Chapter 2

"What the hell happened to you?"

Jocelyne cringed, even as she tried to slip by the reception desk. Just a few more feet and she would have been safely tucked into her office. Well, it was more of a closet than an office, but it had a door and right now privacy was of a paramount concern.

"I'll just-"

"Owen! Owen, get out here."

Jocelyne cringed as Vivi bellowed. Amazing that such volume could come from such a small package. An office door popped open and Dr. Owen MacCauley stepped out from his office.

"Really, Vivi, the intercom works, I promise." When he saw Jocelyne, however, he stopped. Instantly, he was in physician mode. "Exam room three is available." Without waiting for a response, he reached for her elbow.

"I'm okay, Dr. MacCauley, really. It's not my blood."

He only clucked his teeth as he led her to the exam room. Short of balking, she had little choice and since he was her boss, she gave in as gracefully as she could. Once in the exam room, she eased herself onto the table. As she had earlier, Owen snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. He sat on the stool and rolled over to her. First he reached for her hands and held them as he examined her palms.

"I know this hurts," he said soothingly, "but there's grit and I see a couple of pieces of glass." He looked closer and sniffed. "Were you wearing latex gloves?"

She wasn't going to ask how he'd made that deduction. No sense in lying. "Yes, there was a first aid kit. I applied pressure to a laceration."

His brow quirked at her use of the medical term. "Is that all you did?" He took a cotton swab and began to lightly brush her hands.

"Really, I can do this myself." She took a breath. "Look, I'm really sorry I'm late. I'll work through lunch to get caught up."

The brown eyes, which had been soft in concern, now turned to steel. "You think I care about that? Jocelyne, you've been hurt." With that, he went back to tending her hands. His touch was gentle, but it still hurt when he applied the alcohol to cleanse the wound.

"Okay, that was great-"

He lay a hand on her thigh and she knew she was busted.

"You need to take your pants off."

"Really, you can't treat me because I work for you."

"Actually, you work for Marco as he was the one who hired you. I'll make it simple for you. Let me clean your wounded knees and you can be on your way or I'll drive you to the hospital and they'll clean you up there."

She swallowed convulsively. "On my way? You're firing me?"

His head shot up. "Firing you? No, I meant you can go work or, better yet, go home. I'm not sure you should be working after the morning you've obviously had."

Suppressing the urge to laugh, Jocelyne nodded. This morning had been a walk in the park in comparison to some of the days she'd put in at the hospital back in Montréal. Twelve hour days with back-to-back-to-back traumas weren't that uncommon. One day there had been a bad bus crash and her hospital had taken in six critical patients. Jocelyne had operated on three of them. No, one hit-and-run was child's play.

"I don't have any spare clothes."

He looked up. "I have a spare pair of scrubs. They're clean. They should fit."

It might have sounded ridiculous, but scrubs were scrubs and although she was a few inches shorter and had breasts, she was pretty comparable in size to her boss. She wasn't fooled when he tried to say he wasn't her boss. She did billing for all the doctors in the clinic so it would technically be against the rules for any of them to treat her. Of course this was more first aid than actual treatment. He wouldn't bill anyone for this. If she went to the hospital she would either have to heft over her Québec provincial heath care card or pay cash. Until she got her first paycheque, she was strapped for cash, so that option was out.

"Okay," she said. "You go get the scrubs and I'll take my pants off."

Now Owen gave her a grin. "That's what I want to hear. I'll be right back." He was gone and Jocelyne undid the button. The zipper gave easily enough, but some of the fabric had already dried to the cuts and she had to peel the pants off. It hurt like the devil but she knew it had to be done. She grabbed a paper blanket and laid it across her lap.

Owen came back into the room, dropping the scrubs on the table next to her. Then he sat down on the stool and angled the light so he could get a good look.

"So what did you say happened?"

She hadn't, but that wasn't going to hold. "I witnessed a hit-and-run. A police officer was hit. I got out of my car and I helped."

"So how did you get the bruise on your thigh?"

Jocelyne glanced down and saw the offending darkening skin.

Owen pushed back the stool and indicated that she should stand. Unless she chose to be insubordinate, she was going to have to do as she was told. She stood, letting the paper blanket fall to the floor. She didn't have to look to know that there were more bruises. He pressed his hand to her hip and she winced.

"Lift up your shirt."

She pulled it up, exposing the right side of her body. At least she had worn clean lingerie today. She submitted to the poking and prodding, all the while trying to avoid wincing.

"You're allowed to admit that you're in pain, Jocelyne. No one gets brownie points for toughness around here."

Then, as if to test her, he hit a particularly tender spot and she gasped. "Okay," she said. "I'll admit that hurts. Now will you stop?"

He pushed back and indicated she could let her shirt down. She let it fall back into place and sat back on the table. He reached for a cotton swab and began the delicate process of debridement on her knees.

"So there was a hit-and-run," he prompted.

What were the odds he was going to hear about this from someone else? Mission City wasn't the smallest town she'd travelled through recently, but it wasn't a metropolis either.

"I was pulled over for speeding because I was late for work and was talking to one policeman when a truck came careening at us. He pushed us out of the way, but his partner got hit. I did first aid on the partner and I wasn't going to tell you because I'm embarrassed, so could we not talk about this again?"

There, she thought, hopefully that would solve the problem.

Owen just kept brushing glass and concrete from her shredded knees. At length, he spoke. "I can respect that you don't want acknowledgement about what you've done. My concern is that you hit the pavement with what appears to be a relatively high rate of speed and you've got multiple contusions."

"You should have seen the other guy," Jocelyne joked.

Owen looked up, not amused. "If I were your doctor, I would be sending you for x-rays."

What remained unspoken was that he wasn't her doctor and he wouldn't be sending her to the hospital. If she chose to go, that was up to her.

"Really, Dr. MacCauley, I'm fine."

"Well, I had better do a neurological exam as well."

Jocelyne looked at him in confusion. "I definitely did not hit my head."

"Well, I keep telling you to call me Owen and you keep forgetting, so you'll pardon me if I'm worried about your brain."

She caught the ghost of a smile cross his lips. "Okay," she sighed. "Owen it is."

"I could order you to go home."

Seth cracked open an eye to look up at his supervisor. Even at three in the morning and in civilian clothes, Sergeant Gregory Wilder cut a handsome figure. Tall, lean, trim and aging well, the fifty-something man had salt and pepper hair with blue eyes. Lots of women in town gave him appreciative glances when he went into Tim Horton's for coffee, but he was either completely unaware or completely uninterested. Seth had never figured out which.

"Actually, Doc says I'm off-duty for at least the next week. Seems three broken ribs, a bruised shoulder and multiple contusions have earned my some time off."

"Don't forget that nasty gash on your arm and Doc said a minimum of a month before you can even ride a desk."

Seth had known the odds when he'd tried to downplay the situation, but he had suspected Marco and Greg would talk. Of course Marco couldn't break patient confidentiality, but the health report was going to be part of the evidence if they ever found the red truck. So far, nothing had been spotted.

"I'm just hanging," Seth said casually. In fact, there was nothing casual about it. Frank had been in surgery for more than six hours this afternoon and was still on the critical list. Seth had some irrational fear that if he left the hospital Frank might die.

Greg sat on the chair next to him. "I was able to reach Sheila, Frank's first wife. I don't think you ever met her."

"Nope. I didn't even meet wife number three."

Greg cringed. "You didn't miss much. If I could have gotten out of it, I would have skipped that wedding altogether."

Seth couldn't fight the grin. He hadn't been posted to the Mission City detachment five years ago, so he had missed the event, but it was the stuff of legends. Wife number three's husband number four had shown up with some of his buddies and had tried to start a brawl. Husband number four had neglected to tell his friends that they were trying to fight with a bunch of cops. In the end, everyone had enjoyed beers except wife number three who had run off with her husband number four. As husband number five, Frank had sought - and received - an annulment.

Seth couldn't relate. No one in his family got divorced let alone married multiple times. No, when a Jacobs married, it was a mating for life. At twenty-nine, Seth wasn't in a huge rush, but neither would he pass up the opportunity to meet the right person. Admittedly, he'd been going through a bit of a dry spell, but he had high hopes for this summer.

A memory flashed. "Have we found that Good Samaritan?"

Greg shook his head. "I have to admit we haven't looked very hard. Everyone's on the lookout for that red truck. We're waiting for forensics to see if they can match the paint to a make, model and maybe even a year."

"I just wish I'd gotten the plate."

"Seth, you and the Samaritan are alive and relatively healthy."

"Yeah, did she get checked out?"

Again, Greg shook his head. "We checked out the Mission City Memorial Hospital, but no one showed. Doesn't mean she didn't go to a walk-in clinic. Or she might have been really stubborn and refused treatment."

Seth only rolled his eyes, knowing his boss couldn't see. "Something was off, Greg. Something was wrong. She was...scared. I can't explain it."

"You've got good instincts, it's what makes you one of my best, but I need more to go on."

"Rory said the woman talked her through some kind of complicated medical procedure."

"Which fits with her having a medical bag. We can run it for prints."

Seth considered. "That might give us a name."

"Again, though, what are we going to charge her with?"

Frustrated, Seth let out a sigh. "I guess I want to thank her, you know? Marco says what she did made a real difference."

"So take out an ad in the paper."

Greg's droll humour never got old, Seth thought. Maybe his boss had it right. Why obsess over one woman who was probably just passing through town? Why not just accept that some people did good things without expecting anything in return? Why not just let it go?

Those big, deep blue eyes were the reason. They had been haunted and they had been guilty. Guilt that ran deeper than a speeding ticket.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of twenty dollar bills. "I know you can be a little eccentric, but why keep two hundred dollars in your cap?"

Seth turned to face his boss and swore when a streak of pain shot through the right side of his body. "I don't keep money in my cap. Maybe it was Frank's."

Greg shook his head. "Nope. Frank's had his name in it. This came out of the cap by the cruiser - your cap."

Understanding dawning, Seth barked out a laugh.

"Care to share?"

"Our Good Samaritan has a conscience." Seth held up the bills. "This is for the speeding ticket."

Disbelief crossed Greg's features. "Okay, I have to say that's a new one and I've been doing this for more than thirty years. Take it as a sign to let it go, Seth."

Yeah, Seth thought, easier said than done.

All Seth wanted was a fresh cup of coffee and a bagel. He should have used the drive-thru but handing a hot cup of liquid left handed was tough enough without adding a steering wheel. So he had tried to slip into the Tim Horton's unnoticed. Since he wasn't in uniform...oh, who was he kidding? He was tall, muscular and had his arm in a sling. Any one of those things might have garnered attention, but all three were like throwing up a neon sign. Coupled with the fact he'd grown up in Mission City and he was guaranteed to be greeted by everybody in the place who was over forty and a few who were under that age as well.

Paying for his own coffee and bagel had also been impossible as his old hockey coach, Coach Petrov, had been in line in front of him and had told the cashier he would cover Seth's bill. Not wanting to be rude, Seth had demurred. Now, finally, he was sitting in a booth by himself.

"So how are you?"

The question Seth dreaded the most and he might have exploded with frustration had the question not come from his doctor. Uninvited, Marco Raymond dropped to the seat across from Seth. Then he waited for Seth to respond.

Seth glanced around, assured no one was watching.

"A month? Really? Because it's been two days and I'm going nuts. You won't even let me ride a desk," he spat out.

Marco was completely nonplussed. "You need to keep that shoulder immobilized for several weeks." He considered. "Is it safe to assume you drove yourself here?"

"Well, yeah, of course."

Marco clucked his tongue. "Bed rest means bed rest. Ask one of your many siblings or your parents to help you out, Seth, or you're going to be out of the game for even longer than a month."

Frustrated, Seth sighed. "You expect me to sit up in my house by myself?"

"Not my fault you live in a cabin by yourself in the Hills. Why don't you move in with Nancy?"

Seth nearly spit out his coffee. "That's a good one, Doc. We'd kill each other inside of twenty-four hours."

Now it was Marco's turn to sigh. "Take up a hobby that doesn't involve using your hands. Try reading or watching television. Baby-sit your nephew and nieces - as long as you don't pick them up. Just find something to keep your mind occupied and you'll get through this." He sipped his own coffee. "Frank's off the critical list."

"Yeah, but he's still in the Intensive Care unit."

"Precautionary," Marco said. "Day or two and he'll be out of the woods."

Seth picked up the last piece of bagel and then put it down. He leaned back in the booth. "I'm stumped, Marco. I can't find the woman who helped Frank. It's like she's vanished."

"What do you mean vanished?"

Holding out a closed fist, he shot his fingers open. "Like magic, you know. Here one moment, gone the next."

Marco nodded. "The funniest thing happened. The day Frank was hit, our new billing clerk was late for work. Showed up covered in blood that wasn't hers with a few injuries. I didn't treat her, Owen did, but I know she had to wear scrubs the rest of the day because her clothes were ruined. Funny coincidence, don't you think?"

"Thirty years old, five-foot-eight, one thirty-five, blonde hair, blue eyes, light French accent."

Marco laughed. "I'll bet you could give me her bra size as well, but seeing as she's my employee, that would be completely inappropriate information to be exchanged."

"I need to talk to her."

His doctor and friend eyed him. "I thought you might say that. Her lunch break is between noon and one. She brings her own lunch and eats at her desk which drives me crazy. Since it's such a beautiful day, I'm going to insist she take a walk. Since you refuse to go home, I suppose you might be able to handle a walk."

"Nothing wrong with my legs," Seth commented. Sometimes they felt like the only place which wasn't bruised.

"Well, I want to see you today anyway, so come by about eleven forty-five so I can take a quick look. Are you taking your painkillers?"

"Doc-"

"None of this machismo-crap, Seth. Your body needs to heal or you'll be off the job even longer." Marco's eyes were incisive. "You have the opportunity to be back on the job."

And Frank doesn't.

The words weren't spoken, but they did hang between the two men.

"Okay," Seth said, relenting. "You message is received and understood. I might not be willing to ask Nancy for help, but I will clear off some of the shows on my PVR that I've been meaning to watch. Good enough?"

Marco nodded. "I'll take it. Now, I have to get back to the clinic." He was up and gone, leaving Seth to watch. Marco was about a dozen years younger than Seth's boss Greg, but he garnered the same female appreciation. The good doctor was just under six feet, with black hair liberally streaked with grey and dark brown eyes. Marco had been his doctor since Seth had returned to town four years ago. Not that Seth spent a lot of time at the office. At least he hadn't before two days ago.

Shifting in his booth, he cringed again. Doc was probably right about a few weeks on the sidelines. What was hardest was not being involved in the search for the guilty party. He wanted in on that arrest, if only for personal satisfaction. Of course, it wouldn't make things okay. It felt like things would never be okay again, but he knew that was just an emotional reaction to upheaval. He was alive. Frank was alive. Everything else would just sort itself out.

Of course a walk at lunch today would help sort out a lot.

At noon on the dot, Jocelyne walked outside. She was carrying a little lunch bag and was looking disgruntled. When Seth stepped forward, she froze. Then she turned back to the clinic and reached for the door. Marco, who had just locked the door, waved and headed back to his office.

Hand still on the handle, as if she could will it open, Jocelyne's head dropped. Then, as if realizing she was trapped, she turned to face him. "Constable." Her voice was cold. Arctic cold. Frigid.

He approached her. "It's a beautiful day. Maybe we can walk to Abbeyvale Park and find a place where you can eat your lunch."

She had put on her sunglasses, but Seth knew she was desperately looking around for some kind of excuse. Something that would get her out of this situation. He could also tell the moment she became resigned.

"That would be nice, Constable Jacobs."

He inclined his head. "I'm sure by now you know that it's Seth."

"Seth," she said, trying out the word. He liked how the 'th' lilted with her light French accent. It was slight, but it was there.

Indicating the direction they should take, she fell in step next to him. "You'll have to excuse me, but I'm at a loss. I don't remember your name." He said it causally, but there was nothing casual about the inquiry.

When she hesitated, Seth wanted to point out that it would be easy enough for him to find out. Still, she deserved his respect. He didn't want to box her in too early.

"Jocelyne," she said.

He wanted to demand her last name, but he would take what he could get.

"Well, Jocelyne, it's nice to meet you...again. I would offer to shake your hand, but we both know that it's not possible."

"How is your arm? Your ribs? Your shoulders? Aside from bruising, is anything broken? How many stitches did they do to close up the gash on your arm?" She stopped. "I'm sorry, that was impertinent of me."

His grin was cocky. "I'm sure you could have figured out all that by reading my chart."

She stopped. "I don't read charts for my job, nor would I do so to satisfy idle curiosity."

Seth knew she was more than idly curious, but he wasn't going to point that out. "Well, the run down is three broken ribs, eighteen stitches and I'm covered in bruises and contusions. Marco says I'm to take it easy for the next month."

"And although I know that is distressing for you, Dr. Raymond is right. Your arm should be completely immobilized. You shouldn't even be walking."

He appeared to consider. "I'm sure your medical opinion is appreciated, but I'm not the type to sit around and do nothing." He pointed to a bench and waited for her to sit.

She did so, but with great hesitation. "It's just a lay person's opinion. I'm not a medical professional."

Yeah, if she wasn't then he would eat his shoe. As if he had all the time in the world, he sat next to her. "Look, lady, don't even try to give me some crap about not being a medical professional. A lay person does not carry around a medical bag and know how to do a...whatever it was that you talked Rory through. Please, don't insult my intelligence." He let out a sigh of frustration. "I spoke to the surgeon in Vancouver. She was very clear that the...thing you did... was critical in Frank still being alive when he arrived at the hospital. His lung had collapsed and he wasn't getting air, but you already knew that. The surgeon said that it was thanks to you that his brain and other organs weren't deprived of oxygen." He paused. "You haven't even asked about him."

Now she shrugged. "I could lie, but I'll be honest. Owen has been getting updates through Marco and passed the information along to me. Of course I care about your partner's condition. I saw what happened to him. I'm not callous."

"No, but you've lied to me."

She tensed and then turned to him. "I haven't lied to you."

"You said you're not a medical professional."

"And I'm not," she said. "I'm not licensed to practice in British Columbia."

"But you are in Québec?"

She shook her head. "I'm not licensed to practice anywhere. As for the rest, it doesn't matter."

"It does to me," Seth spat out with such vehemence it caused Jocelyne to drop what was left of her sandwich. Before he could even apologize for the outburst, a squirrel had come and scooped the crust. "I'm sorry," he offered.

Now she smiled. "The crust may be the healthiest part of the bread, but it is my least favourite part. I was contemplating sharing with the wildlife anyway."

She was indulging him, which only annoyed him more. "What's your last name?"

Jerkily, she got to her feet. "I need to head back to the clinic. I'm glad to see you're okay, but you should listen to Dr. Raymond's suggestion about taking it easy. It was nice to see you again." With that, she was stalking away.

Not so fast, Seth thought as he rose and stalked after her. His body was screaming in pain. When he grabbed her arm to spin her around, he saw that she winced. Guilt stabbed into him like a knife.

"I'm sorry," he said lamely. "I didn't even ask you how you are."

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. "And I haven't thanked your for saving my life, so I suppose we're even."

Not quite, he thought. "Is there anything I can do?"

Now she considered. "Is there any chance you can get my medical bag back? The contents are irrelevant, but the bag was sentimental value. It was a gift from my sister."

"When you finished medical school," he prompted.

Despite knowing it would hurt them both physically, she wrenched her arm from his grasp. He wanted to reach out again, but he had no business doing so.

"Forget I asked."

"No," he said abruptly, "I'll make arrangements. It's not evidence, so releasing it is no issue. I just have to figure out what happened to it."

She waved him off, but he could see she was fighting with some kind of emotion. "If you can't find it, no big deal. Otherwise you can give it to Marco or leave it with Vivi at the front desk."

He cocked his head. "Afraid of seeing me again?"

The refusal was on her lips, but he could see her tamp it down. "Any reminder of that horrible day is difficult for me," she said. "I think it's just as well if we don't see each other again."

He chuckled. "It's a small town, Jocelyne." He wasn't quite able to replicate the way she said it in French, but he knew he was pretty close.

"Is that a threat?" Her body was rigid.

"Not a threat," he said casually, "just pointing out the obvious. Even if I stay cooped up in my place, I still have to come in to town for doctor's appointments, physiotherapy appointments, grocery shopping, coffee-"

"Okay," she said abruptly. "You've made your point." She pointed back towards the clinic. "I really do need to get back. I need this job."

Seth knew very well that Marco and Owen would not fire her because she was having lunch with him, but he held his tongue. Instead he indicated she walk and then fell in step beside her. The rest of the walk to the clinic was made in what could only be termed as an uncomfortable silence.

Close to the clinic, she turned to Seth. "Please let me walk in alone." She looked around furtively. "I...don't want to be the subject of talk."

Seth knew exactly what she was referring to. Vivi, the clinic's receptionist, was a hotbed of gossip. Nothing confidential, of course, but she still seemed to know everything about everyone in town.

"Yeah, well I can respect that." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. "The Royal Canadian Mounted Police do not accept road-side payments for speeding tickets and even if I could, I wouldn't write you a ticket." He indicated that she should take the money. When she balked, he said, "look, my sergeant will ask me if I've returned this. He won't understand if I say no. Take the money."

As if it were a caustic and volatile substance, she took it, careful, he noted, not to touch him.

"I'll let you go and see what I can do about tracking down the bag. Of course if you had just stayed..."

Again, she stiffened. It was a full minute before she turned to him and she removed her dark glasses. He took a punch to the gut. Blue eyes as clear as crystals shone with what he could only term as desperation. "Please," she said simply then she turned and fled into the clinic as quickly as she could, given her physical state.

Please? Please what? Please get my bag back or please don't ask me any questions? Seth thought he had gone pretty easy on the questions, given the intense curiosity burning a hole in his gut. Jocelyne whatever-her-last-name was running scared. Of that, Seth had no doubt.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Seth whirled to face Dr. Owen MacCauley. The doctor had a bland expression on his face, but Seth knew better than to take things at face value. "I wasn't really paying attention to her looks." Not entirely a lie. He had been more concerned about her state of mind than her physical attributes. On the other hand, a person would have to be blind not to notice that kind of beauty. He turned to the doctor. "I heard you cleaned her up."

Owen shrugged. "I like to help keep the staff healthy and happy."

Seth noticed he emphasized the last word. Was that a veiled threat? Looking closer, Seth detected something else going on. Did Owen have feelings for his employee? That started another slow burn in Seth's gut. Inappropriately, he was feeling territorial, even if he had no right. Still, he gave Owen a once-over. "I won't do anything to make her unhappy."

Owen's smile was easy, but Seth saw the tension at the corners at his mouth. "I'm glad to hear that, Constable. Now, my first patient is arriving, so I need to go. I'm sure I'll see you around."

Seth didn't doubt it. He would have to keep his eye on this one.

Jocelyne was sitting in her office when Owen knocked on her partly-open door. She indicated he should join her and he squeezed in.

"I would like to check on how you're doing."

That familiar feeling of panic set in. "I'm fine," she said. "I promised that if I have any concerns I would talk to you."

"But will you really?" He offered her a cocky grin. "I suspect you're as stubborn as Seth."

She couldn't help it, she tensed at the mention of Seth's name. She cleared her throat. "I wouldn't say I know the Constable well enough to comment on that statement."

Owen's brow raised. "I got the feeling you know each other well enough."

"One lunch hardly constitutes intimate knowledge," she pointed, even as she realized her mistake.

The grin on Owen's face could only be described as cocky. "Yes, I believe the Constable would have similar sentiments. He seemed...predatory."

Jocelyne's face showed her shock. "You're wrong Dr. MacCauley. Owen," she quickly corrected. "There's nothing between us. It's just one of those situations where we were thrown together in a dire emergency. You know how that happens."

The grin on Owen's face diminished. "I might have once, but that was a long time ago."

But he had wanted to, Jocelyne thought. It was rare to see such naked desire on someone's face.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I was offered a chance to practice here and I took the opportunity. I'm happy here," he assured her. She knew he was satisfied with his work, but happy? Suddenly, she wasn't convinced of that.

Not her place, she told herself. Just because she knew about the rush of adrenaline which came from emergency medicine, didn't mean she could share any of that with this man. "I should probably get back to work," she said.

Owen, seemingly pulled back into the moment, gave a curt nod. "Keep icing that hip. I can give you the name of a massage therapist if you think that might help or a physio to keep you limber."

They both knew time was going to do the healing. Was she really as stubborn as Seth?

"I promise I'll ask for a referral if I need one." Since they shared the building with the Mission Wellness Centre, she could have access to the best of care. "I also promise to keep stretching and taking the anti-inflammatories if I need to."

Owen seemed appeased and nodded, leaving her office. Only when he was gone, did Jocelyne take a deep breath. For her trouble, she felt a twinge on her right side. It was funny that she should be surrounded by such good looking men. Marco was too old for her - she'd made that mistake and wasn't going to again. But Owen? About her age, the young doctor was lanky, tall, and quite good-looking. Light brown hair in need of a trim matched teasing light brown eyes which were usually hidden behind reading glasses. She had heard lots of comments from appreciative women in town and scuttlebutt was that Owen was single. Yet, she felt nothing but collegial respect for him.

Constable Seth Jacobs was another matter entirely. Were her feelings because of some adrenaline-fuelled hormonal reaction or was there something more? Why had he really come to find her? She had no doubt that today had not been a coincidental meeting. He wanted to know who she was and she wanted to keep her identity a secret. How hard would it be for him to take her fingerprints from her medical bag? Probably not that difficult. She didn't know much about police procedures, but if Constable Jacobs was dedicated to finding her identity, then he would.

Should she move on? For the first time in more than a month, she had stopped running. She liked her co-workers at the clinic and she liked Mission City. If only she hadn't been pulled over for speeding. Except that truck probably would have crashed anyway and perhaps Frank would have died.

One thing she had learned in her work was to not question why things happened. People who shouldn't live did while others who should live died. Her only goal was to fight death with every ounce of her being.

She looked down at the pile of invoices to enter. She had never felt more useless in her life.

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