ds_flashfiction | Undercover Challenge by Isis (isiscolo): Ray Likes it Red

Title: Ray Likes it Red
Author: Isis (

isiscolo)
Summary: The woman sitting at the desk was not Inspector Thatcher.
Notes: RayK/Fraser (sort of!), 1500 words, G. Thanks to

malnpudl for beta.

You can read the story below the cut and/or download an .mp3 file of me reading the story: Ray Likes it Red, approximately 8.6MB, 9:09 minutes. (On my website, so please right-click and save-as.)

The guy Anderson had fingered in the jewelry theft case had turned out to be a Canadian, so Ray figured it was a perfect excuse for liaising - or at least, getting together with Fraser for lunch, or something. The Mountie hadn't been to the station all week, and Ray was getting antsy. Couldn't concentrate on his work, always looking up when he heard footsteps. Not that he was missing Fraser, exactly…well, yeah, maybe he was.

But when he'd called on Tuesday, Fraser had said something about arrangements for an important trade delegation, so no go. On Wednesday it was an immigration issue that had to be resolved, and on Thursday there was a whole list of things that had to be done before Inspector Thatcher left for a long weekend in Vancouver, and "I'm sorry, Ray, but there's no way I possibly can," and Ray asked if maybe Fraser could come in on Friday, especially since Thatcher would be out of the consulate, and Fraser made a non-committal noise and said that he'd have to see. Well, it was Friday, and Welsh had expressly asked him to get hold of Fraser on account of how there was a genuine Canadian citizen involved. So Ray dialed the consulate yet again.

"Canadian Consulate, Constable Turnbull speaking."

"Hey, Turnbull, this is Vecchio. Put Fraser on, will you?"

"Ah, Detective Vecchio. I'm sorry, but Constable Fraser is unavailable. Would you like to speak with Inspector Thatcher?"

"No, I want - wait a minute, wasn't Thatcher was going to be out of town today?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Detective. Shall I put you through to Inspector Thatcher?"

Ray drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. "I don't want to talk to Thatcher, I want to talk to Fraser. Will he be around later today?"

"I'm sorry, but Constable Fraser will be unavailable all day. May I connect you with Inspector Thatcher?"

"For Christ's sake, Turnbull, I'm trying - oh, forget it," said Ray, and hung up. Grabbing his coat, he headed for the door. Turnbull had sounded even denser than usual, and his usual was pretty damn dense. Maybe he was distracted by Fraser's absence the way Ray seemed to be - no, that was silly. But Ray was sure that Fraser had said yesterday that Thatcher would be in Vancouver today, and that he'd be at the consulate, and none of it made any sense at all, so clearly the only thing to do was to get over to the consulate personally and find out what was going on.

When he arrived, Turnbull stood up and smiled. "Welcome to Canada, Detective Vecchio. I'll show you in to Inspector Thatcher's office."

"Look, Turnbull, I don't want to see Thatcher, I want to see Fraser."

"Understood." He lifted the handset on his phone and pressed the intercom button. "Inspector, Detective Vecchio to see you." A pause. "Yes, sir," he said, and hung up.

"I'm looking for Fraser," said Ray.

"Say no more, Detective," said Turnbull, as he walked to the door of Thatcher's office. He knocked once, then opened it - and then he winked at Ray, and whoa, that was disturbing.

Ray walked into the office, intending to tell the Ice Queen that Turnbull must have made a mistake - that no matter how many times he said Fraser that idiot somehow heard Thatcher - but stopped, stock-still, as Turnbull gently closed the door behind him. Because the woman sitting at the desk was not Inspector Thatcher.

She was broad-shouldered and big-breasted, with shoulder-length red hair that framed her face beautifully. Not a delicately pretty face, but a handsome one, stronger and yet somehow softer than Thatcher's sharp features, and he couldn't stop staring. Not that she was Ray's type, exactly; his taste tended to run toward slender blondes, like Stella. Ordinarily he'd never look twice at a woman like this one, but there was something about her…

"Ah, Ray," she said. "My apologies for the subterfuge."

"The what?"

"Obviously, I am not Inspector Thatcher."

"Yeah, I can see that." She was nicer to look at than Thatcher, that was for sure. Not that Thatcher was hard on the eyes, but this woman was smiling at him; Thatcher always looked at Ray like he was some kind of garbage just blown in off the street. Then he frowned. Turnbull had announced him only as Detective Vecchio. "Wait a minute. How come you know my name?"

She raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. "Think for a moment. You're an observant man; I'm certain you can figure it out."

Well, it was obvious. Someone must have told her about him. And it couldn't have been Thatcher, because a), Thatcher would have thought it beneath her to mention the city cop who hung around with Fraser, and b), this woman was smiling at him, which if she'd heard about him from Thatcher would not be the case. Which meant it had been…."Fraser," he said, nodding.

"Very good," she said, and he thought he heard a note of admiration in her voice.

He crossed his arms, feeling smug. "They don't call me Detective for nothing. So, what's with you pretending to be Thatcher?"

"Inspector Thatcher, Ray," she said, her tone chiding. Then she sighed. "Late last night, after the Inspector had left for her vacation, we received a call to inform us that the Minister for International Cooperation would be visiting today. Naturally, he expects to meet with Inspector Thatcher, and it would be terribly rude to foist him off on someone of lower rank. Fortunately, the two of them have never met before, and I still have my, er, accessories from when a similar masquerade was necessary." She gestured in the direction of the shiny Canadian flag pin on her lapel, although Ray couldn't help but think that yeah, she had some fine accessories, all right.

"So," said Ray. "The Inspector's in Vancouver, you're here, and Fraser is…?"

"Unavailable."

Damn, he thought. "See, there's this case I'm working on, this jewelry theft thing -"

"Did you get any useful information from Mr. Anderson?"

"Yeah, he gave us a name, and it turns out to be a Canadian," said Ray, marveling that she knew the details of his cases. Fraser must have given her a real thorough briefing. But what was really impressive was that she'd obviously paid attention; Thatcher had always made it clear that she had as much interest in Ray's cases as she had in the small slimy things at the bottom of the refrigerator. "Anyway, I was hoping that Fraser would be able to meet me for lunch so we could talk about the case."

Just then, the intercom buzzed, and she picked up the phone handset and listened for a moment. "Thank you, Turnbull. Detective Vecchio is just about to leave." She replaced the handset and stood. "The Minister has arrived, but I can't imagine he'll stay long. I'd be happy to join you for lunch. Perhaps you could pick me up at one o'clock?"

He was about to object, to point out that it was Fraser who was supposed to be doing the liaising, that in fact it was Fraser he had intended to go out to lunch with - but then she stepped close to him, right into his personal space the way Fraser always did. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he smelled her perfume, something spicy and sweet, and it was all he could do to breathe normally and choke out a, "One o'clock, okay, greatness," as he stumbled toward the door with her at his side.

She opened the door with her left hand and shook his hand with her right, a firm grip that had his heart pumping and his head spinning. "Thank you very much, Detective Vecchio."

"Yeah, sure, thank you," he mumbled, moving out into the reception area and toward the front door, past a knot of men in suits, and Turnbull, standing as ramrod-straight as though the Queen had been among them, and out to the street where he took long, gulping breaths of air. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened in there. But apparently he had a lunch date with a good-looking lady Mountie. And the way she had stood close, put her hand on his shoulder, smiled at him - wow.

Suddenly he realized that he'd forgotten to ask her name. Oh, well - he'd find that out when he came back to pick her up for lunch. Speaking of which….He looked down at his old t-shirt and baggy cargo pants; way too casual for a classy lady like that. They weren't having lunch until one, though - that gave him time to go home, change into something nicer.

As he got into his car, he couldn't help smiling to himself. A lunch date with a stunning lady Mountie - who'd have thought it? Too bad Fraser wasn't around, because Ray was sure looking forward to telling him all about it.