Chapter 3

Seth did a double-take as he was driving down his street. He lived in an isolated area north of Mission City and it was rare to see people driving on his street. Rarer still to see them throw something from their vehicle. The town had strict by-laws about dumping, but occasionally people looked for isolated places to drop trash instead of heading to the dump and paying the fee. He hadn't caught a licence plate and was not going to try to turn around his truck just to go after someone littering.

Still, he would check out the trash. More than one person had been caught because they had left incriminating evidence - such as mail - in the bag. People who dumped illegally weren't always the shiniest pennies in the jar. Pulling over to the side of the road, he cut the engine and eased himself from the truck. Almost immediately, he heard it. Whimpering, he thought.

As he made his way through the thick brush, he considered calling for help but then dismissed the idea. What if someone was hurt? Not someone, he realized, when he pulled back a thicket. A dog. A little white dog.

Well what the hell was he supposed to do now? Call animal control was the quick answer, but a little yelp told Seth that this little guy, or girl, was hurting. Ignoring his own pain, he knelt down with his knuckles down, hoping the dog would just sniff and not bite.

Big brown eyes looked up at him and instead of biting, they nuzzled.

"Okay, little guy, will you let me pick you up?"

The head cocked, but the dog let Seth reach for him. When Seth picked him up, though, he let out a howl, bespeaking the agony he was in. Protectively, Seth gathered the puppy in his arms. Obviously he was making a trip back into town.

Doctor Zephyra Dixon was able to see Seth right away. She made soothing sounds as she began her exam.

"So you're saying he was thrown out of a moving vehicle?"

Seth nodded. "Yeah. I think the brush cushioned his fall, but he's still pretty beat up, eh?" He swallowed convulsively. "Is he going to be okay?"

Zephyra used her stethoscope to listen. "I'll need to do x-rays before I can give you a good answer. I'll have to call animal control."

"Why?" Seth paused. "Does he have a chip or a tattoo?"

She shook her head.

"So you probably won't be able to conclusively determine who the owner is."

"I'll ask around at the local clinics, but my guess is we won't be able to track down someone willing to take responsibility for the little guy. My guess is someone got him as a gift and decided he was too much trouble. Why they couldn't have dropped him off at the Pound, I'll never know."

Seth looked intently into eyes which were riddled with pain. "How old do you figure he is?"

"Best guess, less than a year. He's a terrier mix."

"Any objections to me taking responsibility for him? I mean, Zeph, they tossed him out the car, so it's not like they're going to come looking for him."

She considered. "Even if I forgo my fee, he's still facing substantial bills for tests, x-rays, medications-"

"Yeah, I got all that. If he doesn't need surgery and you can patch him up, how long before I can take him home?"

Now, she regarded him. Zephyra, like all eight of the Dixon sisters, was a beautiful woman. Blue/black hair pulled into an efficient ponytail and blue eyes lighter than anything Seth had ever seen, she attracted attention. After he had adopted his husky MacKenzie, Zephyra and Seth had actually gone on a couple of dates, eventually realizing they were better off as friends. Seth had also dated her sister Rainbow, when they had been in high school together. He knew all of the Dixon sisters.

"I have access to a fund to pay for the medical care..."

Seth shook his head. "I think Mac's lonely, Zeph, so he would be good company for her. I can pay the medical bills, including your fees. You deserve to get paid." His chequing account was about to take a hit, but it would be a small price to pay.

Zephyra let out a noise which Seth knew to be disgruntlement. "A compromise, then. You pay for the costs, I write-off my fees and we go from there. I'm going to get Quinn in here and we'll take the x-rays. I'll probably have to sedate him. Is that okay?"

She was asking him, he realized. He was now responsible for another's well-being. "Uh, I'll leave those decisions up to you. Should I wait?"

"Why don't you give me a half-an-hour since it takes you so long to drive home? If he checks out, you may be able to take him home today."

Three hours later he had a dog whose back leg was in a cast but didn't appear to have any internal injuries, some kibble for small dogs, a pile of medicine, and a loosening of the band around his chest which had formed the moment he had seen that trash being thrown.

His new charge was sitting on the front seat. Seth had tried to coax him into the back where he might be safer, but the little guy had refused. Seth gave him a long look before they drove off.

"So you're going to have to hang with Mac, who is pretty easy-going, and in three weeks you get your cast off and your balls chopped off." Seth couldn't help himself, he winced. "Yeah, sorry about that one. Hopefully, in time, you'll forgive me."

He received a yip in response.

"Okay, and you need a name as well." He regarded the little white fur ball. A terrier cross, Zephyra had said. "Charley," Seth said. "We're going to call you Charley. And tonight we can take our painkillers together. We're wounded warriors."

He received another yip in response.

He had been unsure of MacKenzie's reaction of having a little buddy, but he needn't have worried. She sniffed at the bundle in Seth's arms with great interest and seemed to calm once she realized Charley was injured. She sat patiently on the floor while Seth let the little guy down.

Charley was asleep within moments and Mac lay protectively close at hand. So simple, sometimes, Seth mused. Mac had accepted her new reality with barely a bat of an eyelash. Of course she had also been a stray who Zeph had convinced him needed a strong hand. Sure, Seth thought with a laugh. Mac had run the place since the moment he had brought her home and he had no regrets on that score.

As much as he wanted to kick back, relax, and have a beer, Seth knew that was out of the question. So he settled for a lemonade and called Nancy.

For the sixth morning in a row, Jocelyne considered calling in sick. She'd never done so in her life, but then she'd never almost been hit by a car before. She'd always considered herself tough, but this pain was wearing on her. Had she been able to, she would have asked Owen for a script for something stronger than ibuprofen, but she knew she couldn't. She would have to go to a pharmacy and show ID to get the prescription filled, so that was out.

Suck it up, she told herself, as she all but crawled to the shower. The temperamental spray did little to lift her spirits as they spray was mostly lukewarm with the odd blast of scalding. Washing her hair was an exercise in patience as she could barely raise her right arm above her shoulder without shots of pain.

Always empathetic, she'd sometimes felt like some of her patients had been looking for more attention than their condition warranted. She would have to rethink that assertion. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. There would be no more patients.

And just like that, she felt flayed open with pain so acute it threatened to bring her to her knees. Unable to decide which was worse - the physical pain or the emotional - Jocelyne stepped from the shower and began the laborious task of preparing herself for the day. She'd splurged for an alarm clock to go with her disposable cellphone so she now had two alarms. No way was she getting caught late to work again. She just was having that kind of luck. The bad kind.

Still, thinking about the morning she had been late, and the Constable who had almost ticketed her, made her throat dry and that wasn't entirely because of her lunch with him. No, she was feeling something more towards him and it was entirely foreign as well as being unwelcome.

Slipping on her khaki pants, she made a mental note to go to the Laundromat as she was running short of clean clothes. The white pants she'd lost the other day had taken a large chunk out of her wardrobe and she could ill afford to replace them. Sooner or later, someone at work was bound to notice she only had a few blouses and pants. So far she had managed to rotate them, but that wouldn't hold. She was just so accustomed to wearing scrubs that casual work clothes had escaped her notice. She had packed casual before she had left and although she suspected no one would have a problem with her wearing her jeans to work - seeing as she didn't work with patients - she knew she wouldn't be comfortable doing so.

Finally, she secured her hair into a clip, wincing as the hair was so tight that it pulled her scalp.

Then she headed out to the bus stop.

As Jocelyne sorted through the electronic charts for the electronic billing, she tried to keep her eyes open. When she had first started in medicine, everything had been paper. Now, with increasing frequency, practices and doctors were making their way into the digital age. Marco and Owen had both embraced the practice, cutting costs significantly.

She was about to enter a code when she did a double-take. She knew she shouldn't be looking, but the coding was odd. Just a few clicks and she could see the patient's test results. Then she looked at Owen's notes.

Damn, she thought, what were the odds? About one in two million, she remembered. Still, her gut told her that was the second case of aceruloplasminemia. She had seen one before, during her residency, which was rare enough. Maybe she was seeing something obscure rather than it actually being there. Except if she was right then the iron supplements Owen was prescribing for his patient would be in direct contraindication to the treatment needed. The problem was that the disease disguised itself as iron deficiency while there was actually a build-up of iron in other parts of the body. The patient needed more extensive blood tests and an MRI and since this was not her patient, she couldn't prescribe any of the above.

Not her business, she told herself, as she closed the file and began the coding. Not her issue, she told herself, even as the gnawing in her gut began. How was she supposed to live with the guilt?

She couldn't, she knew.

Glancing out her door, she found the hallway empty. Exam room one and three were occupied so both Owen and Marco were busy. Quickly, she pulled up her internet browser. A few keystrokes later and she had what she was looking for. Another command and the printer was working.

Heart pounding, she checked the hallway again.

Still empty.

Grabbing the still-hot printouts, she rose and walked to Owen's office as if she had a good reason for being there. It was, as Owen himself was, a little dishevelled. A little disorganized. He was a very smart man, Jocelyne knew, so she felt that maybe the disorderly workspace contrasted with an orderly mind. She was meticulous and her office had been so clean that the cleaning staff had been stymied as to what they were supposed to do.

Finding the perfect place to lay the printout was a challenge. She didn't just want to leave it on the top as that would be too obvious, but she also didn't want it to wind up in a pile swept together. Maybe his briefcase. Right, she thought sarcastically, like he would think that the paper just-

"Can I help you?"

She whirled, one hand to her chest and one holding the papers behind her back. She gulped as she sought for some excuse. Some plausible excuse.

"I was just looking for a file."

He arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

She placed the papers on his desk and headed for the door, realizing that making a dignified exit was a distant memory. She was almost out the door before she heard him call her name.

She turned to see him sitting with the papers in one hand and the other one pointing to a chair.

"I really need-"

"Sit."

She wasn't a dog, but she also wasn't in a position to negotiate. "Yes, Sir," she said as she sat. Perched on the edge of her seat, she waited for the reprimand. She didn't have long to wait.

He pulled off his reading glasses and then ran his hand through his hair. "You do realized that your position does not grant you access to patient files?

She nodded.

"You do realize that this is grounds for immediate termination?"

She nodded.

"You realize there could be severe ramifications to me personally if it is discovered I let anyone see the file without the family's permission?"

She nodded.

"So what made you think of aceruloplasminemia? I mean this is unbelievably rare and all the blood tests indicate anaemia. This diagnosis is counterintuitive."

Was she supposed to answer?

"I...I saw the diagnosis of Wilson's disease, but also noted the dyskenisa. That combined with the diabetes and the anaemia..."

His eyebrow raised as he glanced back at the page. "So you would recommend an MRI?"

"And a blood test for hepatic iron concentration-"

Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut?

"I wasn't aware that medical billing classes also taught diagnostics of obscure diseases."

Was she supposed to answer that?

She began to rise, but his hand pointed back down to the chair, so she sat.

"Would you also recommend genetic testing of the siblings?"

Now he was looking directly at her, clearly expecting her to answer.

"Of course," she said. "There's a twenty-five percent chance that they either have illness and another fifty on top of that that they are a carrier. They need to know." She gestured vaguely over her shoulder. "I really need to get back to my work."

"Were you simply censured or was your licence revoked?" Eyes which were so often lit in humour and teasing were now horribly condemning. In response to the scrutiny, Jocelyne closed her eyes, as if that could somehow allow her to escape. She wished she was anywhere except where she was at this moment.

"I guess not answering is about the same as answering." Owen stood and put his hands on his hips. "I can't have you accessing patient files on a whim, not matter how well-intentioned you are. But if your diagnosis is right then you have saved a young woman from further disability and disease. What on earth am I supposed to do with you?"

Jocelyne opened her eyes only to find them watering. "Please, Owen, let's just forget this. I promise to never again look at a patient's chart and you forget this ever happened. I know I'm becoming repetitive, but I really do need this job. I can do this job."

"Of course you can," Owen bit off. "Anyone with decent computer and typing skills can do this job. The question in why someone who is a qualified doctor would take a job like this?"

"I never said-"

"Don't," he said with an edge to his voice. "Don't lie to me. Again," he clarified, "since you so clearly did when Marco interviewed you. I suspect we haven't run a background check yet and I don't even want to know what the results would be."

Jocelyne stood. "Just give me five minutes to clear out my desk. I don't care about the last paycheque. I'll just be on my way." She closed her eyes, battling against the tears. "I just wanted to thank you for the chance-"

"Oh, to hell with it."

Her eyes snapped open.

"You swear you'll never do this again and I'll pretend I never saw anything, now get back to work."

She didn't need to be told twice.

She was still shaking twenty minutes later when Marco knocked on her door. Indicating that he should squeeze in, he did and closed the door.

"Owen told me what happened."

"I told him that I'll go and I mean it."

Marco held up his hand. "I probably should have told him I knew you were a doctor, but I thought ignorance was bliss."

"How did...?" She needed to know. For the next time, when she ran again, she needed to know what she had done wrong.

"Diagnosing pericardial bleeding while treating a patient in the middle of a highway is usually a good indicator, but I had an inkling when you first came in here and before you ask, no, there wasn't any one thing that tipped me off."

So that answered that question.

"Look, even if you hadn't just saved another life, I would still want to keep you on. I just wish you had trusted me." He waited for her to answer, but she had no idea what to say. Finally, he spoke. "Owen and I have agreed that we'll keep you on as long as you keep your nose out of patient files. By the way, what was your specialty?"

She swallowed convulsively, but couldn't answer past the lump in her throat.

"Well, if I had to guess then I would say emergency medicine. Am I close?"

She simply nodded.

"Okay, well Seth is up front and he wants to talk to you."

Panic gripped her. Had Owen called Seth? Was she about to be arrested?

Marco placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "I think he wants to take you to lunch again. Come with me."

Knowing that she had no choice, she followed Marco into his office where Seth was sitting. "You two kids have fun, I have work to do."

Seth rose as Marco left.

"How are-"

"I was-"

He indicated she should go first.

"How are you?"

He shrugged. "Marco says I'm okay but that I'm doing too much."

Jocelyne couldn't help herself, she snickered.

"I was going to ask you to lunch."

She blanched.

"Just a lunch," he said mildly. "You have to eat and I have a hankering for food as well. Marco says you'll be available at noon."

She knew she'd just been backed into a corner and they only way out was through this man. "Okay, noon sounds good. I'll see you then."

Stepping away, she was surprised when Seth snagged her arm. "Don't act all excited or anything like that."

Carefully, she extricated herself. "We both know I don't have any choice in the matter and you have all the power so let's not pretend otherwise. I'll go to lunch with you because I have to, but I would really appreciate if you would just leave me alone."

He gave her a once-over and grinned. "So I'll see you at noon." Then he brushed past her, leaving her in a hurricane of emotions. Panic, anger, frustration and a bit of lust thrown in for good measure swirled within her.

One lunch, she told herself, how bad could it be?

"Hey, Seth, how are you doing?" Dorrie Duhamel had a wide smile for him, welcoming and open. Considering she worked in sex crimes and special victims, it was amazing she was able to maintain such a pleasant disposition. Her partner, Colton Pritchard was the complete opposite, brooding and serious. Yet as a team they were dynamic. They coaxed victims into telling their stories, nabbed perpetrators, and had an exceptional closure and conviction rate.

Colton's looks were dark, his hair black and his eyes a dark brown. At over six feet, he towered over Dorrie who was five foot three. Under the blue eyes and blonde hair of an angel, however, was an emotionally and physically tough women. Although Seth had never sparred with her, he knew she had felled a more than a few fellow officers. No one underestimated her except perps and it was to their own detriment.

Now her face held concern masked by happiness.

"I'm good, Dorrie, just a little stiff. I have a physio appointment at the Wellness Centre this afternoon."

"Are you seeing Marcus Brannigan?"

"Yeah."

Dorrie grinned. "Well you're seeing the best, so I'm sure you'll be back on the job in no time. Do they have you riding a desk?"

Seth shook his head. "I can't write or type and am not supposed to move the shoulder at all."

"And yet you're here, you're driving, and you're probably getting into all kinds of mischief."

Seth's mind flashed to Jocelyne and he thought of all the mischief he wanted to get into with her. Instead, he shrugged. "Had to come down from the Hills for the physio appointment anyway, so I figured I might as well check in here and see how things are going."

"Amazingly, we're holding things together." Her expression sobered. "So I hear Frank's taking early retirement."

Seth felt his stomach clench. "He had a few more good years. Dorrie, this is so wrong. He should have been able to choose his retirement date, not have it thrust upon him by one stupid woman."

"I heard Remy Stevens is going to the max on this one." Remy was one of the Crown Prosecutors. "She sees this as a personal affront and plans to make it her mission to get this idiot woman behind bars."

"Weren't Remy's parents killed by a drunk driver?"

Dorrie nodded. "Yes, so she's even more invested, although she would never come across as anything other the professional. Zach is letting her lead on this one. She'll seek, and probably get, something close to the max." Zachary Finnegan was the Crown Prosecutor and Remy's boss.

Nodding, Seth fought to keep his emotions under control. "Who the hell drives drunk at eight in the morning?" They had found the pick-up truck abandoned on the road to the gravel quarry with several open bottles of liquor - all covered in fingerprints.

"Wanda Fitzgibbons, apparently." Dorrie frowned. "Multiple DUIs and she was driving on a suspended licence with her boyfriend's truck. Oh, and he's a piece of work as well. Seems they like to go after each other whether in public or in the privacy of their own home. There have been two drunk and disorderly charges for public intoxication. Then ask Constable Randolph from Maple Ridge about their little domestic bliss. Their neighbours have had to call the cops almost a dozen times because their trailer isn't soundproof. It's equal opportunity as each has attacked the other."

Seth shook his head. "What a mess."

"Yeah. At least Wanda will have to sober up while she does her time. I give it a week before Rudy's shacking up with another one just as bad."

"So the cycle begins anew." Seth felt that cold dread envelope him. "Of course, what would we do without people and their addictions?"

Dorrie nodded. "We'd have a lot more time on our hands. I've lost track of how many rapes take place when either party - or both - is drunk. Anyway, Colton and I have a report to finish before we go off shift. I'm glad to see you looking so good and I hope you'll be back to fighting form really soon."

Seth waved as she left. He had flirted with the idea of flirting with Dorrie when he had first transferred to the detachment, but had decided he didn't want to mix business with pleasure. As it was, she had never shown anything other than professional interest in him. Dorrie was straight-laced and incredibly hard working, which Seth respected.

Going to his desk, Seth booted up his computer and began the arduous task of typing his report with his left hand. Greg, came by and looked like he was going to say something, but then went on as if he hadn't seen him in the first place, for which Seth was grateful. He didn't want the report hanging over him and he was tired of sitting alone at home.

MacKenzie and Charley were nice and getting along well, but they had each other and Seth was superfluous unless he could take them out for a walk, which he couldn't.

He wasn't going to focus on the negative, he assured himself. He had a lunch to look forward to.

When he was finished report, however, he still had some time to kill. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he considered. He only had her first name and a vague Québécois accent. It was slight, but it was there. When Seth had gone through his training at Depot, there had been plenty of French Canadians in his class and he was used to hearing English spoken by a Francophone.

His first instinct when he had met her was that she'd been terrified. Whether of simply being caught speeding or of cops in particular, Seth still wasn't sure. Now he was facing the choice of trying to pass off an interrogation as a casual conversation or simply letting the matter drop altogether. Their last lunch had been causal.

Start with a simple lunch, Seth told himself. If she said or did anything suspicious then he could do some more digging. Maybe she was just getting away from her old life because she wanted a fresh start. Mission City was about as far from Québec as she could get and a good choice. The town was growing, but still of a size to have that small town feeling. It was an hour's drive from Vancouver, which meant they had lots of commuters. If she was running, however, why not choose a larger city where she was more likely to blend in? Of course, if she hadn't been speeding then she would have blended in around here.

As much as a statuesque blonde of a few inches short of six feet could blend in. In looks, she reminded him of the Brannigan twins, two sisters who modelled when they were younger. Although their hair was a shade lighter and their eyes were silver and not blue, Jocelyne's height and carriage was similar to the twins. The twins who had been in a tragic car accident when they had been seventeen. A crash which had left one twin in a wheelchair and their best friend dead.

Lucy Finnegan.

Even after ten years, he could picture the beautiful young woman.

Deciding that being pulled into the past wasn't going to do him any good, Seth printed his report and turned off his computer. He wasn't going to run a search on Jocelyne, he decided. She hadn't done anything wrong and he would be overstepping his authority just to satisfy curiosity. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was time to head over to the medical clinic.

Jocelyne had all but begged Marco to give her an excuse to stay, but he had been firm. The clinic was closed from noon to one, meaning that the door was locked and the voicemail turned on. Not wanting to make her boss suspicious, she'd relented. One lunch, she told herself. The opportunity to send the cop packing once and for all.

Yet her heart wasn't in it. Not that she had much experience in the area of men, but she read something in those hazel eyes. Whether it was simple curiosity or something more, Jocelyne wasn't sure. What she was sure of was her own attraction to him. A feeling which was foreign to her, but that she was mature enough to recognize. So what was wrong with a bout of lust, she asked herself. Any woman with a pulse would find Seth attractive. No, not Seth. Constable Jacobs. If she could keep from letting it get personal then she might just be okay.

When Seth stepped through the door, however, all her good intentions fled.

He inclined his head. "Are you ready to go?"

Mutely, she nodded.

"Great. I know you've only got an hour so I thought we might go to Subway, if that's okay with you."

Mutely, she nodded.

"We'll see you when you get back, Jocelyne." Marco's voice pulled her from her reverie and she smiled at him.

"One o'clock," she said. "The Constable will make sure that I'm back on time."

When she turned back to Seth there was a slight furrow in his brow as if he didn't like what she had said. Well he would just have to live with it, Jocelyne told herself.

The restaurant was too far to walk, so they got into Seth's SUV. As she watched him jostling, however, Jocelyne cringed. "You really shouldn't be driving," she pointed out. "Don't you have someone you could ask?"

He appeared to consider for a moment. "I could ask Nancy, I suppose, but I hate to be reliant on other people. I love her, but I can't ask her to change up her routine because of me."

So there was someone in his life. Well, that meant the attraction was one-sided and that she could manage. Still, she stole a greedy look at his profile as he pulled into traffic. His handling of the wheel single-handed was impressive, but she'd noticed he'd struggled to turn the key and put the truck in gear. She'd seen him fighting against using his right hand and Jocelyne suspected she was the only reason he hadn't given in to the urge.

"Aside from Nancy, is there anyone else? I mean family or friends?"

Seth's grin was quick. "Nancy is family. She's my sister and I would ask except she handles work and kids in a precision which would put the military to shame. She'd fit me in if I asked, so I won't."

Jocelyne wasn't sure what kind of logic that was, but she understood about asking for help. She had never asked for help before, even in her younger days. She was self-sufficient and autonomous. When this whole mess had begun, she'd contemplated asking her sister for help, but had decided against it. Her sister Chantale was a lawyer and would have faced disbarment and even prison time if it was found she had helped her. So she'd gone it alone. Only time would tell if that had been the right decision.

Seth pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. "It's not easy for me to ask for help. I have three older siblings and, as baby of the family, I was coddled. If I hadn't struck out on my own, I suspect they would still be treating me like the younger one."

"I suspect you'll always be the youngest, no matter what you do."

"Do you have siblings?"

"I have a younger sister who drove me nuts when we were younger. Chantale had no sense of decorum or propriety. She couldn't sit still and she was always getting into trouble."

He considered her. "How many times did you take the rap when it wasn't your fault?"

Now she considered him. "As many as I could without it being too obvious. I guess maybe I was too protective because she grew up as a bit of a wild child. Nothing illegal, but she liked to party and drink. She also liked boys. A lot."

"But you were always restrained in your dealings with the opposite sex, weren't you? You didn't go fumbling in the backseat of your boyfriend's family's Buick."

Her chin tipped up. "What makes you think I wasn't wild and crazy as well?"

His grin was quick and easy. "My job is to be able to read people, sweetheart, and you're like an open book. You've lived a buttoned-up existence and have no idea what it would be like to really live it up."

"And you do? I thought cops were pillars of the community."

Now the grin was cocky. "Like your sister, I was a bit of a wild child as well. I have to admit that the phase lasted about two weeks, but boy did I live it up for those two weeks."

"And which two weeks were those?"

"The two weeks after I turned nineteen and was able to drink legally." His look turned more pensive. "In the end, though, I didn't really like the feeling of being out of control. I have a beer now and then, but I haven't been rip-roaring drunk in ten years."

"You're twenty-nine?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "I am. So does that mean that I'm robbing the cradle or you are?"

"Being thirty-four hardly qualifies as robbing any cradle," she said. "Now are we going to eat?"

In response, Seth opened his door. Jocelyne followed suit and they made their way to the restaurant. Jocelyne strode ahead as she approached the door and opened it. She gave Seth a look, daring him to make an issue out of it, but he didn't, instead stepping though the door.

She didn't eat at Subway very often, so she surprised as she was hit by the yeasty smell of bread. Following Seth's lead, she went to the counter and placed her order of turkey breast on whole wheat. Seth opted for tuna, also on whole wheat. They each chose a bottle of water and then sat at one of the plastic tables with plastic chairs.

Without thinking, Jocelyne unwrapped Seth's sandwich so it would be easier for him to eat.

"You didn't have to do that," he offered.

"Of course I did," she replied tartly. "If I sat and waited for you to do it, I would be late back to work."

His eyes were alight with amusement. "There are a few other things I could use help with, if you're offering."

Jocelyne couldn't speak. She didn't know if he was making an innocent remark or if there was something more personal in that suggestion. She forced herself to focus on her sandwich and she would have sworn she heard Seth chuckle, but she didn't look up.

When their sandwiches were consumed, Seth gazed at her. "So you're from Québec?"

Her eyes widened as she fought her reaction. "I take it's the accent?"

"That and you had Québec licence plates," he said casually. "The accent is barely perceptible, but I had friends in my class who were from La Belle Provence," he said, using a nickname for Québec. "Montréal or la Ville de Québec? Or maybe closer to Ottawa?"

This was a no-win situation. If she lied, he might be able to tell. If she evaded, he would know it. If she told the truth, he might use it against her. Still, Montréal was the second biggest city in Canada with a huge Anglophone population.

"Montréal, as you guessed. I speak both French and English."

"Which is your first language?"

She smiled. "That is up for debate. My mother was French and my father is English. We spoke both languages at home with about the same frequency. By the time I went to school I spoke a hybrid of the two languages and was quite surprised for find that they were two separate entities. I managed, though. My parents registered me in a private English school because they wanted me to have a solid education in both languages. The public schools, of course, are more focused on French."

"You were lucky to have forward-thinking parents." He gave her just the slightest inclining of his head. "Private school is fairly expensive."

Was she saying too much? Lots of parents from Westmont sent their kids to private school.

"Did you go to school here in Mission City?"

If he noticed her discomfort, he said nothing. "Yeah, I did. Proud grad of Mission City Collegiate. Hometown boy does good, you know?"

"Did you come straight here after graduating from Depot?"

If he noticed her level of knowledge about the police force, he said nothing. "No, I did several postings. One in Inuvik and one in Fort McMurray. I finished off my time in Moose Jaw before securing a transfer here."

"That's a lot of postings for someone so young."

That cocky grin was back. "I was twenty-two when I graduated Depot. All I ever wanted to be was a cop. More specifically, I wanted to be a member of the RCMP."

"You achieved your goal, which is to be commended."

"How about you? Did you achieve your goals?"

She couldn't help it, she felt herself panic. Breathe, she reminded herself. It was just an off-handed question. "Um, yes, I would say that I am happy."

His brow creased. "I didn't ask if you were happy, Jocelyne, I asked if you had achieved your goals."

She stuck her nose in the air. "Maybe my goal is to work in a medical clinic."

"As a clerk?" He shook his head. "No, you're meant for much more than that."

"There's nothing wrong with working in a medical clinic. Marco is a great boss and Vivi is a great co-worker. She's been a medical assistant for years and she loves it."

He eyed her. "You didn't mention Owen."

Despite herself, she flushed. "Dr. MacCauley? He's a good boss as well. The clinic is a good place to work."

He appeared to consider. "And you've been at it for what, six days?"

She gave her head a quick shake. "No, I've been doing it longer than that."

"Who was your former employer?"

Panic, she thought, marshal the panic.

"Here and there. I move around a lot and get work where I can." A prevarication, but it was the best she could do.

He looked like he was about to argue when she spoke.

"I have to get back to the clinic, if you've finished interrogating me then maybe you can give me a ride."

His smile was slow and sardonic. "If you think that was interrogation then you are as naïve as you seem. That was just a casual conversation."

If this was a casual conversation then there would be no more. She'd lost track of just how much information she'd revealed and she couldn't risk any more. She collected the garbage and scrunched it into a small ball.

"Okay, chère, we'll go back."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Well you didn't seem to like sweetheart," he offered. "If you don't like chère then I can find something else.

"And what is wrong with my name," she asked, slightly offended.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just wondering if it's your real name."

She swallowed convulsively. "I'm not lying about my name, it is Jocelyne."

"Does that mean you're lying about other things?"

Since she didn't know how to answer that, she rose and took the garbage to the trash can. By the time she turned back, Seth had risen and they headed out.

The ride back to the clinic was made in silence. When Seth pulled into a parking space, he spoke. "Whatever you're running from, I can help you. You don't need to be afraid."

How was she supposed to answer that? "I don't need help, Constable Jacobs. I just need to be left alone." With that, she slipped out of the truck and into the clinic.

Seth hit the steering wheel with his good hand and then cringed when it stung. The woman was simply infuriating, there was no way around it. He hadn't been interrogating her, he told himself, simply asking questions because he was curious. Asking questions like he would with any woman he went on a date with.

Had it been a date? Well, judging by the way it had ended, he would have to say not. Yet, for a few minutes, it had been casual and pleasant. For a short period of time, it had been companionable. She had not, he noticed, answered his question about lying. Her name was Jocelyne, of that he was sure. As for the rest of it, he couldn't say, which concerned him. How could he go on seeing a woman who was so deceptive?

How could he not?

It wasn't just her physical beauty, although that was there in abundance, it was her fragility and strength which both seemed to come out at odd moments. Sometimes they were apparent at the same time. In him, she evinced intense frustration coupled with an intense desire to protect.

Realizing his ruminations were getting him nowhere, he hopped out of his truck and headed over to the Wellness Clinic.

Valerie greeted him with a big smile and led him to a treatment room. "Marcus will be with you shortly," she said.

"No rush," he assured her, "I know I'm early."

She gave him a wink and left. No more than twenty-two, she was, Seth reflected, cute. Strawberry-blonde hair, light green eyes, and a smattering of freckles, she was just...cute. And despite several subtle hints on her part, Seth had kept the relationship on a professional level. There were plenty of single women in Mission City so he didn't need to rob the cradle, he reflected. Plus, he had another reason to pretend to be in ignorance of Valerie's interest.

Jocelyne.

Her hair was a spun gold and her eyes a deep blue which had flashed annoyance at him. Well, he wasn't through with her, even if she thought she was finished with him. She was an enigma and he didn't like mysteries.

The door opened and Seth grinned. Marcus Brannigan was a big man. Tall and muscular, it was clear that the man worked out. His dark hair and eyes were in vivid contrast to the light colours of his younger twin sisters. He put down his iPad and reached for Seth's arm.

"How has it been feeling?"

"Honestly, really sore."

"Shooting or dull?"

"Dull most of the time and shooting when I use it," Seth admitted. He cringed when Marcus began the same range of motion tests.

He squeezed his hands when asked, raised his arm when asked, rotated his shoulder when asked, all the time seeing the writing on the wall.

"This is a serious injury," Marcus said, "and you need to start treating it as such. I almost think it would have been better if you'd broken bone," he mused.

"I think that's a little extreme," Seth said. "If I have to take it easy, then I guess I will."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Really? That means only rest and prescribed exercise. No running, no work, no building houses. I mean it, Seth, or this won't heal properly and it might bother you for a long time to come."

That caught Seth's attention. "Tell me what to do."

"I need to put your arm in a sling to immobilize the shoulder. The muscles are full of tension so I'm going to recommend baths instead of showers. You need to soak for as long as you can. Since I can still feel some swelling, I'll say keep taking the anti-inflammatory unless the doc says otherwise. I'm also going to recommend that you continue to ice it several times a day."

"Was I supposed to have been doing that?" Had that been in the instructions the ER doc had given him? He'd been so focused on Frank that he hadn't given it another thought.

Marcus gave him a disparaging look. "Let's go through this again, step-by-step."

An hour later, after Marcus had thoroughly worked the muscles and given written instructions, Seth had left. Only after he climbed into the truck, did he surrender to the frustration and pain. He let out one really good yell, figuring it was better than tears. The parking lot was empty, so he was alone in his desperation.

At least a month, Marcus had said. Maybe even longer if Seth didn't follow the instructions carefully. So Seth was going to follow them religiously. After just one more meeting with Jocelyne, he told himself, as he drove to the pharmacy. He picked up everything he would need for his confinement then he went to the grocery store and did the same thing. He could have asked Nancy, he supposed, but his sister had three kids, a husband, a house, and a job to balance. She didn't need to be tending to her younger brother, no matter how desperate he was. He also went to the feed store and bought several bags of dog food. The clerk was nice enough to bring them out to his truck, but he had no idea how he was going to get them into the house. He'd figure it out, of course, that was a given. He was a creative guy.

After hauling in all his groceries and putting them away, however, he was feeling a lot less clever because now his left arm was sore.

He let the dogs out into the backyard and although Charley moved slowly, he did move. MacKenzie would lope away and then come back to check on her little buddy. Then she would come over to Seth, as if checking him out as well.

"I'm fine," he tried to assure her, but she didn't look convinced. Just how perceptive was she, Seth mused. And why would someone give up such a beautiful and loving dog?

Realizing time was running short, Seth let out a short whistle. Mac came bounding and Charley, realizing he was to follow, tagged along. As he passed Seth going into the house, he gave a baleful look.

"You and me both, buddy, you and me both."

Seth put Charley's pain killer in a kibble pouch and the dog wolfed it down. Then Seth took his own pain killer. He cringed, but he did it. Then he palmed his keys.

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

MacKenzie woofed and Charley simply turned three times then dropped on the rug in the living room. Mac then went over and lay protectively around him. It amazed Seth how quickly they had bonded. He suspected it was Mac's protective instincts coupled with Charley's need to be loved. Weren't those just basic needs? As basic as food and water.

Doing his best not to jostle his shoulder, Seth got back into his truck. He hadn't given up just yet and he didn't plan on doing it anytime soon.