One more load to carry down to the Ford and Jim was ready to start his vacation. He eyed the assortment on his bed; fishing pole with case, soft sided tackle box, and his lucky fishing vest. As an afterthought, he tucked his favorite pillow under his arm before gathering up the equipment and heading downstairs. Looking over the railing, he spotted his roommate.

Blair still sat at the kitchen table, industriously typing on his laptop. He hadn't moved an inch from that chair since Jim had arrived home after a full day of court appearances and paperwork.

"This is the last of my stuff, Chief. You ready?"

Blair leaned back with a heavy sigh. "Oh, man. You know what? I'm gonna have to pass."

Here it comes. Jim glanced at his watch. It was after six. They had a five-hour drive and that was only if the Friday night traffic wasn't too bad. Since the following week was spring break just about everywhere, Jim expected the traffic to be bad.

Blair continued to play the part of the frustrated and reluctantly duty-bound student. "It's just I've got so much on my plate. What was I thinking? I can't take off for a week. I've got obligations and deadlines. Just this morn-" Blair's head spun in surprise. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Jim was halfway back to his bedroom. "I'm putting my fishing stuff away."

The sound of a kitchen chair scraping the floor made Jim wince. The hardwood floor was overdue for a sanding and varnish. If Blair kept that up, he was going to get the job. He tossed his pillow back where it belonged and carefully stowed his equipment in the closet.

Blair's upper body became visible through the railing, having backed up until he could watch Jim. "Why?" he called up in exasperation.

"You just canceled the trip, Einstein," Jim answered lightly. It was important not to look upset or disappointed.

"No I didn't!" Blair threw both arms up, dropping them theatrically to his sides again. "I just said I can't go. You can still go. Simon and Uncle Buck will be disappointed."

Jim jogged down the stairs. He unbuttoned the cuffs to his flannel shirt and carefully rolled back the sleeves. "They'll have a good time. Maybe they're still in cell phone range."

Blair's hand slammed down over Jim's, sending the cordless back into its charger. "No! Don't do this, Jim!"

"Do what?"

"This!" With hands on Jim's chest, Blair shoved hard.

Jim allowed himself to fall back a few steps. "Sandburg, knock it off," he growled.

But his roommate showed no signs of backing down. "You... go... fishing... without... me! Got it?"

"Gee, Blair," Jim replied, frowning. "Last time I checked, I was an adult, too. If I don't want to do something on my vacation, I don't have to."

Blair crossed his arms. "This isn't about you doing what you want. You're guilt-tripping me into doing what you want."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Blair opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut. Executing a turn worthy of a marine sergeant, he marched into his room and closed the door.

Damn, for a minute Jim thought it was going to work. He returned to the cordless. It appeared he really did need to call Simon Banks and explain they weren't going to be showing up. Frankly Jim wasn't too surprised.

Tonight was the three month anniversary of the day Blair had been forced to fire a gun. It was a righteous shoot. Jim had been shot and was down, unable to protect them. If not for Blair's actions, neither one of them would be alive. Although Blair's victim - a VA doctor - had survived and been listed as stable, he ended up dying a few days later from complications.

To put it bluntly, his roommate was not the same.

Blair had thrown himself into his studies; into helping Jim with his enhanced senses and helping out at the station. Dates, dinners out, anything that bore a resemblance to recreation in any shape or form had gone out the window. At first, Jim figured it was because Blair felt compelled to play nursemaid. But even after Jim had returned to full time duty, things didn't change.

With a sigh, Jim hit the speed dial button for Simon's cell phone. Maybe he'd send Henri. Jim could cover his shifts, thus save his vacation time. It was a shame to waste a perfectly good fishing trip, especially a one week cabin rental on a blue ribbon steelhead river.

God, this was going to be a tough phone call.

The door opened, Blair reappeared with a duffle back slung over one shoulder. Mouth in a tightlipped line and scowling, he brushed past Jim and threw his duffle bag down by the door. "Fine! Let's do it!"

Jim set the phone down with a sigh. It was shaping up to be a swell week.

Simon Banks stepped off Amtrak's coach car onto the city of Tacoma's station. With fly rod case in one hand and suitcase in the other, he searched the outside waiting area for a familiar head of silver gray hair.

Buck Stevens leaned casually against a far pillar that supported the slanted roof, thoughtfully in place to keep rain from reaching the rail commuters. Raising a tanned hand in a silent two finger salute, Buck grinned at him from across the milling mass. Two men that stood head and shoulders above over most folks had no problem seeing each other. Simon raised his fly case to return the gesture.

"Thanks for picking me up, Buck," Simon greeted after crossing the crowded platform.

"No problem." Buck led the way toward the adjacent parking lot.

The surrounding noise of the city traffic and smell of industry only made the promise of the coming week that much sweeter for Simon. Nine days of not acting like a police captain, of no pager, no faxes, no emails or phone calls. Simon had been buried under paperwork for so long, the concept of vacation had neared extinction.

"Toss your stuff in the back," Buck instructed.

"I'm surprised you left all this unattended," Simon told him, swinging his suitcase into the open bed of an older model dark green Jeep truck. Boxes, firewood, tools, fuel bottles and a large green Coleman camp stove fitted into the bed like an intricate puzzle. He had just enough room to slide his luggage in, and safely tuck in his fishing equipment. Behind the truck, Buck was towing a large drift boat on trailer. More fishing equipment and strapped down plastic Rubbermaid containers were on board.

"I was keeping one eye on this and one eye on your train," Buck explained as he unlocked Simon's door and walked around to his side.

Before Simon knew it, they were westbound on highway sixteen, crossing the Narrows Bridge on their way out of Tacoma. He stretched his long legs out with a sigh. It was still early in the morning and they had a long drive ahead. The weather was pleasant for April, overcast but not cold.

"If you feel that urge to pollute your lungs, just crack the window."

Simon turned in surprise, catching evidence of a lingering grin on the orchard grower's face. "Seriously?"

"Sure."

He couldn't get a cigar out fast enough. "Jim never lets me smoke in his Ford, the department passed a policy of no smoking in the building. I may change occupations and start an orchard."

"As long as you don't need an income for the first few years and you have lots of money to spend, go for it."

Simon's deep guffaw filled the truck cab. "My Ex is in charge of spending my money. I'd better stay put. At least let me treat you to lunch in Port Angeles. I know a place that serves fantastic chowder."

"You're on," Buck said.

Simon enjoyed his cigar and watched the scenery change from shopping malls and condo's to miles of thickly growing evergreens. To the south he spied occasional glimpses of Hale Passage and Henderson Bay. This area of Washington was riddled with salt water canals and passages, a virtual playground for boaters. They arrived in the small town of Gorst. From here, drivers had a choice of either turning left and circling the Olympic Peninsula from the south or continuing north and arriving from the opposite direction. Buck headed north, toward the promised chowder house.

"What's your take on Blair's recovery from January's little debacle?" Buck asked, breaking the silence.

Simon gave that question some serious consideration, knowing his driving companion wouldn't rush him and would prefer a thoughtful answer. "Tell ya the truth, I'm not seeing much of Sandburg. He's either not coming down to the station because he doesn't want to or Jim's keeping him away."

"Why would Jim do that?"

Why indeed? Simon had a few guesses, but that's all they were. "I just know Jim's been acting off himself, lately. He's short tempered. He's handling his caseload, but his attention isn't what it could be. If I were to guess, I'd say he's worrying about Sandburg."

Buck seemed content to puzzle over that news. They arrived at Hood canal. The floating bridge waited for them, spanning the water between the peninsula and Salsbury point, the dividing point between Jefferson and Kitsap Counties. The two-lane bridge had the ability to swing a portion of the span sideways to accommodate large ships and passing Navy submarines. The Bangor Naval Submarine base lay just to the south of their position.

Off the bridge and back into forest, Simon felt a bit more relaxed, as if the further he got from Cascade, the more he was able to leave the constant burden of his responsibilities behind.

One AM and Jim was still looking for the correct turn off. He glanced down at the map in his lap. After Blair had fallen asleep, Jim had slipped it from under his hands. It was just as well, the kid couldn't navigate his way out of a sandbox.

"Where are you?" he muttered quietly.

The narrow dirt road they needed just didn't seem to be there. Somewhere between Bogachiel and Queets was a route that would lead them up into the Olympic National Park. Promising to be remote and ruggedly pristine, Buck had assured them they could look forward to a week of peace and quiet.

And good fishing.

Jim turned the SUV around and retraced his tracks. He used his sentinel abilities to compensate for the inky blackness beyond the high beam's reach and soon spotted the narrow dirt road tucked into the outside curve of a sharp turn. It hugged a steep hillside that followed a ravine. Jim could hear the light splashes of water over rocks though the closed windows of the Ford. He pulled over onto the narrow shoulder and double-checked their position.

Buck hadn't been kidding when he said the cabin was off the beaten track. Setting the map aside, sure he was on course, Jim navigated the vehicle off the pavement. Blair grunted in his sleep as Jim eased over the worst of the potholes and washboards. He picked up signs of fresh tire tracks, another vehicle.

Good, Buck and Simon would already have the cabin sorted out. Jim looked forward to a night's rest. The trip had been tiring in more ways than one. Turns out, the only thing worse than being trapped in a car with an excitable, talkative Blair Sandburg was being trapped with a surly, pissed off and totally non-responsive Blair Sandburg. Jim was not ashamed to admit he had wanted to cheer out loud when Blair's head tilted onto the window and his breathing evened out in sleep. Something his friend hadn't been getting much of over the last few months.

A particularly vindictive pothole jarred the SUV's frame.

"Wha...?" Blair sat up with a startled snort.

"Last leg of the trip, Chief."

"Oh." Blair blinked and arched his back, stretching both arms out. "Oh, that was fast. What time is it?"

"Little after one, sleep okay?"

"Yeah, guess so."

His answer petered out as he stared dully at the surrounding darkness. Jim wondered what was so fascinating beyond the glass. The night was overcast; there was no `city light' backdrop to illuminate the tree lines, unless a person had sentinel abilities, of course. Risking a quick sideways glance, he caught Blair gaze in the reflection and realized it was focused on him.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry I was an ass."

"Yeah, no argument there. Wanna share?"

Blair leaned back and adjusted his jacket over his chest, he'd been using it like a blanket earlier and it had slipped down during his sleep. "Not sure. I - I think I'm just tired."

"Maybe you should try sleeping during the night. I hear it works wonders," Jim teased, then continued more seriously. "You've been pulling the longest string of all-nighters I've ever seen. Does Doctor Stuth know?"

"She knows everything," Blair said dully. "That woman could pull a confession from OJ Simpson."

"She's a good shrink, you were lucky Simon got you in. She doesn't take many new patients," Jim explained. This was an old conversation. They both knew it by heart.

"Yeah, well. There's a reason for that, man, she can freeze you with one look."

The front tire hit a deep pothole and Jim devoted all his attention to driving for a few minutes, letting Blair fall back into a moody silence. What he wouldn't give to have `normal-Blair' back. He knew his friend needed time, but the waiting was getting thin.

"So, how much further?"

Jim appreciated the effort, not expecting any more conversation. "Buck's note said over an hour of dirt road. We're going pretty deep into the mountains. We pass over a low saddle into the next valley. Hopefully the snowline isn't going to be an issue." Jim switched over to four-wheel drive. The road was becoming muddy and he didn't want to risk going over the ravine. They were following a creek, flowing about twenty-feet below them.

"Wonder how he found this place."

"You can ask him, someone else has been on the road today. I imagine it was them."

"So they'll be there when we arrive?"

"Looks that way." Jim glanced over again. "Are you still wishing you'd stayed home?"

Blair shrugged, his head turned away again. "I told you, man. I'm just busy right now. I've got stuff that I should be doing."

"Blair, you're on spring break. You've been burning candles at both ends and in the middle for months now. You've done more work then a platoon of TAs. You deserve a week off."

"There's always stuff that needs to be done, Jim," Blair reasoned without the usual enthusiasm Jim normally heard. "I've got to stay on top of it, you know?"

Jim gave up. All this discussion was doing was pissing Blair off and giving Jim a headache. They lapsed into an uneasy silence as the Ford made its way. The road climbed until the trees thinned. Jim took a moment to enjoy an incredible view of the mountain tops at night before they started their decent into the adjacent valley. This one was wider at the top, more of a `V' shape at the bottom, carved over the decades by the power of the river that flowed at its base.

One unique aspect of the many rivers on the Olympic Peninsula was the fact they were still wild. They flowed from the glaciers high in the mountains to the ocean without any manmade structures to control them, like dams. All year long, the steelhead returned to their spawning waters, laid their eggs and went back to the ocean. The country was wild, a beautiful example of how things used to be before civilization arrived.

Almost exactly an hour and a half later, they arrived. The road had dwindled down to two parallel tracks, with brush that scraped the undercarriage as they drove. Jim's instructions were to look for a large pile of stacked rocks and take the next turn. A quarter of a mile later, they found a rustic cabin, spotting Buck's truck and drift boat.

"Light's on inside," Jim commented as he parked next to the Jeep.

"No phones here, right?" Blair asked.

"Nope, no cell phone coverage, either. Just a week of fishing and relaxation." Jim killed the motor and released his seatbelt.

Blair was still eyeing the cabin. "No power, no heat, no hot water, no TV, no internet."

"Your point?"

"No wonder burgers."

Was that the beginning of a smirk playing at the corners of Blair's mouth? Jim could only pray. "You having fun, Junior?"

Blair's seatbelt snapped back and he leaned forward to shrug into his coat again. A square of light appeared as the front door opened and two men walked out onto the front porch. "Yuck, Simon's already smoking those cigars. Hasn't he heard of secondhand smoke?"

"We'll kick him outside if he lights up, okay?" Jim opened the driver's door and raised a hand in greeting. "Let's get our stuff inside. I'm ready to crawl into a bed."

Now that Blair was breathing fresh mountain air and caught up in one of Uncle Buck's bear hugs, he felt better. He was still clueless as to why he'd been such a jerk to Jim, maybe Doctor Stuth would know.

"Hi, Uncle Buck," Blair whispered, crushed in a warm embrace.

"Hi, yourself. Simon and I were beginning to think you two would never show up." Buck released him in time to take Jim's hand in greeting. "Howdy, Jim. Any problems finding us?"

"Nah, once I lulled Sandburg to sleep and took the map reading over, everything was fine." Jim flashed a broad smile.

Still tucked under Buck's arm, Blair rolled his eyes. "Jerk. Hi, Simon."

"Sandburg," Simon answered. Looking like a model from a Land's End catalog, Simon patted his corduroy vest with one hand. "Isn't this place fantastic? Wait till you two see the river. We got here just before sunset and walked down to take a look." He set his cigar down carefully on the railing and held both hands out about twenty-five inches from palm to palm. "Saw one this big, gentlemen."

"Come on inside," Buck invited, pulling Blair along as he moved toward the door. "I figure we'll sleep in tomorrow, look around some first. I want to check out the river first before we run it."

"I like that part about sleeping in," Blair admitted. "Wow, this is nice."

The main room looked cleaner than he expected. The owner of the cabin had a good idea how to keep things simple. A staircase followed the left wall to an upper loft; its railings built from peeled logs, the stairs were half-sections of larger pieces. A fireplace built from river rock dominated the room's center, its chimney bisecting the railing separating the upper room. The burning logs within warmed the room comfortably. Beyond the fireplace, still on the lower floor, was a small kitchen. It looked like another bedroom was tucked under the loft, just to the right of the kitchen.

"The bathroom is two hundred yards out the back door." Buck pointed. "Take a flashlight from the counter before you go, Sentinels excluded, of course," he added.

"Of course," Jim said.

"Why's it outside?" Blair asked. He saw the way the other three men were grinning and answered his own question. "Oh. Never mind."

"Buck and I have already claimed the loft. First come, first served." Simon rubbed his hands together. "If you all will excuse me, I'm going out to finish my smoke. Good night."

"Night, Simon." Jim nodded toward the door off the kitchen. "That one's ours?"

"Yep, bunk beds okay?" Buck asked.

"If it's soft and horizontal, it'll work." Jim handed his overnight bag to Blair. "I'll go get our sleeping bags."

The bunks were metal framed and strong, looking like something out of an institution or old-style hospital. The mattresses might have been new when a Roosevelt lived in the White House. Blair wondered what `neat-freak' Ellison would say. But Jim's only reaction was to cover both old mattresses with white sheets he had brought along from the loft. Afterward he picked up an extra blanket and dropped it on top of Blair's sleeping bag. "Here, Sandburg. Just in case."

"Thanks." Blair made short work of getting his bed ready.

The tiny room was several degrees colder compared to the living room. Blair started peeling off clothes. By the time he was under the covers, Jim was already in boxers, standing by the small dresser, ready to blow the lantern out.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, night, man."

Darkness swallowed them. The bed shook as Jim climbed into his upper perch. Blair blinked in surprise. It had been a long time since he'd experienced complete darkness like this. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut. He held his hand out, palm inches from his nose. He couldn't see it.

A familiar pressure circled his chest and squeezed. What the hell was he doing up here? He'd forgotten to pack his laptop. There was no power even if he had. No TV to distract himself with. He'd packed without planning ahead. He didn't bring any books.

Nine nights of this? God, he was trapped with nothing to do but lay in the darkness... and remember.

He needed out.

Ask Jim to drive him home? Sure, another six driving hours on top of what he'd already done. Wait, though. Jim wouldn't come back; he'd feel obligated to stay in Cascade.

Okay, scratch that, hike back to Highway 101 and hitchhike home. Wrong, Uncle Buck would have a fit. Maybe if he asked, Buck would let him take his truck -

The bed frame experienced a mini earthquake. Blair sucked in his breath. A minute later, a match flared to life and the lantern was relit. Jim looked down on him in obvious exasperation.

"What?" Blair asked.

Jim scrubbed his face with a single light pass of a hand. "You. Your heart rate's got more peaks and valleys than these mountains we're in. What's wrong?"

His blanket pulled high, bumping his chin, Blair feigned an innocent air. "Nothing."

"Riight." Jim turned to his oversized tote bag. "Listen, Sandburg. I'm ready to drop here. You want to stay up all night, fine with me." He pulled something out. "I picked this up in case we had rain. Enjoy."

Feeling something heavy landing with a bounce on his chest, Blair lifted his head. A book, a real thick paperback. He snatched it up and brought it close to read the title. A techno-thriller.

"You'll probably ruin your eyes reading by lantern light," Jim grumbled as he climbed back into his bed.

Blair grinned. "Thanks, Jim." He rolled on his side, allowing the faint light to pour over his shoulder. Opening to the first page, he started to read.

"Ellison, if you're awake. I'd like to have a word."

Jim opened his eyes, instantly recognizing Buck's voice. He lifted his head and scanned the room with all senses on maximum setting. The air in the room was cold, tiny heat tentacles from the burning lantern below touched his face. Fresh coffee smells leached under the closed door and teased his taste buds. Morning light bounced off the rough lumber that paneled the walls of their room. Blair's soft breathing below him told Jim the kid had finally dropped off to sleep.

He checked his watch. It was after eight. Six hours of sleep. Easing his head over the edge, he looked down. Blair snored softly through his open mouth, his fingers keeping the paperback open on the last page he'd been reading before dropping off. Jim checked the split. More than two-thirds... Blair had read more than two-flipping-thirds of the book! He must have just fallen asleep.

Moving with the grace of a covert operations expert, Jim slid down to the floor and fished out a pair of heavy sweats and thick socks. He dressed quickly, then opened the door and eased out, closing it with a soft `snick'.

"Morning." Buck sat at the small pine table. Light poured in through freshly cleaned windows. On a side counter, a green Coleman stove worked a low flame under a large enamel coffee pot. It had been years since Jim had seen a pot like that.

"Good morning." A clean metal mug was in easy reach. Jim used a beat-up hot pad to lift the pot and pour. The black brew looked rich with bean oil. "You wanted a word?"

"Good to know your hearing's still sharp." Buck nodded to the empty chair opposite him, waiting until Jim sat before continuing. He got right to his point. "Why's Blair looking like last week road-kill?"

"He's not eating, not sleeping and doing the work of three men," Jim told him.

"Since when?"

Jim shrugged. Probably since before Jim even noticed. But to be fair; he had been healing from a gunshot wound during the first month. He worked to keep from feeling defensive. "He's seeing a councilor. The Feds got the perps from the McVey kidnapping case to roll over, so Blair's off the hook having to testify on that."

"So, it's Durkin," Buck guessed.

"That's the way I read it. He's been told the shooting was justified. The fatal embolus was a fluke, it happens. Intellectually, he knows it wasn't his fault. In fact, he even told me he would do it again, but..."

"He's letting it eat him up."

Jim sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Right."

Buck looked like a man struggling with a bitter medicine. He carefully turned the coffee cup in his hands. "You know, Blair's whole life, folks have been telling him how smart he was. He grew up fast, started college young. Naomi probably thought she was doing him a favor by raising him like she did, but everything needs balance."

Jim knew when to comment and when to listen. He drank his coffee and waited for Buck to marshal his thoughts.

"You probably already figured this out, but the first days Blair stayed with me were difficult."

"I'll bet."

One side of Buck's mouth curled up. "To put it bluntly, he was turning into a king-sized brat in a small package. Strong willed, stubborn and not about to be told he wasn't going to get whatever he wanted."

"I'm surprised he survived," Jim said, wondering where this conversation was leading.

"I'm sure there were days during that summer he figured he wouldn't," Buck admitted. "I was just out of the military. Used to having my orders carried out. Never had much time for kids, anyway. But something about Blair touched me. He's special."

"I know."

Buck pinned him with a steely look. "Do you? He looks twenty pounds lighter. His color is shitty and he's got more red in his eyes than a sunset."

Jim rocked back. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish on land. "He's an adult, Buck," Jim finally got out. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You could have picked up a damn phone and called me, for starters," Buck snapped, then softened. Looking down at his mug, he sighed. "Sorry, Jim. I'm not sure who I'm more pissed at. Me, you or that stupid kid in there." He nodded toward the closed door.

Forcing himself to relax his stranglehold on the coffee cup, Jim dropped his eyes to the table. "No, you're right. I've been watching this go on for weeks now. I guess I'm putting all my hopes on the shrink he's seeing."

"Seems to me, Blair needs more." Buck tossed back the last swallow and stood. "Maybe we'll figure it out this week."

"I hope so," Jim admitted. "You have no idea what it took to get him here."

By nine-thirty, all cabin occupants were awake, fed and ready to begin the day. Buck wanted to check out the river. Jim took a good look at his partner in the mirror as he drove. Blair still looked like road-kill. Jim realized, with no small amount of self-loathing, the evolution had been so gradual, he hadn't measured the damage.

"Pull over, Jim," Buck ordered.

Jim obeyed, parking his Ford. There wasn't really a shoulder to pull on to. But it was unlikely another vehicle would be along. The clouds had continued to float in from the ocean all morning, bringing a damp mist that accounted for the surrounding lushness. Not even a crayon box had this many shades of green. Moss hung from tree limbs in large clumps, grew on rocks and carpeted the forest floor. The surrounding ferns, bushes and trees emitted rich earthy-scented oxygen unlike any found in Cascade. Jim was reminded of Peru.

"I need to study the river here." Buck opened the door.

Jim turned the key and got out. The Kloochman River was lost below them in a maze of giant trees. The dirt road generally followed the river's path. Sometimes the water was in sight, other times the road wound high and away. This was one of those times. It would appear a hike awaited them.

Jim locked the car out of habit and fell into line behind Simon as they all scrambled over the side of the bank. "Sounds like rapids," he called out to Buck.

"Yeah," Buck answered over his shoulder. "River drops here. I need to make sure it's passable. No sweepers."

"Sweepers?" Simon asked as he stepped over a downed tree slowly decomposing back into the forest floor.

"That's what they call trees that land on the river. They stay in position and you get swept underneath them if you're not careful," Jim explained after a few seconds, when it was obvious no one else was going to answer. He hoped Blair would pop up with a wordy discourse, but that hadn't happened in months.

"Okay, so I'm guessing that's a bad thing," Simon quipped, he held a tree limb long enough to allow Jim to pass safely. They had fallen behind a bit and Simon lowered his voice to keep the next part just between the two of them. "Buck's pissed. What's wrong?"

Jim watched Blair continue to trail behind Buck and let the gap between the two teams widen. "You notice how washed-out Sandburg's been lately?"

Seeming surprised, Simon nodded. "I figured it was school."

"He's punishing himself over Durkin," Jim said. "Buck about took my head off this morning because of it."

They walked in silence a few minutes, both focused on keeping their footing solid. After a bit Simon sighed. "Okay, so what do we do?"

Jim smiled as some of the heaviness in his chest lifted. It was nice having good friends.

They stood on the edge of an overlook, the water fifty feet below. The majesty of the river and the forest that protected it was breathtaking. Clear water where the river ran shallow spoke of a purity only seen in nature. Where the water was deep, the color became a rich teal blue, contrasting with the light green around them. The constant sound of moving water, like a gliding murmur, soaked into the vegetation around them, the way some ceilings seemed to deaden a noisy room.

"God, this place is..." Simon made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

"Yeah." Jim nodded his head. "I agree. Will we be able to drift down this part?"

Buck eyed the river with a detail for the route his boat would take tomorrow. The Kloochman narrowed here. The familiar vehicle-sized boulders were pretty much as he remembered, but the bank looked different.

"Part of that bank washed away," Buck said pointing. "Still... shouldn't be a problem."

"What about those boulders?" Simon asked.

"Those I can see. It's the stuff just under the water's surface that makes the float interesting." Buck pointed down the ravine. "Why don't you two walk that way? You'll get to a rock slide, don't go any further. Just let me know if you see any obstructions that completely block the river. Blair and I will head upriver."

Jim started to say something, but caught Buck's gaze and nodded. "Meet back at the Ford?"

"Right."

They parted company. Buck let Blair enjoy the scenery for ten minutes, studying the river as they walked. The hill was steep and required careful concentration if a hiker wanted to keep the knees and seat of his pants clean. Another five minutes of walking and Buck caught Blair's arm. He really didn't need to go any further. The river leveled out past the next turn, providing a slow and easy current.

"You don't look good."

The younger man shrugged in a matter-of-fact way. "Busy, that's all. Guess I just needed this break."

"I've seen you busy, kid," Buck said. "This is different. You're too skinny. Your eyes are troubled. You're not acting like yourself."

"Just... don't!" Blair dropped his head and held out both arms like a baseball umpire making a call at home plate. "Okay, man? Just don't go there."

"Excuse me?" Buck remembered this attitude fourteen years ago. He hadn't tolerated it then and he didn't plan on starting now.

As if suddenly realizing he'd crossed an invisible line, Blair switched gestures. No longer the umpire, he mimed pushing unseen forces down with his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to start ragging me."

"Ragging? How about a word that makes sense?" Buck crossed his arms.

Blair found sudden fascination in the river below them, offering his back to Buck. A tickling suspicion nudged the older man, a memory of another time when Blair had completely shut down. He'd only been twelve years old, but the pattern was the same.

"Has Naomi been around?" Buck asked, knowing he'd scored a direct hit when Blair's back stiffened.

Blair turned back, a sickly smile in place. "She's on a retreat," he explained, shrugging his parka closer around his neck. "Actually, it was a real honor for her to be selected. But you know how it is. She's cut off from contact - that sort of thing."

"Uh huh," Buck commented, letting his gaze drift back to the river. "So, does she know about this Durkin thing?"

Blair did a perfect imitation of a deer caught in a pair of strong high beams at night. "N-no, no, she doesn't. She couldn't, right? She's on a retreat."

"Right." Buck had his doubts. "Let's head back.

Jim was enjoying himself. The cabin was rustic in every detail. Everyday things like turning a handle for water or flipping a switch for light didn't exist. Taking a second to hand position a half section of log, he flexed his muscles before swinging the splitting maul through the air and sending firewood splits in opposite directions. He leaned over, cupping a hand under each quartered piece and tossed them one at a time to the growing pile next to the cabin.

They had finished surveying the river and returned to eat a late lunch of chili and crackers. With a long week ahead of them still, there were chores that needed doing. Buck had made a list, which split four ways would be finished in no time. Later, they planned on getting their fishing equipment in order, eating dinner and hitting the sack early.

Buck and Blair were out of sight, working on the ancient looking hand pump that serviced the cabin. A pipe stretched to the river below them but required drafting. Something was wrong with the system and Buck was investigating.

Simon had drawn the short straw.

Jim looked up. "How's it going?" He squinted into the blue sky behind his friend. The clouds were gone now, leaving a picture postcard day behind.

Scowling down from his lofty perch next to the chimney, Simon continued to run the chain attached to the wire brush up and down as he cleaned. "Just wonderful, you?"

"Great. I'm thinking about selling the loft and moving up here to be a professional hermit. You see Blair and Buck?"

"Yeah, they're still fooling with the water pipe," the new chimney cleaner reported.

"Tell you what. I've only got a few more pieces to split. I'll start cleaning out the fireplace and help you tackle that stove."

"Deal," Simon agreed eagerly. "I'll buy the beer on our first food run into town." He grunted as he pulled on the chain with a hard tug.

Jim grinned, making short work of the firewood. Apparently, each person that came up brought a load of firewood. Since the cabin was technically within the National Park borders, they couldn't use any of the numerous downed trees that surrounded them.

Jim pondered the cabin as he finished stacking the wood. He'd been half serious about living up the mountains. Sure, the winters had to be harsh, but the payoffs were worth it. The solitude and tranquil settings were a balm to his senses. He envied the lucky stiff that owned this place, knowing the National Park would make sure the area around it wouldn't be developed into a resort or worse.

He tossed the last of the wood on top the neat stack by the back door and leaned the maul against the wall. It took just a second to brush off his clothes. Simon looked nearly done up there. Going inside the small cabin, he checked the fireplace. Yep, it had filled with broken creosote bits and ash. Jim was on his second bucket load when Buck entered the cabin.

"Need a wrench," the man explained, heading for an open toolbox on the table. "How's it going?"

"Good, almost done. I can hear Simon getting ready to come down," Jim answered.

"We've got that prime figured out. I wasn't looking forward to hauling water buckets up from the river all week." Buck paused by the doorway. "By the way, I wanted to ask you something without Blair around. Now's as good a time as any, I suppose."

"What?"

He tapped the wrench against his palm. "By any chance did Naomi talk to Blair about Durkin getting shot?"

Jim thought back. "I know they talked at least once. A couple of days after you left for Dry Falls. Yeah... I'm pretty sure they were talking about Durkin dying. Blair was still pretty torn up at the time. Why?"

Buck nodded grimly. "She been by since then? Or called again?"

Jim played the last few months over in his mind. Now that he thought about it, Naomi normally called once, sometimes twice, a month. She hadn't. "No, not that I've seen. Blair normally mentions it. He hasn't."

"Then, I think I know what's happening." Buck scowled as he opened the front door. "I'll explain later."

Jim frowned at the closed door. He wanted to know now, not later. Simon entered through the kitchen area, his shirt covered in black soot. Jim wished he'd carried a camera.

"Not a word, Ellison!" The big man passed on his way toward the stairs leading to the upper bedroom. "I'm changing shirts. Be right back."

"Yes, sir."

Jim watched as Blair's head lost the battle with gravity. Eyelids heavy with exhaustion refused to stay up. Each man was stretched out comfortably around the fireplace, enjoying the heat. Buck had a beat-up recliner. Simon sat in a heavily padded rocker. Jim shared a short couch with Blair. The furniture was thrift store vintage, but clean.

The evening temperature outside the log walls had dropped. They'd dined on German kielbasa with fresh rolls bought by Simon yesterday when he and Buck had driven through the nearby town of Forks.

The hours after dinner had been spent cleaning fly fishing lines as well as rigging a few spinning setups. As Buck had explained, the spring steelhead run was not normally known for fly fishing. Just to be safe, they planned on using spinning tackle and home cured salmon eggs, otherwise known as roe.

Buck had brewed a pot of decaf coffee. The talk had turned to fishing stories. As was the new custom of late, Blair had done more listening than talking, until his head started to droop.

"You should hit the sack," Buck suggested lightly.

Blair's eyes flew open. "I'm good." Then he proceeded to show off his tonsils in a long, jaw cracking yawn. "Okay, maybe you're right." He stood.

"I'm right behind you, Sandburg." Jim held up his coffee. "Just going to finish this cup and visit the facilities. Probably should have just poured the stuff into the pit toilet and saved my body the effort."

That brought a smile from his friend's face. "That's sacrilegious, man. Night, Simon... Uncle Buck."

After Blair was out of earshot, Jim raised an eyebrow in Buck's direction. "You had a theory?"

"A theory?" Simon asked.

"Why Sandburg isn't getting over the shooting," Jim expounded.

"Oh."

"Well," Buck pulled on an earlobe. "This is just a guess. But, back when he was twelve, Blair decided he didn't want to be a vegetarian anymore."

"I didn't know he was one," Simon muttered.

"He's not," Jim interposed.

"Let me explain." Buck sighed. "Naomi is a vegetarian, has been all her adult life, I guess. She raised Blair the same. Only, when he stayed with me that first summer, he decided to try meat and liked it. I didn't know it was an issue. He didn't tell me Naomi had forbidden him to eat it."

"I take it she wasn't happy when she found out," Jim guessed.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Let's just say I got an earful. For all her talk of free spirit and expressing oneself, she doesn't seem to apply that to her son."

Simon snorted. "Yeah, we noticed that."

"She has a..." Buck searched for the word he wanted, "... technique of getting him to toe the line without raising a finger. If he did something she didn't like, she'd make it clear he had screwed up in her eyes, then drop out of his life for a while." Buck's face became hard. "I watched her manipulate a twelve year-old like a pro. He was devastated."

"But, he still eats meat," Simon pointed out after a moment of listening to the wood in the fireplace crackle.

"After he went to Rainier, he ate whatever he wanted." Buck shifted in his chair. "I was proud of him. She finally saw he wasn't about to change back again. Made a big deal about accepting his decision."

"I hear that," Jim said, the words tasting bitter.

"Exactly," Buck said.

Jim thought back to that scene in Simon's office, when Naomi had ranted about Blair in police work. She'd gotten ugly with that crack about parading around in a blue uniform and jack boots. Right before she'd stormed off.

"It's happening again, isn't it? That's why she hasn't called him, or dropped by." Jim asked, feeling his blood pressure rise.

Buck rubbed the back of his neck. "Blair said she was on a retreat. But he also lied to me. Said she didn't know about Durkin."

A hand on his shoulder woke him to near darkness. For the life of him, couldn't understand why Jim was in his room. Head heavy with sleep, it took Blair a few seconds to remember they weren't in the loft.

"Time to get up, Chief." Another shake followed.

God, Jim sounded excited and happy. Blair wanted to go back to sleep. For the first time in a long time, Blair had actually achieved that deep state of slumber, without the nightmare. His body wanted more, please.

"We got the job of cooking breakfast," Jim went on to explain as Blair sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Simon and Buck are making the ferry run."

Visions of half a dozen winged woodland creatures being urged into a race by the two older men came to mind. Blair yawned. He knew what Jim meant. They were starting the fishing trip here at the cabin. At the end of the fishing day, they would arrive at the `take-out' location. Buck was driving his Jeep and the empty boat trailer down to the take-out now to leave it. Simon must be following in Jim's Ford, in order to bring Buck back.

"So, what's for breakfast?" Blair reached for his jeans and sweater. The room was cold. He hoped Jim planned on using the wood burning kitchen stove. That old monster should do a decent job heating the cabin.

"Don't have a clue." Jim waited by the door, holding the hurricane lantern. "That's why I woke you up, thought you might have some ideas."

Blair longed for a hot shower and his coffee maker. Once in the kitchen he waited for Jim to light another lantern. The cabin windows looked like they'd been covered with black paint. "What time is it?"

"Four-forty."

"Man, I keep forgetting that comes around twice a day," Blair complained as he checked the food supplies.

Under the countertop were tip-out bins instead of drawers. Blair found one that had been filled with potatoes and onions. He looked over at the large icebox. "Do we have any more kielbasa?"

"I think so," Jim replied as he opened the lid.

The ice box was one of the largest ones available for camping and took two men to carry. Dry ice lined the bottom. Jim pulled out a package wrapped in foil. "What's the plan?"

"Dry Falls Hash." Blair reached into the bin and selected a fat yellow onion. "We need to start a pot of water boiling and build a fire in the cook stove. You can peel potatoes. I'll take care of the rest."

"Make a big batch, Chief," Jim said. "I'm already looking forward to second helpings."

"Yeah, I figured meat and potatoes for breakfast would get your attention." Blair unhooked a large cast iron fry pan from the wall.

When Simon and Buck returned from jockeying the vehicles around, the cabin was warm, the potatoes and onions sizzled and a faint blush of light tinted the eastern sky above the mountain peaks.

"What am I smelling?" Simon demanded taking a deep breath and patting his stomach.

"Smells like my secret hash recipe," Buck answered in mock anger.

Jim and Blair exchanged a quick, furtive glance.

"Secret?" Jim asked.

"He thinks, man, but I was watching." Blair grinned as Buck slipped an arm around his neck from behind. "What makes you think this is your recipe, Uncle Buck?"

The older man pretended to squeeze as he took an appreciative sniff over the frying pan Blair poked at with the spatula. "Smells like it, looks like it." He plucked a small potato off the top. Blowing first to cool, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. "Only, it needs a little more garlic salt."

Blair snickered. "Told you, Jim."

"It's fine the way it is, Sandburg." Jim glared at Buck. "Step away from the cook, sir. Give the professionals room to create. You two can set the table." Jim opened up the small door in front of the stove and pulled out a tray of biscuits. "Ready, partner?"

"Ready." Lifting the skillet from the stovetop with the help of two heavy-duty hot pads, Blair carried the meal over to the table. "Dig in, guys."

Thirty minutes later, Simon buttered the last biscuit with a happy sigh. "I'm going to need to visit my tailor by this time next week. Excellent grub, men. Sandburg, I want that recipe."

"Sorry, Simon." Buck used the last of his biscuit to wipe his plate clean. "That stays a secret." He tossed the flaky bread into his mouth and wiped his chin with a paper towel.

"But Sandburg knows it," Simon protested.

"Yes, and if you start calling me Uncle Buck, I might share."

Simon still looked doubtful. "Jim probably knows it now. He watched Blair make it."

Jim chuckled. "Sorry, Simon. He had me peeling potatoes. I didn't see what he used for spices. We're just going to have to keep Julia Childs with us forever."

Simon pursed his lips, his attention returning to the now empty frying pan. "We should have saved some to have analyzed."

Buck stood up. "I suggest we clean up later. Let's fish!"

Jim held the tip of the drift boat while the others climbed in. The predawn light was sufficient for even non-sentinels to see by. They were directly downhill from the cabin where a rough track had allowed Buck and Simon to drive the trailer down over an hour ago and launch.

The boat was all metal with a diamond patterned floor. The middle seat was a sling-like affair without a back, the rower's seat. The boat's front and back looked identical with tips that rose up like the ends of a rocking chair runner. Jim knew that if Buck needed to, he could navigate the current with either end pointing down stream. Two side-by-side chairs had been set up in the front and a single chair in the rear. It would be crowded, but they planned on making it work. No one got left behind.

"Okay, Jim, push off." Buck had each oar handle in hand. He was dressed in green waders that came up with a bib. Underneath he wore a wool plaid shirt over a green thermal, with an unzipped polar fleece blue jacket over the top.

Simon sat in the back, still looking like a outdoor enthusiast model in wool and fleece. Jim took two steps into the shallow water and shoved, using his upper arm strength to cantilever his body into the front of the boat. He wore waders similar to Buck, allowing him to feel the water's chill, but his feet would remain dry.

"Remember, guys," Buck warned. "No fishing until we clear the park. I'll tell you when."

"How'd you manage to get permission to use a cabin inside a National Park?" Blair asked. He wore one of Jim's heavy sweaters over two cotton thermal shirts. Without waders, he had donned two pairs of sweatpants for warmth. His hair was tied back into a ponytail and he wore that stupid looking Fargo hat.

Buck worked the oars and the boat slipped along silently in the current, bobbing in the dips and ridges caused by the uneven river bottom. Jim felt each muscle relax as his body responded to the gentle rocking.

"There are a few cabins, like this one, that predate the park. The original owners are given leases, a person can assume the lease," Buck said.

Simon was lighting a cigar, one of the reasons he had offered to sit in the back, no doubt. "So, you know the lucky SOB that has this lease, huh?"

Buck was looking at Jim as he answered with a mischievous grin. "No, you guys know the lucky SOB that owns the lease. I forgot to tell you my rental rates."

Blair spun around. "That's your cabin?" he exclaimed. "Too cool!"

The predawn lit wall of trees flowed by for twenty minutes. Jim let his hearing reach out and explore their world, visiting animals large and small. The rainforest was alive with heartbeats. His nose could identify the freshness of a growing fern and the slow decay of a fallen tree, an earthy reminder of the never-ending cycle of the mountain's ecosystem.

"Okay, men. I give you the Kloochman River," Buck proclaimed. "Your steelies await."

Jim and Blair each had a spinning reel setup. A plastic square container filled with bright pink salmon eggs between them. The eggs were attached to each other with thin membranes. Jim reached in and used his fingers to gently detach a small grape size cluster. He handed it to Blair, then returned to the container for another.

"Watch, Sandburg."

The fishing line attached to the large hook in a way that allowed the fisherman to create a noose. Jim slipped the clump of roe into the loop of line and gently closed it. If a fish took a pass at the tempting meal, it was likely he'd take the hook. Blair watched and copied the motions.

"Simon, cast at forty-five degree angles," Buck ordered. "Left bank coming up is a nice spot. Boys, you can let your eggs bounce anywhere that looks good. Be mindful of Simon's fly."

"Bounce?" Blair whispered to Jim. "As in `off the bottom'? Won't the hook get snagged?"

Jim shook his head. He flipped his line, weighted down with a thin piece of lead on a short section of rubber tubing attached to the swivel a few feet back from the hook. "Sometimes, yeah. But the current will keep you moving. If you do snag, you might lose some lead, but your rigging should still be there. Go ahead and try. Feel for the bounce."

Jim kept one eye on his own line and the other on Blair. The new steelhead fisherman was clumsy, but he managed a half decent cast.

"Okay, yeah. I can feel the bounce," Blair said. "Now what?"

"When you get an idea of the rhythm, wait for a missing bounce. It might be a fish taking your bait. Set the hook."

"Ooo-kay." Blair sounded dubious.

Each cast created an arc. The bait would start at a fifteen degree angle to the front of the boat. As it sunk, it slowed and the boat would move ahead. The current moved the bait along, but at a slower rate then the drift boat, until the person holding the pole was forced to reel in the line and recast.

This continued for more than fifteen minutes. Jim could hear the swishing sound of Simon's fly rod, the gentle dipping of the oars and Blair's muttering. He extended his hearing into the water, not surprised to hear the faint clunking of the lead on rocks. Every once in a while the clunk wasn't there and Jim jerked back on the pole. Nothing. He could see Blair doing the same.

"I don't know, man. I think Simon's got a bet - Whoa!"

"Fish on!" Buck called out.

Blair was suddenly on his feet. The tip of his fishing pole arched down toward the water. Jim hurried to crank in his own line.

"Ohmygosh! He's a torpedo!" Blair nearly shouted. "Look! Jim, look!"

Jim worked to tuck his pole into the sidewall, out of the way. Things were likely to get interesting and he didn't want it broken. Buck put his back into the job of rowing, keeping the drift boat from the current's grip as he moved them toward the slower moving water near the shore.

"Don't fight him!" Simon called out, equally excited. "Let him run!"

"I know! I know!" Blair called back, grinning like a fool. "God, he's strong!"

With the boat out of the current, Buck moved boxes around and reached for a large folded net. "You're doing good, Blair. Let him tire out some."

Jim couldn't help but zoom in on the shadow underwater. The fish had been moving upstream like a rocket, stripping the line off Blair's reel. "He's a big one, Chief. Maybe twelve pounds."

"Woooo hoooo!" Blair cheered, his voice shaking with excitement. "We can keep the hatchery fish, right? Whoa! There he goes again!"

Buck was watching as well. He dropped the net and reached for the oars again. "He's a fighter," he muttered as he quickly moved the boat back into the current.

The steelhead headed downstream now, instinctively reacting to the line's tug; if one direction wasn't working, try the other. With the help of the current, the fish would make short work of all Blair's line. They had to follow or lose the fish.

Jim looked down river. "There's some slow water coming up. But you've got a tangle of downed trees to get by first."

"This fella knows his home water," Simon exclaimed. "He's going to try and shake you, Sandburg."

Buck coached as Blair fought the fish. Jim listened, appreciating the guide's knowledge. Between keeping the boat positioned and telling Blair when to take in line, when to hold, and when to turn the fish, they moved past the snarl of submerged trees and into a pool of almost slack water behind it. The fight had lasted several long minutes.

"Bring him in, runt." Buck reached for the net again. "Good job."

Blair was silent as the fish came alongside. Buck leaned down and neatly netted the prize. Jim was ready to take his partner's fishing pole when it was passed over. Simon was in the back, disposable camera in hand. The fish was a beauty. Buck gently removed the hook with stainless steel forceps.

"It's a keeper. Looks like fifteen pounds," Buck stated.

"Picture, Sandburg," Simon ordered.

But Blair had gone from jubilant to pensive and Jim's own elation slipped. Briefly licking his lips, Blair removed his hat and scratched his head. "I... I'd rather let it go. We can do that, right?"

"Absolutely," Buck said. "He's fine. This is a perfect place to let him catch his breath. He'll be back to swimming up river by nightfall."

"We have to at least get a picture!" Simon was insistent.

Buck carefully scooped the fish out, supporting his body and teaching Blair where to hold him. Blair wore fingerless wool mittens that Buck assured him wouldn't hurt the fish's skin. Simon snapped two shots and Blair got the pleasure of returning it to the water.

"Hold him loosely," Buck advised. "Let the water flow through his gills. He'll know when he's ready."

Sure enough, after a minute, the fish arched his long steel-colored body once and Blair let him go. He stood and Jim could see the thrill back in his blue eyes. "That was... awesome!"

Buck chuckled as he pulled against the oars and guided the boat back into the current. Jim already had Blair's hook ready and handed it back. He was surprised when Blair nudged him in the ribs.

"Jim..." Blair leaned close, his voice too low to carry beyond the two of them. He cleared his throat as if nervous. "Thanks, man. Thanks for not leaving me back in Cascade."

"You're welcome, Sandburg." Jim tugged on the disheveled ponytail. "Nice job with that fish. I'm glad you let it go."

Blair grinned, his eyes shining with glee again. "Did you see the size of that monster? I'm never going back to trout."

Buck heard the last part and laughed. "Watch out Simon, Blair's on a roll. Sounds like he's going to catch all the steelies today."

"In a pig's eye," Simons growled, pinning Blair with a look when the police observer turned in his seat. "Don't start, Sandburg. No cop jokes, okay? We're on vacation."

Jim caught the next steelhead later that morning, but lost it. He switched places with Buck on the oars after that, enjoying the feel of the boat. It was surprising how easily the craft could be maneuvered in the currents. Just before lunch, Simon's skill with the fly rod paid off. The fight was magnificent and when it came time for the picture, Jim had never seen his boss look happier. The fish was larger than Blair's, but a native. Simon carefully returned it to the river with a sigh.

"Why do I get the feeling your office is getting a new framed picture on the wall?" Jim teased his boss.

Simon tilted his head. "Maybe a portrait done in oil. I'll have to hire an artist to work off the photo."

Lunch was a simple affair of sandwiches and bottled water, followed by a choice of trail mix and candy bars. They ate and joked. The weather had warmed enough that all men were down to the last layer of clothing. Sweaters and shirts were rolled up and stuffed into the box that had held the lunch. In less than half an hour, they were back on the water again.

Blair and Simon took turns on the oars whenever Buck seemed satisfied the river was safe for a novice to handle the boat. Jim's second fish was a native and a small one in comparison, only five pounds. Jim returned his fish to the river.

"Hey." Blair looked up after a while, his eyes traveling over the high banks on either side. "This is where we got out and walked yesterday."

"Yep." Buck was back in the middle seat. "You boys hold on, the river's about to get interesting."

He wasn't kidding. Knowing Buck was experienced was the only thing that kept Jim calm. It was one thing to look down at the river from above, but quite another to be in a boat.

"Shee-iiitttt!" Simon hollered from the back. "I'm too old for this!"

The water gave them a rollercoaster ride, with stomach dropping dips and fast speeds. Unexpected splashes of cold water slapped their arms and a few faces. After one such dunking, Blair sputtered and broke into laughter which lasted until the water flattened out and the huge boulders were behind them.

"Having fun, Chief?" Jim asked drolly.

"Oh God, yeah!" Blair wiped the water from his face. "Let's do that again!"

"Oh, man. I so needed this," Blair leaned over the large basin. Shirtless, he waited for Jim to pour the lukewarm water over his soapy mass of hair.

"No kidding. We were all getting ripe," Jim answered. "I'm just now dialing up my smell."

Blair had to chuckle. He had taken the last turn with the wash basin, a stainless steel round tub about the diameter of a rain barrel but only twelve inches in depth. Water was warmed on the stove, enough to keep from shivering. After Blair did a thorough sponge bath with washcloth and soap, he called Jim in to help wash his hair. Thankfully, Jim had brought along one of those shampoos with the cream rinse already added.

Head upside down and water dripping into his nose, Blair finished squeezing the water from his now clean locks. He felt a towel dropped around his neck and shoulders. "Thanks, man."

"Welcome." Jim busied himself with recapping the shampoo bottle and returning the bar of soap to the blue plastic container.

"Were you always this organized?" Blair asked, straightening and toweling his hair dry. He turned his head, searching the kitchen counter and tabletop.

"Is this another start to a Tupperware joke?" Jim held the hair pick out.

"Nooo," Blair took the pick and started combing through the long strands. The wet ends rained on his shoulders. "I just noticed you're always prepared for camping. I never see how you get prepared, you just are."

"I wait until you fall asleep and sneak down from my bedroom to organize," Jim answered with a teasing motion, his hands held in front and mimicking tiptoe motions.

Blair sniggered. Jim joined in briefly before pushing him toward their room. "Finish dressing. I'm playing chef tonight and I need to get started."

"What's for supper? Simon's steelhead? Hey, I've got a recipe."

"Scram! I'm the chef tonight. I'm still inspired by your purloined hash recipe this morning. Now, go."

Blair slipped into their room, donned a sweatshirt and headed for the living room. His hair stood a better chance of drying in time for bed if he stayed close to the fireplace. Simon was already comfortably stretched out on the sofa, reading a fishing magazine.

"Where's Uncle Buck?"

"Took a walk."

Blair perched on the stone mantle, not directly blocking the heat from the fire, just off to the side. The heat felt fantastic and he let a dreamy smile steal over his face.

Simon set the magazine aside and grinned. "You look like a new man, Sandburg. Fun day?"

"And how. I had no idea steelhead fishing rocked. And moving down the river like that? Scenery always changing, taking a turn on the oars, trying to figure out where the fish are laying - what a rush."

"Yeah, we made a full day of it."

Blair curled his back, enjoying the way his sweatshirt absorbed the heat. He'd have to move in a minute, the fire was almost too warm. "So, Simon. What other type of fishing have you done?"

"Oh, lots. I've gone down to Mexico and chartered for blue marlin, fly fished the Yellowstone and Alaska. But, I hear sturgeon fishing is incredible. Haven't done that yet."

"Did you know," Blair broke in. "Sturgeons are considered as old as the dinosaurs?"

"I'm more interested in eating one. I've always thought I'd take Daryl down to the Columbia River one year. Maybe you and Jim could join us, we can get Buck to come."

Okay, it was time to move away from the fire. Blair switched over to Buck's empty recliner. "We can do that. If we bring Henri and Rafe, we could charter one of those bigger boats." Blair watched the flames, falling silent as his thoughts followed a new path. Sounds of pans knocking together and Jim moving around could be heard around the corner. "Simon? Do you ever wonder sometimes... when you're with Daryl if...?"

Nah, this was too weird. Blair suddenly wished he'd kept the subject on fishing. "Never mind."

Simon shifted, his long legs stretching out. He crossed his ankles. "Just say it, Sandburg. I won't bite."

Blair grinned. "Well, it's just - you're the only real parent here. And I wondered how you handle it - um, when Daryl sort of screws up. And maybe he doesn't. But if he did - big time screw up, I mean - how do you think you'd deal with it? Do you guys, like, talk it out? Or do you just forget about it after he's... grounded or whatever..." Blair pulled a face. He sounded so stupid.

Surprisingly, Simon wasn't laughing. In fact, he seemed to be treating the subject matter seriously. "Blair, I have to admit. Parenting is an art. Unfortunately, a lot of it is on the job training. Sometimes, I think I might have handled Daryl the right way, other times I know I didn't. There's no `one' answer."

Blair waved a hand, embarrassed to have asked. "Forget it, Simon. Stupid question."

But Simon was still pondering. "You know, Joan and I had help. We had access to her mother's experience, and that woman had it down. My grandfather was still alive back when Daryl was born, up until he was seven. He was a wealth of information. Joan and I were lucky."

Blair stared at the flames without seeing them. He couldn't help but comment. "Naomi didn't have anyone like that. We were pretty much a two-person family."

"So, you guys didn't have relatives? No grandparents?"

Blair shook his head. His hair already felt lighter. The fire was doing its job. "Never met any of her family. She doesn't talk about it. She knows a guy that drives long haul truck, calls him her brother. But I think that's an honorary title. They don't look anything alike."

"God, Sandburg. When I consider the screw ups I did with the help I had, I shudder to think what it must have been like for your mom." There was just enough lightness in Simon's tone to keep that from being classified as a dig.

Blair grinned. "She was great, though. I know she's not perfect." A lump formed and he had to swallow hard suddenly. "Actually, I used to think she was pretty perfect, you know? Maybe that's part of my problem."

Simon took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "I remember the first time I screwed up with Daryl. The first time I saw that look in his eyes that told me I was no longer his hero; that I let him down."

"What? I can't see you letting him down. You're a great dad, man."

But Simon shook his head. "Nah, I'm just a guy trying to be a great dad. My first mistake was not admitting that to him. Joan called me on it, and I finally realized that I couldn't bluster by. I ended up sitting him down and apologized. God, I can't even remember now what it was about. But I do know this; parents don't need a child to hero-worship them, Sandburg. Kids need to know that their parents are human, too. We can make the wrong call just like anyone else."

"Yeah, I'm starting to see that." Blair absentmindedly pinched his lower lip, his gaze on nothing.

"Naomi?" Simon asked, then grinned. "Obvious is my middle name."

Blair snorted. "Simon O Banks, huh?" He got serious. "It's probably nothing, really. It's just that she hasn't called lately."

When Simon didn't respond, Blair continued. "It's not unusual for us to go months without seeing each other, but she normally finds time to write or call. If I knew where she was, I'd call her." Only Blair had a feeling that was what Naomi wanted, her being where Blair couldn't find her.

"Well, all I can say is what I just did. Parents sometimes screw up." Simon raised a single finger in mock admonishment. "But police captains never screw up."

Blair snorted. "Riight."

"Here's my offer."

Blair looked up from his sandwich preparations, amused with Simon's insistence. "Give it up, copper. I ain't squealing."

Simon pointed a pancake flipper at him. "It's a fair trade. These pancakes are revered in twenty-nine states. I'm willing to share for your hash."

Blair laughed. "How come you wait until Jim and Uncle Buck are making the ferry run before you try wheedling this information from me? You don't try this tactic with the criminals, do you?"

Seemingly temporarily put off, Simon turned back to his job of making breakfast. Blair continued to snicker as he cut the tomato into thin, sandwich ready slices. They had woken the same time as yesterday, only this morning, Blair couldn't wait to start. He had slept hard and felt rested. None of the typical nightmares that had plagued him the last couple of months had visited. After eating Jim's incredible feast of baked steelhead and winter roasted vegetables last night, the four men had played an hour or so of poker and retired early.

Now Simon and Blair had a turn at fixing breakfast while the others launched the boat and moved the jeep and trailer down to the take out.

"Sandwiches are done," Blair announced. "I'm going to get the lunch cooler."

"Okay, it's out on the porch. I washed it out yesterday, so it's ready to load."

Blair wiped his hands on the kitchen towel and headed for the door. "Still can't believe this place belongs to Uncle - " Blair reached for the front door just as it swung open with enough force to knock him backwards.

Simon's protest registered in Blair's brain as he lost his balance and fell painfully onto his hip. His first thought was that Jim was barreling in because something was wrong, so his brain wasn't quite ready to comprehend what his eyes reported.

"Hello, Mr. Sandburg."

A short scream burst out of Blair's lungs. Scampering backwards on hands and feet, Blair stopped when he hit the back of the couch.

His nightmare had learned how to return from the dead and open doors!

Dr. Durkin walked smugly into the living room, a nasty looking handgun in his right hand. "Nice place you guys have. No! I don't think so, Banks. Keep still or I'll kill your friend."

Blair's eyes refused to leave Durkin's face. "S-simon? Can y-you see him?"

Durkin laughed as another tall shadow slipped into the cabin behind him. Blair barely registered the bigger man moving quickly into a position to better cover Simon. Were there anymore? How many had this guy brought back from the land of the dead?

"Get up, Blair. We have a lot to get done before your friends return." Durkin used the gun barrel to make raising motions.

"What the hell is going on?" Simon demanded. "We were told you died. How did - "

"Please!" Durkin frowned. "If you failed to notice, we have the guns. Shut up and follow orders. You're ruining my fun." He turned back to Blair who hadn't moved from the floor. "Get up." This time the order was menacing.

Blair rose weakly, leaning heavily on the sofa. Simon could see Durkin. That meant...

"Both of you sit in a kitchen chair so Robert can properly tie you up," Durkin commanded.

Simon appeared at Blair's side. Blair looked over at the other man and nearly passed out. Simon's grip kept Blair from falling. Lanfers had cut his hair short. His face wasn't as tan as Blair remembered, probably from too many days inside. But he recognized the man instantly.

"Oh. My. God." Blair's head floated with overload. Suddenly, sitting down seemed very a good idea right now. He let Simon help him over to the chairs, not able to follow the dialogue between Durkin and the police captain anymore, only half hearing Simon growling like an angry bear.

Durkin was alive.

Alive!

Blair mentally struggled with the shock. He had to get it together. But how had the doctor found Robert Lanfers? Blair forced himself to forget about last summer, about when he and Jim had helped Simon restore that old wooden ferry boat.

Returning to the present, Blair found himself in the chair, both wrists being pulled behind his back. A cord bound them together. Simon was still talking, yelling, demanding to know what was going on. Blair turned to check his friend, how had Simon gotten tied up so fast? He closed his eyes, suddenly tired. His thoughts refused to stay away from their adventure last summer. Of falling into the water, getting stung by that jellyfish and being pulled out by...

His hands bound and useless now, all Blair could do was shudder when fingers started stroking his forearm, shoving up his sleeve to brush against his skin. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling sick.

"Isn't that cute?" Durkin snorted. "I have to admit, when I researched you guys and learned about your episode with Robert, I became intrigued. Why would an ex-solder with Robert's impressive history turn kidnapper? We had a nice chat, what with me being a military doctor and all, it was easy. He explained about his enhanced senses and I read your reports to his doctors." Durkin smirked. "Seems Robert is taken with you."

"Leave him alone!" Simon bellowed.

"Time for the gags, Robert," Durkin said happily.

Blair heard steps on the porch. It was show time. Lanfers and Durkin had been busy. They'd searched the cabin, found Jim and Simon's guns, gone out the back door and returned without them, then turned on a small white noise generator similar to Brackett's. The doctor had even been thoughtful enough to remove the pancakes from the stovetop.

The door opened to the sound of Jim voice. "... They're down at the river or something." Jim had been talking over his shoulder as he entered, then froze when he realized he'd been tricked. "Durkin!"

Blair felt the gun barrel pressed into his temple. He knew Lanfers was standing at the doctor's side, behind Simon. Jim's gaze took in the scene calmly, his eyes narrowed as they fell on Lanfers, with only a few facial twitches to give away the recognition.

"Hello again, Detective Ellison, Mr. Stevens, glad you both could join us." Durkin sounded like a child on Christmas morning. "Please step away from the door and take seats in the chairs we so thoughtfully set out for you."

"What do you want?" Jim demanded.

Durkin sighed. "Oh, lots of things, actually. Right now I want you to do as you're told. Or..."

Blair was forced to bend sideways, as much as he could with the ropes around his chest, as the pressure against his temple increased. He closed his eyes against the pain and fought down a groan. If the guy kept this up, Blair was going to need the barrel surgically removed from his skull. The pain receded and when he opened his eyes, both Jim and Buck were in the chairs, one on each side of the door.

"Robert will be tying you both up," Durkin explained. "I don't have to tell you what would happen if you try anything, right?"

"I'm guessing the military had something to do with that little lie regarding your death," Jim said calmly. "What's the deal? Turning your research into a biohazard weapon?"

Blair waited for the moment Jim and Uncle Buck would spring into action.

"Oooh, he hits the nail on the head. And with your first guess." Durkin waved Lanfers forward. "I'm impressed. But, enough about me, let's talk about you. I understand from Robert that you're in better control of these enhanced senses you both have in common."

Blair waited for the fight to start, but it didn't happen. First Buck was bound, then Jim. Once the last knot was in place, the gun went away. Blair released the breath he hadn't been aware he held.

"Okay, we'll have time for sharing later." Durkin rubbed his hands together. "Robert and I had a most interesting hike in here. But I must say I'm looking forward to driving out. Please tell me you brought that nice Ford back. Nothing against Jeep products, I'm just a Ford man. You know?"

"What the hell do you want?" Buck demanded.

"Revenge!" Durkin shot back, and then seemed to recapture his composure. "The four of you are responsible for taking my life away. Now, I'm a practical man. I have my own golden parachute, so to speak. So I can indulge in a little revenge before I move on. Actually, I've decided my new employees would be very interested in sentinels. Count yourself fortunate, Detective. You get to live, too bad about the others."

Jim's stony expression showed no fear, but Blair's heart was pounding. Durkin had found his letters to Lanfers' doctors! They were so screwed. If Lanfers knew Jim was a sentinel - and he must, because Jim had figured Lanfers was one - then Durkin knew. And if he got access to those letters he wrote to Lanfers' doctors...

Oh, God! Jim was in deep shit!

"I'm not going with you, Durkin," Jim said. "Just take your new playmate and run off to whatever country you sold your soul to. We don't care, we won't stop you."

Blair wasn't expecting the man to have a temper. A stunning blow exploded a light show behind his eyes. He hung limply off the chair's back. Loud yells of outrage blended together, drowning out Blair's muffled groan. He was yanked back by his hair, his arms trapped painfully behind him.

"I'm the person in charge here. I'm calling the shots!" Durkin yelled, his temper climbing again.

It rapidly began to dawn on Blair, this man was nuts.

Jim's voice cut through Blair's throbbing pain, sounding suddenly sincere and persuasive. "Robert, you know this is wrong. Durkin doesn't understand. He doesn't get it, does he?"

What was Jim doing? Blair's head was immobilized by Durkin's fist, but he could see Lanfers standing just to the left of Buck. Why was Jim addressing Lanfers?

And why was Lanfers looking at Blair?

"Shut up!" Durkin demanded, shaking Blair's head from side to side as if to punish Jim.

Blair bit into the washcloth. Thanks so much, big guy.

The doctor continued. "I understand everything. You and Robert are the sentinels here. I have Sandburg's notes, I'll finish his research," Durkin shouted. "I've already helped Robert; all his senses are stronger now. Sandburg didn't do that! I did!"

Jim was shaking his head in disagreement, his attention focused on Lanfers. "See what I'm saying? He doesn't get it."

Blair could see Lanfers getting agitated. The big man had turned his attention to the doctor. If the hand in Blair's hair was any indication, Durkin seemed to be shaking with rage. Blair half expected the gun to get up-close and personal with his temple again.

What kind of game was Jim playing? Piss off the armed head-case?

"Shut up!" Durkin screamed. "Robert, get over here. I want Ellison to see his friends die at the same time, we'll save Stevens for last."

Lanfers did as he was told, but Jim wasn't giving up.

"Listen to me, Lanfers!" Jim insisted. "Durkin's going to kill Blair!"

"No!" Lanfers spoke for the first time, his coarse voice surprising all the occupants of the room.

"You don't need him!" Durkin claimed. "You have - "

Blair cried out in pain as Durkin's hand left his hair, taking several strands along in his clenched fingers. Durkin's statement was cut off by a strangled yell of terror and a loud snapping sound, like a giant hand popping its knuckles, followed by the thud of a falling body.

Blair turned in his bonds to see Durkin sprawled in a heap at Lanfers' feet.

What the hell just happened?

"Robert, untie Blair," Jim instructed, keeping his voice calm. "Untie us. We'll help you."

Lanfers reached for the cord holding Blair's gag in place. Blair didn't even mind the slight scraping feeling as it slipped tightly over his chin. It felt great to get that washrag out of his mouth. He couldn't stop from opening and closing his jaw. Lanfers seemed to understand. He even took a minute to touch the tender lump that had grown over Blair's ear.

"Thanks," Blair whispered after failing to summon enough spit together to swallow. His throat was so parched he wondered if cracks had formed.

"You stopped coming," Lanfers admonished softly.

"Ah..." Blair looked up, giving the man his full attention. When had he gotten that gun in his hand? "Y-your doctor said not to. You responded better when I stayed away."

"He lied."

"Oh." Blair shot Jim a worried look. What now?

"Untie us, Lanfers," Jim insisted, twisting his shoulders as he talked, his muscles straining against his bonds. "We'll get you help."

Lanfers turned, raising the gun to point it at Jim. "No, you'll take him away again."

"No! Don't, man!" Blair yelled, throwing his upper body against his ropes and scuffing the chair on the floor. "Don't shoot!"

"No one's taking you away again." Lanfers looked down at Blair, his eyes filled with determination. "I'm not a lab rat."

"No, you're not. You're so not! I'll help you, I swear. Okay? Just don't shoot." Blair couldn't pull his attention away from the finger on the trigger. Did it just flinch? What was it going to take to get him not to kill Jim? "Listen to me, okay? You're not a cop killer. You're a hero, a marine, remember? You don't want do to this. You saved my life. I owe you."

Suddenly, Blair had a plan. He blurted the words out as fast as he could. "I'll go with you. We can walk out that door now and I swear I'll help you."

That got the man's attention. The gun was now aimed at the floor. Blair pressed on. "I won't try and get away, either. I promise I'll stay with you for as long as you want."

"Sandburg!"

"Shut up, Jim!" Blair fired back, not taking his eyes off Lanfers' hopeful looking ones. "Only thing I'm asking is you don't hurt these guys. Do we have a deal?"

"You won't run away?" Lanfers asked, his forehead lined in disbelief.

"I swear to God, man," Blair promised with all his heart. "Wild horses will have to drag me away from your side."

Lanfers must have sensed Blair's sincerity because, before he knew it, the ropes around his chest and ankles came off and Blair was being urged toward the door. Jim lunged forward; the chair holding him back skidded forward a full twelve inches.

"Damn it, Chief! No!"

Blair swallowed the sudden fear that threatened to buckle his legs. God, Jim was right. What had he been thinking? He didn't want to go through this again. The sudden memory of those hours on that sailboat came to mind. He fought down his fear. There was no other choice.

"Sorry, man," Blair managed before Lanfers propelled him out the door almost faster than his feet could keep up.

Jim's Ford waited for them. Lanfers opened the passenger door, pushed Blair in. Slamming it, he jogged around to the driver's side and climbed behind the wheel. Jim had left the keys in the ignition.

As the Ford started and completed a three-point turn that threw gravel, Blair closed his eyes in despair. His friends were alive, that was the good news. The bad news was harder to swallow; he'd just made a deal with the devil.

Jim spat out curse words as he jerked on the restraints circling his wrists. He could see the others doing the same. It was no use. Lanfers was too adept with ropes. He knew his way around knots.

"Back to back!" Jim ordered, scooting forward. Buck was already turned by the time Jim neared. Simon could only watch and wait while they worked on getting free.

"Who was that guy?" Buck demanded.

"Robert Lanfers, a marine with about a dozen years of service. He's that guy I told you about. He took Sandburg last summer, came onto the boat we were restoring," Jim said as he worked feverishly, fingers nearly numb from lack of circulation. "He knocked me out and stole Blair."

"Will he hurt him?"

"Maybe, not intentionally, but you just saw how quickly he can snap a neck. If Blair pisses him off..."

"We've got to go after them."

"I know... and we will. There! Feel that?"

"Yeah, yeah," Buck grunted. "Almost... got it."

Moving fast, Buck had himself out of the ropes and quickly released Jim, tending to Simon next.

"Damn that kid!" Simon exclaimed as the gag came out. "What was he playing at? He's going to end up dead!"

"He saved our lives, Simon," Jim answered tersely.

"How are we going to follow?" Simon attacked the ropes around his ankles. "The nearest vehicle is Buck's Jeep. That's twenty miles away!"

"We'll take the drift boat," Buck said. "We can take turns on the oars."

Jim nodded; it was a good plan. The way the road wound up and over the terrain, they might even manage to get to the Jeep in time to catch up. Kneeling next to the dead doctor, Jim quickly searched him. "Simon? Our guns?"

Free now, Simon stood. "Sorry, Jim." He looked down at the dead man. "They found them both. I think Durkin threw them away outside."

"Okay." Jim stood. "I'll see if I can sniff them out. You guys gather whatever you can find to use as weapons. I'll meet you down at the boat in five." He glanced down at himself. "We'd better change out of these waders. Warm clothes and hiking boots."

Five minutes and a few spare seconds later, they were ready. Jim took a look at the inventory Buck was loading. It would have to do; axes, rope, something that looked like a first aid kit and other equipment was being lashed down. All the fishing equipment had been tossed back up onto the shore, out of sight.

"Any luck, Jim?"

Jim shook his head, his lips pressed together unhappily. "No. What did you guys do with Durkin? I didn't see his body."

"We hauled him out to the shed," Buck answered. "He's safe from predators there. I couldn't take the chance of a hiker walking in and finding him."

"Good call." Jim steadied the boat while the others climbed aboard. Simon was in the middle. That made sense, too. The first part of the river was gentle, not much in the way of white water. They'd need Buck's expertise further down. "Ready? Here we go."

"Watch it!" Blair pressed his back hard against the seat, his legs braced out against the Ford's floor. "Shit!"

They missed going over the edge of the road by inches. Lanfers' driving was atrocious. He made Jim look like a little old lady on her way to a prayer meeting. If this kept up, they'd both be dead.

"Man! You've got to slow it down!" He risked a look at the driver. "You okay?"

Lanfers nodded; deep concentration lines marred his forehead. "We're fine."

"No, you're going too fast," Blair explained. "Why? No one's following us, remember? You're safe."

Lanfers didn't comment, but he did slow the Ford down, using the lower gears instead of hitting the brakes. The road was narrow and winding. Blair hadn't been afraid when Jim drove it, because he trusted the cop's ability to listen ahead. Jim knew if a car was due to appear around a blind corner. Lanfers? He wasn't so sure.

"So, ah... how're the senses?"

Lanfers flicked a glance at his passenger before returning his attention to the road. "No talking."

Ookay. Blair shifted. His arms were growing numb. And the little problem of not being buckled in resulted in a few bruises when he hit the door after an unexpected pothole. Once he even knocked sideways into Lanfers, who shoved him back impatiently.

"Could you at least untie me?" Blair asked after a few minutes. "I told you I wasn't going to try anything."

"Later. Now, shut up."

"Switch!" Buck called out.

Jim tucked the oars in and moved out of Buck's way as they swapped seats. The river up ahead tossed water around like a washing machine. Jim's arms ached from ten minutes of steady rowing. Muscles burned from abuse, but he didn't care. The boat had shot down the valley with impressive speed and he found himself counting the seconds until he could get his hands on the oars again.

"Hold on!" Buck warned as gallons of water poured over the port side. "Sorry!"

Jim was soaked. He raised a hand to wave off the apology. Nothing mattered anymore except getting to that Jeep. He took a moment to check his pocket for the keys, reassured by their presence. He looked at his watch. They'd been at this for more than forty-five minutes now. If Lanfers was pushing his speed, they might already be off the dirt road. There was another half hour of driving till he'd reach the highway.

The drift boat shot out of a bowl shaped depression and landed with a spine jarring slap. The shore line sped by. Jim pushed his hearing out, closing his eyes and envisioning the road above them. The sound of the river confused him, like static on a radio. The chill of his wet clothing helped to keep him from zoning as he dialed up his hearing.

There! He could hear the engine of his Ford.

"They're up there!" Jim called over his shoulder. "I can hear them."

Buck didn't have time to answer as he worked the oars to keep from smashing into the surrounding boulders. The boat's bottom scraped over the top of a rock, inches below the water line. They had hit so many, no one even flinched anymore.

"How far?" Simon called from the stern.

"Half a mile, maybe more."

Buck spoke, his words clipped. "Jeep's another twenty minutes."

Yes! They might make it!

Blair tried not to notice how close the Ford was getting to the road's edge. The valley floor was a long way down. Blair was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. Lanfers' driving left much to be desired and Blair was never so aware of a missing seatbelt in his life than right at that moment. The road twisted and turned, climbing almost to the ridge top before it would snake down to the valley floor again.

He remembered returning this way from the take out point yesterday. He and Jim had been joking around as they sat in the open bed of the Jeep. The afternoon had been warm and sunny and Blair had been basking in the glow of the fresh fishing memories. He closed his eyes.

It was incredible to think that had been just yesterday.

Eyes closed, Blair had no idea what had caused Lanfers to hit the brakes, sending the Ford into a four-wheel locked fear-frozen slide. Blair screamed. The Ford's left front fender dug into the dirt bank opposite the drop off and spun them around a full 180 degrees. Blair's head bounced sharply off the side window and he missed whatever skill Lanfers might have displayed getting the vehicle to a stop. Not that he cared; he was too busy counting stars.

"What the hell is your problem, man!" Blair demanded once the movement stopped, both inside his skull and out.

He never saw the fist coming, only the explosion of pain across his face that split his lower lip, sending large globs of bright blood into his lap. Blair groaned and slumped sideways against the door. Lanfers' breathing sounded loud and harsh in his ears. Blair wanted to sob and laugh at the same time.

Okay, rule number one with the new sentinel: don't criticize his driving.

Simon was on oar when they reached the take out. He muscled the boat high onto the bank and all three men bailed out, grabbed a piece of the metal boat and hauled as one. Jim was sure they could have picked it up and slammed it on the trailer that waited a few feet away.

"I'll unhitch. Get the stuff loaded." Buck ran for the parked jeep.

Simon gathered an arm full of equipment, fine trimmers visible in his long arms. "Did we beat them?"

Jim paused to listen. "Yeah... God, yeah! It's close, though."

They ran for the jeep, Jim ready with the key. Less than a minute later, they were bumping over the rough track toward the dirt road, drift boat and trailer left behind. Simon had squeezed in, crushing Jim into the middle. They needed to form a plan.

"Roadblock?" Simon said.

"How?" Buck asked.

"Drop a tree."

Jim shook his head. "Take too long."

"Fake a rock slide?"

Jim nodded, Buck's suggestion made sense. "Where?"

They reached the road. Simon instinctively rolled down his window and both men looked at Jim expectantly. Closing his eyes and ignoring the feeling that he was giving a performance, Jim listened. He followed the sound of the wind combing the trees up the valley, climbing higher until he could hear voices. The Ford wasn't moving.

"I told you to shut up," Lanfers' voice warned lowly.

A gurgle-like snort replied, then the crunch of tires moving on loose gravel.

"Little more than a mile, I'd guess," Jim reported, opening his eyes and nodding up the valley to the right.

Buck spun the wheel to the left and gunned it. "I know a place we can use."

"But how do we stay hidden?" Simon asked. "This guy's like Jim. He's going to hear us."

"I'm not sure he's mastered his abilities yet," Jim said.

"You heard Durkin, Jim. He was working with him. You said only Lanfer's touch and hearing were enhanced. What if Durkin got all five senses up and running?" Simon rolled up the window, as if the glass could help keep their conversation from being overheard.

"It took months of work with Blair to get where I'm at," Jim explained. "But, just in case, I've got an idea. How far's the spot, Buck?"

"Eight minutes, tops."

Lanfers slowed the Ford down. Blair opened his eyes. What now? They'd managed to get off the ridge and down onto the valley's floor in one piece. They'd sailed by the takeout location several minutes ago. The road would soon be climbing up and over the ridge to drop into the valley on the other side, where the paved road waited.

Then what?

Blair didn't want to think about it. He concentrated on the problem at hand. Part of the earthen embankment next to the road had broken free and dumped several rocks. Even though the Ford had four-wheel drive, those rocks were large enough to damage its undercarriage or pop a tire.

"Cut me loose, man," Blair urged. "I'll help."

To Blair's surprise, Lanfers did. The sudden freedom to wipe his battered face was interrupted by a fierce `fist-in-the-hair' yank sideways. Lanfers' deadly eyes were inches from Blair's.

"You swore you wouldn't run."

Swallowing awkwardly in his current position, Blair managed a slight nod. "I won't. I keep my promises."

"You'll do what I say. When I say."

Time for a little assertiveness. "Listen. I'm not helping you hurt anyone. Got it? Otherwise, you're the boss." He put as much bravado as he could summons into his short speech. He was serious, too. He wasn't going to be part of anyone getting hurt, unless it was him of course. Miraculously, the fingers relaxed and Lanfers got out. Blair opened the door and eased out onto the road.

The sun was still behind the mountain peaks to the east, but the morning sky was bright. The day promised to be nicer. Blair kept his mind blank. It was weird. Under normal circumstances he'd be thinking up ways to get away. But he'd made a promise. He concentrated on the biggest boulder that blocked their path. Leaning over at his waist, Blair pushed, managing to get enough momentum to roll it off the road and out of the way.

As Blair headed toward the next rock, Lanfers suddenly looked up from his own job, spun on his heel, and yanked his gun free from the waistband of his jeans.

"NO!" He fired the gun at Blair.

SHIT! Blair dropped down to his hands and knees in the dirt, feeling the bullet whine over his head. He realized Lanfers wasn't shooting at him, but at something above him.

"Blair! Run!" Simon's voice bellowed from the tree line.

"Get back in the Ford!" Lanfers ordered. He fired again into the trees. He was ducking rocks being thrown at him.

Blair knew Simon and Jim didn't have the means to fire back. Durkin had dropped their guns into the pit toilet or something as bad. Besides, if Jim had a gun, Lanfers would be dead by now. Blair hesitated. The longer they stayed here, the better the chance someone he cared about would be hurt. Besides, Blair had made that stupid promise.

He ran for the open door of the Ford, climbing in just as Lanfers closed his own door. They managed to drive over the bigger rocks with only a few hits to the oil pan. Then they were past the trap and Blair turned to stare back through the rear window. Jim and Simon had run out into the road and started running hard after them.

"Jim, please don't. He'll kill you guys," Blair whispered.

Blair turned back to look ahead again, they were coming around a curve. Blair knew Jim would have had a back up plan. Uncle Buck's Jeep suddenly appeared. Blair recognized Buck behind the wheel as the vehicle pulled out from an opening in the brush. Lanfers gunned the engine.

"No!" Blair braced himself, arms straight, holding onto the dash.

The Ford was heavier than the Jeep. Lanfers knew enough to aim for the light part, the Jeep's empty bed. Metal mashed metal. The Jeep spun around. Even braced, Blair bounced forward, hit the dash and fell back against his seat. He had a glimpse of the Jeep and Uncle Buck's angry face as they zoomed pass before his world went black.

"Buck!"

Jim reached the Jeep a second before Simon. Buck had the door open and leaned drunkenly out, a moment away from falling. Jim caught his shoulder and held him in.

"Easy."

Simon went to the Jeep's rear tires. "If we're lucky, we can bend the metal back, change this tire and go after them."

"I'm okay. The tools we need are behind the seat," Buck said, pushing Jim's hands away from the small bleeding cut above his eyebrow. "What happened? I saw Blair in the Ford."

Jim helped him locate the tire iron and a prybar. Buck seemed to be moving okay. He'd obviously had his bell rung but he was keeping it together. "Robert must've seen me. I know that white noise generator was working. I couldn't hear a thing. Damn, I'll have to run back and get it before we leave."

"Blair?" Buck asked again.

Simon sighed. "I told him to run. Lanfers had me pinned with gunfire. I couldn't grab him. He got back in."

Buck shook his head. "I knew it."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. He almost had the mangled tire free from the crushed metal. Simon stood ready with the tire iron, like the pit crew of a race team. "Sandburg doesn't make promises lightly. We're going to have to play the part of the wild horses and drag his ass away."

"You got to be kidding," Simon said in wonder. "No one expects a promise to a killer to be kept."

Jim stood. The Jeep looked like crap, but the tire was free. Simon moved in to start on the lugs. Jim moved to help Buck in the task of freeing the spare tire from underneath the bed. "To Blair, he's a sick sentinel who needs help. Besides, that kid would sell his soul to Satan personally if it meant keeping us from getting killed."

Simon grunted angrily as the last lug resisted his efforts. The spare was down and looked okay. Jim watched him almost rip the thing off. He knew most of the anger was from frustration. They had to be careful as they removed the damaged tire. The sharp edges of torn metal could lay open their arms and hands.

"The axle looks okay," Buck commented. He looked at Jim. "Did you want to grab that white noise box?"

"Be right back." Jim ran for the ambush location.

When he got back, Buck and Simon had the spare tire in place. One of the lug nuts had been stripped, but they didn't care. Soon they were back in the jeep. Jim had gotten behind the wheel without asking permission. Buck didn't say a word.

Simon slammed the door. "Let's go get that damn kid."

"Hi-ho, Silver," Buck muttered under his breath.

Jim smiled grimly. "Away."

But something was wrong. White steam leaked out of the engine compartment, oozing out around the small gap line around the hood. Glancing over at the gauges, Blair could see the temperature was in the red. The radiator must have taken a hit when Lanfers did that `A-team' maneuver back there.

Any other time, Blair would have said something. Driving the Ford like this just guaranteed they'd be walking. What difference did it make? Blair's brain hurt too much to care.

Just then the engine died. Lanfers cursed like the marine he used to be as they drifted to a stop. He spent a few seconds turning the engine over. His efforts did nothing to start the dying Ford. Finally with an explosive shout of frustration, Lanfers slammed both palms on the steering wheel.

Blair couldn't help but press against his door. When the man turned to look at him, Blair held up a hand. "Easy, just relax, okay?"

"Get out!"

Blair fumbled for the door handle. "Sure, let's just stay calm."

Lanfers did seem to calm down as he systematically went though the back of the Ford. He found Jim's cache of emergency supplies. That seemed to settle him down. One of Blair's old backpacks had been used to house an elaborate first aid kit. Blair watched quietly as Lanfers dumped some of the aid supplies out. They spilled over the back of the Ford, some dropping onto the road. A few water bottles and military food rations that Jim called REM or RME, something like that, were shoved inside.

"Can I have a coat?" Blair could see the sleeve of an old canvas coat with a quilted lining sticking out from a tool box. When Lanfers nodded, he reached in carefully and pulled it out. It wasn't cold now, but Blair had a feeling he'd need it for later. As he started to thread an arm through the first sleeve, Lanfers stopped him with a small push.

"What?"

Another push and Blair was leaning against the corner of the Ford, silently enduring a thorough pat down. His pocket knife was found in his jean pocket and taken away.

"Let's go." Lanfers pointed.

"We're not going to follow the road?" Blair asked as he finished putting on the coat.

"No," Lanfers answered. "Move out."

Great. Blair looked up. They were close to the top of the ridge line, but the slope was steep. His tennis shoe sank into the loose dirt and slid back down, starting a mini landslide. Lanfers scrambled up the bank with ease.

Just great. Another long-legged guy to keep up with. Blair used his hands for extra traction, managing to reach the top of the slope and get into the trees where the ground still tilted up but found it was easier to walk. Lanfers went ahead, not bothering to look back. Blair wondered if that was a good sign. Was he finally starting to trust him? Nah, more likely he would keep an `ear' on Blair. So far, Lanfers had shown equal ability to Jim's.

Jim.

No way would he give up. Yet it looked like Lanfers was winning. Uncle Buck's Jeep couldn't be drivable anymore, not after that hit. How long until he'd see Jim, Simon and Uncle Buck again? Blair allowed his thoughts to explore possible outcomes. Best case scenario - he could get Lanfers to see how wrong this was and the guy would turn himself in to the police.

Blair rolled his eyes. Yeah, make up another, dummy. Worse case scenario, Lanfers gets cornered and someone dies. Shit! Blair could not let that happen. Maybe if he continued to help this guy, keep him on an even keel - what's up with the sudden sailboat speak? - then Lanfers would learn to manage on his own. Surely he'd let Blair leave after that happened. All he wants is control in dealing with his enhanced senses.

They were climbing steadily. It was obvious Lanfers could easily out walk Blair. It was no walk in the park. Blair ducked, dodged and scrambled over obstacles to keep up. Windblown trees littered the ground. Lush groundcover of sword ferns and Oregon Grape slowed them down. Thick moss pelts hung everywhere; some bright green, others stringy and green-grey.

Willing to let his mind dwell on issues that weren't as grim as the current situation, Blair searched his memory for the name of the stringy moss. Last year he had dated a woman working for a degree in forestry. They'd taken long walks in the Cascades. What had she called it? Something to do with an animal.

He had it: Goat's Beard Moss.

Blair ran into Lanfers' back. "Oomph, sorry."

Lanfers was in the act of removing the pack from his back. He glanced dismissively at Blair as he unzipped a side pocket and removed a water bottle. After he took a few deep drinks, he wiped the top and handed it to Blair.

"Thanks." Blair hadn't meant to sound so surprised, but - well, he was. He drank his fill and handed the now nearly empty bottle back. The exchange gave him courage. "Can I ask you something?"

Lanfers didn't pause in the task of returning the water, then shouldered the pack.

Blair would accept that as a yes. "How did Durkin help you?"

Lanfers snorted. "He didn't."

"What?"

Lanfers shared a humorless smile. This time when he started walking, he matched Blair's pace and they walked side by side. The forest was thinning out as they gained altitude. "He came around, asking about you and Ellison. He figured us out. Said he could get me out. So I played along."

"So, you're saying your other three senses aren't enhanced?" Blair asked, attention totally on Lanfers now.

When the ex-marine grabbed his arm a split second before Blair's tennis shoe hit an exposed root that threatened to nose plant his face, Blair was reminded of Jim. Only when he was in Lanfers' hold, he couldn't help but be mildly creeped out. It was as if his skin crawled.

"They are. All five are strong now. But that started happening before he showed up." Lanfers released him. "Watch the ground. You've already taken too many blows to the head." His eyes fell on Blair's swollen and split lip. He grimaced. "Sorry I hit you. I'm not good at using two senses at the same time. I need quiet."

"Oh." Blair watched his feet as they hiked. His mind was racing with new ideas. What had caused Lanfers to activate all five senses? After all these years?

Lanfers continued to talk. Like a damn that burst, he seemed content to share. "I didn't want to kill Durkin, either. But, I couldn't let him shoot you. I thought he just wanted Ellison. Take him to China. I didn't know he was going to kill you, too."

" You saved my life, man. For that, I'm thankful. But why go through all this to find me? I wasn't kidding back there. Your doctors were serious. I'm not part of your cure."

"Then they're all idiots. Anyway, they didn't have a clue what we are. They wanted to make these senses go away. I want control, that's why I need you."

"No, you don't. I can teach you to - "

"It's easier to just have you with me," Lanfers interrupted harshly. "Why do things the hard way? With these senses I'm unstoppable. There are battles on every continent. I have the training. We can get the weapons. There are groups that would pay small fortunes to hire us."

Blair's world tilted. "W-what?" He hadn't realized he'd stopped until Lanfers was several feet in front of him, frowning back. Blair swallowed. Where had all the moisture gone? "I'm n-not a soldier, man."

Lanfers' face turned hard. "You are now. You gave me your word back at that cabin. I let your friends live, understand? You will hold up your end of the bargain. You're at my side from now on."

Blair now understood the expression `blank slate' because his mind had just turned into one. Shock had disengaged all ability to speak.

One thing was painfully obvious. He had sorely underestimated the worst case scenario.

"My Ford!" Jim slammed his foot down on the brake. They'd had a few false starts and lost valuable time. The Jeep ran like the cripple it was. Had the vehicle been a horse, they would have shot it out of kindness. Twice they'd had to stop and adjust the rear body as the road twisted the frame and threatened to shred the spare tire. Jim drove with the side mirror turned to give a view of the damaged area.

"They must've broken down," Simon said.

Searching the area carefully, Jim reached his conclusion. He looked up the mountainside, knowing they were near the top. "He didn't follow the road."

"Can you hear him?" Buck whispered.

"No, they're over the ridge." Jim bit his lip. What should they do? He went to the passenger side and opened the door. The smell of blood was strong. Dark spots stained the seat's fabric. Shit.

"Looks like he found your supplies, Jim." Simon called from the back.

"If he reaches a home in the next valley, he could steal a car," Buck said. He absentmindedly rubbed his left elbow.

"We need help," Simon declared. "We've got a vehicle right now, Lanfers doesn't. We have time. Let's get some back up."

Buck shook his head. "We've got a chance to track them now. We could lose them if we don't follow."

Jim held up a hand. "We'll do both. I'll go after Blair. You two notify the authorities. I don't care who, either. A dozen armed hunters sounds good to me right now."

"I should go with you," Buck said.

"No, you're hurt." Jim pointed toward the injury on Buck's head. "Even if you don't want to admit it. If you go down on me, I won't be able to go after Sandburg."

"He'll hear you coming," Simon pointed out.

"I'll use the white noise generator. I should have enough battery life left." Jim walked to the back. "Did he leave anything I can use?"

Buck still didn't look happy. "Then take Simon with you. I'll go for help by myself."

"Listen," Jim said with a sigh. He settled his Jags cap firmly on his head as he tried to find a nice way to say what he wanted. "Don't take this wrong, okay? But I move best alone. It was like that for me in Peru. I need to move fast, without any noise."

Buck nodded, some of his unhappiness waning. "Rigged for silent running, right?"

"Exactly." Jim smiled. "Hopefully I'll have Lanfers in custody and Blair driving me nuts by the time you two arrive with reinforcements."

When Lanfers reached the ridge he took them over the top and started angling to the east. Blair followed, his mind still numb. Life as a mercenary - it should provide an interesting line on his resume. He fought an urge to laugh out loud.

Wait until his mother found out.

When Lanfers had admitted his plan, Blair had staged a one-man sit in. The ex-marine had squatted down in front of Blair and calmly promised to drag him out of the forest and systematically kill Buck, Simon, Jim and half the student body at Rainier if he didn't get his sorry ass up and fall into line. That pretty much ended the mutiny on the spot.

Lanfers' announcement had been a conversation stopper as well. He didn't share any further tales of his past year at the hospital and Blair was okay with that. He didn't care anymore. His mind was too busy working. What he needed was a loophole. A way out of the promise he'd made.

They made decent time going downhill. The forest became dense again as they dropped off the ridgeline. It was midday and Blair was getting hungry. Last night's baked fish was another lifetime ago. The wind was picking up, sending clouds from the west. Lanfers looked at the sky a few times and frowned, like he expected a weather change.

The terrain was changing again. Blair could see they were definitely going deeper into the rainforest. The Olympic Peninsula was a large block shape with the Olympic mountain range in the middle. Highway 101 skirted along the edges forming a large circle. Numerous roads forked off the highway and climbed into the mountains but dead ended. To Blair's knowledge, the only way to completely traverse the mountain range was on foot. So why was Lanfers heading into the mountains?

Blair never saw what caught his foot, but he had a nice view of the ground as it rushed up to smack him in the face. Spitting out moss, he rolled slowly onto his side. God, he was exhausted.

And hungry.

And totally fed up with his current situation.

Muscles that had been screaming at him to rest refused to cooperate. Blair stayed on his side, eyes closed, breathing heavily through his mouth. He didn't have to look up to know Lanfers was standing over him, probably in disgust. He waited for the kick or the harsh command to get up or more death threats to those Blair cared about.

But none of it happened. When Blair's heart finally slowed down and his breathing was back under control, he opened his eyes to see Lanfers sitting, legs crossed. The man was rooting through the backpack. He looked up and produced one of those dark green flat, square-shaped things.

"Might as well eat."

Food? Blair could move for food. He sat up and accepted the offering. Although Blair might not remember the name for these military packages, he'd eaten enough while on field trips. Most of them had been past their expiration date. It was all he could afford. But Jim must have had a memory for updating his, because these weren't anything like what Blair remembered. The crackers were fresh and the chocolate bar didn't have the white stuff on it.

Lanfers was watching him as they ate. "I'm not going to make a long career out of being a merc, you know. Just enough to build enough to live on. I'll even let you pick the country we'll settle down in, within reason. I like warm climates."

Blair refused to talk about it. He knew what the man was doing and didn't want to play the game.

"So, if what I'm called is a Sentinel, what do they call you?"

In the process of sucking the peanut butter directly from the package, Blair nearly dropped it from his fingers. "What?"

"Your position, what's it called?"

"I'm not... There is no position, man. I'm nothing."

Lanfers frowned. "Don't bullshit me."

"I'm not."

"You said you studied this stuff."

"I do." Wiping his chin for any stray crumbs or threads of peanut butter, Blair continued. "I'm an anthropologist, that means I - "

"I know what it means," Lanfers growled. "I'm not stupid."

"Not saying you are. Anyway, my point is I found out about sentinels from an old book. I'm doing a paper on them. That's all."

But Lanfers didn't seem to believe him, if the frown was any indication. "Tell me this; why do I sometimes have problems when I use my senses? I power off or something. Everything fades."

Most of the meal was done, but Blair made a point to check the plastic package carefully, his eyes down. "Couldn't tell you.'

Lanfers moved like a rattle snake and Blair was on his back, bent painfully over a mound of dirt with Lanfers above him. He didn't have time to protest before he felt his right hand grabbed. Something hard was pressed over the back of his hand above his knuckles and it tore a scream from him. Nerve endings burned like acid, shooting waves of pain up his arm and exploding into white-hot novas behind his eyes.

Just as fast as it started, the pain stopped. Lanfers turned his hand loose, but continued to press him into the mossy floor of the rainforest. Like an alpha wolf, he snarled down into Blair's face. "I can tell when you're lying! I know more ways to make you scream than you can imagine. And none leaves a mark! Don't lie to me again."

Jim smelled the MRE before he saw the discarded wrappers. He studied the evidence with satisfaction. Even though he was convinced he was on the right trail, it was nice to find proof. He glanced at the white noise generator clipped to his belt. Should he start using it? He'd been keeping track with his hearing, counting on the assumption if he couldn't hear Lanfers then the same was true in reverse. He hoped.

A small voice whispered. But Lanfers has Blair. Did that make a difference?

Another doubt surfaced. Should he have told Blair how important his role truly was to Jim's ability? They had talked about it up in Idaho last fall, but Blair had freaked out. The subject had not been broached a second time.

Jim shook off his worries. He didn't have time for them now. He was tracking a sentinel with military background. That was plenty to worry about. Getting Blair back was paramount.

The terrain was getting rugged again. For whatever reason, Lanfers had taken a course that kept them on the same altitude for the last half dozen clicks. What was his goal? They were entering a plateau between the ridge separating them from the valley Buck's cabin was in, and a drop off to the valley floor below. Jim eyed the drop off. If he could get in front...

Blair's hand still tingled. That was hours ago. What if his nerves were permanently damaged? Would his typing speed be slower? He huffed softly as he followed in Lanfers' wake. What did it matter? Something told him his new life wouldn't involve hours in front of the keyboard.

The wind was really starting to kick a fuss. It sifted through the trees above, sounding like muted waterfalls. Blair bunched the front of the coat tightly around his neck, it was getting cold. He'd been walking mindlessly for a while now. Not really caring where they were going. He kept his eyes on the back of Lanfers' boots. If the man lifted a foot to step over some obstacle, then Blair did the same.

So when Lanfers' boots suddenly froze, Blair knew to stop. He looked up, blinking like an idiot at his kidnapper. Lanfers had slipped out of his pack again. His face had a look of intense concentration that caused the hairs on the back of Blair's neck to stand up. The man pulled out two familiar looking long plastic strips. Lanfers must have found them with Jim's supplies.

"No!" Blair took a step back. "I'm not doing anything wrong, man."

"Shut up." Lanfers dropped the pack and caught Blair's arm. He shook it hard. "Hold them out."

Blair obeyed, but not without an argument. "What'd I do? I'm not - ouch! Watch it!"

The flex cuff bit into his wrists. Lanfers towed him over to a sturdy looking Yew tree. He took the second flex cuff and threaded it through Blair's bound wrists and over a low branch. The result being, Blair couldn't move from the tree, his hands a few inches above his head.

Realization flashed like a strobe on a camera.

Jim.

"Jim!" Blair yelled as loud as he could. "He's still got a gun!" Blair wanted to say more but he was busy. His mouth was dodging a red bandana. He lost as it was shoved between his teeth.

Lanfers' head twisted around as he worked, watching for his enemy. He attacked Blair's belt next, unbuckling it and sliding it free. Blair worked to spit out the cloth. Before he could manage it, the stiff leather of his belt was pressed between his swollen lips and Lanfers threaded the ends together behind his head, catching several strands of hair as he cinched it down.

Blair glared his best. Wishing looks could kill, just once - please, God.

Lanfers actually smiled at him. He patted Blair's cheek. "I can hear him. Be a good little sidekick while I go kill him, then I'll cut you free."

"Nggghhhhh!"

"Look at it this way, Blair," Lanfers said, a parting taunt. "The handkerchief is clean." He dodged Blair's attempted kick and pulled his gun from his waistband.

The tree was too large to break, too slippery to climb. Blair could only watch as Lanfers took off into the rainforest and quickly disappeared into its greenery.

Jim listened as Blair fought, his own anger growing, priming him, preparing him to carry out his plan. He was counting on Lanfers wanting Blair alive. Whatever the guy was doing to his friend would heal.

He hoped.

He could hear Lanfers coming now, running fast. Jim turned to check his stage. All the props were in place. If he pulled this off, he'd put in for an Oscar. He made one more check on the white noise generator on his belt. It wasn't going anywhere. And it was crucial to his plan.

A snapping sound warned him Lanfers was close.

Show time.

Standing up, he waited until he heard Lanfers steps slow, then stop all together. It was tricky, but he imagined himself in Lanfers' place and used his own skill to judge when the bullet would arrive. He ducked at the last possible moment, rewarded by the whistle of lead passing and the slower report from the gun as it fired.

Jim grunted as if hit then staggered. He dropped the act and ran low toward a nearby cliff where he'd already managed to drop a section of earth away, leaving a fresh scar along the edge. Slipping his watch from his pocket he threw it over, not watching as it disappeared into the trees below. He rolled a large broken section of a tree trunk off. It made a satisfying thud as it hit the ground below. Jim flipped the switch to the white noise generator and scuffed the edge a little more, adding to the damage. In a last minute decision, he tossed his cap over the edge, maybe it would hang up in a tree and Lanfers would spot it. He'd already laid a scent of blood from a shallow cut he'd made with his knife. Not too much, just a smear on the moss and rocks to leave more evidence for a sentinel.

A nearby cedar tree was waiting for him. Jim ran. He'd picked the tree for two reasons; it was bushy for hiding in and it was near another tree that had recently been broken and blown over. The dead tree was still partly connected to its truck about five feet off the ground. Jim already knew it would hold his weight, he'd checked. It made a perfect ladder and before Lanfers appeared on scene, Jim was safely hidden within the boughs of the cedar tree, twenty feet off the ground.

Lanfers slowed, his eyes narrowing as he took in the clearing. Like a K-9, he zeroed in on the edge of the cliff where a large clump of earth had fallen, leaving the fresh scent of rich soil behind. Keeping the majority of his weight back, Lanfers leaned out just enough to peer over the side and view the rock face to the treetops below. His head tilted. He kept that pose for several long seconds.

Time stretched into a full minute.

Jim held his breath as he watched. Was this guy as good as he claimed?

Suddenly, Lanfers pulled back, an ear to ear grin splitting his face. His comment was soft, but Jim could hear.

"To the sentinel victor, go the spoils."

Jim watched him leave, wearing a smile more predatory than Lanfers'. "Enjoy the brief feeling of victory, Jarhead. But that was just called `setting the trap'."

Blair heard the shot. All the strength seemed to leave his legs. His gut rolled with agony and he fought down the urge to vomit.

Maybe he should. Blair leaned against the tree that held him, his eyes tightly closed. He could die from that, right? He listened to the wind, praying a single shot would never take down his friend. Jim was too damn good. All the times the guy had fought odds stacked against him and come through victorious, it had to take more than one lousy bullet.

The rainforest sang to him, helped him stay calm as he waited for news. Blair played a game. He would count to ten and open his eyes and Jim would be the one coming toward him. He counted, then opened.

Nobody.

Taking a breath he closed them again. Okay, this time, twenty. He'd count to twenty.

He was on fifty when he heard someone coming.

Please, please, please.

"Okay, let's move out," Lanfers ordered.

The first raindrop splashed on Blair's thumb. He stared at the glistening flower-shaped drop dully. He was still cuffed. They'd been walking without a break ever since Jim had been killed. Lanfers wasn't content to let Blair follow anymore. After being freed by Blair's own pocketknife and pushed ahead, Blair got the feeling Lanfers wasn't trusting him anymore. Not that they'd been exactly chummy.

As they had walked, Lanfers had bragged about how Jim had gone over the cliff. How Jim's judgment must have been affected by being shot - and isn't it great to be a sentinel, because that was a hell of a shot - because Jim had gotten too close to the edge and it gave way under his weight. Blair walked, feeling like a death row prisoner on his way to the gas chamber with each step. Evergreen boughs slapped his face, he didn't care. Twice he fell to his knees after tripping on ground vines, big deal. Lanfers merely hauled him up and continued bragging.

"I heard the watch. Can you believe that? Not Ellison's heartbeat, because he was dead, but the tiny tick tock of a wrist watch. God, I'm freaking invincible."

Blair had ground his teeth together so hard, he'd probably sanded off all his enamel. He refused to comment. After a while, Lanfers had shut up.

Now the rain was starting and Blair could add the wonderfulness of being soaked to the skin to the heavy feeling of losing his best friend. He watched the forest darken as his hair grew heavy with rain. Each brush from a tree limb left a wet trail on his coat, his face and neck. The cuffs were too tight and he wondered bleakly if he was going to lose his hands all together.

If he did, Lanfers would have to find another pressure point.

He was jerked to a stop by a hand on his shoulder.

"We're here."

`Here' was a road. Blair looked in both directions, just like he'd been taught as a young boy. Lanfers pushed him to the left and he started walking again. He was aware of the bigger man walking at his side. If he were pressed to comment, Blair would have to admit it was nice walking on a road again, even if it was taking them back up the mountain.

After another twenty minutes Lanfers spoke. "Around the next bend, I think."

Blair was mildly curious. It gave his brain a rest from the dark thoughts that had been chasing each other around and around, like those old-fashion animal cartoons without sound and poor graphics. What was waiting around the next curve in the road? What was worth walking all this way?

A minute later, Blair knew. A black truck.

Lanfers reached into a pocket and pulled out a key ring.

Of course. Blair remembered now what Durkin had said about hiking in. They must be directly even with Uncle Buck's cabin now. So this was the reason Lanfers had headed back into the mountain range. At least they wouldn't be carjacking some innocent for a ride.

Lanfers had the front driver's side unlocked and the door opened. The bench seat was filled with luggage and assorted metal boxes. Durkin's personal effects, no doubt. Lanfers began moving them into the open bed of the truck and Blair waited quietly for him to finish. When he got to a large red, metal box and lifted, the clasp opened up and the contents dumped out onto the dirt road.

"Shit." Lanfers dropped the now empty box, then sighed as he dropped down on one knee.

The box had been filled to capacity with tools, every one imaginable. Blair remembered Durkin had been a real car enthusiast. The doctor must have enjoyed working on his damn vehicles. Jim had a similar box in his Ford. If he were here, he'd probably appreciate the doctor's collection. Each tool looked like quality, the best money could buy.

But Jim wasn't here, he was dead. And Blair had made a deal with his best friend's killer.

Wait a minute...

Lanfers didn't hold up his end of the bargain.

That meant Blair was no longer under any obligation. God, he must be suffering from too many blows to the head after all. Why hadn't this occurred to him before now?

Blair waited a second before squatting down to help as best he could with his hands cuffed. He managed to pick up one tool at a time. Together, they started filling the box up again. Carefully working at the same pace, Blair waited until the time was perfect.

And saw it. Lanfers head was turned away. Blair had a heavy box-ended wrench in hand.

He swung.

Hard.

And Lanfers dropped without a sound.

Blair released a lungful of air and pent up frustration. He held the wrench high, ready to strike again if the ex-marine so much as twitched. After a few seconds, he poked a still shoulder. Blood was welling up, sending rain-diluted streams of red down the unconscious man's neck and dripping into the mud. Blair ignored the injury as he rolled the man over, took the gun and pulled out a utility knife from the tool kit to cut himself free.

Standing on shaky legs, he stared down at the anti-sentinel. His fingers had enough strength to hold the gun if he used both hands. Raising them slowly, Blair sighted down the barrel. At this range, he wouldn't miss. He could place the bullet anywhere he wanted. He could make the death quick, or draw it out slowly. He could wait until Lanfers woke up and calmly explain why he deserved to die.

A mental image of Naomi pressed into his consciousness. Blair shook his head in rejection. No - no more, Mom. I'm not your little kid anymore. It was time to cut free and do what he thought needed doing.

Lanfers had taken the gift of the sentinel and only thought of himself, not the tribe.

And he'd killed Jim.

The rain must be getting heavy, because Blair's vision was suddenly so very blurry.

Jim chanced the battery-life of the white noise generator one more time. It was getting late. He needed to get close enough to check on Blair and Lanfers. Finding the road, he sighted in on the footprints along the muddy edge and slowly began trotting uphill. Out of the trees now, Jim's face missed the protection of his cap as the rain soaked him. After a few minutes, he saw the road curve and cut through the trees.

A black truck was visible through the foliage. He could see Lanfers and Blair squatting down by the driver's door. Now was the time to make a move. He'd never keep up once they drove away in that truck. But what was the best bet? Attack now, from the trees? Or double back down the road and stage an attack while the truck was moving. Something told him another rockslide was not the answer here.

Before he could decide, Lanfers was down and Blair was holding the reason in both hands. Drenched by rain, he looked as if he'd just finished swimming a river, his exhaustion visible in the trembling arms and legs. Jim noticed the bruised and split lip, the lump on his forehead. Yet, Blair was nothing if not a survivor. With a fond smile and a shake of his head, Jim started forward. As he got near the forest's edge, he saw Blair stand; the wrench was now a gun.

Jim slowed and stopped. Blair's face was completely expressionless, dead. Then, like an early black and white TV set warming up after you pulled the switch, Blair's face conformed; eyes squinted, jaw muscles hardened, his lips pressed so hard, a bead of fresh blood appeared.

Hatred - God, that just didn't belong there.

Just as Jim was sure the gun would fire, Blair dropped his arms, the gun aiming harmlessly at the ground. Throwing back his head, he tilted his face upward. The scream was primal and lifted the hairs on Jim's arms.

Jim sprinted out of the trees, suddenly freed from the unexplainable frozen status. Blair seemed blinded by tears. Remembering there was still a gun in the picture, Jim slowed his pace and approached from the side. He timed his movements so that one hand slipped the gun from Blair's lax grasp while the other circled the heaving shoulders.

"Hey, partner," Jim whispered.

"Jimmm..." Blair moaned as if in pain. He hiccupped with a startled jump, turning. "Are... you real?"

"Yeah," Jim answered tightly. He glanced down at Lanfers. They'd have to take care of him, but it could wait. "I had to make him think he killed me. Sorry about that."

Blair fell on Jim in a semi-controlled collapse. Jim caught him with a surprised grunt and tried to follow the exhausted babble that poured out.

"Couldn'tbreakword." A gasp. "Hewasn'tpostakillyoubuthesaid..." A shuddered breath. "Whatahellisgoinon'im?"

It just easier to let him run out of steam. Slipping the gun into his coat pocket, Jim pulled his friend close and wrapped both arms around Blair's shaking shoulders. Blair needed this and Jim wanted the physical assurance of knowing his friend was safe and in relatively one piece again. When the run-on syllables of `Blair-speak' slacked off and ended, Jim spoke.

"You did good, partner. Why don't you let me take over now? Get in the truck. I'll load up Lanfers and we'll take him to the hospital."

Blair sighed but didn't move. The last bit of tension seemed to dissolve. "I couldn't, Jim. I so wanted to. But I couldn't."

"It's okay," Jim crooned. "God, Chief. I wish I had your control. I'll always trust you do use whatever force is necessary. You've got the stuff veteran Rangers would pay to possess."

The wet mess of hair rocked against Jim's shoulder. "Not a soldier," Blair managed to get out. The concept seemed to agitate him anew.

"I know, I know. Just my observation, okay? You're still a damn good warrior, though. You still did everything exactly right."

"I wanted to... kill."

"But you didn't." Jim insisted, squeezing.

"But -"

"Chief, wanting is not doing. Got it? Otherwise all the men that ever saw a gorgeous woman would be serving a jail sentence."

Blair snorted, choked then released a harsh laugh. He pushed weakly out of Jim's embrace and slapped his arm. "M-man! Where do you get this shit?" he asked as his laughter grew, bordering on hysteria.

Jim faked a stern look. Lifting Blair's hands in his own, he checked the circulation. His hands were already looking better. "Don't start with me. Get in the truck."

Blair staggered away, still shaking with exhausted mirth. "Bossy sentinels."

Jim checked Lanfers' pulse and found it steady. The gash on his head was still bleeding. He found some clean gauze pads from the kit stolen from his own Ford and fashioned a quick pressure bandage. Using electrical tape from the tool box, he bound his prisoner hand and foot, lowered the tailgate and loaded him in the back. He even took a minute to wrap him in a plastic tarp.

It was so tempting to wrap the head a little too tightly.

But he remembered his own speech to Blair and played nice. He even remembered to elevate his upper body.

Blair was shivering when Jim finally finished. He tossed the remaining bags of luggage into the back bed, using them to keep Lanfers from rolling around too much and climbed behind the wheel.

"Keys?"

Blair blinked owlishly. His skin was too pale as he sat huddled in his seat, his shoulders bowed. He jerked his chin toward the back. "On him, I guess."

"Of course." Jim returned a few minutes later with them in hand. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Blair managed a weak smile. "Jim? I'm really, really glad you're not dead."

Jim nodded, a smile stealing across his face. The motor started on the first crank. "Me too."

Jim saw the road block in his headlights just before they reached the highway. Blair dozed in the warm cab of the truck, awakening instantly to Jim's nudge.

"What?

"We found the calvary."

"Cool." Blair yawned. "Uncle Buck and Simon with them?"

The drive down the mountainside had been slow due to the man in the back. Jim had been listening to Lanfers as he drove. The injured man was still out.

"Not sure, we'll find out. Keep your hands where they can see them."

Two state patrol officers approached with caution. They listened to Jim's story, checked the truck bed and relaxed. Before Jim knew it, Lanfers was under guard, on his way to the hospital, he and Blair were sipping cups of hot coffee and two familiar faces were running toward them from an arriving county deputy SUV. There was an awkward moment when Buck and Simon tried to cross paths and bumped into each other in their haste to greet them, but they sorted it out. Buck ran to Blair. Jim grinned as Simon made a bee-line toward him.

"Jim! You did it." Simon caught Jim in a full body hug. Not too many people could lift Jim off his feet. Simon didn't even make it look hard.

"Hey, Simon. Good to see you," Jim grunted.

Simon turned him loose, then watched the reunion between Buck and Blair. "God, Jim. We've been combing these mountains for you two. What happened? The radio said Lanfers was injured and taken by ambulance."

"Yeah. And I pray the cops know enough to keep an eye on him," Jim muttered in a quiet voice as he watched Buck fuss over Blair. "Sandburg had him laid out as sweet as any veteran street cop by the time I got to him."

"No way."

"Way." Jim rubbed his forehead, a grin sliding into place. "I'll fill you in later, okay?"

"Sure," Simon said happily, giving Jim's back a few more pounds. "Damn, I'm glad to see you guys. Hey, kid. You look like shit, you get checked out yet?"

Blair looked tired, but happy. They'd been sitting in the back of the sheriff's mobile incident command vehicle, a large panel truck, the size of a motor home. The back wall dropped down to form a ramp, which was where all four men stood. A fold out awning sheltered them from the rain. Blair let Buck pull him back down to sit on the padded bench. The older man kept an arm around his shoulders and Blair leaned into the comfort.

"I'm fine. Got checked out already. Just waiting for you guys to catch up." Blair patted Buck's arm. "So, can we go now?"

Jim shook his head. Blair was anything but fine. He exchanged a knowing look with Buck, happy to see the other man wasn't buying Blair's lies either. "Well, we finished our initial reports." Jim scratched his neck. "What's Durkin's status?"

Simon rocked on the balls of his feet. "Already gone. The local M.E. took the body away."

"So the cabin's cleared out?" Jim asked.

"Yep, should be." Buck looked up at the cops. "But I vote we find a hotel for tonight. Get one of these fellas to drive us to Aberdeen. Plus, we need new vehicles." He pulled a face. "God, I'm losing track of how many cars I've bought over the last eighteen months."

Jim was surprised to hear Simon snort a short laugh. "Your insurance might do what mine did. I have a special rider that says Ellison can't drive my cars."

"Hey!" Jim tried to look hurt but Blair was laughing too hard. "That was just a joke, right?"

Blair laughed harder.

"Right?" Jim pressed, grinning but still wanting an answer. "You're talking about that golden case, aren't you? That wasn't my fault - stop laughing, Chief - I had to stop those guys from getting away."

By early evening the following day, they were back at the cabin, two brand new rental trucks parked out front. The drift boat was back on its trailer and hitched behind the red Nissan truck that Buck had picked out.

The four stood on the front porch. Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh smell of the forest after a night of hard rain. It felt fantastic to be back again, to know everyone was safe. Even though he'd enjoyed the hotel last night and the amenities that came with it, this is what he really wanted.

"Feels good to be here," Simon whispered as if in a church.

"Sure does," Blair agreed, opening his eyes. "Thanks, guys."

Simon's eyes twinkled. "Does this mean you'll share that hash recipe?"

Buck shook his head. "Okay, here's the deal. You and Jim go fetch our fishing equipment. We'll need to go over it before tomorrow. Blair and I will start the hash. It's just as good for dinner. Then I'll tell you both the recipe. How's that sound?"

"Works for me," Simon admitted. "How about you, Jim?"

"I'm down with it."

Blair was still snickering when Buck unlocked the cabin. Once inside, he saw the chairs had been returned to their rightful places and someone had generally tidied up. He was glad. The cabin was in one piece, it was bad enough the Jeep was totaled.

"You want to start on the potatoes?" Buck asked. "Or do you need to lay down?"

"I'm good." Blair headed for the kitchen. The frying pan was still sitting on the counter, the pancakes inside hard. He used the spatula to pry them out as he talked. "Are you really going to share the recipe?"

Buck was cleaning out the stove, getting it ready for a new fire. "Might as well. I'm the last Stevens now. No one but you and them to pass it down to."

"Hey, you're still young enough to start a family," Blair protested. He was rummaging in the bin for the best vegetables.

"Not going to happen," Buck answered. "I'm going to work on my orchard and enjoy myself. If I want the thrill of family, I'll come visit you and your cop friends. I think I'll take the bus, though, and leave my next vehicle safe at Dry Falls."

Blair felt a twinge of honest regret. "Hey, I'm sorry about that. I have some money saved -"

Buck held up a hand. "Stow it, runt. I'm just kidding. My finances are fine. I've got more stocks than I know what to do with. The damn things keep splitting on me. My advisor has been riding me to use some of my money on the business. Something about a tax break."

Blair paused. "You have stocks?"

"Yep, plenty." Buck lit a match and started the crumpled newsprint burning. "So don't fret."

After a filling meal, Jim enjoyed a beer while sitting in the rocker in front of the fireplace. Buck was out on the porch keeping Simon company, while the man smoked a cigar. Jim watched Blair work by the firelight, quietly scribbling notes into a journal he'd bought that morning in Aberdeen. Normally Jim wouldn't even have noticed, but it occurred to him that Blair hadn't been doing much scribbling over the last few months. Rather, he'd been working without passion on his school work, like a man with an unpleasant task that needed doing.

But the old look on his partner's face was back. And that made Jim feel like things were finally getting back to normal.

"What are you working on?"

Blair looked up from his work. He was sitting sideways in Buck's recliner, legs hanging over one arm, thighs propping up his notebook while he wrote. "Stuff."

"About?"

Blair looked guiltily back at his page and Jim knew the answer. "Lanfers?" he asked anyway.

"Yeah, just some stuff he said to me. Got me to thinking."

"What stuff?"

Blair licked his puffy - but healing - lip, his face twisted in thought. "He asked me... well, he sort of insinuated that I had a position in a sentinel's life."

"You do." Jim pointed the neck of his beer bottle at his friend. "You're the one that first told me. Every sentinel needed someone to watch his back."

Blair grinned cheekily. "True, man. And you do, trust me. But he made it sound like something not anyone could do."

"Ah, you mean what we talked about before." Jim nodded, his thumb running up and down the glass of his beer bottle. "So, what do you think?"

"Well, it's hard to know." Blair was back in his scientist mode. "Because I've only known you and him. But, gotta tell you, he creeps me out big time, just like on the sailboat. You don't."

"That's good."

"And I don't have any plans to visit him again. I'll answer any of his doctor's questions, but that's it. Still... there's something I'm missing." Blair gave Jim a direct look, all serious. "Jim, you're not keeping anything back from me, are you?"

Blair was on a fact-finding mission. This was the `before' Blair asking.

Before the McVey kidnapping case, and the night he'd spent in that damn chair.

Before shooting Durkin in the leg and thinking the man had died as a result.

Jim wasn't a dense person. He was being given a second chance and he was going to take it. He nodded his head. "I guess I've noticed a few things about our partnership that I should mention."

A shadow of fear and self-doubt crossed Blair's battered features.

"Good things, Chief. Very good things," Jim hurried to explain.

Blair set the notebook aside and swiveled around to sit properly. He leaned forward, eager to hear whatever Jim had to say.

Jim smiled, setting his beer bottle aside.

"First, I'd like to say: welcome back, Sandburg. I've missed you."

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