Spring nearly spilled her cup of coffee when her boss unceremoniously dropped an envelope on her desk.

"For you, Dixon," he said. Spring was used to him using her last name. It was interesting because he referred to everyone else in the newsroom by their first name, but not her. No, she wasn't 'Spring', she was 'Dixon'.

Pulled from her reverie, she grabbed the envelope. "What is it?"

"No idea," Harrison replied. "It was dropped on Edna's counter when her back was turned."

Spring turned it over in her hands several times before finally reaching for a letter opener. The manila coloured package opened easily and she dumped the contents on the desk. There were a pile of papers and a microcassette. Who used microcassettes these days, she wondered. She held it up.

"I have a recorder in my office," Harrison said. "I'll go get it."

Spring watched her boss leave. At thirty-seven, he was ten years older than her, but he looked good for a guy his age. Buff and cute with the light brown hair and hazel eyes. When Spring had first been hired, she'd had a bit of a crush on him. When she had learned his name was Ulysses, some of the luster had been lost. What kind of parents named their child Ulysses? English teachers, apparently. At least that's what he had said one night when they'd had one too many beers.

Soon, he was back with the recorder.

Spring took it from him and loaded the cassette. Then she gave him what he referred to as the 'evil eye'. "Don't you have something to do, Boss?"

She knew he hated it when she called him 'Boss'. No, he went by Harrison and expected everyone to refer to him as such.

"Nothing in particular," he said. "Why don't you just hit play?"

"Because this was sent to me," Spring said. "If they wanted you to listen to it then they would have sent it to you."

Harrison didn't look pleased. He reached for the papers, but Spring was faster.

"I expect a report," he said.

"Or a story," Spring replied.

"A story would be even better," he replied. "Crime has been quiet for the past couple of weeks and you've had an easy time of it. I hope this is a lead on something good."

"Or it could be nothing," Spring pointed out.

"Then why drop in on Edna's counter without being seen? No, I suspect there's something good in there." He straightened up to his full height. "I'm in my office if you need me."

"Always, Boss." She gave him a quick wink and grinned as he walked away, grumbling about insubordinate employees. Spring rifled through her purse and came up with her beloved iPod. She removed the headphones and was pleased the jack slid easily into Harrison's records.

She pressed play.

And her world was shaken right down to the foundation.

He was into his third beer when the pounding began. He rarely drank and never in the middle of the day, but today had proved to be a day when whiskey was not only a desire, but a necessity. So he sipped and ignored the pounding. Whoever it was would go away, of that he was sure.

"Colton Pritchard, you open this god damn door."

His eyes closed. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Annoyed, he decided. How had she known to come?

"Look, Pritchard, I can see your car and I know you're home. I'll stand here all day if that's what it takes."

And she would, he knew. The woman was beyond tenacious. No, if she wanted to, she would just sit on the front porch until he had no choice to go outside. He was running low on provisions because he'd planned to go to the grocery store after work. He'd been so shocked that he'd been suspended and put on paid leave he'd forgotten he was out of food. Unlike some people, he didn't keep enough rations to survive Armageddon. No, he kept just enough to get him through a few days because he liked fresh food.

So waiting her out was probably not going to work. No, the tenacious Miss Dixon wasn't going anywhere.

The pounding started up again. "If you don't open the door then I'm going to call Sunshine and get her down here."

For a man who was half-way to drunk, he moved with an amazing amount of speed and agility. He crossed the living room, yanked open the front door and managed to pull her phone out of her hand before Spring had a chance to move.

"Hey," she said, "give me my phone back."

He looked down at the display, trying to figure out if she'd dialled her sister who was doubtlessly on speed dial.

The screen was blank. He looked up at her, annoyance rearing up.

She held out her hand, fury blazing in her blue eyes. "Give me my phone back."

"Do you swear you will not call Sunshine?"

Shifting from foot to foot, she finally met his eyes. "It was an empty threat and you know it. I just needed you to open the door."

"Well, you succeeded. Threatening to call my ex-wife was creative, I'll give you that."

"She's my sister," Spring argued. "And I think you need her."

Colton scoffed. "I have no use for Sunshine, although she's a nice person. Why would I need her?"

"Because you're being accused of raping a woman."

He actually grabbed her by the arm and bodily dragged her into his apartment, slamming the door behind her. He didn't release his grip on her arm. "Watch your mouth," he hissed. "I have neighbours with very good hearing."

"Well considering it's going to be in tomorrow's paper, I don't see what difference it could possibly make."

His stomach dropped and his world began to spin. "You wouldn't," he whispered.

"What do you think? Why do you think I'm here? I came to get a quote." She finally yanked her arm free. "So, Mr. Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer, what do you have to say for yourself?" Before he could speak, she pressed a few buttons on her phone. "On the record, of course."

It took every ounce of self-control not to snap up the phone and hurl it across the room. He wanted to shatter it into a million little pieces. Shatter it like the accusation had shattered his life. He stared down at the phone, willing himself to say something. To say anything.

Finally, he took a breath. "No comment."

Her eyebrow arched. "Seriously? You're accused of rape and all you can say is 'no comment'. I expected better of you, Pritchard. Where's the denial? Where's the outrage?"

"I said 'no comment'. Now, turn the recorder off and get out of here, Spring. Please."

She looked momentarily disconcerted. Probably because he never used her first name, let alone used a pleading tone.

"What's going on, Pritchard? Talk to me." She powered down her phone. "Off the record," she said.

"No such thing with you," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

She paused, then sniffed. "Have you been drinking?" She glanced at her watch. "Pritchard, it's one o'clock in the afternoon. How many have you had?"

"Does it really matter?"

"What the hell happened," she asked, her voice quieter now.

He shrugged. "I'm sure you have the whole story."

Spring shook her head. "I have one side of the story. You know I don't like knowing everything before I go to print. I'm here to give you a chance to refute the allegations. They're serious, Pritchard, but you already know that because you're a cop. A cop who works in special victims. A cop who works with victims of incest, abuse, and rape. You know how this works. Accusations like this taint someone, even if they're later proved to be false."

"Who says they're false?"

Her jaw dropped open. "You're saying they're true? That you raped a woman?"

"I'm not conceding anything," Colton said. "I'm just saying that you obviously have some evidence of you wouldn't be here."

"It's an accusation," Spring said. "An allegation which you should refute because if you don't then people will think you're guilty." She hesitated. "How about a quote from your lawyer? Something about you being falsely accused and that you'll be exonerated?"

He sighed. "I don't have a lawyer."

She hit him on the arm. Actually hit him on the arm.

"Now, I've always wondered about you, but I never thought you were stupid." She powered her phone back on. "Normally I would recommend Chantale Byrne, but given your history with her, I mean her being you ex-girlfriend and you wrongly accusing her husband of rape, that's probably not a good idea."

"Not that it matters," Colton said, "but I did believe he was guilty."

Spring merely rolled her eyes. "I will give you that, but she's still your ex-girlfriend. How about Rielle Clayton? She usually advocates for victims, so it would be even more powerful to have her on your side."

"I don't need a lawyer."

"Seriously? Do you have no sense of self-preservation?" She snapped her fingers. "Nick Clarke. He's Chantale's partner. He doesn't do a lot of criminal law, but, again, that could work to your advantage. It would look like he's taking your case because he believes you're innocent."

Before she could dial, he snatched the phone from her pretty little hand. "No lawyers." He let out a long-suffering breath. "Why do you care so much? I mean I'm the asshole ex-husband of your beloved sister. How could you possibly want to help me?"

Spring shifted from one foot to another. "Because even a guilty man deserves a fair trial."

"So you admit you think I'm guilty."

"I think there's pretty compelling evidence," she said. "Evidence you need to refute or explain. I mean, maybe there's some kind of explanation."

"There isn't," he said. "No, there's nothing wrong with the evidence."

The colour drained from Spring's cheeks. "You didn't," she whispered. "I can't believe you would rape a woman."

"Well, that's what the evidence says," he replied. "So walk away, Spring. Go write your story and forget about me."

Slowly, she slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. "This isn't over," she said quietly. "I'm going to find out the truth."

"You have your truth," he assured her. "So now you can get the hell out of my home."

"I'll go," she said, "for now."

"Forever," he replied, correcting her. "You shouldn't even be associating with me." Then he walked over to the door and opened it.

She followed him, but instead of leaving, she put her hand on his bicep. "You've done a lot of good, Colton." With that, she was gone.

He wasn't sure what shook him more – the fact she'd touched him or the fact she'd called him by his given name.

"Nick's in court," Miriam told Spring. "Ewan's here, but he's just a paralegal." She glanced at her computer screen. "Chantale's next appointment isn't for an hour. I'm sure she would appreciate the break from studying case law on reversible judicial error."

"Chantale does her own research?"

Miriam grinned. "Well, Ewan did the research. Chantale's looking it over and preparing the appeal." She winked. "My money's on Chantale."

"Who's she up against?"

"Remy Stevens."

Spring whistled. "I would say it's too close to call. Remy's good."

"But I'm better."

Spring and Miriam turned to face the woman who had entered the reception area unheard. Probably the plush carpet, Spring thought, until she realized Chantale wasn't wearing shoes. She was just in her stocking feet and was several inches shorter than Spring who felt the desire to slump just that little bit. She fought the urge though, and pulled herself up to her full height.

"What can I help you with, Spring?"

Spring was surprised Chantale even knew who she was. She looked exactly like six of her seven sisters. Long black hair, pale blue eyes, five-foot-seven. Well, Autumn had cut her hair and now had a sleek bob, but the remaining six sisters all looked alike.

"I need to speak to a lawyer, but, honestly, I'm not sure you're the right person to talk to."

Chantale gave her a long level look. "How about a free consultation? You don't like my advice and you come back tomorrow and meet with Nick?"

This was time-sensitive, she reminded herself. Surely Chantale could be objective, right?

"I appreciate the offer," Spring found herself saying. "I'll try to be as quick as possible."

Chantale stepped back and indicated Spring should enter. Spring sat in one of the chairs facing Chantale's desk and was surprised when the lawyer sat in the other chair as opposed to behind her desk.

"How can I help you?"

"I have a friend who has been accused of rape." Well, Colton wasn't exactly a friend, but it would do for now.

Chantale's expression didn't change. "That's quite an accusation and should be taken very seriously."

"See, that's what I said. But he's in denial. I mean, I think he's in denial. I found him drunk, which is unusual enough, but then he said he didn't need a lawyer. Now, I'm no expert, but even I know he needs a lawyer."

"He does, of course," Chantale said. "But some people believe if they hire a lawyer then they're admitting guilt."

"Well he of all people should realize how ridiculous that notion is. He deals with criminals and lawyers all the time, so he should know that innocent people hire lawyers to defend them."

Chantale's expression was thoughtful. "I seem to remember my stubborn husband didn't want a lawyer. He was planning to plead guilty to something he didn't do because he didn't want the victims to testify."

"Which was ridiculous because if he pled guilty then the cops were going to stop looking for the real perpetrator," Spring said. "Yes, we all thought your husband had a screw loose."

To that, Chantale smiled. "Well, he wasn't my husband at the time. But I did foist myself on him, giving him very little choice in the matter."

"So Nick could do the same thing, right? I mean he could push to become someone's lawyer."

"Under normal circumstances, I would say he could try, but this isn't a good time. He's just started a major trial which is going to last at least a week. It sounds like your friend doesn't have a week."

Spring's heart sunk. "Can you recommend someone else? Rielle Clayton's a defense attorney, right?"

Chantale nodded. "True, but Rielle tends to represent victims and she's working on a case with social services. She's defending Alessandra MacLean's decision to pull two children from their home and put them into foster care."

"Is there anyone else?"

"Of course, but no one in the area who specializes in criminal law. You don't want a corporate lawyer handling something like this." Chantale paused. "I just plea bargained a case I was convinced was going to trial. I have some time, but you seem reticent to ask for my help. Is there a reason?"

Instantly, Spring saw the reason for the question. "Oh, I know you're a great lawyer, Chantale, it's just the client. I don't think it would be a good fit."

The lawyer regarded her carefully. "Of course I defer to your judgement, but if there's something wrong with how I handle cases-"

"It's Colton Pritchard." There, she had said it. Had shared the knowledge she was holding on to. "But you can't tell anyone, right? I mean it's like lawyer and client privilege."

"You're not my client, Spring, but I wouldn't tell anyone anyway." Her eyes were still wide with shock. "What the hell happened?"

"This morning I received an anonymous tip that Colton is about to be arrested on charges of sexual assaulting a woman." Spring hesitated. "I've heard a recording of the woman recounting the rape."

"You have that recording? I want to hear it."

Spring shook her head. "It was given to me in confidence and I can't do that. I have to protect my source."

"But if it can't be authenticated then it can't be used as evidence," Chantale argued.

"The woman said she was willing to testify. She said she would do whatever it took to get that 'animal' off the streets."

"Colton might be a lot of things, including a son of a bitch, but he's not an animal." Chantale rose a little unsteadily from her chair. "This is inconceivable to me."

"To me as well," Spring confided. "And we're the ex-girlfriend and ex-sister-in-law. Surely there's some kind of mistake."

"Was there any question about the identification? I mean maybe she was mistaken."

Spring hesitated. "She gave fairly intimate details. Now, I've never seen Colton naked, so I can't attest to the veracity of the statement..."

"But she knows about his birthmark."

A sigh escaped Spring's lips. "I was hoping there was some kind of mistake."

Chantale shook her head. "No, it's on his hip by the pelvic bone. Even if he wore a Speedo, you wouldn't be able to see it."

"So we know she knows about the birthmark. What if she heard about it from someone else?"

Chantale frowned. "You mean if one of Colton's ex-girlfriends talked? I can't imagine it."

"What if it was consensual and she later said it was rape? That happens, right? Women change their minds and decide it was sexual assault."

"That's fairly rare, Spring. A woman goes through hell when she says the word rape."

"But it does happen."

"I'll concede that it does. Usually it's the other way around. Most women don't even report the rape."

Spring found herself becoming desperate. "What if she's doing it to get attention? Or what if she has a mental illness?."

"I can't answer that," Chantale said. "You're the one who heard the recording. Did she sound like she didn't have a grasp on reality?"

"No," Spring conceded. "I mean I'm no expert, but she sounded rational."

"Let me ask you a question."

"Yes," Spring said.

"Why are you here? Tell me the truth. Because this is way beyond the responsibility of an ex-sister-in-law."

Spring had to take a moment. And then another. Finally, she drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "I've known Colton since I was a teenager and he's never done anything untoward either with myself or any of my sisters. He's a pain in the ass and caused untold grief to my family, but I still can't reconcile that with this."

"Untold grief?"

Spring shifted in her seat. "You probably remember Kennedy was censured by the board of psychologists."

Chantale nodded. "Total bullshit as far as I was concerned. I wrote a letter of complaint against their decision and asked them to reconsider."

"I didn't know that," Spring said. "Why would you do that?"

"Because of what Kennedy did for my sister, Jocelyne. Jossie's happy and well-adjusted because of the work Kennedy did with her. But what does this have to do with Colton?"

"He was the one who sent the transcripts of the interview to the review board."

Chantale snickered. "Yes, that sounds like him."

"And I once told him he was going to be knocked off his high horse and I hoped I would be around to see it, but I'm not feeling like gloating." Spring looked up at Chantale who was pacing. "Something feels really wrong."

"You're sure I can't listen to the recording?"

"I wish I could," Spring said, "but it's not in my power to make a decision like that. But couldn't you, what's it called, like, question the woman?"

"Deposition," Chantale said. "Yes, I can depose her, but I would prefer to know her story first. That way I can tailor the questions to try to trip her up."

"And if she's telling the truth?"

"Then nothing I say or do will change her story."

Spring cocked her head. "It sounds like you're going to take this case."

Chantale sighed. "Yes, I guess I am."

"He's going to be really mad," Spring pointed out.

"That he will," Chantale conceded. "But he needs legal representation."

"So can you give me a quote I can use?"

"You're going to run the story," Chantale asked, disbelief lacing her voice.

"I have to," Spring said. "There's a sworn affidavit. It says 'Jane Doe', but it looks legit. I have the recording as well as a copy of the police report and questioning of the woman. I don't see how I can suppress this."

"I'm going to try to get a court injunction," Chantale said, walking over to her desk.

Spring cringed. "That's not why I came here. We go to press in a couple of hours. I came here to get a quote from you. Colton's comment was 'no comment', but if you could say something like you think he's going to be exonerated or that you don't believe him capable of violence..."

"How violent?"

Again, Spring cringed. "I guess you'll find this out eventually, but there were bruises on the inside of her thighs. There was also semen and they did a DNA test. It was a perfect match for Colton."

Chantale dropped to the chair behind her desk, reaching for a pad of paper. "That's a good thing."

Spring's brow furrowed. "How do you figure that?"

"Because Colton's a cop. He would know about DNA. He wouldn't be stupid enough to leave evidence behind."

"Unless he was sure she wouldn't report him. She said he threatened to kill her if she went to the cops."

Chantale paused mid-sentence. "Okay," she said slowly, "that's not good."

"None of this is good," Spring said. "That's why I'm here. I mean, if he did it, he still deserves a lawyer. He deserves twenty years in prison, but he still deserves competent representation."

"I'm still going to try to get an injunction."

Spring nodded. "I figured you would. We go to print tonight. I am heading back to the office and have three hours to write the story."

Chantale's pen was poised. "Do you mind giving me your personal cell number?"

Spring shook her head, then recited the number.