Jack pulled up in a cloud of dust and a squeal of brakes. The call; a motor accident, a female driver, of course he thought the worst.

The car was nose into a tree, the front end crushed in, the driver slumped over the steering wheel. Various people were gathered round, police officers, members of whatever motor club she had belonged to, staring.

Huge Collins looked up and gulped, this was the last thing he expected to tell the Inspector. Dottie always said she drove too fast but, in spite of that, she was a good driver.

"Collins!" Jack called, not believing, hoping what he saw was not what it could be.

"Sir!" Hugh was instantly by him, not wanting him to see, "an accident ... too fast ... hit a tree ..." Jack pushed him aside. Surely not, not this way, please god, or whoever was watching ... he swallowed what came up from his stomach ... he had to be sure. Blinking he tried to put aside what was before him, and yet he had to look, to check, to know for sure.

The car was not the Hispano, a little voice in his head said she wouldn't race her beloved car, 'no Jack!' it said, 'not the Hispano'. He pushed Collins aside and went, far too quickly for an impartial police inspector, to the car. The noises, voices mutterings around him melted into the background as he looked at the figure. All of a sudden he was in another world. He reached in and moved her hair out of the way, all the better to see her sweet face, so gentle in repose. Her eyelashes formed half moons of black against the pallor of her cheeks, the red of her mouth a slash of harsh colour. His fingers strayed to her jawline, tracing a line down her neck, unconsciously finding the pulse point. A faint fluttering, a beat, against his fingertip, an indication ... would he have the chance to say all he wanted to say, to tell her? He took a short, sharp breath and wrenched the door open. Reaching round under her shoulder blades, her head fell against his chest, his other arm slipped under her knees and he found, as he lifted her, she was so light, so fragile ...

"Collins!" he yelled," cradling the precious cargo, "you're driving ... the hospital, quick!"

"Sir?"

"There's a pulse ..."

Hugh was normally a steady driver, this time he drove more like Miss Fisher while the Inspector sat in the back with her in his arms.

"Hang on, Phryne," he whispered urgently, "hang on, please."

He pushed her leather helmet back to reveal a bruise forming across her forehead from the steering wheel. He bent and gently kissed it, as if it would wipe away the mark.

Hugh pulled up outside the Women's Hospital, leapt out and opened the door for Jack.

"Get Dr Macmillan," Jack urged as he slid out, slowly. He turned to Phryne, "let's see what Mac has to say about your head, shall we?" He sounded like he was talking to a child, perhaps it comforted him more, she would have given him a withering look, if she was awake. Oh, what he would give for one of those looks, just now, or a wink, or ... or ...

"Inspector!" Mac's voice cut through his thoughts, "Hugh says ... bloody hell, what has she done?"

"Ordinarily I'd blame her for driving too fast," Jack followed her down the corridor to a room, "but we need to look at the car first." Rational thought took over for a few minutes, she was too good a driver to crash on a bend like that.

"Just the head?" Mac indicated he lie her down on the bed.

"No idea, as soon as I found the pulse ..."

"Right, well, off you go and detect ..." Mac, and a nurse she had grabbed on the way to the room, started to undress Phryne, "you can come back later and see her. I'll get a message to you if I need to."

"Thanks, Mac," he squeezed her arm, "I'll see you later, Miss Fisher." He looked over at the bed.

Mac watched him go, shaking her head sadly.

"Poor sod," she mused, "falling in love with Phryne Fisher is not one of his wiser decisions." She turned to the task at hand.

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X-rays showed Phryne had sustained fractures to her ribs and some bruising. She had dislocated her right elbow, which Mac pulled back into position and strapped in place. Apart from the large bruise across her forehead and the other injuries she had come out of the accident remarkably unscathed. The leather driving helmet she had been wearing had protected her head somewhat, and there was no fracture to her skull. Mac checked her pupil reactions, they were fine, so all she had to do was wake up.

"I don't know when that will happen," the doctor murmured to the nurse. "Once you have made her comfortable I would like you to stay with her for a while, I don't want her waking up on her own. If she has memory issues she could be very frightened," though Mac thought she was more likely to be angry and frustrated. She wouldn't like the standard issue gown she was dressed in, either, she thought with a wry grin.

"Very well, doctor," the nurse pulled a chair close to the bed, "any other instructions?"

"If the Inspector should happen by he is to allowed to sit with her as long as he wants."

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Back at the site of the accident, mechanics from the Adventuress' Club were giving the car the once over before it was transported to the garage. Two constables were examining the tyre tracks. Jack knew he had to be there but he would rather be by Phryne's bedside so the quicker he could get this part of the investigation sorted the better.

"What have we got?" he called, "anything about the car?"

"Can't tell until we get it to the garage," a mechanic, he couldn't remember who, Phryne had briefly introduced them once, grunted. He watched the car being hitched to the tow truck and taken off to be examined.

He decided to follow. There was nothing he could do at the site. The tyre tracks showed nothing unusual, except for the fact there was no skid marks, nothing to indicate she had applied the brakes. He and Hugh stood there musing on that fact. A small fact that could have big implications.

"I want to know what they find," Jack hissed, "there's no way she wouldn't have braked, and at speed, there should be evidence of skidding."

"Sir," Collins nodded, "I've walked back a bit further but I can't see anything, certainly no signs of braking."

Jack was musing on this fact as he drove to the garage. They had the car up high enough to walk underneath but all the mechanics were just standing around muttering to each other.

"So, why aren't you tinkering, or whatever you were supposed to be doing?" he folded his arms and stared at them.

"We've tinkered," one of the female mechanics smirked, "you're right, there was something wrong. Look here ..." She pulled him underneath the car and pointed to some thin cables, "... brake cables, ..."

"They're not attached to anything," Jack pointed out, "how would they work?"

"They wouldn't," she pushed her hands into the pockets of her grubby overalls, "these have been purposefully broken. Look at this end," she pulled the pipe down, "see here, a very straight cut, small enough to be missed in pre race checks but enough to weaken it so when she applied the brakes it snapped. You can see the tension on the end."

Jack took hold of the cable and angled it so he could see them better. He pursed his lips and scowled, it looked very much like someone had wanted Phryne to fail, and in the worst possible way, too. He turned to Collins, waiting patiently at the side.

"Right," Jack let the cable dangle from its mooring, "nobody goes anywhere, interview everyone that was here before the race, during it and anyone who had access to the cars."

"Sir," Hugh looked around, "er..."

"Find a room you can use, Collins," he huffed, "take two other constables with you." He turned to the woman who had shown him the evidence, "I suppose you're going to tell me anyone and everyone could have come in, to look at the cars."

"Almost, but there are always mechanics around here," she agreed, "and anyone under a car would be noticed. Con's always in here, she knows who's who." She pointed to a woman cleaning a piece of machinery.

"Drivers?"

"Them too," she nodded, "she'll know who was near Phryne's car." She thought for a moment, running her hands through her short hair, "she is ok, isn't she? I heard you took her to hospital."

"When I left she was unconscious, still," Jack breathed deeply, "Dr Macmillan was looking after her."

"Good, Mac'll see her right."

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Connie wouldn't meet Jack's eyes as he asked her about the comings and goings before the race. She seemed to put rather a lot of effort into polishing the metal part while giving him the run down on who worked on what car, when and for how long. He could see she was a mine of information and was about to finish his questions when he noticed the splash of a tear on the back of her hand. Hm ... maybe a bit of a crush on our Lady Detective, he thought, unrequited he was sure. Her only motive would be jealousy but Phryne hadn't been dangling a conquest on her arm that day ... or recently, come to think of it.

"Inspector!", someone waved a phone receiver at him, "Dr Mac!"

It was a short call, noted only by him humming and nodding, before he replaced the receiver and headed out of the garage to find Hugh Collins.

He was in the middle of interviewing another driver but paused when his superior entered the room.

"I'm going back to the hospital," he muttered, "I want to see what you've got when you finish. You know where to find me."

"Sir," Hugh nodded, understanding perfectly, he would be at Wardlow, if he wasn't at the hospital.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAs he drove he mused on what Mac had told him. Phryne had come round and, true to form, had complained about the gown she was wearing and the starched sheets she was lying on. But, more than that, she almost demanded to see the Inspector, immediately. To him it sounded like she was not seriously hurt, which he thanked God for, but what was so urgent? He wondered if Mac had strapped her to the bed, to prevent her from coming after him. He smiled to himself, it was the best news he'd had all day.

He nearly knocked Dot over when he barrelled through the doors.

"Miss Williams, I am sorry," he caught her arm to steady her, "I should look where I'm going."

"Don't worry, Inspector, I expect you have other things on your mind." She smiled her sweet, shy smile, "I've just helped Miss Fisher change into her own pyjamas, and Mr Butler has sent a basket of her favourite things. Dr Macmillan hopes that will keep her where she wants her, for now, anyway."

"That's most thoughtful of you, I hope she was grateful," Jack had an image of Phryne being quite ... quite Phryne.

"She was her usual pleasant self, sir." She nodded, "oh, she has a dreadful bruise, not looking her best, so ..."

"I'll try not to," he grinned, instantly getting her meaning.

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Dot had been a little reticent in her description. The bruise covered most of her forehead and was multiple shades of purple, and she had dark circles round her eyes which accentuated the pallor of her cheeks. Safe to say Phryne was definitely, as Dot had said, 'not looking her best'. Being half prepared he managed not to gasp, but his concern showed and she saw it.

"I'm fine, Jack," she managed a small smile, "really."

He was not fooled, and told her so.

"Are you angry with me, for racing?" she motioned him to sit on the edge of the bed. "I don't want you to be angry with me."

He swore there were tears in her eyes, she was not usually worried about him being angry for one of her actions, she always told him she knew what she was doing, even when she didn't. Besides, she was not his wife, she didn't have to ask permission to take part in a race.

"It wasn't your fault, so, no, I'm not angry," he said, softly, "so, now, how do you really feel?"

"Bloody," she sniffed, "rotten headache, my arm hurts - Mac says I dislocated my elbow - and my ribs hurt when I breathe."

"You were very lucky," he touched her arm, "your brake cables were tampered with. It wasn't an accident, Miss Fisher ..."

"...you called me 'Phryne' in the car," she smiled.

"...Miss Fisher," he continued, "someone wanted you out of the race ... at least." His face took on its most serious expression, "so, who have you crossed, lately?"

"Why, Inspector," some of her sparkle came back, "do you really think that I, Phryne Fisher, would have crossed someone?"

He shook his head slowly and tried to hide his smile.

"No one, Jack," she continued, "as far as I am aware, I haven't trodden on any toes this week, all my cases have been cleared up satisfactorily, for my clients. Anyone who has been on the wrong side has been arrested and is currently taking advantage of your hospitality at City South."

He looked at her, unconsciously stroking her hand, which she found strangely comforting. It was true, unless she had hidden a case from him, all the cases she had had were just awaiting court.

"The Adventuress' Club ... anything going on there?"

"Only the race," she tipped her head, then winced as a sharp pain shot through her, "I mean one of us competing."

"Was it always going to be you?"

"No, Gertie," she lay back against the pillows, "but she suddenly got cold feet. She gave me her blessing."

"You need to rest," he noted her increased pallor, "Mac'll have my hide if I upset you." He made to get up.

"You aren't upsetting me," she smiled, "stay a little longer. I'm afraid I can only offer Mr Butler's excellent coffee as a nightcap, but ..."

He smiled, "I think that would be just right, tonight, but just the one."

"What will you do, tomorrow?" she asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

"Probably try and speak to Gertie," he thought. "What do you know of Connie?"

"A good mechanic, one of the best."

"She wouldn't look me in the eye, but I don't think it was because she was hiding some nugget about the car," he watched for any reaction that would confirm his suspicion. She knew he wouldn't use it against the woman, that was not what he was investigating, only if it was pertinent to the case, and he was fairly sure it wasn't.

"Connie is sweet, lonely though. She's not found the one for her, well, she thinks she has but ..." Phryne sighed, "... that person isn't available."

"I hope she was let down gently."

Miss Fisher knew that he had worked it out, that Connie was pining for her, "I did my best."

"I'm sure you did," he put his cup down, and took hers from her small hand. She wasn't drinking it, and let it go easily. "Now, time for you to get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Jack," she slipped down into the bed and let him tidy the covers over her.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you."

As he gazed at her he gave into temptation and softly kissed the bruise on her forehead. "Sleep well."

She watched him leave the room and smiled to herself.

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Jack decided to head for Wardlow, he expected Constable Collins would be there, checking in on Dot and possibly enjoying some of Mr Butler's delicious cooking. He wanted to go over any statements he had taken, try to narrow the field of suspects. Someone wanted Phryne out of the race, at the very least, the other idea didn't bear thinking about. So ... why?

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Jack went round to the kitchen door and, after a gentle tap on the window pushed it open and smiled at the sight before him. Dot and Hugh were sitting at the table, drinking tea, Mr Butler was slicing something up, something that smelled appetising, and there was a file on the table. So, it looked like Collins had brought the statements with him.

"Good evening, Inspector," Mr Butler turned, "dinner will be in fifteen minutes. I'm sure Miss Fisher would wish you to be suitably sustained during your investigations."

"Thank you, Mr Butler," he took a chair next to his officer, "it smells delicious."

"Did Miss Fisher eat much, Inspector?" Miss Williams looked worried, "she said she'd try."

"I don't think so, Miss Williams," he poured himself some tea, "I rather think she's not feeling up to eating, just yet." He remembered seeing a sandwich on a plate that had only one bite out of it, and the fact that she only took a couple of sips of the coffee led him to believe she really didn't feel well, at all.

"Oh dear," Dot sighed, "I hope she's alright."

"I'm sure, that under Dr Macmillan's care, she will be fine," Jack gave her a sympathetic smile, "head injuries can make you feel pretty dreadful for a while ... let's see what tomorrow brings, eh?"

"I suppose so," but she still looked worried.

"She is under Dr Macmillan, Dorothy," Mr Butler reminded her, "she will do her utmost to see that Miss Fisher is soon back with us."

Jack didn't add that might be sooner rather than later; Phryne would drive the hospital staff round the bend!

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"Inspector," Mr Butler brought a drink through for Jack, "I have made up the guest room for yourself."

Jack looked up from the pile of statements and blinked. His watch showed it was well past midnight, not an unusual time for being in Miss Fisher's parlour, but she wasn't there. Where had the time gone?

"Mr Butler, that's most kind of you, but ..."

"I'm sure Miss Fisher would want it to be so, sir, were she here," he placed the glass down on the side table, "and it is rather late."

Jack was tired enough to give in rather easily. How many times had Phryne offered the same accommodation, or more personal accommodation, that he had refused, worried it might lead down a road with the same kind of ending she had herself endured that day.

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He woke the following morning to find his suit pressed, a clean shirt, that he was sure was brand new and fresh undergarments, also brand new. That would be Mr Butler's doing, he thought, probably kept - just in case.

He could get used to this lifestyle, he reflected, as he ate a better breakfast than he would usually cook for himself. So tempting ... but no, he was a copper, and coppers didn't live in the lap of luxury and have their breakfast brought to them by a butler with the newspaper, neatly pressed. Unless they got to be Deputy Commissioner - but then he didn't want to sit in his ivory tower and tell his Inspectors who they could and could not investigate in a crime. So he would stay a copper, and stay where he felt he could do the most good. Which, in this case, meant finding out who had cut the brake cables and whether or not Phryne was the actual target.

The statements had yielded nothing of any real help, nobody saw anything unusual, no strangers or any undue work being done. Statements from the other competitors, all men, he had noted, had said they were sorry to hear she had been hurt, she was a 'game girl'. One or two had mooted it really wasn't the place for a woman. His musings were disturbed by the shrill ring of the telephone. He heard Mr Butler mutter something and assumed it was someone calling for the lady of the house.

"Inspector," Mr Butler entered the dining room, "Dr Macmillan asks if you would mind very much attending Miss Fisher at the hospital."

Jack folded the newspaper and put in next to his now empty plate. Taking a last mouthful of the delicious coffee he nodded and headed out to the hall where Mr Butler handed him his hat and coat, and the file of statements.

"Please, if you don't mind, inform Miss Fisher I shall send a hamper for her presently."

"I'm sure she will be delighted about that."

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