Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he paused a moment, then jogged down the path to the frozen lake. The air was crisp and sharp, and the winter sun was shining brightly. The ice looked smooth and relatively free of ruts and bumps, just the way he liked it.

He sat on a fallen log situated conveniently on the bank, and started to change from his boots into the skates. He glanced over the part of the lake within his view, glad to note there seemed to be no one else around. Smiling to himself a little ruefully, he felt like a schoolboy playing hooky. There had been no point in hanging around the precinct today; there were no leads on any of his cases, the paperwork was going nowhere, and he was getting on everyone's nerves, including his own.

He sat still a moment and sighed, remembering how he had been on his way into Captain Simms's office to ask for some down time when she had met him at her door to strongly suggest the same thing. In fact, her exact words had been, "I don't want to see your face around here again until Monday morning."

He supposed he should be glad, since today was only Thursday and he hadn't had any vacation time in months. He had been putting in some long hours, partly because of his caseload and partly because his father was gone -- again. He wondered if he would ever understand the elder Caine's need to take off on his periodic journeys, and why they so often occurred with no word of where he was going or when he was coming back.

He sat awhile longer lost in his thoughts, then stood and stretched. He was tall, two inches over six feet. He had a slim-hipped, athletic build, and his movements had the grace of the naturally coordinated. He shivered slightly. It was colder out than he had thought, and he wished he had thought to bring a hat. Shrugging with one shoulder, a move unconsciously like his father's, he simply rewound his muffler to cover his ears and the nape of his neck, where his dark brown hair curled slightly. After thrusting up the collar of his coat, he took the puck out of his pocket, picked up his stick, and stepped onto the ice.

His hazel eyes darkened to a somber brown to match his thoughts. There had been no living with him lately; he knew that. {Another pattern of my life,} he thought bleakly. {My father leaves, and I become a total jerk to everyone...my friends...any woman in my life, which is no one at the moment.} He gave a mental shrug and decided to concentrate on being out on the ice.

He skated slowly at first, enjoying the release of physical activity after spending so many hours taxing his mind. He soon fell into a steady rhythm, and as he warmed up, he also picked up speed. He deftly handled the puck, passing it back and forth to himself, then shooting it forward, darting to catch up with it, to once again pass it back and forth.

He braked to a sudden halt, sending a shower of ice chips into the air with the sharp blades of his skates. He was breathing only a little heavier than before and was glad to find that he had not lost all his conditioning.

As he paused a moment, he thought back to when he had first taken up the game in high school. He nearly laughed out loud when he remembered how bad he had been when he had started to play. {I knew absolutely nothing about the game, other than it looked like fun. Not much opportunity to play ice hockey when you're a kid growing up in a Shaolin temple in California.}

He frowned; thinking about the temple made him think about his father, and he had come here today to get his mind off his troubles. Shaking his head to clear the negative thoughts, he looked around the lake again and was pleased to see he still had the spot to himself. He was beginning to enjoy the solitude. {Maybe fresh air and exercise was just what I needed today}.

The lake itself was fairly large, and its circumference was somewhat jagged, with points of brush- and tree-covered land sticking out into the water. Peter decided to skate closer to the shoreline, since he wasn't entirely sure how solidly frozen the center would be. He began to circle the lake counterclockwise, gathering speed once again.

His muscles loosened up even more, and he fell back into a little game he'd thought up when he was younger. Soon there was a play-by-play running through his mind as he imagined himself in a big game. His speed picked up, and he worked on rapid changes of direction and swift darting moves while still keeping the puck under control.

He was nearing a point of land that projected into the ice like a dogleg on a golf course. He was at full sprint when he passed the point, and the sudden appearance of a figure to his right caught the corner of his eye. His next movement was sheer hockey instinct. He deftly ducked his shoulder and suddenly straightened up after contact. He heard a whoosh and a thud behind him before he came to a sudden halt.

He turned white when he looked back and saw a motionless figure sprawled face down on the ice. For one shocked moment he hesitated, before skate-sprinting to the side of the figure and falling to his knees beside it.

Part 2

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