Author's Note: This takes place a week after 'Flesh and Blood' ended.

Ups and Downs

by Jackie

pixie7@gte.net

Lynda slammed open the Squad Room doors with such a force that they shuddered. She angrily marched over to her desk just as eight fifteen rolled around. She dropped her backpack next to her chair, then collapsed in it, her long, dark-blond hair swinging over her shoulders. She was late, but she didn't care.

"Something bothering you, Lynda?" someone asked.

Without turning around, Lynda knew who had said that. "Hi, Fraser," she mumbled. She switched on her computer and let it warm up.

Sure enough, the dark-haired Mountie approached her desk, dressed in his brown uniform and carrying his Stetson. "What's wrong?"

"Everything" the Civilian Aid answered. She took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I had another fight with Ray this morning."

"Ah," Fraser nodded. "Yes, I do recall him coming in slightly perturbed earlier."

"Where is he now?" Lynda looked around the large room.

"Talking with the Leftenant," Fraser answered.

Lynda beckoned Fraser closer. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I mean, Ray and I have just started getting to know each other, and this happens. I'm afraid I'm going to . . . well, lose him."

"Lynda, Ray cares for you very much," Fraser said gently. "One big argument won't sever the ties that you have with him."

Lynda smiled for the first time all morning. "Thanks, Frase. I needed to hear that."

"My pleasure," Fraser returned the smile. "Lynda, have you ever thought of moving into a place of your own? It would seem that might help with the tension between you and Ray."

"Actually, I have been doing some research and found some that I really liked," she answered as she reached into her backpack and pulled out a small brochure. "They all have great views of Lake Michigan."

"You mean the lake they call Michigan?" Fraser asked.

"Yeah, Lake Michigan," Lynda answered. "There's one in particular I really fancy. It's at the corner of Hawthorne Place and Lake Shore Drive."

"Sound like a nice place," Fraser said.

"It is. It has an huge alcove - with floor-to-ceiling windows - that overlooks the lake, a nice big kitchen, three huge bedrooms, and even a balcony. It also no pet restrictions."

"But you don't have any pets, Lynda."

"I know, but Dief could come over and there wouldn't be any problems." She looked around. "Say, where is Dief?"

Fraser looked around. "He was behind me -" He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw his wolf trotting up to him, licking his furry lips. Fraser looked at him sternly. "Dief, you're on a diet." The wolf, as usual, ignored him. "You never listen."

"What'd he get into now?" Lynda smiled amusingly.

"A sugar doughnut," Fraser answered. "See the small flecks of confectionary sugar around his mouth?"

Lynda didn't see them, but nodded just the same, just to humor the Mountie. She started typing. "Are you still coming to the Policeman's Ball next Tuesday?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"Seven o'clock?" Fraser asked. Lynda nodded. "Then I'll be there with bells on."

Lynda smiled, imagining what Fraser had said. "Well, I finally found a dress. I'm getting it tomorrow. I can't wait to wear it. Or to see you and Ray all dressed up. I wonder what he looks like in a tux."

"Who looks like what in a tux?" a new voice asked. Fraser and Lynda looked up to see Detective Stanley Kowalski, a.k.a. Detective Ray Vecchio, approach. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt, a tan sports jacket over that, and hiking boots.

"Lynda was just wondering how you would look in a tux, Ray," Fraser answered.

"I hate tuxes," Stanley grumbled. "I don't even know why we have to go to this party. Lynda." He nodded briefly at the young woman. Lynda returned the nod. Stanley scratched the back of his head. "Listen, uh, Lynda, I want to . . . apologize for yelling at you this morning."

"What did you yell at her for?" Fraser asked.

"I left my pantyhose draped in the shower," Lynda spoke up. Fraser nodded. "It's okay, Ray. I understand you're not used to living with a girl. I should have put them somewhere else." She wanted to get up and hug Stanley, but she couldn't. She knew that, even though she was his daughter, both herself and the Detective had to keep a certain distance from each other since Stanley was covering for the real Ray Vecchio while he was undercover with the mob. She knew secrecy here was extremely important. Still, it was very frustrating having to call him 'Ray', instead of 'Dad'.

Stanley sighed and gave a small smile. "Listen, you two busy tonight?" he asked. "I got two extra tickets to the Cubs game tonight. I thought we could all go."

"Sure, Ray," Fraser nodded. "I'm free tonight."

"I'd love to go," Lynda answered, "but I'm busy tonight."

"Doing what?" Stanley knitted his eyebrows.

"Hanging out with friends," Lynda answered quickly.

"Friends?" the Detective asked. "Not to sound rude or nothing, but when did you have time to make friends? You've only been here a short time."

"I've known these guys since high school, Ray," Lynda replied. "We're going to Harry's Bar and Grill, you know, just to do teenager stuff. Sorry about the game."

"Don't worry about it," Stanley said. "Go have a good time with your friends. Welsh mentioned he wanted to go tonight." Lynda gave a grateful smile. Stanley cleared his throat. "Listen, can you run a check on a Henry Wilson?"

"Any info to work with?" The Civilian Aid asked, snapping immediately into her working mode. She smiled to herself. This is how she liked being with her father, even if she was doing stuff for him.

* * * *

"Man, I still can't believe the game was canceled!" Stanley grumbled as he, Fraser, and Welsh hurried into Harry's Bar and Grill. It was only seven-fifty in the evening, but dark clouds blackened the sky, making it look like midnight. Rain fell in torrential sheets, lightening lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled through the city. "Stupid rain."

"Ray, don't be so negative," Fraser answered. "At least you got a refund on the tickets." "I know, but I was still looking forward to see the Cubs play tonight," the Detective

answered.

"What I'd like to know is why we're here," Welsh spoke up as the three men shook the rain from their clothes.

"Lynda said she'd be here with her friends," Stanley said. "I don't think she'd mind us hanging out with her for awhile."

"May I take your coats, gentlemen?" a young waiter asked. The three men handed him their coats. "Three tonight?"

"Why is it so crowded?" Stanley looked around the restaurant. He couldn't see Lynda anywhere.

"The rain," the waiter replied. "We also have a new singer performing tonight. She's really good, too, from what I've heard. May I show you your seats?" He led Stanley, Fraser, and Welsh to a table near the stage where the unknown singer would be performing. After they took their seats, the waiter left to put their coats up.

Stanley looked around. Fraser and Welsh both raised their eyebrows. "Something bothering you, Ray?" Welsh finally asked.

"I can't find Lynda," he answered.

"Maybe the rain's made her late," Welsh answered. "Besides, she is old enough to take care of herself."

"I know, I know, but she still is my daughter. I have the right to be worried about her."

Before anyone could reply to that remark, the waiter came back and took their drink orders. Quickly, he returned with two beers for Welsh and Stanley, and an iced tea for the Mountie. The men drank in silence.

As eight rolled around, a man got up on stage with a wireless microphone. He appeared to be in his forties, with black, thinning hair and green eyes. He was dressed in black slacks and a matching turtleneck. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he announced cheerfully. "For those who don't know me, I'm Harry Prescott, owner of this fine establishment. I hope that you're all having a good time here, despite the weather outside. But if you're not, I have a special show lined up for you tonight. For one hour, you will be entertained by a very talented, young singer. She's making her debut performance tonight, and she's a little nervous about it, so please give a warm welcome to the lovely Lynda Peterson!"

Stanley was in the middle of drinking when Harry said those word. He quickly coughed on his drink, sending it across the table. He sat up straighter as the audience applauded. "Did he just say what I think he said?" he asked.

"It would appear so," Fraser nodded.

The men looked toward the stage as the lights dimmed. Then the stage curtains parted and out strolled Lynda. Neither Stanley, Welsh, or Fraser could believe it was her. She was dressed in a lavender dress with spaghetti straps. On her feet were white flats. Her hair was neatly brushed to one side and held in place with a pearly comb. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires without her glasses.

The band behind her started playing. It was Faith Hill's "This Kiss". When she belted out the first words, it was as if an angel had begun singing. Never had anyone in the restaurant heard such a beautiful voice!

It's the way you love me

It's a feeling like this

It's centrifugal motion

It's perpetual bliss

It's that pivotal moment

It's, ah, impossible

This kiss, this kiss

Unstoppable

This kiss this kiss

At that moment, Lynda looked down and noticed the three men at the table closest to the stage. Her eyes widened for a split second, but she quickly regained her composure before starting the second part of the song.

"She lied to me," Stanley shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Ray, I'm sure she had good reason for not telling you," Fraser gently replied.

"Like what?"

"Like . . . maybe she was too embarrassed to tell us the truth." Stanley snorted and rolled his eyes. "But you have to admit she does have a good voice."

Stanley shrugged and watched as his daughter finished the song. When the last note was played, the audience erupted into cheers. Lynda bowed, smiling. She caught her father's eyes. Her expression was somewhere between 'I'm sorry' and 'please don't be mad'. Stanley's hard expression softened, and he gave an approving smile. Lynda looked relieved.

"Thank you," she smiled as the cheers lessened. "I'm really glad to be here tonight. As Harry said earlier, this is my first time ever performing on stage, and I'm really nervous. Before I get into my next song, though, I would like to tell you a little about myself. My name is Lynda and I'm nineteen years old."

"Are you single?" a male voice from the back shouted. The audience chuckled.

"Yes, I am," Lynda laughed.

"Can I have your number?" the voice shouted.

"I'll think about it," she grinned. "Anyway, before I get too far away from the subject, I'm sure some of you are wondering why I chose to sing country, considering I'm a Chicago native. Well, my answer to that question is quite simple: I just do. I can relate to it. How many of you in the audience can relate to one country song or more?" Many audience members, including Fraser, clapped. Some whistled. "I'm glad there are so many people here tonight who agreed with me. I hope you guys this next song. I've always found it to be a great encouragement whenever I'm feeling blue." The band struck up again, this time playing LeAnn Rimes' "Light In Your Eyes".

After that song, Lynda talked some more, sang a little, then talked again. Stanley was amazed. This was a side of his daughter he'd never seen. Without looking around, he could tell Welsh and Fraser felt the same way. By the sound of the cheering audience after she finished her last song, he could tell they enjoyed her singing as much as she did. Lynda bowed one last time, then disappeared behind the curtains as they closed.

Quickly, all three men got up from their chairs and hurried backstage, but a burly guy stopped them. "No one is allowed back here without proper identification," he growled.

Stanley whipped out his badge and held it under the guy's nose. "Is this good enough identification?" he retorted.

The man nodded nervously, then moved to let the officers by. They walked down the hall together, until they came to a simple door labeled, 'Lynda Peterson'. Stanley put his badge away before knocking on the door.

"Come in," Lynda answered. Stanley opened the door to see Lynda sitting at a vanity table, brushing her hair. When she caught sight of her father in the reflection of her mirror, she whirled around. Her face was red. "Uh . . . hi." She smiled weakly.

"I thought that you were meeting some friends," Stanley said.

"I did," Lynda answered as the men shuffled in and closed the door shut. "The band members *are* my friends. And I *have* known them since high school."

"But you didn't tell us you'd be singing here tonight," Fraser added gently.

"I'm sorry," Lynda apologized. "I didn't mean to lie to you guys, but I wanted to wait and see how I felt about this before telling you."

"How do you feel?" Welsh asked.

"It felt good to get such a great response," Lynda smiled. "I was so nervous."

"You didn't seem that way, Lynda," Fraser said. "You were very good."

"So, you're not mad at me?"

"No," Stanley answered. "Just don't lie to us next time, okay?"

Lynda smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "I won't." Another knock interrupted them. "Yes?"

The door opened, and a face peered around. Stanley, Welsh, and Fraser recognized him as the piano player in the band. He was about Lynda's age, with reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. He wore tight Wranglers, black cowboy boots, and a long-sleeved, green shirt.

"Hey, Lynda," he smiled. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Come on in, Logan," she waved him in. "I'd like you to meet some friends of mine. This is Lieutenant Harding Welsh, Detective Ray Vecchio, and Constable Benton Fraser. Guys, this is Logan Mason. He's our piano player. "

"Lynda told me about ya'll," Logan answered. He sized Fraser up. He was still wearing his brown uniform. "A Mountie, huh? What are you doing in Chicago and not up in Canada?"

"Fraser, I'll explain," Lynda held up her hand before the Mountie could speak. "Logan, Fraser first came to Chicago on the trail of his father's killer, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, he's remained attached at Liaison with the Canadian Consulate."

Logan raised his eyebrows at Lynda. "You're joking, right?" Lynda shook her head. Logan rolled his eyes and gave a small snort. "Well, Constable, it's a pleasure anyway. Glad to have met you." He turned to Lynda. "Can I have a quick word with you?"

"Sure," Lynda answered. Logan gently led her over to the corner farthest from her friends. "What's up?"

"Uh, I was wondering if we could grab a bite to eat," Logan replied in a hushed tone. "Sorry, Logan, but I'm going to go home and rest. Remember, I'm a working girl."

"It's okay," Logan smiled. He kissed her on the cheek. "Later." He walked out of Lynda's room. Suddenly, he stopped and turned around. "You know, I don't know if anyone's told you this, Lynda, but you and Detective Vecchio look alike. Bye." He disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Lynda sighed with relief after Logan was gone. "Man, that was close."

"What are you going to do about it?" Stanley asked his daughter.

"About what? Look, it's not my fault I take after you, dear old Dad. I personally would have liked to look like Mom. At least her face didn't look like her neck threw up."

"Funny," Stanley smirked. "I gotta comedian for a daughter." Lynda grinned. "Actually, I was referring to Logan."

"What about him?"

"Anyone could see he's smitten with you."

"Oh, that," Lynda blushed slightly. "He's been that way since ninth grade. I can't help it. I just too beautiful." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes.

"Compared to a warthog, maybe," Stanley replied. Lynda scowled. The detective laughed. "That's for the face remark."

Lynda rolled her eyes and smiled. "I've been making smart-Alec remarks like for as long as I can remember. Now, I know where I get them from." Everyone else smiled. "Listen, why don't you guys give me a few minutes. We can have something to eat together as soon as I change."

"Aren't you going to go home?" Fraser asked.

"Listening in on my conversations, Constable?" Lynda folded her arms across her chest.

Fraser got the deer-in-the-headlights look. "Well, you see, Lynda, I, uh - well, to put it mildly -"

"I understand, Fraser. This is a small room. As for Logan, I don't like him the way he likes me, but I don't have the heart to tell him."

"So, you've been doing this to him for five years?" Welsh asked. "Not a smart move, Lynda."

"Not really, Lieutenant. When we we're in eleventh grade, I told him that I wasn't interested in dating anyone, but he thinks I'll eventually start liking him. 'We were destined to be together, Lynda' he would say. 'Remember that first magical moment we met?'"

"How did you meet?" Fraser asked.

"We dissected a baby pig together in Biology, ninth grade."

"Eeeyuck!" Stanley's faced distorted. "That's disgusting!"

"Tell me about it," Lynda agreed. "As soon as I put the scalpel to the pig's skin, BOOM! I'm out for the count. Logan didn't even wait for the nurse, he just picked me up and carried me down to the clinic himself. Stayed with me till I finally came to and Mom came to take me home."

"If you don't like him, then why is he in your band?" Fraser asked.

"When I was in choir during my freshman year, he heard me singing. We got to talking, found out we both liked country, found old friends, and we formed the band. Logan seemed to have gotten over his . . . fascination with me." She sighed and smiled brightly. "But enough with that, I'm hungry."

"Then we'll see you outside," Welsh.

The three men left her room. Lynda quickly changed out of her dress and into a pair of blue jeans; purple, long-sleeved shirt; and some black cowboy boots. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, took the contact lenses out of her eyes and put her glasses on. Before leaving, she hung her dress up, put her flats in their proper place, and grabbed her backpack containing her work uniform. She made her way to the front where Stanley, Welsh, and Fraser had claimed another table. She dropped her backpack next to the table and sat in the only available chair.

"If you guys haven't ordered yet, let me suggest getting their cheese fries, " she said. "French fries smothered in cheddar and mozzarella cheeses. Very yummy." The others agreed to try them. Before anyone could get a waiter over, Harry approached the table.

"Lynda, I'm glad I caught you before you left," he greeted warmly. He handed her a small check. "Here's the money for performing tonight."

"Thanks, Harry. I'd like you to meet some friends of mine. Lieutenant Welsh, Detective Vecchio, and Constable Fraser."

Harry nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet all of you. Lynda sure has one hell of a voice."

"Yes, she does." Stanley agreed. "Takes after her father, you know."

Lynda rolled her eyes. "I think I take after Mom on that one, Ray."

"Can I get you folks anything?" Harry asked.

"A large order of cheese fries, please," Lynda replied.

"Sure thing. Oh, and don't worry, it's my treat." Harry quickly left.

"Nice man," Fraser commented.

"Yes he is," Lynda quickly agreed. "Listen, ya'll aren't busy Saturday morning, are you? I want to go apartment hunting."

"It's about time," Welsh replied. "I think everyone in the Squad Room knows about you and Ray's fights."

"I figure it would be better for both of us," Lynda nodded. "I mean, another couple of days, Ray and I may snap and kill each other."

"Well, count me in," Stanley answered. "The sooner you get your own place, the better."

"Dief and I will both be glad to tag along," Fraser said.

"It may be the weekend," Welsh explained," but I do have paperwork. Sorry, Lynda."

"It's okay, sir."

Harry returned quickly with the plate of fries. The four friends quickly dove into the fries and polished the off. They stayed for awhile longer before leaving to go home.

* * * *

The next morning, Friday, Lynda came in, dressed in her work uniform, her hair pulled tightly into a French braid. Even before she approached her desk, Dewy and Huey ran up to her.

"Morning, guys, what's up?" she asked.

"Ray was just telling that you sang last night," Dewy answered. "That true?"

"Yes, it is. Why?"

"Just curious," Huey replied.

Lynda raised her eyebrows. "Come on. What do you really want to ask me?"

Dewy and Huey gave each other a quick glance. "Well, the truth is," Dewy cleared his throat, "that Jack and I wrote a song and we wanted you to hear it, and possibly sing it."

"That's a nice offer, but wouldn't you like to hear me sing first?"

"Fraser said you sounded like Tracy Jenkins," Huey said, "and you know he isn't know to exaggerate."

"Well, listen, why don't you two come to Harry's Bar and Grill next Monday night, okay? I'll be singing at eight. If you like me, then I'll take a look at your song."

The Detective agreed, then went about their work. Lynda made her way over to her desk and sat down. Before she turned on her computer, she glanced up at Huey and Dewy. She laughed to herself. The Duck Boys have written a song, she thought. Only in Chicago. She turned on her computer and began her work.

* * * *

"Okay, this is it," Jayson Alexandre announced as he opened the door to Apartment 67D of Rosenthal Apartments and walked in. Lynda, Stanley, Fraser, and Dief walked in behind him. "So, what do you think?"

Lynda glanced around the living room and fell in love with it immediately. Light filtered in the alcove windows and made the entire area appear bright and homey. The carpet was white, as were the walls. She walked into the kitchen. White tiles, counter tops, appliances. Everything was clean and white.

She ventured over to the alcove and looked out. Even though it was only eight in the morning, the Saturday sun shone brightly, causing Lake Michigan to sparkle like opaque glass. The city looked so tiny from way up high.

Lynda went and explored the bedrooms, all three of them, and both bathrooms. Each was large and adequate for her standards. She noticed a washer and dryer located in a wall of the main hall. She went back into the living room and smiled. "How much is it?"

"$1500 a month," Jayson answered. "It includes the washer/dryer you saw in the hall, parking, air conditioning and heating, and free use of the apartment's entertainment and exercising facilities. Plus, the added security of a constant doorman and security alarms built for each separate apartment. All you have to pay for are electricity, cable, and phone. And if you plan on getting a pet, there are some extra guideline and an extra $500 for the deposit."

"Lynda, are you sure you can afford it?" Stanley asked. "Besides, what would you do with two extra bedrooms?"

"Turn one into a library, and the other into a computer workshop. And yes, Ray, I can afford it. Unless, of course, you want me staying with you."

Stanley turned to Jayson. "Where does she sign and how soon can she move in?" he asked.

"Why don't we go down to my office and get everything worked out," Jayson answered. He shook Lynda's hand. "Glad you'll be joining us, Miss Peterson."

They left the apartment, and joined Jayson, in his office. Lynda signed the proper documents, and was given three keys to her apartment, two of which she gave to Fraser and Stanley. After everything was finished, Lynda, Stanley, Fraser and Dief left and spent the rest of the day getting her stuff out of storage. What furniture she didn't have, which was very little, she went shopping for. Lynda was picky, but soon chose what she needed. Finally, the quartet was able to get all of her stuff into her apartment, where they finally collapsed on her new couch.

"Man, am I tired," Lynda yawned.

"No kidding," Stanley said.

"And we still have a lot to do," Fraser commented, looking around the apartment. Even though it was roomy, boxes and furniture were stacked everywhere making the place looked cluttered and messy.

"Actually, you guys are done," Lynda replied. "I want to do the rest by myself."

"What about if you want furniture moved?" Stanley asked.

"You two have already helped with the big furniture. I can do the rest by myself. You guys can see it completely finished when you come and pick me up Tuesday night. Now go and get some rest. You both deserve it."

Stanley and Fraser stood up, stretching. Dief gave a pitiful whine from his make-shift cave under Lynda's coffee table. "Good night, Dief," Fraser yawned.

"I still can't believe he's staying with Lynda now," Stanley shook his head.

"Ray, he had been complaining about how small my office was, and Inspector Thatcher had been getting annoyed with him constantly running around. Besides, I am paying for his food and the pet deposit for Lynda. And he's only staying with her in the evenings. He'll still come to work with me."

Ray rolled his eyes and sighed. "Goodnight, Lynda," he said.

"'Night," she yawned, her eyes closed.

"Sleep well," Fraser tucked his Stetson under his arm.

"Mmmm," she replied.

Together, the two men made their way out of Lynda's apartment, closing the door quietly behind them. After five minutes, Lynda opened her eyes and looked at her watch. Midnight. She slowly got to her feet, went over and locked the front door. She flipped the overhead light switch, flooding the living room in darkness.

She went to her bedroom, with the wolf close behind her, not bothering to turn on any lights. She sat on her bed, took her socks and shoes off, put her glasses on a nearby box, and lay on her stomach. Lynda covered herself with a blanket and closed her eyes. Dief lay at her feet. Within minutes, both were sound asleep.

* * * *

Sunday morning arrived, and Lynda spent the entire day, with Dief's help, getting her apartment in order. Three times she was interrupted by the new neighbors on her floor. She spent a few minutes conversing with them, introducing them to Dief, and accepting casserole dishes they had made for her. Won't need to cook for awhile, she thought.

By the time night had settled over the city, Lynda had finished with most of the apartment, but she was still a long way from finishing. She frowned in disgust, knowing she would never have enough time between now and Tuesday night to finish if she had to work, sing at Harry's, and still so all her shopping.

Suddenly, her eyes brightened. She reached for her cordless phone and dialed Welsh's home number. "Hello, sir, it's Lynda. Sorry to be calling you at this late on a Sunday night . . . Yes, I'm settling it really nice. In fact that's why I'm calling. I was wondering if I could take tomorrow off so I could finish up my apartment. It's still a big mess, plus I have shopping to do - oh, thank you, sir. I really appreciate it . . . You have a good evening, too. Goodnight." She hung up the phone and smiled. "Hey, Dief, we get the day off tomorrow to finish the apartment. You like that?" Dief woofed loudly. "I knew you would."

She scratched him on the head before grabbing a handful of books and walking to the second room she had converted into a library. The wolf trotted happily behind.

* * * *

"Lynda?" Stanley called from his desk. He was reading a report on one of his cases. He looked up after not getting a response. Her desk was unoccupied. "Frannie, have you seen Lynda?"

The Italian Civilian Aid shook her head. "Haven't seen her all morning, Ray."

Stanley got up from his desk. He walked over to Huey's desk. "Jack, you seen Lynda?"

"No," Huey answered.

Stanley turned around and almost ran into Fraser. The Mountie smiled. "Good morning, Ray."

"Hey, Fraser."

"Lynda hasn't come in yet, has she? She was supposed to drop Diefenbaker at the Consulate and she hasn't shown up."

"I'm looking for her myself."

"Have you called her apartment?"

"She hasn't given me her number, yet. I'm starting to get worried."

"Well, don't," Welsh spoke up suddenly. "I gave Lynda the day off so she could finish getting herself straightened out. Vecchio, here's some new cases I want you to look into." He handed Stanley some file folders before walking to his office.

"Well, now we know that Lynda's all right," Fraser replied.

"Yeah. I wonder is she's still going to perform tonight."

"I'm sure she will, Ray. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

"I'll give you a ride."

"Thank you kindly."

The two friends walked out of the Squad Room together.

* * * *

"She's appearing for her second night, Lynda Peterson!" The crowd cheered as the lights dimmed.

"I said blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shinin'. Shine on the one that's gone and left me blue," belted out, not on the stage, but near the bar. Everyone turned to see a single spotlight shining on Lynda. She was leaning on the bar, holding a wireless microphone, dressed in a black, silk shirt with long sleeves and a V-collar, tight, black slacks, and black heels. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, only two curly strands hung down, framing her face. Her crisp voice cut through the quiet bar.

"That's Lynda?" Dewy asked incredulously.

"You gotta be joking," Huey commented.

"It's her," Stanley nodded.

"She looks good," Francesca replied. "A little less black, though. It makes her -"

"Shh," Stanley quieted them. "Some of us came here to hear her sing."

Everyone at the table quieted down, as Lynda strolled over to the stage, the spotlight never leaving her. "I said blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shinin'. Shine on the one that's gone and left me blue." She paused in the middle of the stage. The band struck up as she continued singing "Blue Moon of Kentucky". She danced across the stage, singing as her band played proudly behind her.

The audience was getting into it as well. They were hopping in their seats, drumming their fingers in time with the drums, moving their bodies in beat with the guitars, or singing if they knew the words. By the time Lynda had finished, the entire place was rocking.

"Thank you," she smiled brightly, the cheers quieting down. "It's really good to be singing here again. I see a lot of familiar faces. If you were here the last time I sung, would you please raise your hands high? How many of you were here the last time?" Sporadically, hands were raised. "A lot of you, I see. And you came back for more punishment." Gentle laughter filled the room. "Gonna have to do something about that, won't we? And I see some faces from my work. Hi, guys."

Sitting at two tables besides Stanley, Francesca, Huey, and Dewy were Fraser, Dief, and Constable Turnbull, all had come to see Lynda perform. Welsh was going to, but canceled at the last minute. They all waved to her.

"I'm going to get right into my next song. It's one of my favorites by my favorite female singer, Shania Twain. I like this song because it describes me as I really am, not as I appear to be. Here is 'The Woman In Me'."

As the Logan began to play softly on the key, Lynda sat on the edge of the piano. "I'm not always strong. And sometimes, I'm even wrong. But I win when I choose, and I can't stand to lose. But I can't always be the rock that you see. When the nights get to long and I just can't go on . . ." As Lynda started singing the first chorus, she looked toward the bar. Her heart skipped a beat.

Standing among the liquors and drinks was a tall guy, about Lynda's age, with brown hair. He stared back at her with what appeared to be green eyes, Lynda couldn't tell exactly since she was in the glare of the spotlight. He smiled at her, causing her face to flush, as she began the next part of the song.

Unfortunately, she chose that moment to rest her right hand on the edge of the piano. Her hand missed the edge, causing her to fall off the piano and hit her head on it. "Ouch!" she cried, clutching her head.

All the music stopped suddenly as Stanley, Fraser, Dief, and the members of her band rushed to her aid. Stanley helped her sit up. "You okay, Lynda?"

Lynda swayed slightly, her eyes crossed. "Yeah . . . I'm . . . fine."

Fraser held two fingers in front of her face. "How many fingers?"

"Mmmmm . . . four?"

Stanley glanced at Fraser. "Okay, I think we need to get you backstage, Lynda." He gently helped her stand, and he and Fraser guided her backstage. "Get some ice," was the last thing Stanley shouted before the they disappeared behind the curtains. The band members and Dief followed close behind.

The rest of Lynda's friends hurried backstage. Unlike last time, there was no guy preventing them from passing as they made their way to Lynda's room. They saw her sitting in a chair, Stanley and Fraser on both sides of her. The band members were standing around.

"Is she okay?" Francesca asked.

"I'm fine," Lynda answered, no trace of confidence in her voice. Dief whimpered at her side. "I'll be okay. Really. I just hit my head." She gingerly felt the bump already appearing on her head and winced.

"I come bearing ice," a strange voice announced. Everyone moved away from the door as the brown-haired bartender came in. He carried a small plastic baggie filled with ice, which he handed to Lynda. "You okay?" He smiled warmly at her with deep, green eyes.

"Fine," Lynda gazed dreamily up at him. "Thanks." Stanley noticed. He turned with raised eyebrows to Fraser, who merely shrugged.

"Okay, Stafford," Harry's voice spoke up suddenly. Stafford turned quickly to see Harry come in Lynda's already crowded room. Stafford left quickly. "You okay, Lynda? Think you can finish up?"

"Just give me a few minutes, all right?" Lynda applied the cold compress to her head. Already the pain began to subside. Harry nodded and left, along with everyone else but Fraser, Stanley, and Dief.

"So, Lynda, you sure you're okay?" Stanley asked.

"I'm fine, really."

And she was. She returned to the stage thirty minutes later and picked up with the next song, taking care not to go anywhere near the piano. Soon, her accident was long forgotten. But about fifteen minutes, something happened.

In the middle of singing "You Win My Love" Lynda looked out of the corner of her eye to see Logan approaching her. So stunned was she that she stopped singing and just stared. The band stopped playing and everyone looked on.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"I have an announcement to make," Logan shouted. "For five years, now, I have only loved one girl. She's smart, witty, very talented, and beautiful. We met after she fainted in Biology class in ninth grade, and I know that we're meant to be together."

"Oh, dear," Fraser murmured.

"You can say that again," Stanley agreed.

"What's going on?" Francesca asked.

"Big trouble," Stanley replied.

"I love Lynda," Logan shouted, "and she loves me!"

"No!" Lynda shouted.

Logan turned to face Lynda. Her face told it all. Her eyes showed bitter anger. "What do you mean?"

"We've known each other five years. Don't you think if I did love you something would have sparked?"

"What are you saying?"

"Wake up, Logan! I don't love you! I never have and I never will!"

For one moment, not one sound was made. Then, slowly, Logan's face changed from hurt and sadness to deep anger. He approached Lynda. "How dare you!"

"Excuse me?"

"You purposely did this to humiliate me!"

"What? That's ridiculous! You were the one -"

"You haven't heard the last from me, Lynda," Logan growled. Then he turned abruptly and walked off stage.

Lynda stood, open-mouthed. She turned to her band, then to the audience. She took a deep breath. "Uh . . . la-ladies and gentle-gentlemen . . . I-I-I . . ." A single tear ran down her cheek. "I'm sorry." She dropped her mike and ran off stage, crying.

Quickly, Stanley got up from his chair and took off after her as Harry came up to the stage. "Ladies, gentlemen, there has been a change of events . . ."

Lynda ran into her room, flung herself down at her vanity and cried. Never before had she been so humiliated, so embarrassed.

"Lynda?"

Lynda sat up and looked over her shoulder to see her father standing in the doorway. Slowly, he made his way over to Lynda and knelt beside her.

"How could he do that to me?"

"I'm sorry."

Lynda looked at herself ion the mirror, but quickly turned away. There was no way she could face herself, not now. "I want to go home."

Stanley nodded, understanding. He put a protective arm around her and led her out of the room.

* * * *

Lynda sat at her desk the next morning, typing at her computer. She was dressed in her work outfit, her hair pulled up into a braid, but her face was out of place. She looked so solemn and cross.

Welsh came out of his office, and cautiously approached her. "Lynda?"

"Yes?" she answered without looking up.

"How are you feeling?"

"About as well as can be expected, sir, considering how I was humiliated last night by a person I thought was my friend."

"Would you like to have the day off? Take some time, relax, gather your thoughts?"

"No, sir. I have too much here to catch up on. A lot of officers are depending on me."

"But Francesca -"

Lynda looked up from her screen. "Do you really think you can trust her to do all the programming of the new system? I still need to get a few kinks out, but if you feel she can handle it -"

"Forget it. Just keep a level head." He walked back to his office.

Lynda sighed and continued to type. Suddenly, she had this feeling, like she was being watched. She whirled around and found herself staring up at Stafford.

"Hey," he smiled.

"Uh . . . hi," she answered, not bothering to hide her surprise. "What are you doing here? For that matter, how did you know I worked here?"

"I talked to Harry after you left last night. He was really concerned about you."

"I bet he doesn't want me to perform there again, either."

"Actually, he's still wants you to sing. He knows you didn't have anything to do with what happened."

"To tell you the truth, I don't think I'll be able to sing again anyway. We don't have a piano player anymore."

"I play."

"Your kidding."

"Nope. Started when I was three. Been doing it ever since."

"You like country music."

"The only real music if you ask me."

For the first time that morning Lynda smiled. Never before had she met anyone like him. "Well, since you put it that way . . . I'll talk with the rest of the band. See what I can do."

"Thanks. Hey, listen, you busy tonight?"

"Actually, yes, I've been invited to a police reception tonight. Why?"

"Never mind. Listen, I gotta get back to work. Harry doesn't know I'm gone." He turned and walked away.

"Hey, I never got your last name!" she called after him.

"Travis," he answered over his shoulder. He disappeared through the Squad Room doors and was gone.

"Travis. Stafford Travis." Lynda sighed dreamily.

"What was that all about?"

Lynda whirled around to see Stanley, Fraser, the Duck Boys, and Francesca standing behind her. "Huh?" she asked distractedly.

"Wasn't that the bartender who gave you an ice pack last night?" Dewy asked.

"Yeah," Lynda smiled and sighed again. "Stafford Travis." She giggled before grabbing some folders off her desk and walked to Welsh's office. Along the way, she hummed and twirled.

The group watched in disbelief.

"Ooo, she's got it bad," Francesca remarked.

"What she got?" Stanley asked.

"Wake up, bro," Francesca knocked on his head. "She's in love."

"With that bartender guy?" Stanley snorted. Francesca nodded before returning to her desk. "No way."

"So, what're going to do?" Huey asked.

"I'm going to . . ." Stanley trailed off, not being able to finish his sentence. He didn't know what to do. He'd never dealt with a situation like this. "Fraser, what should I do? I mean, this is Lynda we're talking about."

"I haven't the foggiest."

"But don't you have some weird piece of advice that your father told you?"

"Ray, my father was never one to talk about love. After my mother died . . . well, it was like . . . you know."

"Sorry," Stanley grimaced.

"Ray, I have a suggestion," Dewy offered.

"What?"

"Whatever you do, act like you don't care. If you don't, she'll think you're acting like an overprotective father. She'll overreact, and probably end up marrying the guy. That's how most teenagers are when they're dating."

"Are you crazy?" Huey looked at his partner. "Lynda isn't like that. Ray, get involved, okay? Lynda will appreciate the fact that you're looking out for her."

"Jack, that's not the -"

"Look, forget it okay?" Stanley interrupted. "I'll handle this myself."

Stanley left the two Detectives as they continued arguing. He walked over to Welsh's office just as Lynda came out. "Hi, Ray," she smiled as she closed the office door behind her.

"Listen, can we talk?"

"Sure, what's on your mind?"

Stanley looked around the busy Squad Room. "Let's go to one of the interrogation rooms, okay?"

"All right."

Father and daughter walked down the corridors of the area until they came to an empty interrogation room. They walked in and closed the door behind them. Lynda took a seat in one of the two empty chairs. Stanley sat in the other.

"Uh, Lynda . . . I . . . I'm not sure how to say this. I'm rather new at it."

"At what?"

"This whole father thing, all right?"

Lynda smiled gently. "I know you are. But I am your daughter, okay? You can just come out and say anything."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Only fools are positive, Lynda."

"You sure?"

"Positive. What I mean - I can't believe I walked into that one."

Lynda laughed. Stanley smiled. "So, come on, what's bothering you?"

Stanley cleared his throat. "You're almost twenty, right?"

"Correct."

"Have you ever thought about . . . you know, finding that -" CRASH! A loud sound interrupted. Stanley and Lynda both turned toward the special mirror that was used to view interrogations from the other side. Stanley jumped up from his chair and hurried out of the room just as Dewy, Huey, Francesca, Diefenbaker, and Fraser bolted out of the viewing room.

Stanley ran after them, but gave up pursuit and went back to Lynda. She was standing in the doorway, laughing. "You think that's funny?" She nodded, still giggling. "We'll talk later, but I *really* want to talk, okay? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a some heads that need kicking in." He gave chase to the others. Lynda smiled as he disappeared around a corner, then

went back to her desk to resume her work.

* * * *

"Quite a remarkable job on your place, Lynda," Fraser commented as he gazed around her living room. "It looks lovely." He was dressed in his red uniform, holding his Stetson behind him.

"Thanks, Fraser," Lynda called from her bedroom. She was still in the process of getting dressed for the ball.

"I'm impressed," Stanley agreed. Dressed in a black tux, he tugged at his collar and tie as he walked over to the alcove. He ran his hands along the black finish of the grand piano that was centered. The last time he saw that piano was the day Lynda's mom, Diane, was shot. He quickly turned from it. "Come on, Lynda, we're going to be late."

"I'm coming," she answered. She made her entrance from the hallway into the living room. Stanley and Fraser glanced up and were speechless. They couldn't believe it was her standing before them.

She was dressed in a simple black dress with spaghetti straps. It fit tight and snug down to her hips, then flowed like water down to her ankles. She wore simple black heels. Her hair was piled up like it had been the night before. Dangling from her ears were diamond earrings, and around her neck was a matching necklace.

"What do guys thinks?" she asked as she twirled around once.

"Whoa," Stanley said, his eyebrows nearly shooting off his forehead. He smiled. "You look very . . . lovely."

"Exquisite," Fraser agreed.

"Thanks," Lynda smiled brightly. "You both look very handsome."

"Going with the contacts, huh?" Stanley asked.

Lynda nodded. "Yeah, but just in case I have any problems, I'm bringing my glasses." She held up a small handbag. "Are you ready?"

Together, the three walked out. Dief, who had been lounging under her coffee table, gave a short whine. Lynda quickly winked at him. Dief's tail wagged, knowing full well Lynda would come home with something for him to eat.

* * * *

Stanley escorted his daughter into the ballroom, with Fraser close behind. People turned as they entered, but quickly went about their business. Lynda spotted Welsh, Huey, and Dewy talking with Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull. The Americans were handsomely dressed in tuxes, Thatcher was dressed in a white evening gown, and Turnbull was dressed in the red surge. The threesome made their way over.

"Lynda, you look really nice," Welsh said as they approached.

"Thank you, sir," she replied. She nodded to Huey and Dewy, then smiled warmly at the Canadians. "Inspector, Constable, it's good to see you."

"Lynda, pleasure as always," Thatcher nodded and briefly smiled. Turnbull bowed and smiled. They were two of the limited number of people outside the Squad Room who knew Lynda's relation to Stanley.

"So, what so we do now?" Lynda asked.

"I thought you were always attending these things," Dewy questioned.

"I was, and I *still* never knew what to do. I was usually left dancing with some dignitary's son, who always turned out to have nothing in common with me. Not one of them even liked country."

"Just mingle, Lynda," Stanley said, "or, if you want, I could teach you how to -" He stopped short when he realized Lynda wasn't even looking at him. He turned to where she was looking and saw Stafford dressed in a tux and sipping a drink.

"Thanks, Ray, but I'll think I'll just 'mingle', as you put it. See you guys later. Could you hold this please?" She handed Stanley her handbag before leaving the group and walking over to Stafford. The entire group watched with curiosity.

"So, Ray, have you, uh, talked to Lynda yet?" Huey asked.

"Well, Jack, no, because I was in the process of chasing after some eavesdroppers earlier today."

"What's with Lynda?" Thatcher asked.

"She's in love with a bartender," Fraser answered.

"Why am I not surprised," Thatcher muttered.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Stanley frowned at the Inspector.

"Well, nothing, Detective -"

"Listen, I would watch what you say about Lynda, okay?"

"And what would you do if I said something you don't like?" Thatcher put her hands on her hips.

"Let's just say Diplomatic Immunity wouldn't save your sorry little -"

"Okay, that's enough!" Welsh interrupted suddenly. All talking ceased. "Ray, Inspector, please. If you two are going to argue, do it outside where I don't have to see it. And talk about something other than Lynda, all right?" Stanley grumbled and folded his arms. Thatcher dragged herself and Turnbull away to the punch bowel.

Lynda, meanwhile, strolled up behind Stafford and lightly tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to see her smiling, her hands on her hips. He put his glass on a table next to him.

"And just when are bartenders allowed at police receptions?" she asked.

"My dad's with the FBI," he answered sheepishly.

"How mysterious. Anything else I should know about you?"

"I can dance. Would you care to?"

"Sure."

Stafford led her to the dance floor just as the band started playing a new song. Together, they waltzed around the floor, never taking their eyes off each other. Lynda's heart was fluttering. I feel so safe in his arms, yet I barely even know him, she thought.

Stanley and the others watched with interest.

"Not a bad dancer," Huey remarked.

Stafford and Lynda finished up the dance, then made their way over to the waiting group. "Guys, I'm sure you remember Stafford Travis from last night," Lynda introduced. "Stafford, I'd like you to meet some friends from work: Detectives Jack Huey, Thomas Dewy, and Ray Vecchio; Lieutenant Harding Welsh; and Constable Benton Fraser."

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," Stafford replied warmly.

"What are you doing here?" Stanley asked, eyeing him with suspicion. "I mean, last time I checked, bartenders didn't attend social gatherings without serving drinks."

"Ray!" Lynda fixed him with a Look.

"My father works with the FBI. Agent Todd Travis."

"How old are you?" Dewy asked.

"Where were you born?" Huey asked.

"Social Security Number?" Welsh asked.

"Any previous arrests?" Fraser asked.

"Enough!" Lynda shouted. She fixed everyone with a glare. After a few minutes, she sighed. "Stafford, let's go get a drink, okay?" She led him away, not before giving a look to the others, clearly saying she was going to talk to them later.

"I'm sorry," she explained after getting out of hearing distance. "Ever since my mom was killed, they've all been very protective."

"I understand," Stafford assured her.

Lynda smiled up at him, then took his arm as they walked toward the buffet. Suddenly, a bold figure stepped in front of them. Lynda recognized him immediately.

"Logan?! What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, Lynda," he answered coldly.

"There's nothing to talk about. You humiliated me last night."

"I love you." The entire room suddenly got quiet as everyone stared.

"Love? If you had really loved me, then you wouldn't have humiliated me. Come on, Stafford, let's go." They turned to walk away, but Logan suddenly drew a gun.

"I don't think so." He aimed it at Lynda.

"Gun!" someone yelled.

Lynda and Stafford froze. Not one person in the entire room moved.

"You're mine, Lynda. We were meant to be together. Forever."

"Logan, please put the gun down," Lynda pleaded.

"No. You belong to me. And I will never let you get away from me again."

Stafford pushed Lynda away. As she hit the hard floor, a loud clap echoed. Before she could get up, Stanley and Fraser were at her side, helping her up.

"You okay?" Stanley asked.

"Yeah," she answered breathlessly. She looked up to see officers, including Dewy and Huey, struggling with Logan. They finally were able to get the gun from him and lead him away. "Thank goodness Stafford pushed me away." She looked to where Stafford had stood. Her smile faded as her eyes grew wide in terror. Stafford was lying on the floor. He didn't move.

Lynda rushed to him and knelt beside him. Blood was soaking through the right side of his tux. She grabbed a napkin and pressed it against the wound. "Someone call 911!" she shouted. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer as her father put a hand on her shoulder.

* * * *

Lynda paced nervously up and down the small lounge in the emergency room. Two hours had passed since Stafford had arrived. Two hours of praying, pacing, not knowing anything, and expecting the worst in the back of her mind.

Stanley, Welsh, Dewy, Huey, Fraser, and Stafford's father were the only ones beside herself waiting in the lounge. They had seated themselves in chairs, but Lynda couldn't sit still like that.

"Lynda, why don't you sit down?" Stanley suggested. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor."

"I can't, Ray. He saved my life." She glanced impatiently down the hall. "It's been two hours. What could be taking so long?"

As if on cue, a doctor in green scrubs came into the lounge. He was holding a small chart in his hands. "Agent Travis?"

Travis walked up to him. "Is my son going to be all right?"

"He's going to be fine," the doctor assured him. Lynda sighed with relief and sat next to her father. "The bullet was removed from his right shoulder. There's no tissue or muscle damage, so he'll be back to normal in about a month."

"Can I go see him?" Travis asked.

"Sure." The doctor led Travis away and down the hall.

"I'm so glad he's okay," Lynda leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Stanley cleared his throat nervously. "Lynda can we go some place and talk for a quick minute?"

"Okay." Together, Lynda and Stanley got up from their chairs and started to walk out when Travis came back in.

"My son asked to see you," he said gently.

"Me?" Lynda asked. Travis nodded. She turned to Ray. "Do you mind?"

"Go on."

"He's in room 113," Travis pointed. Lynda smiled before walking down the hall. She quickly found Room 113, the door was ajar. She took a deep breath before carefully walking in.

Stafford was sitting upright in a bed, his right arm bandaged and in a sling. When he saw Lynda, he smiled. "Hey, come on over." He scooted over to the right, allowing Lynda to sit on his left.

"So, it looks like you'll be better in a month."

"Yeah, but it still hurts. Can you believe I've never been shot before?"

Lynda smiled. "I have. The bullet only grazed my arm, but it still hurt."

"Ouch." He looked at her face. "You okay?"

"Not really . . . why did you do that?"

"What? Get shot? Believe me, I wasn't planning on it."

"You took a bullet that was meant for me. You hardly even know me."

"I know all I need to know: a pretty girl with a great personality doesn't deserve to get shot at."

"Then, what does she deserve?"

"This." Stafford leaned over and kissed her gently on her lips. Lynda made no attempt to move as she wrapped her arms gently around his shoulders.

"You know, they say after four minutes without oxygen, the brain suffers damage."

Stafford and Lynda jerked away and looked toward the door. Stanley, Dewy, Welsh, Huey, and Fraser were all looking in. Lynda began to blush deep red.

"Stafford . . . I'll talk to you later, okay?" Lynda said as she sat up. She marched out of the room.

"Later, Stafford," Stanley answered. He closed the door after everyone left.

"What gives?" Lynda asked, trying to keep her voice down as she fixed all her friends with a murderous glare. "Ever since I introduced you to Stafford, you all have been acting like over- protective fathers."

"Lynda, don't get mad, okay?" Stanley assured her. "We're just trying to make sure nothing happens to you."

Lynda sighed. "Look, I appreciate it, but I'm nineteen years old. I can make my own decisions."

"We know. I don't mind if you and Stafford get together."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"If you weren't with him tonight, then I - that is, *we* - might have lost you. And you're pretty hard to replace. Stafford's a cool guy."

Lynda smiled. "I know he is. That's why I like him. That's also why he's going to be the band's new piano player. Well, once he gets better, that is. Look, I'm going to go back home. Dief's probably wondering where I am. He's not going to be happy."

"Why not?" Fraser asked. "He's been left by himself for long periods of time."

"I, uh, kind of promised to bring him something from the reception," Lynda confessed

sheepishly.

"Lynda, I put Diefenbaker on a diet."

"I know, Fraser, but he's so pitiful when he looks at me." Fraser looked sternly as he

could at her, which wasn't very sternly. "Okay, okay, I'll be more disciplined with him." She turned and walked away. Suddenly, she stopped and turned around. "Thanks."

"For what?" Fraser looked perplexed.

"For looking out for me," she answered. "In some weird, bizarre way, I'm actually glad

that all of you are standing behind me. I know Mom is resting easier, knowing I have all of you ready to catch me if necessary. Just make sure to let me breath a little. Goodnight." She walked down the hall.

"Did she say what I think she said?" Stanley asked.

"I told you she wouldn't mind," Jack smugly smiled at Dewy.

Dewy rolled his eyes. "Big deal."

The next morning, Lynda was sitting at her computer, running a systems check when

Welsh called her into his office. He was sitting at his desk when she walked in and closed the door behind her.

"Yes, sir?"

Welsh handed her a file. "Lynda, take a look at this, please."

Lynda opened the file and read its contents. He eyes widened. She looked at Welsh.

"Sir, is this true?"

"Very true."

"You mean . . . he's back?"

"Not technically, no."

"What do you mean?"

"Lynda, I have an assignment I want to offer you. It seems that the justice system was

able to move this case along rather quickly. That means this will require someone who knows a great deal about computer, who can process information at a quick pace. That's why I suggested you."

"Me?"

Welsh nodded. "If you agree, you and I will travel together to work on the case. What

do you say?"

"Considering what this case involves, I'll do it. After all -"

"I should also mention how dangerous this is, Lynda. You will be under lock and key for

a month."

"A month? But, what about my job here? Ray and Fraser?"

"They are to know nothing about this. No one is. As for you're job, you will be

compensated by receiving triple your salary when you return."

"I guess then you have me."

"Glad to hear that. Now, I want you to go home and get packed, okay? I'll pick you up

in three hours. But tell no one, remember? Tell Vecchio and Fraser you're going on an assignment, but it's top-secret, nothing more."

"Understood." She handed the file back to Welsh before leaving his office. She walked

over to her desk, turned her computer off, and started to gather her things. Stanley and Fraser were looking over a case. Lynda grabbed her coat, purse, and backpack, and walked over.

"Hey, guys," she said. They looked up. "I need you two to come with me. Don't ask

questions."

"Okay," Stanley said slowly. He grabbed his coat and walked out with Fraser and Lynda.

"A month? But why?" Stanley asked as Lynda folded clothes and put them into three

suitcases. They, along with Fraser and Dief, were in her bedroom.

"Guys, I told you all I can, okay? Please don't question any further."

"What about your apartment?"

"I already talked to everyone I needed to, Ray. Everyone thinks I'm going on vacation.

They're going to hold my bills until I get back. Fraser, can I talk you into apartment-sitting until I get back? I'm going to need someone to stay here, get my mail, newspapers, so I don't get robbed or anything."

"Are you sure, Lynda? I'm not going to feel too comfortable sleeping in your bed."

"It will give you a chance to get out of that small office of yours. I have two extra beds,

Fraser. One in the library, one in the computer room. You can have your pick."

"I guess I'm not important, then, am I?"

"You're more than welcome to come over, Ray. Just don't have any wild parties, or

women over, okay? I know I'm leaving my place in good hands."

"I'm going to miss you," Stanley sighed.

She smiled. "Look, I'll be back before you know it." She closed her suitcases and carried

them to the front door. She looked around her living room, and sighed. It was going to be awhile before she saw it again. Her intercom suddenly buzzed. She went to answer it. "Yes?"

"Miss Peterson, there's a Stafford Travis here to see you," a voice answered.

"Let him in, Harry." She turned to her father. "That's strange. Wonder what he doing

here."

A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door. Fraser, being the closest, opened it.

Stafford was standing in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. "May I come in?"

"Sure," Lynda smiled. "What brings you here?"

"I was going to visit you at your work, but I was told you went home to pack. Thought I

might catch you before you leave."

"Well, I don't have much time," she glanced at a wall clock. "Welsh will be here in a few

minutes to pick me up."

"How long will you be gone?"

"About a month."

"Be careful," he looked genuinely concerned. He kissed her softly on her lips.

"Hey, could you please do that somewhere else?" Stanley replied.

Lynda glanced at her father. He was smirking. She looked back at Stafford. "I'll be

careful. I promise. And when I get back, you should be able to play piano, so we can get back to performing with the band." She sighed. "I guess we'd better get downstairs. Welsh will be here soon."

Fraser and Stanley helped Lynda carry her luggage downstairs. Harry, the doorman,

tipped his hat as he opened the lobby door for them. "Hope you enjoy your vacation, Miss Peterson."

"Thanks, Harry," she answered. "Oh, Fraser's going to be staying at my place until I get

back, okay?" Harry nodded.

Everyone walked outside just as Welsh pulled up to the curb. He got out and opened the

trunk. He helped load her things into the trunk, then closed it after her was through. "Ready to get going, Lynda?" he asked. "It's going to be after dark by the time we arrive."

Lynda nodded. She turned to Stanley. He had his hands stuffed into his sports jacket. He

sighed. "I guess I'll see you in about a month, then, huh?"

"Yeah. Promise to be good? I don't want to hear of you killing anyone, okay? Not at

least until I get back."

Stanley laughed before giving her a hug. "Give 'em hell," he whispered.

She kissed him on the cheek. "I will," she whispered back.

She turned to Fraser. "See you in a month, Fraser." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Take care, Lynda. And don't worry about your apartment."

Lynda smiled. She knelt beside Diefenbaker. "Behave yourself," she said, scratching him

behind the ears. "Don't whine too much, okay?" Dief gave her a lick on the cheek. She stood up and turned to Stafford. She smiled. "I'll see you when I get back."

"I'll be waiting," he answered.

She waved one last time to everyone before climbing into the passenger seat of Welsh's

car. After she closed the door, Welsh approached Stanley and Fraser. "Detective, Constable, I'll see you both in a month." He shook their hands.

"Keep an eye on her, sir," Stanley requested.

"I will, Ray." He nodded to Dief and Stafford before going over to the driver's side and

climbing in. He started the car. Lynda waved as he pulled away from the curb. Soon, the car disappeared into traffic.

"Well, I'm going home," Stafford said after a few minutes. Stanley and Fraser both

nodded. Stafford left their sides and walked down the street.

Stanley turned his head toward the direction Welsh's car went. He sighed.

"Are you going to be okay, Ray?" Fraser asked.

"Yeah," Stanley answered. "I guess."

"She'll be okay."

"I know, I just . . . I miss her."

Fraser nodded, understanding. "Do you want to get a bite to eat?"

Stanley smiled at his friend. "Sure."

Together, the two friends walked down the street. Dief trotted ahead of them.

Lynda stared outside her window as Welsh drove through the city. It was going to be a

long month.

"Lynda?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You sure you're up to this?"

She turned her head and smiled. "Yeah, I just . . . miss them already."

"We'll be back before you know it." He smiled at her. "Listen, before we get to the

rendezvous, I need you to become familiar with this case, okay? The files are in the back, numbered."

Lynda reached behind her and grabbed the stack of files. She opened the first one and

smiled. She knew that, even though she was leaving her father and everything else behind her and she wouldn't see them for a month, it would be worth it, especially when this case was completely finished. It would definitely be worth it. She settled in as she began to read.

THE END