-town with dirt runway and chickens everywhere?" Ray suggested.

"Exactly," Stanley nodded. "It looks modernized."

Lynda rolled her eyes as she clutched her carry on. "Come on, guys, let's go get out luggage." The four walked from their gate down the corridor of Concourse B to the main terminal, where they took the escalators down to the baggage claim. As they rode down, the four were engulfed in a spectrum of beautiful light.

"Hey, where's the rainbow coming from?" Ray asked as he passed from yellow to green light.

"The entrance diffraction panels," Fraser answered. "Double pane safety glass panels, with diffraction grating adhered to the rear surface, are set in white-painted steel frames and mounted 25 degrees from vertical, on the existing truss system."

"I remember reading about these," Lynda said. He looked at her hand, which was a light violet. "Oh, man, this is so cool." The four made it down to the baggage claim, where they quickly got their luggage and went back upstairs. As they walked out of the main terminal, they looked around. Lynda knitted her eyebrows. "Frank said he's meet us with transportation to our hotel."

"There you are!" Frank smiled as he ran up to the group, sound breathless. "Sorry, I'm late. Got caught in traffic."

"It's okay," Lynda smiled.

"Well, let's get you to the hotel," Frank rubbed his hands together. "We have a lot to talk about, and a short time to do it in." The four followed Frank as he led them to the curb, where a white, stretch limo was parked. A chauffeur was holding the back door open.

"That's our transportation?" Stanley gawked.

"Lynda's a star," Frank smiled amusingly. "She'll travel only in the best of comfort. Everyone hop in." After depositing their luggage in the trunk, the four got in along with Frank. The chauffeur closed the door behind them before getting in and driving away.

"Man, Lynda, if this is the type of treatment you're going to be getting," Ray said, "I'll come down and cut a record with you."

"Now, Ray," Fraser smiled, "the idea is to bring people to music, not scare them away."

Everyone laughed at the Mountie's joke, even Ray.

"Okay," Frank said as he pulled a list out of his pocket. "Lynda, there's a lot to do. We'll start recording tomorrow morning after breakfast. We'll work mainly on getting the vocals down until they sound perfect, okay? Then, on Friday, we'll begin working on your performance for the concert: wardrobe, makeup, lighting, etc." He paused to take a breath. "Now, tonight, as you know when we talked yesterday, there's going to be a little get together at the Opryland Hotel Convention Center in the Magnolia Ballroom at seven."

"Yeah, I know," Lynda said. "Formal wear. Don't worry, okay, Frank?"

"I am worried about you, Lynda. Most of the guests are some pretty famous country singers."

"Like who?" Stanley asked as he leaned back in his seat.

"Shania, Clint, Reba, Faith and Tim, Bryan, LeAnne, George, Garth, and a bunch of others," Frank ticked off his fingers.

"Who?" Ray and Stanley asked.

"Shania Twain, Clint Black, Reba McEntire, Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, Bryan White, LeAnne Rimes, George Strait, and Garth Brooks," Lynda explained. Her eyes widened as she smiled. "Garth Brooks is going to be there? I thought his tour ended in College Station, Texas, in November."

"Well, he knows this charity concert is going to help a lot of children," Frank explained. "Garth can never pass up an opportunity like that."

"No, he doesn't," Lynda agreed.

"Where the hell is College Station?" Ray asked.

"It's located about a hundred miles northwest of Houston," Lynda answered. "It's where Texas A&M University is located. It's a great university; home to many dedicated traditions: Bonfire, Midnight Yell practices, Muster, Silver Taps, 'Howdy'. . ." She sighed, grinning. "Oh, wow, I can't believe *Garth Brooks* is going to be there. And *Bryan White*. Oh, he is *so* cute." She noticed the weird looks she was receiving from everyone else. "What?"

"Anyway," Frank said, "you're free to go exploring until tonight, but I would like to see you four promptly at the party. Lynda needs to get known, and being at this party will be the best way, okay?"

"Okay," Lynda nodded. The rest of the trip was silent, as Lynda stared at her window and smiled, taking in the breath-taking sights of the city famous for country music. The limo soon pulled up in front of the hotel that the four would be staying at. The chauffeur exited and came to open the passenger door. The group got out and looked around while Frank talked with the chauffeur.

"'The Spence Manor Suites'," Ray read the sign above the hotel. He looked at Frank as he came up to the group. Together, they walked inside and to the main desk, where Frank registered them in. After getting the keys, the five went up the elevator, while their luggage was being attended to.

"So, what are the sleeping arrangements?" Stanley asked as they came to Room 704.

Frank unlocked the door, letting the four friends inside a spacious living area, complete with a full kitchen. He closed the door behind him. "This is the finest suite available. It has four separate bedroom, each complete with it own bathroom. Lynda asked for this when we talked yesterday."

"Hey, I'm pretty cool that way," Lynda smiled.

Frank smiled back. "I'll see you four at the party." He handed the keys to Lynda before leaving, just as the luggage was being delivered. Soon, the four were alone in the hotel.

Lynda rushed over to a window and looked out. She started chuckling. "Hey, guys, you might want to see this." The three men hurried over and looked out, immediately seeing what made Lynda laugh.

"Is that really a guitar-shaped pool?" Stanley asked.

"Yup," Lynda nodded. "It was built by Webb Pierce."

"Who's he?"

"A legend in country music," Lynda said. She stared out at the city from the window. "Hey, guys, you want to go exploring? We have almost five hours to ourselves before we have to get ready for the party tonight."

"Sure," the three agreed.

"Where would we go?" Stanley asked.

"Well, I'd like to see the Grand Ole Opry, if that's not too much trouble," Lynda suggested. "What do you guys say?"

Stanley shrugged. "Lynda, this is your trip. Wherever we go is fine, just as long as it's not too dorky."

"Trust me, Dad, this place is so cool." The four walked out of the living area to go explore the city.

"Wow, this place is *huge*," Ray said as the four walked across the stage of the Grand Ole Opry.

"Isn't it incredible?" Lynda stared around in amazement, a smile spread across her face. She looked out into the huge auditorium. "We are standing on the very stage that so many legendary country music stars have sung on, and where other country stars hope to sing one day." She took in a deep breath. "Man, this is so cool."

"So, who's exactly sung up here?" Stanley asked.

"Garth Brooks, Randy Travis, Travis Tritt, Reba McEntire, Blackhawk," Lynda ticked off her fingers.

"Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, Sr., Elvis Presley," Fraser added.

"Elvis sang here?"

"Yeah, Dad," Lynda nodded as she walked to the center of the stage. "It's considered the highest honor in country music to sing here."

"Why don't you sing something?" Ray suggested.

"No, that's okay," Lynda smiled. "This is a little bigger than what I'm used to."

"Lynda, there's only the four of us," Stanley replied. "Sing something."

Lynda sighed. "Fine, I'll sing something." She thought for a moment, then took a big breath. Her clear voice echoed off the walls of the Grand Ole Opry as she belted out in perfect harmony:

This is a song that nobody knows

I couldn't begin to describe how it goes

But it makes me cry or laugh right out loud

It's the song that I sing when there's no one around

"That song seems very familiar," Ray knitted his eyebrows.

"I know," Stanley agreed. "I got that . . . that deja whatchamacallit feeling."

"Deja vu," Fraser corrected his friend. "And I do as well."

"Maybe you guys heard it on the radio," Lynda suggested.

"The only country music we listen to, Lynda," Ray said, "is when you sing it. What's that song called, by the way?"

"It's called 'When There's No One Around'," Lynda explained. "It's from Garth's 'Sevens' CD."

"You really like his music, don't ya?" Stanley asked.

"He's got great music to love," Lynda answered. She looked at her watch. "Well, we'd better get back to the hotel. We gotta leave in three hours, and I have a lot of getting ready to do."

"Women," Ray and Stanley muttered under their breaths as the quartet walked off of the stage.

"Excuse me?" Lynda raised her eyebrows at the two officers.

"Nothing," the two quickly replied. Lynda shook her head and smiled as they walked back to the hotel.

"Come on, Lynda," Stanley shouted, "we're going to be late." He, Ray, and Fraser were standing in the living area of the hotel, dressed in their black tuxes (dress reds, in Fraser's case). All that was missing was Lynda.

"Lynda, shake a leg, will ya?" Ray added, looking at his watch. He turned to his friends. "Why do women always take so long to get dressed?"

"Because we take pride in looking our best, Ray," Lynda answered, slightly irritated. There were a few moments of silence. "Okay, I'm coming out. Stand by to be stunned."

Lynda opened the door to her room and stepped out.

She was dressed in a French lace bodice that laced up in the back and a silk taffeta ballgown skirt. The bodice and the skirt were both dark blue. Matching one-inch heels were on her feet. Her hair was pinned up behind her, save for a few strands that were loosely framing her face. She twirled around once. "Well, what do you think?"

"Wow," Ray smiled. "You look very lovely, Lynda."

"Yes, you do," Fraser added.

"Thank you, Ray. Fraser."

"I've seen that dress before," Stanley furrowed his eyebrows. "I just can't place where I've seen it."

"I know where," Lynda replied. "Mom showed you my prom picture the night before she was killed, remember?"

"That's it," Stanley snapped his fingers. "When we went all those pictures, I remember seeing your prom picture, Lynda." He frowned. "Wait, how did you know we went through those pictures?"

"I saw the albums on the coffee table." She ruffled her skirt. "You know, I still can't believe that this thing fits. I haven't worn it in almost two years."

"It looks good on you," Stanley smiled.

"Thanks," Lynda grinned. "Well, let's get going. Frank won't be happy if we don't get there on time." The four walked out of the hotel and into the hallway.

"Explain to me again how he got to be your manager," Ray said.

"Ray, he knows more about this stuff than I do," Lynda explained. "He offered, I accepted."

"You sure about that?" Stanley asked. "He seems that he wants you to do all this stuff now, with no chance to rest."

"Dad, I'm sure it's just because I'm an up and coming singer. There's a lot of stuff to do before the concert. I don't have that much time to prepare."

Ray, Fraser, and Stanley shared a three-way glance, but said nothing as they waited for the elevator to take them to the first floor.

When the Chicagoans entered the Magnolia ballroom, they received a lot of stares, mainly because of Fraser's outfit. The four ignored the stars and walked in, looking left and right.

"He said he'd be here," Lynda said. She looked at her wristwatch. Seven fifteen. She looked up to see Frank walk quickly up to her, grab her by the arm, and whisk her away, leaving the three in a trail of dust. "Frank, what's wrong?"

"That's your dress?" Frank asked. "I'd thought you were going to wear something else."

"I like this dress, Frank," Lynda answered. "My mother had it custom-made from -"

"Whatever," Frank answered. They walked up to a group of people. Lynda recognized them all: Alan Jackson, George Strait, Faith Hill and Tim MacGraw, and Clay Walker. He became all smiles. "Sorry about walking away like that." He nodded to Lynda. "This is the young lady I was telling you about - Lynda Peterson. Lynda, I'm sure you know who these people are."

Lynda smiled, instantly forgetting what Frank said about her dress. How could she be upset at a time when she was meeting some of the most famous people in country music? "Hi," she finally said, giving a little wave.

"We've heard so much about you from Frank," Faith smiled warmly. "But he has been known to exaggerate at times. Is it true you're a police officer, Lynda?"

Lynda nodded. "I'm a Detective, actually."

"Wow," George raised his eyebrows. "And you're ready to give it up?"

"I don't know," Lynda answered. "I guess I'll just wait and see."

"So, what kind of gun do you use?" Clay asked.

"9mm, semi-automatic barreta, standard nine round. But I try not to use it a lot. I try to apprehend suspects and do my work using as little violence as possible."

"One more question," Clay spoke up. "Just who is the guy in the red that you walked in with?"

Lynda chuckled as she turned around to face her friends. They were still standing where she had left them, looking totally out of place. She motioned them to come over, which they did. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my partners: my father, Detective Stanley Kowalski, Detective Ray Vecchio, and Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"What's a Mountie doing in Chicago?" Alan asked.

"I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killer," Fraser explained. "And for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I've remained attached as Liaison with the Canadian Consulate."

"But how are you able to work with the Chicago Police?" Tim asked.

"He just does," Stanley answered. "It happened."

"Well, this is a very interesting conversation," Frank cleared his throat. "But, Lynda, we're not in Chicago, okay? We have less than a week to discuss what you're going to be doing for the concert, so let's talk about that."

"Where's it going to be held?" Ray asked. Both he and Stanley were frowning slightly, not liking how Frank had just talked to Lynda.

"The Grand Ole Opry," Frank answered, not seeming to care the looks he was receiving from Ray and Stanley.

"We were just there today," Fraser spoke up.

"And what did you think of it?" George asked.

"It's big," Lynda admitted. "I hope I don't get too nervous and forget my song."

"If you do, you're dead," Frank said seriously. Everyone stared at him, just as he burst out laughing. "Just kidding, Lynda." He patted her shoulder, smiling. Everyone continued talking, but only Ray and Stanley kept watching Frank like a hawk. They didn't like the way he was acting around Lynda . . . or to her, for that matter. They would definitely keep an eye on him from now on.

"Okay, Lynda, let's get to work," Frank spoke into his microphone. He, along with Stanley, Ray, Fraser, and a few other people, were in the recording control room of Studio 3 in the Capitol Records building. It was eleven-thirty the next morning. Lynda's band, which arrived last night, were already set up in the recording room. Lynda was adjusting her headphones, while Frank was sitting with Stanley, Ray, and Fraser in the control room. The studio manager, Bob, was busying himself with the controls. Finally, everything was ready.

"Okay, Lynda, let's get started," Frank said. "Why don't we do the song your friends wrote."

"'Two Houses'?" Lynda asked into her microphone.

"Yeah. I'd like to work with that one as much as possible."

"Okay." Lynda adjusted her headphones, smiling. She remembered the day before yesterday when she had asked Huey and Dewey if they would be willing to let her sing their song in Nashville. They were thrilled, to say the least, especially since Lynda promised that they would be receiving fifteen percent of the total earnings of that song. She motioned her band to start playing. Lynda sang clearly into the microphone, recording the words of her friends' song for the first time.

Don't call me for supper if you don't mean to feed me

Don't tell me you love me with that gun in your hand

Cause I fall down dumbfounded

In the face of your beauty

Yeah, one look at you and I am a fool

In the palm of your hand

There's a house we call love built next door to hate

And both of them got lawns and a white picket gate

Their taxes don't differ and their water's the same

But in one you get comfort and the other house shame

Hey, you don't mind if I speak

You know I'd like to be frank

Your cooking is wretched and this coffee is rank

But I look cross this table

Into the clutch of your eyes

And I'm kind of thrilled that we have been cursed

To live side by side

There's a house we call love built next door to hate

And both of them got lawns and a white picket gate

Their taxes don't differ and their water's the same

But in one you get comfort and the other house shame

Yeah in one you get comfort and the other house shame

"Okay," Bob said as he switched the off button on the recorder. He turned to Frank. "What do you think, Frank?"

"It was okay," Frank furrowed his eyebrows. "Tempo was a little slow." He spoke into his mike. "Lynda, do you think you guys could speed it up just a little?"

"But that's not how Jack and Tom wrote this song," Lynda said. "They wanted it to be soft and slow."

"I know," Frank replied. "I just want to see how it sounds, that's all."

Lynda sighed. "Okay." She turned to her band. "Let's pick up the tempo, okay? Something like this." She clapped her hands in a beat that was twice as fast as the original for the song. The band nodded, then quickly started playing again. Lynda sang her part again. Even before it was finished, the boys knew that Lynda didn't like that version of the song, but Frank seemed to.

"That was great, Lynda," he smiled. "We'll record it like that for the concert.'

"We will?" Lynda asked. Frank nodded. "Why? I hated it that way."

"But the people will like it," Frank insisted. "They like upbeat, fast songs, not slow, methodical ones."

"Well, even if I wanted to sing it that way," Lynda explained, "I'd have to get permission from Jack and Tom in order to -"

"Then call them up," Frank interrupted. "We don't have time to be talking. The concert is in six days."

"Okay," Lynda said as she took her headphones off, then came into the control room. "Hey, Dad, can I borrow your cell?"

"Sure," Stanley replied as he took his cell phone out of his jacket and handed it to her.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked, frowning.

"I'm calling Jack and Tom," Lynda said, dialing Jack's number at Division in Chicago. "Jack? Hey, it's Lynda." She smiled. "I'm doing good. How are things at work?" She chuckled. "Really? Well, then I guess Tom should stay away from the coffee machine for a while." She noticed Frank tapping his watch. "Um, Jack, listen we're recording 'Two Houses' right now. I was wondering if it would be okay if the tempo was picked up slightly . . . well, Frank seems to think that people would like it more if it was slightly upbeat." She waited.

"Now what?" Frank asked.

Lynda put her hand over the phone. "Jack's talking with Tom." Frank sighed impatiently. Lynda smiled. "Okay, thanks a lot, guys . . . yeah, say hi to everyone there for me, okay? Bye." She hung up and handed the phone back to Stanley.

"What's the verdict?" Ray asked.

"Jack and Tom said to make whatever changes I felt were necessary," Lynda answered. "Jack also told me that Tom had gotten into a little mishap when the coffee machine backfired on him, sending -"

"Okay, Lynda, you're getting off the subject at hand," Frank interrupted. "Time is money. Let's get back to work."

For the rest of the day, Lynda and her band worked on getting 'Two Houses' just right. But every time they thought they had nailed it, Frank would run back the tape and notice a mistake . . . at least, he was the only one who seemed to notice it. Lynda and the band certainly couldn't hear any mistake, neither could Fraser, although he didn't know much about the music industry, so he kept his mouth shut.

Finally, after seven grueling hours, Frank seemed satisfied. Lynda left with Stanley, Ray, and Fraser, and rode back to the hotel. They took the elevator to their floor and walked down the hallway to their room.

"Man, am I tired," Lynda yawned as she stretched. She walked over to her bedroom.

"You hungry?" Stanley asked.

"A little." Lynda's eyelids drooped. "Let me go change."

"I'll make something while you're doing that," Stanley offered as he made his way to the kitchen.

"And I'll be sure to get the order for pizza delivery," Ray teased.

Lynda smiled, but said nothing as she went into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. Ray shrugged out of his jacket and lay it over the back of the couch, then went into the kitchen. Fraser followed.

"You know, I'm beginning to have second thoughts about this entire thing," Stanley said as he searched in cabinets, pulling out some pots and pans.

"What do you mean?" Fraser asked as he rummaged around the fridge.

"Frank is acting very . . . pushy toward Lynda," Stanley explained. "I don't like it."

"Tell me about it," Ray agreed. "I mean, I don't have much knowledge in the singing department, but I know that a lot of time was wasted recording the same song over and over again."

"Yeah, Lynda and her band never made a mistake," Stanley nodded. "The only reason it sounded bad was because the tempo was speeded up. I liked the song the way Jack and Tom had it originally."

"Yeah," Ray shrugged. "But what really got me was the fact that Lynda never said anything to Frank. It's not like her to let someone walk all over her the way Frank did."

"I have to agree," Fraser said as he pulled a head of lettuce out of the fridge. "We need to approach Lynda with how we feel."

"She's not going to listen to us," Ray snorted. "She'll think we're just doing that to get her to go back to Chicago."

"I'll talk to her," Stanley said. He walked over to Lynda's closed door and knocked on it. "Lynda?" Nothing. "Lynda, can I come in?" Slowly, he opened the door and peaked in. Lynda was laying on her bed snuggled up to a pillow. She was fast asleep, not even out of the clothes she had worn that day.

Stanley sighed, then closed the door softly. Sleep was definitely in order for his daughter, considering her day. He'd talk with her later.

Unfortunately, that later never came. Lynda slept soundly until four o'clock the next morning, when Frank barged into the room, waking all the occupants. Rehearsals had begun. Lynda was whisked away to the Grand Ole Opry to prepare for the concert. Frank had the strangest notion for Lynda's song, deciding to incorporate it into a dance routine. Lynda reluctantly accepted it.

Picking out her outfit for the concert proved to take most of the day, as did choosing hair and makeup, none of which Lynda liked much. Then, the dancers showed up at three. The routine - which Stanley, Ray, and Fraser absolutely detested - was practiced until eight that night. For the second night in a row, Lynda went to bed without eating.

The next day, Frank decided that the song needed to be recorded again, so everyone was back in Studio 3 with Bob. All three of her partners could see Lynda was quickly losing her patience with her manager, but she was doing a good job of keeping it in check.

"Lynda, you're still a little flat on that note," Frank said angrily, for the hundredth time. "Let's do that part again."

"Okay, that does it!" Lynda said before removing her headphones. "Frank, I have had it with you and the way you're treating me."

"Lynda, be reasonable," Frank frowned. "Put those headphones on. We need to record this song."

"You want to record something?" Lynda glared at her manager. "Record this!" She slammed her headphones to the ground, breaking them. Static filled the room as Lynda marched out of the recording studio and into the control room. "I'm out of here." She started walking out of the room, but Frank stopped her.

"Lynda, get back here! We're not done."

"I want some time to myself, Frank. I'll be back tomorrow." She walked out of the room.

"Lynda, wait up," her father called out as he ran to catch up with her, Ray and Fraser behind him. He grabbed her arm gently and spun her around. He could see tears in her eyes. "You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay, okay?"

"Lynda, talk to me," Stanley said gently.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't know what I'm going through, Dad." She shrugged free of his grip. "Don't take this personally, but I want to be by myself. I'll see you guys back at the hotel."

"When?"

"When I feel like it." Lynda walked out of the front entrance of the building and disappeared around the corner, leaving her three friends just standing there, not knowing what to do.

Lynda walked and walked and walked, not sure of where her feet were taking her. Finally, she realized she was in Elmington Park, almost three miles from Capitol Records. Lynda sighed and walked quietly through the park, noticing she was one of the few people there. Looking up told her why. What started out as a clear sky was quickly turning black with heavy clouds.

"Fits my mood," Lynda said bitterly as she hugged her suede jacket closer around her. She found a bench and sat down on it. She rested her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks any minute. "I can't believe I did that. I let Frank walk all over me. That's not like me." Slowly, the tears spilled down her cheeks as she sobbed quietly.

"Excuse me?" a voice said after about ten minutes. "May I sit down?"

"I guess, but I don't think I'd be good company right now," Lynda answered without looking up.

"Really?" the person answered, sitting next to Lynda. "Why not?"

"Because I hate my manager," Lynda said. "He's been on my case ever since I came down three days ago. Now, I'm starting to hate singing, which is totally out of character for me." She sighed. But I bet you can't even begin to understand that."

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

"Really?" Lynda looked up to face her visitor. She did a double take, then her eyes widened, her mouth open. Sitting next to her, dressed in a simple pair of blue jeans, a white T-shirt, tan boots, and the black Stetson he was famous for wearing, was Garth Brooks. "Uh . . . you . . . you're . . . do you know who you are?"

Garth smiled and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Garth Brooks. And you are . . .?"

"Huh?" Lynda asked.

"What's your name?" Garth prompted gently.

"Oh!" Lynda blushed, shaking Garth's hand. "I'm Lynda. Lynda Peterson."

"I saw you at that party a couple nights ago," Garth nodded. "So, you don't really hate music, do you, Lynda?"

Lynda sighed. "No . . . it's just my manager is acting . . . pushy, to say the least." Not knowing why or how, Lynda poured her heart out to Garth.

"Interesting," Garth said after she finished. "You do have a problem, don't you?"

"So, any suggestions as to what I should do?" Lynda asked.

"I can't really offer you any advice, Lynda. But I'll tell you what I am going to suggest."

"What?"

"First, let's get out of this weather," Garth said as he glanced upward. The clouds looked ready to burst. A gentle thunder rolled through the city.

"'And the thunder rolls'," Lynda sang as she and Garth got to their feet.

Garth laughed gently. "That's pretty funny." He put an arm around Lynda shoulders. "Come on, Lynda. We got a lot of talking to do."

Stanley and Ray were pacing in the living area of their hotel room. Fraser was sitting on the couch. It had been twelve hours since Lynda had left them. Now, it was dark, and the Detectives were getting worried.

"Where could she be?" Stanley asked as he checked his watch for the twelfth time.

"Stanley, I'm sure she's fine," Fraser assured his friend.

"I never should have let her go by herself. I'm a bad father. I'm a -" The sound of the door opening interrupted him. All three men looked up to see Lynda come in. Even before she closed the door, Stanley attacked her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Oh, thank God you're alright."

"I'm fine, Dad."

Stanley looked at her sternly. "Where the hell have you been? We've been here sick to death wondering if your were alive or dead."

"I'm fine, okay? There was no need to worry about me."

"Lynda, considering how you left in such an emotional state," Fraser said gently, "then we don't hear from you for over twelve hours -"

"Okay, okay," Lynda held up her hands. "I'm sorry I worried you guys." She smiled. "But guess what."

"What?" they asked her.

"Tomorrow, we're to go back to Capitol Records and do some recording."

"Lynda, are you nuts?" Ray asked. "You looked like you didn't want to have anything to do with Frank or -"

"Ray, Frank doesn't know about this," Lynda interrupted. "Even the band doesn't know. I told them to take tomorrow off."

"So, why are we going back?" Stanley asked.

"Because I met Garth Brooks in Elmington Park today," Lynda said excitedly. "He wants me to come and sing with him and his band - Stillwater - tomorrow."

"Lynda, we're too tired for jokes," Ray rubbed his forehead.

"But -"

"Lynda, my patience is already low enough," Stanley warned. "Don't tip it off the scales."

"You don't believe me?"

"No," Ray and Stanley answered.

"Would you at least come with me tomorrow? If it's a joke, I'll make it up, okay?"

"Fine," the two agreed. The four each went to their separate rooms and fell asleep.

The next morning, the four entered the control room of Studio 7 in the Capitol Records building. There to the amazement of the three men, was Garth Brooks. He smiled as he came over to Lynda.

"Hi, Lynda," Garth said. "Glad you could come." He eyed her father and friends. "Are these the people you told me about?"

"Garth, I'd like to introduce you to my father and partner, Detective Stanley Kowalski, my other partner, Detective Ray Vecchio, and my semi-partner and teacher, Constable Benton Fraser. Guys, this is Garth Brooks."Garth smiled warmly.

Ray was the first to shake Garth's hand. "Wow. When Lynda told us she met you last night, we didn't believe her. It's a real pleasure, Mr. Brooks."

"Garth, please," Garth smiled. He nodded and held his hand out to Stanley. "Detective."

"Hi," Stanley replied, shaking the singer's hand. "I'm not big on country, but you got some good music."

"Thanks." Garth then turned to Fraser. "Constable."

Fraser smiled and shook Garth's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Lynda has told us so much about you."

"Speaking of which," Garth said, "Lynda, you ready to do some singing?"

"Hey, I've been ready," Lynda smiled. "It's not everyday I get to sing with the King of county music." She held up her guitar case. "I even brought along my guitar, just like you said I could." The singers walked into the recording studio with the band, leaving the others to

watch. Everything was already set up as Garth and Lynda took their places at the head microphones.

Garth turned to Lynda. "So, what song do you want to do, first?"

"You mean, I can pick the song?"

"Of course. You're our guest. You can sing whatever you want." He grinned. "And we can get some extra practice on before the concert.

"Can we do 'Standing Outside the Fire?" Lynda asked.

"Sure," Garth smiled. "We'll sing you're favorite song."

"How'd he know that?" Ray asked.

"We talked for along time last night," Lynda answered as she grabbed her guitar from her case. She slung it over her, then plugged it in and strummed it, making sure it was tuned for the song.

"One, two, three four!" Soon, the band began playing the opening to Lynda's favorite song. Lynda and Garth joined in with their guitars. Garth took the first set of lyrics:

We call them cool

Those hearts that have no scars to show

The ones that never do let go

And risk the tables being turned

We call them fools

Who have to dance within the flame

Who chance the sorrow and the shame

That always comes with getting burned

But you've got to be tough when consumed by desire

'Cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire

Lynda smiled, playing her guitar perfectly, as she took over the second part:

We call them strong

Those who can face this world alone

Who seem to get by on their own

Those who will never take the fall

We call them weak

Who are unable to resist

The slightest chance love might exist

And for that forsake it all

They're so hell-bent on giving ,walking a wire

Convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire

Both took over the chorus, their voices flowing together in harmony:

Standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Life is not tried, it is merely survived

If you're standing outside the fire

There's this love that is burning

Deep in my soul

Constantly yearning to get out of control

Wanting to fly higher and higher

I can't abide

Standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Life is not tried, it is merely survived

If you're standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Life is not tried, it is merely survived

If you're standing outside the fire

After the song was over, everyone applauded, including Garth. Lynda was grinning from ear to ear, her heart still pounding. She had just done what so many people had only dreamed about doing: sing and play a duet with one of country music's hottest singers. Man, it felt good.

Maybe the singing wasn't all that bad.

"Okay, Lynda," Garth looked at her. "Where to next?"

Lynda smiled. "Can we do 'The River'? I've always liked that song."

She put her guitar back in it's case.

"Sure thing. You can have the first part if you want."

"Thanks."

The band gently let loose with the soft melody of the song. Lynda, smiling, began singing:

You know a dream is like a river

Ever changin' as it flows

And a dreamer's just a vessel

That must follow where it goes

Trying to learn from what's behind you

And never knowing what's in store

Makes each day a constant battle

Just to stay between the shores...and

I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Like a bird upon the wind

These waters are my sky

I'll never reach my destination

If I never try

So I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Garth took over the second part:

Too many times we stand aside

And let the waters slip away

'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow

Has now become today

So don't you sit upon the shoreline

And say you're satisfied

Choose to chance the rapids

And dare to dance the tide...yes

And I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Like a bird upon the wind

These waters are my sky

I'll never reach my destination

If I never try

So I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

And there's bound to be rough waters

And I know I'll take some falls

But with the good Lord as my captain

I can make it through them all...yes

I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Like a bird upon the wind

These waters are my sky

I'll never reach my destination

If I never try

So I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Yes, I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

'Til the river runs dry

After finishing that song, Garth excused himself into the control room, but let the band and Lynda continue singing. Lynda grinned. She knew what song she wanted to sing. "Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?" Stanley answered into a mike from the console.

"Pay attention to this next song, okay? I think you'll like it." She nodded to Ray and Fraser. "You too, guys."

The three men gave each other curious glances, but said nothing as the band struck up. Lynda's voice came clearly through the melody as she sang:

Well you and I

We're buddies

And we've been since we've first met

Me and you

Well we've sure been through

Our share of laughter and regret

Lord knows we've had our bad days

And more than once we've disagreed

But you've always been a friend to me

Ray, Fraser, and Stanley chuckled. They had never heard that song before, but they now

knew what Lynda meant. That song described the four of them perfectly.

You can be so stubborn

There's times I think that you just like to fight

And I hope and pray

I live to see a day

When you say I might be right

And there's times I'd rather kill you

Than listen to your honesty

But you've always been a friend to me

You've always been

Time and again

The one to take my hand

And show me it's okay to be

Just the way I am

With no apology

Oh you've always been

And you will 'til God knows when

Yes you've always been a friend to me

The group inside the console applauded loudly, but Lynda's father and two best friends were clapping the loudest. "Bravo!" Stanley shouted.

Lynda grinned. "See? Told ya you'd like it, Dad."

"Woopee," Stanley grinned. "I still don't like country music." Lynda smiled. Garth soon joined her. For the enxt couple of hours, they sang almost all of Garth's songs, which Lynda knew all by heart. Well, except for 'Ain't Goin' Down Till The Sun Comes Up'. Lynda stumbled over the words. Everyone had a good time over it, even Lynda. "So, anything else that you'd -"

"What the hell is going on here?"

Everyone looked to see Frank standing in the doorway. He did not look happy.

"I'm taking a break," Lynda frowned.

"You don't take a break until I tell you to," Frank said curtly. "We're a day behind schedule, and the benefit concert's in three days. Now, let's go."

"Hey, wait just one second," Garth frowned. "You don't need to be treating her that way."

"I'm her manager. I can treat her any way I please." He didn't seem to be fazed by the fact he was arguing with Garth Brooks.

"I don't think so," Stanley glared as he stood up and faced Frank. "You don't treat my daughter like that. You can't order her around."

"Yeah," Ray added, giving a cold stare. "She's been busting her butt for you without any time to herself. I think she's entitled to it."

"Whatever," Frank said before storming into the studio. He roughly grabbed Lynda by her arm and pulled the headset off her head. "We're going."

"No way," Lynda frowned as she pulled free from his grip. Frank grabbed her harder. "Hey, let go. You're hurting me." Everyone rushed in from the control. The band members stood up.

Stanley quickly rushed over and pulled his daughter free, then stood protectively in front of her. "Touch her again, and you'll be sorry."

"Don't threaten me, Detective," Bob sneered. "You're daughter and I have a contract." He removed a piece of paper from his jacket and waved it under Stanley's nose.

"Not anymore," Lynda replied. She grabbed the contract and tore it up. "You're

fired." Frank stared at Lynda coldly before swiftly slapping her across the face. Stanley retaliated by punching Frank in the face. He fell backwards onto the ground.

Stanley looked at Lynda's face. "You okay?" She nodded slowly, rubbing her cheek. He held her tight as tears began flowing down her cheeks. Stanley glared at Frank. "Someone get this guy out of my sight before I shoot him."

"A pleasure," Ray replied before hoisting Frank up by his arm. Fraser helped lead Frank out of the studio and back to the lobby to phone the police. They came back together a few minutes later. "So, now what?"

"We're outta here," Stanley said. He looked down at his daughter. "You ready to go?"

She nodded.

Fraser noticed how pale her face looked. "Lynda, you look a little pale."

"I'm fine," Lynda replied. She took a step forward, only her foot never made contact with the ground. The last thing she heard was her father's voice shouting. Then, every thing went black.

Stanley paced back and forth in the living of the hotel room. Fraser was sitting on the couch, waiting as patiently as possible. They had been waiting for over thirty minutes out there since the hotel physician showed up to examine Lynda in her room. Ray had gone down to provide a statement for the arresting officers. Stanley's head jerked up when he heard the knock at the door. He went to answer it. Standing on the other side were Ray and Garth.

"How's Lynda?" Ray asked as the two came in.

"The doctor's still in there," Stanley answered as he shut the door behind them. He glanced at Garth. "Uh, not to sound rude, but what are you doing here? We'd said we call and let you know how she is once we find out ourselves."

"Trust me," Ray answered, "I tried to tell him that, but he insisted on coming." He leaned over to Stanley. "To tell you the truth, I don't think it's a problem, Stan. He seems genuinely concerned for her well-being."

Stanley shrugged 'whatever'. "What about Frank?"

"One account of assaulting a police officer," Ray answered. "He's going to be in jail for three months, then he has to pay a $2,000 fine, then do 1,000 hours of community service."

"Serves him right, the blood-sucking maggot," Stanley replied bitterly, just as the doctor came out of Lynda's room. It was only after he shut the door that Stanley pounced on him. "So, how is she?"

"She's resting," the doctor answered. "She's extremely exhausted."

"That's why she fainted?" Ray asked.

The doctor nodded. "That, and the fact that she hasn't been eating or sleeping well lately. She told me everything that's happened."

"So, what can we do?" Stanley asked.

"Make sure she gets plenty of rest," the doctor explained. "I've given her a mild sleeping pill to help with that. She also needs to start eating well-balanced meals. And cut back on her stress; I've never seen someone so young with so much stress."

"Can we see her?"

"Not for long. She does need her rest."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, thanks," Stanley added. The doctor nodded and left the hotel room. Stanley sighed before quietly opening the door to his daughter's room. He quietly shut it behind him as he walked over to her bed and gently sat on the side, just watching her sleep soundly. A strand of hair fell in her face. Stanley gently brushed it aside.

Lynda stirred slightly before opening her eyes. She yawned, then smiled up at her father. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hey. How you feeling?"

"Sleepy. And hungry, but I'll eat later."

"Yeah, you get some rest first."

"So, how did Frank fare?"

"One account of assaulting a police officer. Jail time for three months, then he has to pay a $2,000 fine, then do 1,000 hours of community service."

"I'm still an officer down here?"

"Of course you are, Lynda. From the moment you put on that badge until the day you die - which will be a long ways down the road - you are a cop. No matter where, no matter when. It's who I am, and it's who you are."

"That's pretty deep," Lynda smiled. "I never knew you to be poetic, Dad. You always seemed to . . . well, hate poetry. At least you act that way."

"Well, that's me, Lynda: on the inside, I'm a poet. But on the outside - mph! - shake, bad guys, shake." Lynda chuckled. "So, now what? With your manager being arrested, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Lynda answered. "I haven't really thought about that right now." She yawned and stretched as the medicine began taking effect. "I think first I'll get some sleep."

"Good idea," Stanley answered as he tucked Lynda into bed, then kissed her on the forehead as she closed her eyes and drifted into a peaceful slumber.

"How is she?" Ray asked as Stanley came out of Lynda's bedroom.

"She's asleep," Stanley answered. "So, anyone who wakes her up is going to get his head kicked in."

"Spoken as a true father," Garth smiled from the chair he was sitting in. "So,

what's Lynda really like, as a Detective? I've heard so many different things from different people, I'd thought I'd better ask her partners for the truth."

"She's great at her job," Fraser answered. "She has an amazing aptitude."

"She gives her all, and more," Ray added.

"She's dedicated to doing her job the best way she knows how," Stanley finished. "She's tough and serious, but also caring at the same time."

"Basically, an all-around good Detective, right?" Garth asked.

"Definitely," Fraser nodded.

"Amen," Ray replied.

"No doubt about it," Stanley said firmly.

"Do you ever worry about her?" Garth asked.

"Hell, yeah," Stanley answered. "Constantly. She takes chances . . . sometimes

when she has to, other times when she wants to. I think it's just to scare us to death."

"Just like her father," Ray teased his partner.

"And I'm proud of her," Stanley glared momentarily at Ray, even though he knew his partner was kidding. "She does her job despite what other people may think of her."

"Is she treated fairly?" Garth questioned.

"Yeah," Ray answered. "She acts like an adult and, as a result, gets treated like one . No one at our district thinks of her as a nineteen year old with a badge. She's a Detective, just like the rest of us, and deserves the same amount of respect as the rest of us. And she'd better get it, or anyone who disrespects her will be sorry."

And that was how it was for hours. Garth was interested in finding out about the young woman he had sung with, and the guys were very willing, and proud, to tell him. They talked back and forth, telling the singer about Lynda, until finally nine o'clock rolled around. Since Lynda hadn't awoke yet, and the four men were exhausted from the day's events, Garth politely excused himself, and the three remaining got ready for bed.

While Ray and Fraser went to sleep in their rooms, Stanley grabbed his pillow and a blanket from his room and got settled in a chair. As her father, he was going to keep a constant vigil over Lynda, making sure nothing disturbed her sleep.

Lynda opened her eyes and sat up. She saw her father, scrunched into a chair with a pillow and blanket. Smiling, Lynda got out of bed quietly, then went into her bathroom. She turned on the light and stared at her reflection.

"Well, Lynda," she said quietly. "You gotta decide, one way or the other. What's it going to be?" But she couldn't answer that. She needed to get out of here and think. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and some socks, and got dressed in the bathroom. She put her hair up into a tight braid, then put on a pair of running shoes. She grabbed her jacket, then quietly slipped out of the room.

She took a cab back to Capitol Records, not sure why she was going there, but knowing there was nowhere else she felt she could go. She walked into the lobby, then just sat. Her ears perked up as she heard voices talking. She followed the sound into one of the lounges, and peaked in. There, sitting at one of the small tables, was Garth. He was talking to a person Lynda recognized.

"Oh, Lynda, glad to see you up and about," Garth smiled when he noticed the young woman. "Come on in." He nodded to the young woman sitting with him. "Lynda, this is -"

"Tracy Jenkins," Lynda smiled at the brown-haired woman. "I've heard a lot about you." She sat down.

"It's good to finally meet you, Lynda," Tracy smiled. "So, Garth's been telling me you got some problems with your manager."

"Ex-manager," Lynda corrected. "And he's not the problem, really . . . I just feel like I'm being pulled in so many different directions, and I don't know which way to go. I mean, I want to stay here. Music is a big part of my life."

"So is your work back home, from what I've gathered," Garth answered.

"Yeah, I guess I miss being in Chicago," Lynda admitted. "I've been thinking about it ever since I got here: my work, my friends, my wolf . . ."

"Wolf?" Garth asked.

"Yeah, I own a wolf. He was a Christmas present from Fraser."

"How is Constable Fraser?" Tracy asked.

"You know him?" Lynda asked.

"Of course I know him." Tracy smiled. "He and your father protected me when I was there, and Fraser even sang backup one time." She noticed Lynda's expression. "Garth told me who your father really was."

"Oh," Lynda replied.

"Lynda, seriously, you have to decide which is more important," Garth got back on the subject at hand. "Music or Chicago."

Lynda smiled. "Well, there's no contest, when it comes right down to it. I know what I need to do."

"It's the right thing, Lynda," Tracy smiled warmly.

"Do you think you could help me with something?" Lynda asked.

"Sure," the two singers replied.

Finally, the big night came. Lynda was standing backstage at the Grand Ole Opry. She was dressed in a pair of black, tight-fitting jeans, white T-shirt, and black boots. A black suede jacket was over that. Her hair was loosely hanging in soft waves over her shoulders. She clutched her microphone in her hands, waiting to be announced. Her band was already set to go.

"And now," the announcer said, his voice booming out into the audience, "our next singer hails to us from the Windy City. She's new to country music, but she had a lot of potential. Please give a warm welcome to the lovely, Lynda Peterson!"

Lynda took a deep breath as she walked out into the center of the stage. She looked out at the sea of faces, finding her father and friends were sitting in the first row. Sitting next to them was Garth, his wife, Sandy, Tracy, and finally, her husband, Dwight.

"Thank you," Lynda smiled as she spoke into her microphone. "It is indeed an honor to be able to stand in front of all of you, singing for such a worthy cause. Unfortunately, I have some bad news.

"Over the past few days, I came to realize something very important. While I have been given such an incredible chance to do something like this, I realized that it isn't what I want to do with my life. What I want to do with my life is what I have been doing before I left Chicago. And that was being me.

"I experienced some rough spots while trying to make it here in Nashville. It was those rough spots - and the help of very good friends - that helped me realize that I can't do this. And I don't want to do this. That's why, after I finish my song, I will be heading back to Chicago permanently."

"I knew it!" Welsh said proudly as he watched the concert on television from the Squad Room of the 27^th. All the other Detectives cheered. Francesca hugged Turnbull, who began sniffling. Thatcher smiled proudly, but tried not to let anyone see it. Regan and Dief barked happily and jumped around, their tails wagging furiously.

Back in Nashville, Lynda waited for the murmur that rose from the crowd to die down before continuing. "My band and I have discussed this. As hard as it was to come to this decision, they will remain here to continue their dream of going professional. But, we did want to do this one last song together. I was going to do this one last song, but then realized I wanted to leave a lasting impression about myself.

"I have always considered myself to be independent, free to be held down. In a way, I neglected that when I came down here. So, this song shows that I will be the total opposite from now on. It was first performed by another country singer, who was kind enough to let me borrow it for this one occasion.

"But before I begin to sing, I must ask for one person to come up and held me with the backup vocals. He's a great teacher, and a great friend, and he happens to know the words. Please give a big welcome to Constable Benton Fraser!"

Fraser jerked his head up as the audience applauded and Lynda smiled down at him. He shook his head, but Lynda wouldn't have it. Finally, with the aid of Ray and Stanley practically dragging him up, Fraser made his way onto the stage and over to his microphone as the band struck up to sing with Lynda one last time. Lynda took in a deep breath before singing her last song:

She's a fallen angel

She's just flesh and bone

She's the rock of ages

She a rolling stone

She's nobody's girl

She's walks this road alone

(Nobody's girl)

She calls her soul her own

(Nobody's girl)

She knows she all alone in this world

She's nobody's girl

She's a kind of devil

She's a kind of saint

And if her hands are dirty

Well, her spirit aches

She's nobody's girl

She's walks this road alone

(Nobody's girl)

She calls her soul her own

(Nobody's girl)

She knows she all alone in this world

She's nobody's girl

You know the world don't claim you

It don't own you, too

She don't belong to me now, no

She don't belong to you

She's nobody's girl

She's walks this road alone

(Nobody's girl)

She calls her soul her own

(Nobody's girl)

She knows she all alone in this world

She's nobody's girl

She's walks this road alone

(Nobody's girl)

She calls her soul her own

(Nobody's girl)

She knows she all alone in this world

She's nobody's girl

She a fallen angel

She's just flesh and bone

She's nobody's girl

When the music ended the crowd roared with cheers and applause, standing on their feet. Lynda smiled as a tear came to her eye. She bowed confidently as the crowd continued to cheer. She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eyes, then turned to see what it was. She was surprised to see her band members come up and envelope her in a huge hug.

Finally, she bowed one last time, then walked off the stage with Fraser. The crowd was still cheering. Backstage, already waiting for her, were Stanley and Ray, Garth and Sandy, Tracy and Dwight.

"Lynda, I'm very proud of you," Stanley said as he hugged his daughter tightly.

"We all are," Tracy said. "You made a tough decision, Lynda."

"Thanks," Lynda smiled.

"We'd better get going," Ray said. "The media vultures are going to be looking for you, Lynda."

"Yeah, the sooner we get out of here and on the next flight to Chicago, the better," Stanley agreed. The four friends began to make their way out, but Garth stopped them.

"Lynda, I want you to have this," he said as he handed her the black Stetson he was wearing.

Lynda felt the black velvet, then looked up. "Are you sure? I mean, this is one of your favorite hats, Garth."

"Take it," Garth said firmly. "Keep it as a reminder of your trip here."

Lynda smiled before she left with her friends. It was time to go home.

A week had passed. Lynda was back into the swing of things at Division, glad to be back in familiar settings, as was everyone to have her back. But it was a slow day, so it left Lynda a lot of time to think. She glanced at the black Stetson that she put on the edge of her desk. She picked it up and held it, remembering everything.

"You okay?" Stanley asked as he and Ray approached.

"Yeah," Lynda replied, sighing.

"You're not regretting coming back, are you?" Ray asked.

"No, I'm glad to be back, Ray. It's just . . . well, you know important my music was. It still hurts that I gave it all up."

"Well, this might cheer you up," Stanley answered, handing her a manila envelope. Lynda read the return address: Garth Brooks, Nashville, TN.

Lynda tore open the envelope and pulled out a letter. She read it out loud.

Dear Lynda,

I hope things are going good for you up in Chicago. While I know you're

probably upset about having to give up singing, I want you to know that I

don't think I've ever witnessed anything so brave in my entire life. You did

the right thing, Lynda. Don't regret that.

Along with this letter, you will find a CD. It's filled with the songs that we

sang together over a week ago at Capitol Records. It's the only one that was

made, and it was made just for you to listen to. Good luck in everything that

you do, Detective.

Best wishes,

Garth

Lynda reached inside the envelope and pulled out a CD case. The front was a white background with gold letters in calligraphy, spelling out 'Lynda and Garth'. She opened the case and saw the inside flap had been autographed with this simple message:

Always follow your heart and keep your vessel flowing down your own river.

Garth

Lynda smiled as she closed the CD and held it against her chest. For the first time since she arrived in Chicago, she felt as if a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders. She didn't have to give up her music entirely; this CD was a good example of that. No, she would just have to find other ways to continue being a part of the music.

"Lynda! Vecchio! Kowalski! My office!"

Lynda replaced the CD back into the envelope, along with the letter, then tucked it inside her desk. She would think about that later on. Right now, she had a job to do.

THE END