Prologue

Once she had the list it didn't taken her long to decide her course of action. She planned the details meticulously, choosing something special for each of the names on her list.

If she had known at the outset that rats were seen by some as a symbol of Christian forgiveness, she would have chosen something else with which to begin. There was no forgiveness in what she set out to do.

The old Gitskan man was not concerned about the robbery. He'd seen enough of life to know that a few precious stones and chunks of gold were worth nothing when weighed against a man's life. Besides, that's why he paid insurance.

The Sergeant had asked him if he knew what was missing. Earl Muldon knew exactly what was missing. Order and precision were important to him. Judging by the expert way his safe had been opened and the lack of damage or disturbance to his workshop, he suspected the same also held true for the thief.

Earl watched with a sort wry amusement as the two RCMP officers photographed his safe and dusted for fingerprints that he knew they would not find. The older one, Acting Staff Sergeant Marc Previn, had a harried look about him, his tie askew and his hair ruffled. Earl knew Marc Previn was a friend of Rebecca Fraser: he recalled her mentioning him several times before she left Kitimat. He was a good man, she had said, a berdache. From what Earl had seen so far, he was a good policeman, too.

Acting Staff Sergeant Marc Previn rose slowly from his kneeling position in front of Earl Muldon's empty safe. He took longer than a man his age should. Exhausted and only half way through a fourteen hour shift, he wondered how he would make it through the week. Between his promotion and Becka Fraser's resignation, the Kitimat Depot was down two active officers and had been for some time. In addition to all the administration that went with his Staff Sergeant role, he still found himself attending calls like this. Not that he minded. Marc knew Earl was a friend of Becka's and she would want him to take extra care.

Marc dusted his hands and pulled a black leather covered notebook from his pocket, flipping several pages until he found the notes he had made a earlier.

"Twelve unset half carat diamonds and two pieces of gold weighing exactly 487grams. That's a lot of money tied up there, Mr. Muldon. Do you always have that much in your safe?"

"No," Earl explained. "You see, Sergeant, last week I received a commission for twelve diamond set rings from a store in Vancouver. The gold and diamonds were only delivered this morning. It's as if she knew what was in the safe – as if she'd been watching me."

Marc's eyes widened. "She? You saw the thief? It was a woman?"

Earl nodded. "When I came back from my afternoon walk I saw her running down the drive. She must have had a car hidden somewhere."

"You're sure it was a woman?"

"Absolutely."

"Can you give us a description?"

"Tall, slim, probably about 35 or so."

"What was she wearing?"

"It's hard to say. Maybe dark pants, some sort of big coat. She had on a cap – with her hair tucked under it."

"So you didn't see her hair?"

"Just a few locks hanging out around the edges. Hard to tell at a distance … and she was running."

Marc pursed his lips. "Constable Wilkes," he said, addressing his colleague, who was busy stashing the fingerprint samples into his briefcase. "Can you call the description in? It's not much, but we should get it out there right away."

"Right away, Sir," Wilkes replied, then went to do as requested.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more, Sergeant," Earl said when they were alone. "It's a shame you can't read my mind, I can see her face perfectly. Probably never forget her either."

Marc absorbed Earl's words. He had seen her face. The old man was an artist, someone used to dealing with images and visual stimuli. Maybe a sketch artist could help retrieve a detailed description. It was a long shot, but they had so little to go on.

"Mr. Muldon," he said, "do you think you could come down to the Depot and work with a sketch artist? Do you think you could do that?"

"Sure I could, Sergeant." Tapping his graying temple with a sturdy finger he said, "That woman is locked away in here."

Constable Wilkes returned, confirming that he had called the description through to the Depot. Marc thanked him and the two men began gathering up their equipment. Earl settled onto his stump seat by the fire and watched.

"You're Rebecca's friend," Earl said to Marc, hoping the Mountie would have news of his young friend.

"Yes, I am."

Earl nodded. "I miss her visits. She used to come out here to climb twice a week. But she had to do what was right for her."

"Good thing she left when she did."

"What do you mean?"

"The Lucent property where she lived?"

"I know it."

"It burned to the ground a week after she left."

Spring and Summer 1997

Becka was awake even before she heard the cry. It might have been because she was a little chilly. A thought struck Becka, hurrying away any remaining threads of sleep; Cat's house was always heated. And it was spring. Why had she awoken so cold?

Slipping one hand out from under the covers, she reached down the side of the bed, searching for the console of the electric blanket that, despite her protestations, Cat had insisted she leave on the bed. Like the animal she was named for, Cat liked warmth and assumed everyone else did too. Given that all the Frasers preferred an ambient temperature far cooler than most, Becka had often wondered how Cat and Ben had managed a relationship. Ben favoured a cold room, only slightly above freezing, a little too chilly even for Becka, while Cat loved heat and could often be found on the hearth seat, her feet inches away from hot coals.

Then she heard the cry.

It wasn't a scream, exactly, more extreme agitation than anything, the confused sounds of someone in the middle of a nightmare. Becka couldn't tell what Cat was saying and she didn't even know if she should wake her friend. Then Cat's voice rose to fever pitch and her words were unmistakable.

"No, Ben, oh no …"

It was the anguish in Cat's voice, more than the words that launched Becka from her bed and across the hardwood floor of the hall, now unconcerned about the cold that had roused her from her slumber minutes earlier.

Dropping to her knees beside Cat's bed, Becka shook her until she came back from whatever dark place she had visited. It took a few seconds for Cat to fully awaken and focus on her friend in the dim light.

"Cat, my god, are you OK?" Becka demanded, alarmed at the wild eyes that watched her. She knew that Cat was still focussed on something playing out in her mind, so Becka was surprised when she finally spoke.

"Becka," Cat ground out, swinging her head and fixing Becka with a look that didn't allow her to tear her eyes away, "something terrible has happened."

It was the sound of breaking glass that woke Phil McKenzie. Her eyes shot open and she listened in the darkness, trying to figure out if the sound came from her dream or somewhere in her house, but no more sounds came.

Switching on her bedside lamp and trying to ignore her pounding heart, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, noting that Chance was not curled up in his usual position on the bed. She grinned sleepily and let out the breath she had been holding; he had probably broken something in his play. She padded barefoot into the living room to see what it was.

Flipping on the overhead light, she blinked and waited until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She didn't see anything obvious, so she checked all the ornaments and vases around room, moving warily so as not to tread in the broken glass she knew she would find.

Phil found Chance on the dining table, the fur on his spine raised stiffly in the air as he stared at some invisible foe. She said his name and when he didn't react, she stroked a hand down his back, soothing the fur down. He softened instantly and turned to look at her, greeting her with a trilling sound.

A shiver ran through Phil and she swept Chance off the table and into her arms, pressing his soft warm body against her. It was then she saw the broken glass.

A framed photograph had fallen from her wall and smashed. Her eyes flicked back to the wall and she wondered why she had not noticed the empty space when she first came into the room; her eyes usually went straight to this picture.

Dropping Chance back onto the table, she bent down and pulled the picture from the mess on the floor. Turning it over she saw that the glass had not only broken, it had pierced the photograph, tearing a jagged hole in Benton Fraser's forehead. How had it happened? There was no breeze, there weren't even any open windows.

Goosebumps rose suddenly on Phil's bare arms as she stared at the picture, a thought about its significance arriving instantly in her mind. She told herself it meant nothing and stood again, putting the picture onto the dining table. She would deal with the broken glass and the photo in the morning, she was suddenly cold and needy for the warmth of her bed.

She called for Chance, but he ignored her. He had taken up a position on the end of the table and stared at something only he could see, his tail thumping regularly against the polished wooden surface of the table. She called him again and when he still ignored her, Phil shrugged and turned towards her bedroom. She was too cold to stand there barefoot and argue with a headstrong young cat.

Back in bed with the covers pulled up firmly under her chin she was still cold, so cold that she was forced out of bed to dig Ben's RCMP sweatshirt from her closet. The extra warmth made her drop off almost instantly, but it didn't last long.

The cold woke her less than an hour later. Shivering in the dark, Phil was vaguely aware that she had been dreaming about ice and snow. She couldn't remember the whole dream, but snippets drifted through her mind. Something about Ben and a frozen lake. Ray was there too, maybe even TJ, she wasn't sure. She saw ice close to her face, as if she were laying on it.

Lifting one hand to her cheek, Phil wasn't surprised to find it cold.

Francesca Vecchio had no idea of the temperature. The chill that made her taxi driver wind up his window and switch on the heat did not seem to bother her as she handed over a wad of cash and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The look on her lover's face as the taxi had carried her away was guaranteed to keep her warm for the rest of her life.

Inside the large Victorian house, Frannie dropped her coat over the banister and headed up the stairs. She knew her mother would yell at her in the morning for being careless with her clothes, but she didn't care. Nothing could bother her. Not even the fact that the sliver of light showing under her brother's bedroom door meant Ray would know exactly what time she came home.

Nothing could change her mood tonight.

Her body still thrummed with the feel of his hands. She would have liked to stay; he certainly wanted her to. But she couldn't. Frannie knew the time would come when she would broach the subject, when she would finally tell her family her about her lover. But not yet.

Inside her room she closed the door, leaning against it briefly, allowing herself one final thought of the man she had just left before crossing to her dressing table to remove her makeup. When she settled onto the powder pink stool, her mind was still full of the man on the other side of town so that when she reached for her cleanser her arm brushed against several bottles, tubes and ornaments on the crowded table top, sweeping them to the floor.

A snow globe rolled and hit Frannie's foot. She leaned over and picked it up. Something made her look at it before placing it back on the table. It had been on her table for so long that she was used to it, almost not seeing it, not really looking at it closely as she did now. Instantly she was transported back to a time two years ago. She remembered returning from vacation in Florida and being greeted by her brother and being told that Fraser was in the hospital.

They never told her what had happened during her time away, but somehow everything was different. Even her room had seemed different somehow. Although everything had looked that same, somehow it was different. Even the snow globe. It still looked like the one her cousin Lucia had brought back from her trip to Alaska, but somehow it had changed.

She didn't know how Benton had ended up in hospital. When she had asked, Ray had mumbled something about 'pursuing a perp', but would not give the details. Something in his eyes then told her not to ask any more questions. So, she didn't ask questions, but she watched. She had watched her brother and his friend ever since and she knew that whatever had happened whilst her family vacationed in Florida had changed the two men irrevocably.

For a long time after, Ray was tense and angry. Then Benton had asked Ray to travel to Canada and help rebuild his father's cabin and Ray was happier than Frannie had seen him for a long time. The trip north did not go according to plan, she knew, but when the two men came back they were changed again. Ray was tender with Benton when they returned, so much so that at one point she had found herself speculating whether the two men had become lovers during their time away. But then she learned of Ray's involvement with Cassandra Hope and dismissed the idea.

Frannie still had no idea what had taken place, she couldn't even guess, and now that another man had held her attention, her desire to know the details had waned. She gave the snowglobe a final, rueful glance and shivered, feeling suddenly cool. She set the snowglobe on the corner of the dressing table and leaned over to check her window. It was shut tight.

Surprised by the speedy drop in air temperature, Frannie began removing her makeup, the unexpected chill in the air hastening her movements. By the time she finished she was quite cold and she quickly fished her flannel pyjamas from a drawer and put them on.

In bed she shivered again, wondering why she was suddenly so cold. Her thoughts returned to Stan and she began to feel warmer. She smiled in the darkness. Even when he wasn't with her he made everything right. She tucked the down comforter under her chin and fell asleep.

In the morning she would not remember her dream; ice crystals and snowstorms and a dark haired woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

Any other time Ray might have blamed his insomnia on the fact that it was 2am and his sister wasn't home from her date. But not tonight. In fact, Ray never worried about how late Francesca was anymore. He'd figured out who his sister's mysterious boyfriend was and rather than upset he found himself strangely pleased … for both of them. He didn't know why, but he trusted Stanley Kowalski.

So if he wasn't listening for the sound of Frannie's heels on the steps, why was he awake? Ray didn't have a definite answer but his instinct, cop instinct honed on long hours of casework and stakeouts told him that something was brewing. Something was out there waiting for him, something dark and evil, something … cold. That thought struck Ray as odd; why was he thinking about the cold in the middle of summer?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car. From his armchair by the window he saw a cab pull up and Frannie climb out. Even from this distance he could see the unmistakable spring in her step. He smiled tenderly and pulled further back into the shadows, so she wouldn’t see him and assume he had waited up.

Resting his head back against the chair, Ray looked around his dark room and shivered. He leaned over to switch on the reading lamp beside his chair as if the golden circle of light could ward off whatever evil lurked. Ray found himself thinking about salt circles and pentagrams and remembering how he had been scared of the dark when he was a little boy and how the same feeling came back to him now. But now he needed more than the protection of the light. Before he knew what he was doing, Ray crossed the room and retrieved his CPD issue Smith & Wesson from the locked drawer in his desk. He settled back into the chair, the gun in his lap aglow in the lamplight.

Outside in the hall the floorboard creaked. He heard Frannie's footsteps and then the faint snick as her door closed. For a reason he could not explain and did not want to examine too closely, Ray found himself remembering another time he had sat in this same chair, same gun in his lap, listening to the same bedroom door snick shut. Only it hadn't been his sister in the bedroom. It had been Victoria Metcalfe.

Goose bumps rose on Ray's arms. Why was he thinking of that woman? Why did the memories come back as if it were only two days ago, not two years? Was it because he could sense something dark and cold waiting out there … or was the dark and cold thing Victoria? He trembled with something that could have been fear, could have been anger or could have been just the cold.

When Ray sought the warmth and comfort of his bed, he did not return his gun to the locked drawer; he placed it under his pillow.

An cold, damp nose on the back of the neck would wake the most determined of sleepers and Ben was no exception. He switched on the bedside lamp, turned to his lupine companion and ask pointedly what the problem was.

Diefenbaker did not answer. Instead, he moved to the window and stared out into the night.

"If you've woken me up to let you out to get the squirrel, Diefenbaker, you've got another thing coming. Remember what happened last time."

Dief had a long running quiet battle going on with one particular squirrel that lived in the consulate grounds. A few weeks earlier he had chased the offending animal right through Turnbull's newly planted herb garden, uprooting several plants as he did. Inspector Thatcher had banned Dief from the garden for a week.

"Can I go back to sleep now?"

Still Dief said nothing – he just continued to stare out the window. Ben stared for a moment then shook his head and turned out the light, settling down to sleep again muttering, "Pay and pay and pay …"

The light had been out less than a minute when Diefenbaker growled, sending an ice cold chill down Ben's spine and wiping away any chance of sleep.

In the few seconds before he switched on the light, Ben searched his mind for potential threats, but could come up with none. He and Ray had no contentious cases and no one to fear. Besides, he did not think that any criminal would be foolish enough to attack him on Canadian soil. So what had upset Dief?

Ben reached for the light switch and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Clad only in a pair of pale blue cotton boxers, he padded across the room to the window where Dief sat, eyes fixed on something outside. Dropping down beside him, Ben peered out into the silvery light, trying to see what Dief saw.

For the first time since he had woken his human, Dief acknowledged Ben, sidling close and stepping slightly in front in a protective stance. Dief growled and let out a small, stifled bark. Ben searched the small yard outside the window, but could see no movement, no sign of any intruder.

"What is it, Dief?" Ben asked, the hairs beginning to rise on the back of his neck. Something about the wolf's behaviour seemed very strange.

The sound coming from Dief softened but continued, a low rumble in his throat, ready to become a full throttled growl when the need arose.

In some ways, the low sound coming from Dief frightened Ben more than the full growl. He knew this display of aggression from his companion had nothing to do with the squirrel – that was more play than hunting or fighting. So what was it? Was someone out there?

He stayed crouched beside Dief for long minutes, listening to his constant low rumble and trying to make out something, anything, in the garden. But he saw nothing.

Some time later, just as he was about to rise and return to his bed, Ben did see something. Large white flakes began falling from the sky, settling onto the grass outside. Peering into the darkness, he thought that it looked remarkably like snow and the sight cheered him for a second before he realized that it should not be there – or at least not at this time of year.

"Snow in June?" he said out loud. It wasn't unheard of where he came from, but here in Chicago he wasn't so sure about.

A flurry of snowflakes rushed suddenly at the window and Ben drew back, startled by the motion when there was no wind to speak of. Dief barked once and Ben realized that goosebumps had risen on his flesh, whether from cold or fear he could not say. Rising from his crouch, he crossed the room and collected a crocheted afghan from a chair in the corner. He wrapped it around his shoulders and returned to the window.

The snow was gone.

He noticed that Dief no longer sat at the window, gaze fixed on some unseen threat. Had he imagined the snow? Had he imagined Dief's raised hackles and intense stare? He looked around the room for his companion and saw him climbing onto the bed, completely relaxed.

Ben's attention returned to the window and he stepped close so that he could look up into the sky. There were no snowflakes. But he was still cold.

Unbidden, a memory from many years ago came to mind. He closed his eyes and was transported back to the night before he had turned Victoria in, the night they had camped just outside the city limits.

That night she had tried to convince him not turn her in, alternating between begging him to let her go and begging him to come with her. She sang him a song then, something she said she had heard on the radio 'there's room for two, we'll live on the moon – smile with me when it snows in June'.

He stood by the window for a long time, shivering with cold and wondering what had woken Diefenbaker, why he was so cold and what had made him see snow in June. Unable to make sense of it, he returned to bed.

Warm again in bed and with Dief sleeping calmly beside him, Ben decided he must have been dreaming and reached over to switch off the light. As he did, his eyes lit briefly on the small framed photo on his nightstand.

It was a photo of Phil and Chance that Cat had given him shortly after her mine shaft accident. Normally, looking at the picture filled him with warmth. This time it did not. This time the chill he had felt at the window returned.

The glass in the frame was cracked across the middle, directly across Phil's throat. Ben had been friends with Cat for too long to ignore the significance of it, but he was determined that nothing would stop his reconciliation with Phil. In the morning he would replace the glass and forget about the crack, the snow he had seen and Diefenbaker's growl. Phil was safe and she loved him, that was all that mattered.

He swallowed twice and set the picture back on his nightstand. Switching off the light, he settled against his pillow, shivering slightly in the chill air. There would be no sleep for him tonight.

Epilogue

Cat was still awake long after Becka returned to her bed. Becka had brought her some chamomile tea and sat perched on the end of the bed, not convinced that Cat was OK. Cat had had to fake a yawn before her friend would finally accept there was nothing to be concerned about.

As soon as the door had closed, Cat began examining her dream, dissecting it second by second, unable to shake the feeling of déjà vu. Who was the woman who lurked at the edge of her mind?

It was 3:15am when Cat realized what was so familiar about the dream. It was the same woman she had dreamed of twelve years earlier – the dream she had before Ben came to tell her about Victoria, a woman she had never seen but knew so well.

Alone in her bed in the middle of the night something welled up inside Cat. At first it was anger, but then as she tossed around all the possibilities it became something else. Rising from the safety of her bed, Cat went to the window and looked out into the night sky.

"I know you're out there, Victoria. I know you're close." She breathed deeply, letting the cool night air into her lungs. "Do you know I'm coming for you?"

By the time Cat returned to bed she had identified the feeling thrumming in her veins. It was excitement.

In Chicago a woman stared at the night sky and snuggled deeper into the cashmere overcoat that she wore even in summer, promising herself that when this was over, when he was with her again, they would go somewhere warmer. For now she needed to stay put and wait.

Her list of names and the plans she had for each of them had caused her to cross the border twice already and she worried about sticking out too much. She had a cover story, but it wouldn't stand up to close examination. She would stay in Chicago – it was the last place anyone would look for her.

Her plan might take a little longer, she knew, but that was fine by her. She had patience - she was good at patience. She had spent ten years learning about patience.

To be Continued(?)

Disclaimer:  This story is written for the private entertainment of fans.  The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story.  Fraser, Vecchio, et.al. belong to Alliance; the McKenzies and friends belong to Cassandra Hope and Cat Madden belongs to me.  No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended.  This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.

Copyright March 2003 by Carol Trendall