I think I'd probably get more readers if I classified this story as a romance or something, but it's not really. It's just my life. And what's a life but a fudge ripple sundae of humor and angst?

Thanks for the new reviews, Nutmeg9Cat. I really appreciate you taking the time to comment. I mean, your taking the time to comment. Seriously, Fraser, do you have to correct every little thing?

Chapter Seven: Recovering Lost Ground

I didn't sleep well. I knew Ray's rant hadn't been my fault at all, but I kept thinking of things I'd have liked to say to him. How I would have liked to see the look on his face when he figured out I actually helped his sister, rather than being the one to make her cry. Then Welsh called me and asked me to come in so I could go over some more details and stuff. He would leave Franny alone until Monday if I did. Of course, I went.

It was getting toward lunchtime and I was hungry when I left Welsh's office for the final time that day. I went to make sure I hadn't left anything important at my desk and found Ray sitting at it.

"Hi," he greeted me.

"Hi," I answered warily before starting to move stuff around on my desk.

He stood up. "Look, I know I owe you an apology."

That was a good start.

"I have this bad habit of shooting my mouth off before I have the facts," he went on. "And I'm especially prone to overreacting where my sister's involved."

I nodded, not looking at him.

"So... Franny told me what happened. There I was ignoring her, taking her for granted, not there to protect her, and there you were, doing all that stuff for me. I was the jackass last night, not you. I'm sorry."

"You're not wrong," I muttered.

"You gonna leave me hangin' or what?"

It was tempting, but I didn't have it in me. "No." I looked up at him. "It's fine, man."

"Just like that?"

"I knew it would get straightened out, and I get why you were so pissed."

"Well, I'm even more pissed now; just not at you."

"Yeah."

He surprised me by grabbing my shoulder tight, like I was important to him. "You probably saved her life, you know?"

"Maybe," I said, not sure how to respond.

"She said you attacked a man who had a gun on you... you're one crazy guy." He let go of me.

"That's nothing new."

"Did he hurt you?"

I shrugged. "Nothing serious."

He smiled. "Good. You hungry?"

"Starving."

"Let me buy you lunch."

"Oh, I couldn't do that... might be misconstrued as payment."

"Shut up."

We were pretty comfortable together again by the time we finished eating. We started talking about the previous night's incident, and speculating on why it happened.

"I never thought they'd go after her," Ray said, staring at his coffee cup. "I knew I might be a target, but her..." He shook his head.

"I guess they went for her because she's a softer target," I said. "Do you think they knew who I was?"

"They knew you weren't me, anyway. Otherwise, they might have actually shot you instead of giving you a warning. That or tried to kidnap you instead. I don't know. I guess we should ask Benny."

"Yeah... something's queer. My gut says this is someone who doesn't just want you dead—they want to hurt you, bad. Like, maybe even if they did think I was you, taking Franny and leaving me in the dust might have been all according to plan."

"Langoustini did have a lot of enemies. Guess I should put together a list."

"But they know now that you're not him. So whatever made them do this has to be something he did when you were him... if it's related to him at all."

"Oh, yeah. You're right. Eh, but I didn't do anything that bad... I tried my best not to piss people off."

"You tellin' me you didn't have anyone whacked while you were under? You were pretty stoic when you marched us off to shoot us."

"I was acting."

"I know, but you were that guy for over a year. Wouldn't someone notice if the body count didn't move during that time?"

He stared at his coffee cup again. "Look, even though I'm not on that assignment anymore, there are still things I can't tell."

I guessed that meant he'd had to do some things he didn't want to admit, to me or his family. Probably not even to Fraser. Maybe least of all to Fraser. "Okay, but you start going through that stuff and come up with some motives, all right? If we want Franny and the rest of your family to be safe, we need to figure this out."

"I know."

I got out my wallet.

"I said it's on me."

"I know, I just thought I'd leave a tip."

"Service here sucks," Ray said, not too quietly.

I smiled and shook my head. "It's not that bad." I dropped two dollars on the table. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said. "Watch your back."

"Yeah. You, too, big guy."

I smiled to myself on the way out. That was the first time Ray had used some nickname for me that didn't come out sounding like an insult.

I called Fraser that evening, and he sounded almost angry that I hadn't told him what happened sooner.

"I guess it didn't occur to me," I said, feeling a little bad. "She was safe and... I guess I thought it would keep. Didn't want to worry you."

"How can I help?"

"There isn't much we can do. Ray and I figure he might be the reason—someone trying to get to him through Franny. He's working on narrowing down the suspect list. In the meantime there's an APB out on the car, but we don't have a plate."

"What do we have?"

"Black Dodge sedan. Looked new, like in the last five or six years."

"Well, we've lost a day, but maybe there's still some evidence. Meet me at the crime scene."

"Fraser, forensics went over the place they tried to grab her. The only solid piece of evidence is the gun."

There was a short pause before Fraser said, "Ray, how many times have you been ready to move on from a crime scene before I found a crucial piece of evidence?"

I bit my lip. "A few..."

"I'll see you there in fifteen minutes."

Before he could hang up, I said, "Wait; I'll pick you up. See, this is where being neighbors and carpooling would come in handy!"

We went back to the Vecchio house and had a look around. I shouldn't have doubted him by this time, what with all the amazing work I've seen him do, but there I was, hands in pockets, watching him mess around in dirt and leaves and gravel, waiting for him to admit he couldn't find anything.

"Where exactly was the car parked?"

I trudged across to where I had seen it. "About here."

"Ah. Now, it did rain a bit Friday night. the water would have dried up by the following evening, but the rain did wash a bit of dirt and sand, essentially silt, along this side of the road by the sidewalk, and toward this storm drain. The road runs north and south, and the placement of the buildings would mean that this spot got very little direct sunlight. Ergo, it is very likely that this silt was still damp on the night in question. Could this be their tire track?"

I barely glanced at the spot he indicated. "Whether it is or not, I'm sure forensics took a picture of it already."

"Would you consider the question, please?"

I couldn't refuse when he asked like that. "Maybe," I said. Then, "No, probably not. See, if you wanna peel away fast, you don't park right up next to the curb like that. If you're in a hurry, you might scrape along the side. And I just remembered something: they really laid a patch when they took off. I heard their tires squealing." I went to a dark spot on the pavement and saw a little bit of tread imprinted at the edge. "This could be it."

"Probably so," Fraser agreed. "It was one of the first things Diefenbaker took interest in, which suggests that it's from some of the most recent traffic. So, unless someone else 'laid a patch,' as you say, in the last twenty-four hours, this is the Dodge."

"Pretty good, but I bet forensics found this, too."

Fraser went back to the "silt" by the sidewalk. "If the car wasn't parked that close to the curb, someone might still have walked that close to it—when they were getting into or out of the car?" His voice went up in a questioning tone at the end.

I thought back over the incident, closing my eyes for better recall. "Maybe... did the other guy run around or get in on this side?" I couldn't remember, and it was starting to frustrate me. I opened my eyes. "Okay, come here," I said.

Fraser joined me in the road.

"Now, stand here, facing this way," I said, taking him by the arm and positioning him. I stepped back and looked at him. "You're the guy who's got Franny."

Fraser put his arms up, as if he were holding a prisoner.

"Right... I had the gun on him, and the other guy went running for the car." I frowned in thought for a moment. "He went around!" I exclaimed suddenly. "I didn't think about it at the time, because I was so focused on Franny, but he went around to the driver's door, I'm sure."

Fraser went back toward the sidewalk. "So, this might be your gunman's footprint."

I knelt and looked at the spot. It was deeper at the front and very smudged at the back. The tread wasn't very discernible. "Say it is... can we get anything useful from it? It's pretty messed up."

"He looks like a size nine and a half or ten. That's something. Also, the shape and general look of the tread, however fuzzy, seems to be more congruous with those of boots, not shoes."

"Boots? In the summer?"

"They're not winter boots... perhaps military or something similar."

"What, like Mountie boots?"

"No, but you're thinking in the right direction. Perhaps combat boots... not actual ones, but the ones that are sort of in fashion."

"Those wanna-be punk rocker boots? That kind of thing?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"Also, if I'm interpreting Dief's assessment correctly, at least one person who was here recently wasn't from this area. Probably from out of town, or even out of state."

I was skeptical, but I went with it for the time-being. "Like someone from Vegas?"

"Possibly. Perhaps if I could give him samples of things found in Las Vegas, he could give us a more positive result on that possibility."

"Eh, don't worry about that for now," I said, envisioning Fraser offering Dief playing cards, cigars and poker chips to smell. I looked up and saw Ray coming out of his house.

"Hey," he said, when he was close enough. "You got anything?"

"Not much," I said. "We think this is the gunman's footprint and that's their skid mark."

"That's something. Uh, we're gonna have dinner soon here... you wanna join?"

I kind of did, but I felt like it would be imposing, so I said, "Maybe not tonight... I think Franny could do without the pressure. She's gonna have to go over everything again tomorrow."

"True." Ray looked at Fraser, who had moved to the middle of the road. "So, you got anything else?"

"A bullet hole," Fraser answered.

I walked across to look at the spot in the pavement where forensics had dug out the bullet. "Yeah, he aimed at the ground on purpose. For whatever reason, he didn't want to kill me."

"Why make extra trouble?" said Ray. "If you're not a target and you're not armed... plus, you told them you were a cop, right?"

"Yeah."

"It's sounding like this guy was hired. He's not messing with anyone that's not part of his contract."

"If he's a pro, we probably won't get much from the gun, will we?"

"Nah. They're too careful for that. He had gloves on, so no prints. Could have bought the gun someplace they don't keep good records. Lots of states are pretty loose on the rules when it comes to gun and knife shows. Some people don't ask for ID when they make a sale."

"Hm," said Fraser.

"You gonna tell us we should get stricter gun laws, like Canada?"

"Perhaps if you merely enforced the laws you already have, tracking down people's weaponry would be a little easier."

"Yeah, you would think."

"At least cops and crooks aren't the only ones with guns," I put in. "The ordinary, honest citizen can own and carry them, too."

"That's what makes America great," Ray said.

"Really?" asked Fraser. "I thought it was your concept of free speech, religion and expression."

We looked at each other and then said, "Nah," together.

You can put the Mountie in America, but you'll never get America into the Mountie. But maybe that's why we're such a good team. It's that time again: you know what to do. Favorite, follow, comment! ~RayK